STARSHIP FREEDOM V

Let Freedom Ring

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

AFTERWORD

NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

KEEP IN TOUCH

Illustration © Tom Edwards - TomEdwardsDesign.com

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CHAPTER ONE

King marched through his starship, jaw clenched.

Nobody paused to stand at attention, not now, not during a war. Alarms still wailed and red lights flashed. All around King, spacers bustled. Medics raced by, carrying a man on a stretcher. The poor bastard. Both his legs had melted down to the bones. Mechanics ran in the other direction, dragging repressurizing tubes. The plastic cylinders wriggled along the deck like serpents, bloated and ready to expel oxygen. King passed by a breach in the hull. A force field shimmered, keeping the air inside. Construction workers floated outside, welding and rewiring cables. A corpse hovered among them like a haunting spirit, watching from the shadows.

King's upper lip twitched. His metal fist creaked.

His ship was hurt. Hundreds of his spacers were dead. Rage and grief battled inside King like fire and ice. He ached to make the aliens pay. He vowed to destroy the Tyranny. To destroy Arakavish, the rah homeworld. To hunt down every spider across the stars. That was the rage. But deeper down lurked the grief. And the grief knew that the rage could only burn, not heal. That nothing could bring those people back. People under King's command.

Children. They were like children to him. And he had lost too many.

King reached the bottom of the starship. He walked across deck 1. The underbelly of the Freedom hummed and vibrated beneath his feet. In some places on the Freedom, you could almost forget you were inside a starship. King's Library with its antique books and crackling fireplace, the aerie lounge with its retro jukebox and pool table, the Dinogolf with its plastic palm trees and echoes of laughter—they could be anywhere on Earth. But deck 1 was different. In the underbelly, you never forgot where you were. Every thump of the pistons that powered the Freedom—you felt it pulse throughout the deck and bulkheads. Every crackle of electricity through the cables that wound throughout the Freedom like arteries—they raised your hackles. King almost imagined that he could feel space itself under his feet, the tug of the abyss trying to swallow him.

He walked between armed military policemen in full riot gear. They stood along the corridor walls, rifles gripped in tense gloved hands. Their commander stood at attention and saluted. King returned the salute, gave the man a nod, then made to step toward the brig.

"Sir?" said the head guard.

King paused. "Yes, Sergeant?"

"Before you proceed, sir, I should warn you. The prisoner is dangerous."

"I know, Sergeant. She destroyed one of my hangar bays. That's why we have her locked up."

The sergeant was pale. "I mean, sir, she's dangerous even inside the brig. We've experienced strange hallucinations. All of us here."

Oddly, the sergeant had the face of a caterpillar. All bristly and coiling and lumpy. King blinked. The guard was back to normal. Just a trick of the light.

"Hallucinations?" King said.

Caterpillars with dog faces crawled over the guard's ceramic armor. "Yes, sir. The closer we get to the prisoner, the worse they get."

King frowned. A child's giggle sounded beside him. He turned but saw nobody.

He looked back at the guard. "Understood. I'll keep that under consideration."

He walked past the guard, turned around a corner, and reached the brig.

There she lurked in her cell. Telve'rahda. His captive arachtaur. King stood and stared.

It was a large prison cell, larger than a human prisoner would enjoy. They had built this brig to hold aliens, sealing them behind metal bars and a force field. But this creature wasn't just any alien. It was a monster risen from hell.

Her body looked like a black widow the size of a cow. Claws tipped her eight gleaming legs. Rahs had spikes on their abdomen, each spike impaling a severed head. But Telve'rahda was smooth. Her abdomen was completely black aside from a red splotch like a Rorschach stain in the center. It reminded King of a skull.

All that wasn't the worst part. King hated spiders, but after killing thousands of them, a man became desensitized to their horrors. It was Telve'rahda's upper half that filled his throat with bile.

At a glance, she was beautiful. From the hips up, she was a young woman, curved and graceful. Her breasts were bare, her lips full and mocking, her eyes like pools of emeralds under moonlight. But a closer look revealed an unholy pallor. She was the color of a corpse. Blue veins marbled her skin, and dark stains ringed her eyes. Claws grew from her fingertips, and when she smiled, she revealed fangs and a forked tongue.

"Hello, James."

Her voice was melodious. Her lips moved, but the voice seemed to speak directly in his mind like telepathy. It was a voice like pouring wine in a forest full of fireflies and buried bones. Like a butterfly caught in a coffin, wings fluttering against the wooden walls. Like a rivulet of gold trickling into a pool of tar. She spoke only two words, but with those words, she painted images. She created worlds. He saw pale faces peering from shadows, long fingers gripping tree trunks, and a broken sword upon a stone altar. He saw a little white spider, wrinkled like a colorless old grape, glued to the center of a sagging web.

King gritted his teeth and shut off his MindLink. Was this creature hacking his neural implant? Putting visions in his brain? When he stared at her, he saw purple butterflies fluttering around her, and her legs rested on the corpses of dead girls. Every girl had the face of King's granddaughter.

"Rowan!" he said, taking a step closer to the cell.

The dead girls opened their eyes. They looked at him and smiled. Their voices spoke in his mind.

Hello, Pop Pop.

An illusion, King knew. His heart pounded. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, counted to ten. When he looked into the cell again, the visions were gone. Only Telve'rahda remained, alone in the bare room.

The arachtaur gave him a crooked smile. "Are you not feeling well, James King? Sit down. Have a glass of water. A man of your age should not push himself so far."

"What the hell are you?" King said.

She smiled thinly. "Your death."

"Cut the melodramatic crap."

"I speak truth. I was created to kill you. To kill all humans. I have no other purpose, no other desire. My only reason for existence is to kill you. The only meaning of my life is the end of yours."

"I said cut the melodrama, not heap it on. Who created you?"

Her smile widened. "You know who."

A chill scuttled down King's spine like baby spiders. "The rahs."

Telve'rahda clattered forward, stared between the prison bars, and licked her fangs. "Be more specific, James King. You know who made me. When you first stepped into my lair, you saw her."

King clenched his jaw. His eye twitched. The vision flashed before him again—the decrepit spider, just a white wrinkly sac, hanging on a dusty web.

"This is not your lair," he said. "This is your cell."

"Say her name, Admiral King." Her voice was smoke and silk. "Say the name of my creator."

On the sagging web, the ancient spider lifted her head. Her eyes were sunken into puckered pits. Blind eyes. Eyes like white buttons on a rag doll.

King's throat felt dry.

"Elder'rah," he whispered. "The empress of Arakavish."

"Good, James King! Very good." She wrapped her fingers around the bars. Venom dripped from her fangs. "I am a rahda. I have the strength of a rah, the loyalty to Arakavish, and the dedication to Ishar, the web that all rahs must weave. But I am also a human—those called the da in the tongue of my mother."

"Why?" King demanded. "Why did Elder'rah create hybrids?"

"You know why, James King. You defeated the rahs. The spiders are old creatures. Very old, James King. For millions of your Earth years have my mother's people woven the cosmic web. Their instincts are old. Hive instincts. Hive minds. A rigid hierarchy binds them. But humans are new. Humans are disobedient. Unpredictable. Individualistic. Their ways are strange for the very old. And my mother is very old indeed. But I am young. And I have the mind of a woman. This mind is my weapon. With this mind, I will plan your extinction."

"You talk a good game for somebody locked in a prison cell."

She released the bars, took a few steps back, and gave him an enigmatic smile. "We are all trapped in cells, James King. This ship is your prison. And it will be your tomb. If only you knew the horrors that await."

He wrapped his prosthetic fist around a bar. The clawed metal fingers creaked. He stared at the creature. "Tell me everything you know about the Tyranny. Her weaknesses. Her weaponry. So long as you speak, you will not suffer."

"No, Admiral, I don't think I'll be telling you a thing. Torture me if you like. My kind cannot feel pain. Starve me. Threaten me. Do with me as you will."

"You're bluffing." King snarled into the cage. "I'm not. You murdered my spacers. If torturing you saves a single human life, I'll torture you myself. We'll see if you indeed feel nothing."

She tossed back her head and laughed. "You think you can intimidate me? I'm one branch in a tree that engulfs the universe. Cut the branch and you only strengthen the roots. I'm done with you for now, Admiral King. Leave me. Or it will be you who suffers."

King gripped the bar tighter with his metal fist, ready to shatter it, to charge into the cell, and beat the damn thing bloody.

A voice rose behind him.

"Pop Pop?"

"Rowan?" He turned around.

She stood there, his beloved granddaughter. But her skin was gray and veined, and her eyes shed tears of blood. From the hips down, she had become a spider.

"Help me, Pop Pop," she said. "Please. Kill me."

King spun back toward the brig. He gripped the bars with both fists. His metal fist thrummed with power, denting one bar, then cracking the metal.

"Get the hell out of my head, you piece of filth!" he growled.

The arachtaur smiled thinly and pattered backward on her claws. Never removing her eyes from him, she climbed the wall, weaving a web, and perched in the upper corner.

"Help me, Pop Pop, help me!" the arachtaur said, speaking in a perfect imitation of Rowan's voice. Then she laughed. "Midsection deck 22, bunk 7b. That's where Rowan is asleep. But not for long."

King left the brig.

He raced across the starship.

Ten minutes later, covered in sweat, he burst into his granddaughter's room.

"Rowan! Are you all right?"

She looked up at him. She was sitting cross-legged on the rug, playing with model starships. In her right hand, she held a model of the Freedom. In her left—a model of the Lenin. Plastic starfighters lay scattered on the rug around her.

She was fine. No gray skin. No spider body.

"Hi, Pop Pop! Want to play space wars?"

King took a deep breath. He closed his eyes.

Thank God.

It wasn't like him to panic. The arachtaur had planted visions in his mind. Had she planted the panic there too? He had turned his MindLink off. It should be impervious to hacking even when on, definitely when off. What kind of telepathic power did these creatures possess?

Clearly the arachtaurs were more dangerous than rahs. King had fought the nastiest rahs in the galaxy. These things scared him more.

"Pop Pop?" Rowan laid down her toys. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, sweetheart." He sat down beside her, joints creaking. "I'm all right."

He would get answers from this creature in his brig. He would destroy the Tyranny. He would get his people home. He would defend Earth from this new terror. But right now, for just a few minutes, he needed to play space wars with his granddaughter.

He lifted the toy Lenin.

"Roar! I am the evil Red Dawn starship!" He even put on a Russian accent.

Rowan giggled. "The Freedom will beat you! Pew pew!"

Very soon, King must return to the bridge. He savored these precious moments. This was why he fought. Here was a girl he loved with all his heart. He would blow out every star in the galaxy to keep her safe.

* * * * *

Hanging on her web, trapped in her little cell, Telve'rahda smiled.

How easy to manipulate these humans! Their minds were like flies in gossamer, and she was pulling the strands. They had no idea what awaited them. She had carefully concealed the vent behind her web. The old fool hadn't even noticed.

She closed her eyes, smiled, and wriggled backward on her web. She placed her cloaca against the HVAC vent, and she purred as the cool air blew. It felt good. She had never felt the wind. She had never hunted in the ancient forests of Arakavish, for she had been born from the mud and ooze in deep caverns. But the memories of her ancestors were with her. She had been born with all their wisdom and experiences. Yes, wind. That is what this felt like. Wind in the forest.

She had bred before leaving her world on this hunt, and she carried her brood inside her. She had never built a den of silk. She had never laid eggs into a gossamer embrace in a warm cavern under cold hard earth. But she imagined that it felt like this. And it felt good.

"My purpose is to kill you," she whispered, and a tear rolled down her cheek. She tasted blood. "But I remember all the dreams and desires of my ancestors. The old ones are with me."

She gasped suddenly. She had not expected such pleasure. To lay eggs, to give forth life—it was pure joy, for the life she gave would spread death. She had no forest. No cave. No world of mist and underground streams. But she still had killing. And killing was so sweet.

Telve'rahda collapsed onto her web in her prison cell. A smile on her lips, she slept.

CHAPTER TWO

Stowy paused her stopwatch, groaned, and tugged her hair.

"Awful. Just awful, Algernon! It took you seven minutes to solve the maze. How are you going to become a show mouse if you can't even solve a maze within a reasonable amount of time?"

The little mouse hopped onto his paper towel roll and wiggled his nose. Stowy sighed.

"How can I stay mad at you?"

She lifted the mouse and cuddled him. He bit her finger, then hopped off and fled through a vent.

"I'm going to donate you to a lab!" she shouted after him.

She looked at the three-dimensional maze, which she had painstakingly built on the engine room floor. Well, perhaps calling it a maze was a bit presumptuous. It was just a collection of paper towel rolls, Popsicle stick bridges, and hamster wheels. Okay, so the hamster wheels were just engine coils she had stolen, and they didn't actually rotate. But she had added elbow macaroni and sparkles, so they looked pretty nifty. It had taken her all morning.

Algernon, that ingrate rodent, had mostly just lain inside the paper towel rolls. He had only gotten off his ass after Stowy shook the maze. Lazy bum.

"I guess I should add cheese next time," Stowy told herself.

She patted her pockets, searching for more mice. Many pockets adorned her dress, all full of wonders. She had sewn them on herself. It was easy. Just snatch some fabric from the laundry room, ideally one with a nice color or pattern. On a warship, most laundry was just boring uniforms and sheets. But thankfully, underwear still came in all sorts of colors and patterns. Perfect for pockets. Once you had your fabric, you just cut it into a square, sewed it onto your dress, and voilà—a new pocket. Stowy boasted a thousand pockets across her dress, each one a different color.

Okay, okay, it wasn't a thousand. Probably not even a hundred. But when Stowy spun around fast enough, all the colors danced like fireworks. Stowy spent most of her time in the ducts. Not possible to swirl around in there. And come to think of it, even when she stepped out from the ducts, she didn't like swirling. It made her dizzy. But at least she had many pockets for mice.

Mice! That's what she wanted. More mice! Why was she thinking of fireworks?

She rummaged through her pockets, seeking mice. She found kiwi-flavored bubble gum, coins from various countries, a plastic ring with a candy gemstone, a lizard's tail, a rabbit's paw, a crushed packet of coconut powder, a few guitar picks, and many other knickknacks. But no mice. At least she finally found her D&D dice. She still didn't have any D&D buddies, but maybe Emily and Spitfire could be convinced to play.

"Your mouse is missing. Roll for initiative!"

Stowy rolled her twenty-sided die. It clattered across the engine room floor, dropped through a vent, and disappeared. Oh crumbs.

Boots thumped behind a towering engine. A voice echoed.

"Hey, Burt, what happened to the engine coils? I just installed them. Now they're gone."

Another voice answered, "I didn't touch 'em, buddy."

"What the hell? First somebody steals the kiwi gum right out of my desk drawer, now the engine coils go missing."

The boots thudded closer.

Stowy winced. That was her sign to skedaddle. She raced across the deck, yanked open a ventilation grate, and wriggled backward into the HVAC duct. She closed the vent, heart hammering, and peered through the grating.

A mechanic thumped across the deck in steel-tipped boots. He knelt by Stowy's makeshift maze.

"What the hell? Hey, Burt, was your kid doing arts and crafts here?"

Stowy gasped. She cried out from the vent, "I'm not a kid. I'm …" She thought for a moment, counting on her fingers. "Nineteen!"

The mechanic looked around, confused. Before he could figure out what was going on, Stowy crawled away, vanishing into the ductwork that coiled throughout the starship Freedom.

She crawled for a long time. These ducts ran for miles, rising, falling, intersecting. Stowy had spent years living in here. This was her own maze, and in here she felt like a mouse. That's all she wanted to be. A mouse. A small thing that could run and hide. A critter nobody could catch. Because if they couldn't catch her, they couldn't hurt her. She had lived as a regular girl once. In a regular house. And somebody had caught her. Somebody had hurt her.

Tears filled her eyes, and she clutched the pendant that hung around her neck on a shoelace. Her mother's pendant. It was the only thing left of her family. Of that home on Earth. Of that life before the wolf had entered her den.

"I'll never let anyone hurt me again," she whispered.

She hated when those memories rose. In the memories, she was not a stowaway. She was a girl named Samantha. She did not live in space. She lived in a little seaside town in a big country called Canada.

Her mother embraced her, and her father played the piano, and little Samantha used to sit by the window, watching the ships sail by, wishing for a more interesting life. Wishing she could sail on those ships to unknown lands. Then the man had entered their house. Then her parents lay in blood. Then a girl wandered the streets, hurt and afraid, an orphan, broken, autistic, living like a rat.

"No. No!" She sniffed and rubbed the tears from her eyes. "I'm not that girl anymore. I'm not Samantha. I'm Stowy the stowaway, and Earth isn't real. Only the starship Freedom is real. This is my only home, safe in the ducts." She smiled shakily through her tears. "This maze is my castle in the clouds."

A squeak sounded ahead.

Stowy gasped. "Algernon! Is that you interrupting my pity party? How dare you."

She crawled after him. He scurried up to her, bit her on the nose, then scampered off. The little ingrate! After all the pats she had given him!

Ah, who needed him anyway? The mechanic had probably destroyed her maze by now. Stowy would find another way to entertain herself. Hmm, so a circus mouse was out. But how about a flea circus? Now there was a thought. Perhaps if she found some fleas, she could teach them tricks. Now where could one find fleas on a starship? Stowy scratched her chin. Of course! The marines' barracks! Decks full of stinky, hairy marines were bound to yield a few fleas.

She crawled through the vents with more vigor, moving higher up through the dreadnought. It was easy going. There wasn't much gravity in here. Most places on the Freedom had graviton deck plates, pulling your feet down. But nobody bothered installing those in the vents. There was some gravity, because the decks still exerted force through the bulkheads. But just enough to keep her treasures in her pockets. Stowy didn't weigh much in here. She could crawl up even vertical ducts with ease.

She knew every duct, every turn, every vent. This was her labyrinth kingdom. She shared it with a few mice, a rat or two, and the odd vacuum bot. They were her subjects. She was their queen. It was another world in here, a place of secrets and hidden wonders. One treacherous path led to the Land of Eternal Fire—the ship's reactor, as some people called it—a realm of hellfire and demons of firelight. Another road led to the Kingdom of Plenty—or as they were commonly known, the kitchens. If you sneaked through the vents at night, you could feast.

You had to be careful, because though this was a labyrinth of wonders, monsters lurked here too. The evil ogre Darjeeling was always prowling, ready to grab little girls and eat their bones. He had nearly caught her several times, but Stowy had learned how to fight him, how to protect her realm.

Every few ducts, Stowy had created a little way station, a place to rest, nap, and snack. She passed a way station now. It lay in the intersection of two great ducts. One duct delivered cold air, the other warm air. There was magical power in such places, and if you were very quiet, you could hear the spirits whispering in the wind.

Stowy lifted the blanket she had left here, revealing a stash of granola bars, Dragon Wars cards, and knucklebones. She paused to eat, recover her strength, and toss the jacks around a few times. That was hard work, which called for a short nap. Which turned into a long nap.

She slept with a smile on her face, dreaming that she lived in a kingdom where mice were as big as men. They wore red military uniforms and sabers hung from her hips, and she was a princess in a gown, and she danced with them all night among the stars.

* * * * *

Eventually Stowy woke up, blurry-eyed, and rose in the duct. She banged her head against the duct ceiling. Dammit! She had been living in these crawlways for years, and she still forgot you couldn't sit up.

She yawned. Jacks were strewn through her hair. She yanked them out, wincing, and tried to straighten the brown locks. Pointless. She shook her head wildly, and her wild strands fell whatever way they would. Which was mostly over her face. So be it. She had no time for grooming. She was on a quest to find fleas!

"Those circus fleas are gonna make me a star," she said. "Then you'll be sorry, Mr. Algernon."

As she crawled through the ducts, she passed by many vents, and she peered into many rooms. One vent overlooked the armory, and Stowy saw stacks of missiles the size of dragons. She wondered what it would be like to ride one. Maybe she could ask the admiral to ride a missile during the next battle. She kept crawling. Another vent revealed the showers. Thankfully, they were empty now. Stowy sometimes got an eyeful through this vent. She considered hopping through for a shower, but she was clean enough. Okay, she was covered in soot, her hair was a mess, and she had peanut butter under her fingernails. But showers were boring.

Pretty soon she was crawling through deck 25. Right over the military police station. This was one of her favorite ducts.

There weren't many policemen aboard the Freedom. Stowy knew them all by name. They had chased her plenty of times. Whenever she passed by here, she paused to listen. If you wanted gossip, you came to the military police. They knew everything. If somebody was caught sleeping with their superior officer—the MP knew. If somebody was pirating virtual realities over MindWeb, the MP knew that too. Especially if they were naughty virtual realities. Not long ago, a spacer had smuggled his girlfriend aboard in a shuttle of supplies. Finally another stowaway! But the MP had known about that too, arrested the poor woman, and sent her back down to Earth.

They knew everything, and they talked. So Stowy liked coming here for a good dose of gossip. Sometimes she brought popcorn.

She found the right vent—right over the police station's galley. She peered through the grate. Three policemen sat at the metal table, sipping coffee and eating donuts. Perfect. Stowy popped in some kiwi-flavored bubble gum and settled down for a dose of gossip.

"… makes you see things," one policeman was saying. "Strange things."

"What the hell are you talking about, Howard?" said another MP.

Howard was pale. His cup shook as he sipped his coffee. "She put things in my brain. It was my job to put her in that prison cell. When I locked her up, I saw them. She made me see them. Boys with antlers and hooves. Girls with butterfly wings and strange green eyes."

The other cops roared with laughter.

"Howie, what the hell? Were you playing with the Disney VR channel on MindWeb again?"

"This wasn't MindWeb." Howard trembled. "It was her. The creature we reeled into the Freedom." His voice dropped to a whisper. "The woman with the spider body. The arachtaur."

The policemen all fell silent. Leaning over the vent, Stowy held her breath. For a moment the only sound came from the fresh coffee percolating.

Finally one cop broke the silence. "Hey, if she's both woman and spider, where does she, um … breed?"

Everyone groaned. Even Stowy.

"Why, Bob, you thinking of banging an arachtaur?"

"No! I'm just curious is all."

"Sure, sure."

"Hey, you guys were wondering the same thing. Admit it."

Everyone laughed. Someone went to get more coffee.

Stowy crawled away. She forgot all about fleas. Who cared about fleas when she could see an arachtaur?

* * * * *

Back down she went, sliding through the ductwork, moving deeper and deeper, all the way to the underbelly. Stowy liked it down here. Sometimes when she was tired of the world, she crawled to the bottom of the starship, laid on the hull, and listened to the engines humming. The underbelly was a place to hide away from the stress of life.

It was also close to the aerie, the pilot's lounge. Another perk.

But today Stowy wasn't heading to the aerie. Poker and beer could wait. Today she wanted to see a monster.

She knew where the brig was. Sometimes Stowy came here to visit prisoners and pass them snacks through the vents. Usually the prisoners were friends. Just spacers who got too drunk, punched an officer, and were dragged to a cell to sober up. Often, Stowy had been drinking with them in the first place. Thankfully, she was responsible. She only drank Shirley Temples.

Today she would find no friends here. Stowy crawled right over the regular prison cells, not even sparing them a glance. She headed toward the special cell. The big one built last year. The alien cell.

Regular cells were just bunks with a lock on the door. This cell was different. It was larger—big enough to contain rahs, and those creepy-crawlies grew big. The bulkheads were thick metal. The door was barred. Finally, a force field secured the whole place.

But Stowy was not deterred. Like any place on the Freedom, the alien cell had a ventilation grate. Which meant Stowy could go there.

It was strange that the ducts here were so filthy. You couldn't even see the aluminum walls. Just dirt and soil. Roots grew through the walls, and worms crawled and beetles scuttled. Stowy frowned. Why was she crawling underground?

She paused and looked at her hands. They were pink and tipped with tiny white claws. Mouse paws. She twitched her whiskers.

"Why am I a mouse?" she asked nobody in particular. But no actual words left her mouth. Only a squeak.

Well, this was certainly an interesting development. Stowy had no idea how this had happened. But she liked it. Who needed Algernon to solve mazes? She could become a star mouse herself! If she could only find her way back to the Freedom. Where was she?

"Excuse me!" said a fuzzy caterpillar, scuttling by on many feet, each foot wearing a red sneaker. The creature was the size of a python. But no, maybe not. Maybe it was a regular caterpillar and she was just very small. Its fur tickled her.

Stowy sneezed. Something smelled funny here. Her nose twitched. It smelled like worms and soil but also cinnamon and melted butter. She followed the smells, scurrying down the burrow until she reached a vent. A metal vent right here in the earthen crawlway. How bizarre.

She peered through, and she saw her.

The arachtaur.

There she was. Sleeping on a gossamer web.

Stowy gasped. The creature was beautiful. The spider body was not craggy and spiky like a rah. It was black and smooth and glimmering. It reminded Stowy of a big bubble of tar. The human half was graceful, curved, the color of mist on a summer morning, and her hair flowed like a moonlit river. How could such beauty be evil?

The prison cell vanished around the hybrid. Instead of metal bulkheads, Stowy saw earthen walls, coiling tree roots, and mushrooms. Fireflies shone in glass bulbs. This was a precious den deep underground, a place of wonder and secrets. Stowy pressed her face against the vent, gaping.

The arachtaur opened her eyes.

She stared right at Stowy.

Stowy lost her breath.

Those alien eyes blazed with ultraviolet fury. Eyes like stars. Eyes that grabbed the soul. That pierced the mind. Eyes that were portals.

In those eyes, Stowy saw ancient forests on a distant world. She saw spiders climbing, weaving, breeding. And she saw Earth. She saw Earth fallen, her cities lying in ruin. Skeletons lay on scorched landscapes as dust swirled like dancing demons, and strange hybrids moved through the wreckage, feeding on bones. The starship Freedom lay among the ruins, a charred husk full of skulls. The shadows of little girls danced. They had spider legs, and their giggles echoed the dead.

Stowy finally found her breath. She screamed.

The arachtaur smiled.

Stowy scurried back through the vent, a girl again, just a girl trapped in a duct. No more soil. No more mouse paws. Just a girl who had seen a monster. Tears flowed down her cheeks. She tasted the saltiness of her tears mixed with the bitter soot on her face.

"I have to get out of here," she whispered. "This is a bad place. A bad place." She covered her ears. "I don't want to hear the laughter."

As she crawled away, her hand touched something clammy.

Eww. What was this?

There were no nearby vents to shine light into this duct. Stowy pulled a flashlight from one pocket.

Eggs. Spherical eggs shone before her, soft and wet. They looked like fish eggs, but they were the size of baseballs. Stowy lifted one in her hand. The egg was soft and rubbery like holding an organ. Something squirmed inside.

She knew what this was. What it had to be.

"Arachtaur eggs," she whispered.

* * * * *

Stowy just lay on her belly, staring at the eggs inside the duct.

"Oh boy," she whispered. "Oh boy, oh boy. What do I do?"

Her heart pounded. Ideas raced through her mind. She could adopt the eggs, sit on them, nurse the young ones. Maybe they'd hatch and be good. Maybe she could train them. No. No! Stowy slapped herself.

"Remember the visions, stupid. Remember what you saw!"

Earth—in ruin. Baby arachtaurs—dancing and laughing and eating bones.

Stowy could not let that happen. Yes, she had fled Earth, but she still cared about her homeworld. Many animals lived on Earth. Millions of mice, maybe billions, not to mention all the lizards and fleas and axolotls. Stowy had always wanted a pet axolotl.

Oh, she should just crush these eggs. Or better yet—toss them into the reactor.

She held one egg in her hand. So soft. So slimy. The baby moved inside. Stowy could not see it, but she could feel the spider legs, the round human head. There was definitely a little arachtaur in there. How could she just toss it into the fire?

"Half that baby is a human," Stowy said. "But half is an animal. And I can't bear to harm an animal." She thought for a moment. "Oh, but the axolotls! What to do, what to do?"

This decision was too big for Stowy. She needed help. She needed to ask a grown-up. Okay, technically Stowy was (she had to count on her fingers again) nineteen now and a grown-up herself, but she still felt like a kid.

She emptied her pockets, creating a pile of jackstones, gemstones, dice, dry lizard tails, and sundries, some of which Stowy hadn't seen in years. Ooh, one of Niles's emeralds! Stowy had forgotten about grabbing that one. Once her pockets were empty, she began stuffing the eggs inside. One egg per pocket. It was all that fit.

She felt a bit ridiculous, all her pockets bulging and slimy, but saving the world wasn't always a graceful task. Stowy kept crawling through the tunnels. She knew who to ask for help. When the world was in danger, you called the marines.

And when you wanted to look for fleas. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.

She crawled faster than ever through the ductwork, not even pausing to grab a snack from the galley. Not even pausing to listen to the gossip in the gym locker room. The eggs squirmed inside her pockets, wriggling all over her. It felt like being pregnant with aliens. These babies were ready to hatch, and Stowy did not want that happening inside her pockets.

Yet even as she crawled so fast, Stowy couldn't help but overhear some chatter through the vents. People talking. Soldiers barking orders. Robots chirping. She ignored it all until a familiar voice broke through the chatter. She recognized the aristocratic English accent.

"Emily, I urge you to reconsider. You, the Queen of England, flying on a military mission? This is an outrage! Where is Admiral King? I demand to speak to him."

Stowy paused in the duct. She hurried toward a nearby vent and peered down into a hallway.

It was a typical midsection hallway, the deck made of diamond-plate steel, exposed pipes on the walls. Spacers bustled back and forth, barely squeezing through. Stowy preferred the ducts. It was much nicer up here.

The familiar voice sounded again. "Will nobody tell me where the admiral is? Somebody fetch me a servant!"

There he was! A football-shaped drone was flying down the corridor, worming his way between spacers. Jewels glinted on his silver casing. Everybody ignored him.

"Hey!" Stowy whispered. "Niles!"

The jeweled drone didn't notice her. He hovered toward a sergeant. "You! I order you to summon the admiral at once."

The sergeant was busy talking to a lieutenant. He waved Niles aside like a mosquito and kept walking. The poor drone slammed into a bulkhead. A ruby dislodged from his body and clattered across the deck.

"You scoundrel!" Niles cried after the sergeant. "I'll have you walk the plank for this."

"Hey, flying football!" Stowy said from the vent.

Niles looked up. His two camera lenses narrowed.

"You! The urchin! What do you want?" The drone looked away. "I suppose you've come to mock me, haven't you? Yes, yes, everyone laugh at fussy old Niles. Look at silly Niles, losing his jewels! Oh, I suppose fineries mean nothing to you. But in my day, an ounce of class was worth a pint of—"

"Niles, what's this about Emily flying off?" Stowy said.

"—and if you want to amount to anything in this world, you must learn to respect those who—"

"Niles!" Stowy shouted. "Is Emily going somewhere?"

The drone looked back up at her. His two cameras blinked like eyes. "Oh, you again. You're still here? Yes, yes, Emily is flying off in the Raven again. Some mission unfitting one of her class. I'm presently searching for the admiral, and I intend to give him a piece of my mind. Stowaway, I command you to lead me to Admiral King posthaste."

"Emily—flying off?" Stowy whispered. "Without me?"

"Certainly without you!" Niles said. "And don't you even think of sneaking into the Raven again. Last time was bad enough, and you nearly got us all killed. We don't want you, so stay here! Or better yet jump out an airlock and save us all some misery. Why, in my day, if an urchin sneaked into the palace for alms, we would …"

Stowy didn't stay to hear the rest. She was already crawling away through the duct, moving faster than ever. Emily, her best friend, flying off without her? How could she? Stowy placed a hand on her heart.

"Betrayed again!"

Stowy would have none of it. She would be on that spaceship, come heck or high water! She turned around and began crawling down a narrow duct, heading toward the hangar bay. If she hurried, she'd catch the Raven in time.

The eggs wriggled in her pockets. Oh right. The eggs!

Stowy paused, considering. She could rush over to the Raven and go on another adventure among the stars. Or she could do something about eggs full of baby monsters that could destroy mankind. Decisions, decisions.

She resumed crawling toward the Raven. Adventure it was.

No. No! She paused.

"Think of the axolotls, Stowy. They need you." She took a deep breath. "I'll do it quick. I can do both! I can totally save Earth and make my flight."

She made another turn, hurrying back toward the marine decks. When she passed by a way station with her favorite pillow and blanket, she didn't even stop for a nap. That was how serious she was.

Finally, out of breath, she reached deck 22. She had climbed the entire way from the underbelly. Considering that some decks were several stories tall, it was like climbing a skyscraper. Thankfully, there wasn't much gravity in the ductwork, and she had chosen ducts where the wind blew at her back. Still, it had been a schlep. She was pooped.

She reached Bastian's cabin and peered through the vent. He wasn't there. Dammit! Stowy crawled to another vent. The bathroom. Was Bastian there? Nope. She kept crawling until she reached the galley. She peered through the vent and saw a fridge, a table, a few chairs, and—

There he was! Eating again. As usual.

Stowy pulled a screwdriver from her hair, unscrewed the grate, and dropped from the deckhead into the galley.

Bastian leaped to his feet, overturning his bowl of cereal.

"Stowy! What are you doing?"

She looked at the spilled cereal. "Pots-o'-Gold. Nice. Ooh, the extra marshmallow edition!"

Bastian blushed. "Don't tell anyone I was eating it. Alice wants me to lose a few pounds, and—" He cleared his throat. "Stowy, what are you doing here?"

"Can't I visit my favorite marine?" she said. "Hey, got any peanut butter cookies around here?"

Bastian frowned. "Stowy, why is your dress bulging and … dripping?" He cringed.

"Oh right. I forgot." She gasped. "And I need to hurry! I have a flight to catch. Hey, can I borrow your cereal bowl?"

She grabbed the bowl, shook out the last drops of milk, and set it on the table. She began pulling arachtaur eggs from her pocket and plopping them into the bowl. They wriggled like baseballs made of jelly. There was enough room for them. Thankfully, Bastian liked eating from a big bowl.

"Dude, it's a serving bowl," Stowy muttered. "You use a serving bowl for cereal?"

"Stowy, what the hell is that?" he cried.

"They're eggs. I found them in the ducts." She dropped a few more into the bowl. "I think there are babies inside who are half human and half spider, and I like the spider half, but together they're really mean. I saw one, a grown one with purple hair, and she looked at me, and I got high or something, and I saw a future where Earth was in ruins, and the axolotl were extinct, and they're my favorite animal, and there were dancing babies everywhere eating bones!"

Bastian blinked at her. "What?"

She dropped the last egg into the bowl. "Gotta go! Have a flight to catch. Bye!"

As Bastian sputtered, lost for words, Stowy climbed onto the table, hopped into the air, and grabbed the vent. Soon she was scampering through the ducts again, sliding to the lower decks.

This had been a good day. A day of dreams and terrors, of secrets and dangers and wonder. Another day in her castle in the clouds. Another day in the life of Samantha "Stowy" Perry, a girl fleeing her past into the stars. And now it was time for another adventure.

CHAPTER THREE

Emily walked down the hallway, approaching the hangar deck. It was time for her mission. Time to fly out in the Raven and seek a lost civilization. She was ready.

Well, as ready as she was going to get.

There wasn't much time. The first Raven, which she had flown to Europa early in the war, had shattered under Tyranny's assault. It had taken QT three weeks to build a new Raven, a stealth ship even more sophisticated than the last one. Three weeks was remarkably fast when it came to building starships. But to Emily, it felt like an intolerable delay.

The arachtaurs were searching this system for the Aeolians too. Emily did not doubt that.

The Aeolians are the only species who ever won a war against the rahs, Emily thought. I must find them first. I must learn their secrets.

With Raven II ready to go, Emily hurried to get going. She had taken ten minutes to shower, washing off the grime of war, and put on a fresh uniform. She had spent ten more minutes stuffing a few critical belongings into her duffel bag. Another uniform. A towel—always take a towel with you into space. Some battle rations and ammunition. A med kit. That was about it. She was ready in twenty minutes. A bit slow for a soldier but lightning fast for royalty.

Niles had made a fuss. "What? You're not going to take your emerald tiara? That was a gift from the queen of Spain!"

"I said critical belongings only," Emily said, adding a canteen.

"Your emerald tiara is critical." Hovering in the air, Niles raised his nose. "It signifies royalty, dignity, strength under fire, and it's the only tiara that matches your ultramarine gown."

"You're going to love this, Niles. I'm not taking the gown either."

The drone nearly fainted.

So here Emily was, walking toward the hangar deck, a duffel bag across her back, an assault rifle hanging at her side. Darjeeling walked a step behind her. While Emily wore battle fatigues, Darjeeling had chosen to wear his service uniform. Emily couldn't recall ever seeing him in fatigues. Even in the midst of a brutal war, Darjeeling liked to dress up.

"Ma'am, are you sure I should not carry your duffel bag?" the old Englishman said.

"Quite sure," Emily said. "We're a thousand light-years from home. I'm far from my palaces and luxuries. I'm just a soldier here like anyone else. And I can carry my duffel bag." She winced and shifted the weight across her shoulder. "Though I do admit, it's quite heavy. Perhaps I overpacked."

"If anything, you packed too little," Niles said. The drone was hovering beside her, his jewels glittering. "I insist we return to your royal suite at once. We shall fill your royal luggage with the best luxuries England has to offer. I recommend taking a few framed paintings off the walls too. We'll need some art. Your manservant can carry it all."

"Niles!" Emily snapped. "Sergeant Major Darjeeling is an accomplished, senior NCO in the Alliance Fleet. He's not my manservant."

"Well, he should be."

Emily slung her rucksack strap over Niles. The floating drone dipped in the air, barely able to lift the heavy bag.

"You carry it," Emily said.

His motors hummed and he sputtered, too angry for proper words. But when Emily hurried onward across the deck, he followed, groaning under the weight.

Emily entered the hangar deck and froze.

Her heart pounded.

Oh God.

Niles floated into the hangar a moment later, grumbling to himself. "This duffel strap is chafing my jewels. I was built for elegant sophistication, not brute strength. Why should I be the one carrying this dirty sack while a perfectly good manservant is walking right behind me? I demand to speak to the admiral about the laziness of his common soldiery! I—" The drone froze. The rucksack slid off and clattered onto the deck. "What is that?"

Emily stared at it. She felt the blood drain from her cheeks. "I believe it's an alien ship."

It was shaped like a spider the size of a house. Spacers in hazmat suits stood on the dorsal hull, reaching through a hatch, and pulling out gooey cobwebs and strange curly tubes like umbilical cords. Bullet holes and plasma scars covered the bulkheads, even the deckhead far above.

"This must be the enemy ship they tugged in," Emily said. "There have been rumors of a strange prisoner aboard. A creature like a rah. But not a rah."

As an ensign, she was a low-ranking nobody. But as Queen of England, she possessed security clearance far above what her rank would suggest. Telepathically, she was able to connect to the security camera on the deckhead, rewind the tape, and watch it all.

The spiderwing landing. The hybrid emerging. The battle in the darkness and Alice finally subjugating the beast. Darjeeling, who had security clearance due to his higher rank, watched with her.

"What the devil is that thing?" Darjeeling whispered, watching the battle replay.

"What, what?" Niles said. "I demand to see too!"

The drone didn't have a MindLink, so Emily described it to him.

"It's some kind of centaur," she said. "Just instead of being half horse, it's half spider."

A voice rose behind her. "Arachtaurs. That's what we've been calling them."

Emily spun around. A woman approached her. Emily recognized her from a recent meeting in the war room. Meytal Koren. Spitfire's half sister.

Meytal still wore her shabby olive drabs, the knees torn, the top button missing on the shirt. Her smile was as crooked as her beret. Rifles, grenade launchers, even a katana hung across her back, the hilts and muzzles sticking out every which way. She looked like some deranged cyborg peacock sent back in time to destroy humanity. Five chevrons adorned her sleeves. She was a master sergeant, an NCO just one rank below Darjeeling. Impressive. Meytal seemed to be in her late twenties, thirty at most. She had been climbing the ranks fast.

"Arachtaurs, huh?" Emily said. "Bit of a cheesy name. In the security footage, the creature described herself as a rahda. Half spider. Half human."

Meytal shrugged. "Eh, rahda doesn't have the same ring to it. I'm sticking with arachtaurs." She held out her hand to Emily. "Nice to finally meet ya properly, Queenie. I'll be joining you on your quest to find the Aeolians. I have black belts in jujitsu, karate, and Krav Maga—none of which I ever have to use, because I carry enough weapons to conquer a small country. I'm here as your muscle."

Emily smiled. "I'm glad to have you. If we meet any arachtaurs on the way, they won't know what hit them."

Niles floated toward the Israeli commando. "Carry this rucksack."

"Quiet about the rucksack or I'll stuff you into it!" Emily said.

"Good," Niles muttered. "At least I won't have to carry it anymore."

They walked across the deck and around the captured spiderwing. The FAS Raven waited at the back of the hangar. It indeed looked like a raven, black and angular and proud. Like the spiderwing, the Raven had no exhaust port. It used a graviton-propulsion system, one of the only human vessels to use one. This not only made the Raven incredibly fast and agile, it also reduced her heat signature. The Raven was a stealth ship.

Emily thought back to a year ago. Back during the darkest days of the war. She had flown the original Raven under the ocean of Europa, one of Jupiter's moons. She had found a lab there. A place of terrors. A lair where alien scientists bred rah and human hybrids. All those experiments had failed. The hybrids had all died, and the Alliance had bombed the lab down to atoms.

But somewhere, the rahs surely had another lab. A lab where they managed to breed a successful hybrid. An arachtaur.

Emily shuddered. In the footage, just one arachtaur had wreaked havoc upon an entire marine platoon. What would an army of them do?

They began loading their supplies into the Raven. Their duffel bags. A crate full of more battle rations. Tanks of water and oxygen. Several bay drones hovered about, helping stock the ship. They were boxy little robots that floated through the air, lifting things with retractable winches. When one drone approached Niles and handed him an oxygen tank, the royal drone flitted away and hid behind Emily.

"Ghastly machines," Niles said. "Why must I suffer the proximity of working drones? They should do their work overnight so that upper-class drones like myself needn't see them."

"Quiet or I'll strip off your jewels and you can join them," Emily said.

Finally the Raven was loaded. Darjeeling sat in the cockpit and began running through some final tests. He would be flying. Emily remained for a moment on the deck, looking around her. Her eyes settled on the spiderwing, which stood across the hangar. The Tyranny could launch hundreds of them, according to MindWeb's archive footage. Maybe millions more were lurking in the shadows.

"Empress Skel'rah is breeding an army of arachtaurs," Emily said. "I'd wager my crown on it. Oh, Niles, we must find the Aeolians before the arachtaurs attack Earth. Or we'll lose our world."

In a rare moment of compassion, the drone nuzzled her. "We'll find them, Emily. And hopefully, we'll find my missing emerald. It fell off this morning. It's somewhere aboard the Freedom. I had to replace it with a topaz." He shuddered. "I feel like a peasant."

* * * * *

Emily was just about to enter the Raven when the bay boss stepped forward, tool belt jangling, and let out a deafening cry.

"Open airlock!"

Emily started. Not only because Eun-Yu's voice was so loud. And for a petite Korean woman, she had a very loud voice. There was a shuttle flying in.

Another spiderwing? Was the Freedom trying to capture another? Would there be another battle? But soon Emily breathed a sigh of relief. The shuttle that flew in was white, graceful, and clearly from Earth. Civilian too. No armor. No guns. The flag of India appeared on the hull. A silver symbol vaguely shaped like a lotus adorned the prow. Emily recognized it. The symbol of Mahatrism, one of Earth's newest and fastest-growing religions.

The shuttle taxied across the deck and halted by the Raven. A hatch opened, and out stepped a monk in yellow robes.

He was a young man, not yet thirty, with curly dark hair. A silver lotus hung from his necklace. He pressed his hands together and bowed to Emily.

"May every breath bring you peace, kindness, and love." He straightened. "My name is Arav. I'll be joining you on your quest."

"Ah yes." Emily pressed her hands together and bowed back. "You must be the diplomat. Peace, kindness, and love to you too. I'm Emily."

Emily, born and raised an Anglican, didn't know much about Mahatrism. Hopefully she wasn't messing it up.

Arav smiled. "Thank you most kindly, Emily. Yes, I know that many call us diplomats. I prefer to think of myself a humble monk, seeking a connection with all living beings. There is a great language to the cosmos. We monks seek to understand it. We cannot speak it well. But we've begun to decipher its whispers. And to whisper back."

Emily shuddered. "It sounds like that Great Cosmic Web the rahs speak of." She blushed. "I'm sorry if I offended you. I don't mean to suggest Mahatrism is anything like Ishar, the faith of the spiders."

"I'm not offended." Arav kept smiling. "The rahs too are threads in the great tapestry of cosmic life. They are my brothers and sisters, for they too speak the language of the universe. We are all one."

"But the rahs are evil!" Emily said. "How can you call them brothers and sisters?"

"Evil?" Arav said. "No life is evil. There are simply living beings who do evil things. Living beings who suffer. Their suffering leads them to anger. From there the path to cruelty is short. Only with peace, kindness, and love can we cure the cosmos of evil."

"I prefer shooting evil in the face," Emily muttered, patting her assault rifle.

Arav laughed. "I look forward to many theological debates, Emily. But now we must begin our journey. We'll find the Aeolians. And we'll learn to speak their language."

* * * * *

"Airlock—open!"

Eun-Yu's cry echoed through the hangar bay. The airlock hatch hummed open yet again. This time a ship was leaving.

The Raven slid out the airlock, her graviton engine purring. The stealthy little ship glided into the darkness, barely making a sound, emitting and reflecting no light. A shadow.

Darjeeling was busy piloting the ship, tapping buttons and adjusting dials. Emily rode shotgun. The Israeli commando and Indian monk sat in the hold. That was the entire crew. Just the four of them. Five if you counted Niles—which nobody but Emily ever did, and even she sometimes forgot. Not many people. And they had to somehow save the human species. No pressure, right?

Emily winced. At least they were a good team. Right?

"Where's the powder room?" Niles said. "No, I don't mean that little tin toilet in the closet. I demand a proper powder room so that I may polish my jewels."

"Somebody shut that flying football up, or I'll flush it down the little tin toilet," Meytal said.

Niles bristled. "I'd like to see you try, scoundrel."

"Please, everyone," said Arav. "Some peace, love, and kindness will turn those frowns upside—"

"Shut up!" both Meytal and Niles snapped at the monk.

Emily sighed. The human race was doomed.

She settled back in her seat and looked out the front viewport, seeking some distraction.

The Freedom had flown here with a fleet. But three mighty ships had fallen. The Wandering Sun, the Nigerian energy ship, the only human ship that could open portals. The Caracal, a small and deadly Israeli warship. The Kuroko, a Japanese science vessel. All three had fallen to the Tyranny. Emily lowered her head, remembering their brave crews.

Aside from the Freedom, only the Mahatma remained. The Indian ship flew farther back, a graceful starship shaped like a lotus. A reactor shone in her center, encased within a transparent globe. A graceful hull spread from the reactor like petals, each petal serving as another deck. The Freedom was purely functional, nothing ornamental about her. She existed to fight, and how she looked didn't matter. But the Mahatma was a work of art.

Emily looked at the rearview monitor. The beloved Freedom hovered behind her.

She was hurt. She was hurt badly. The damage had seemed catastrophic from inside. From outside it seemed worse.

The Tyranny had done a number on her. The Freedom's midsection had been carved open from deck 12 all the way up. Kim and her engineers had worked around the clock, scavenging scrap metal, bulkheads, anything they could find inside the ship, then patching up the hull. The enormous breach was finally sealed, covered with a crude patchwork of iron. But the starboard cannons were gone. The legendary Angels of Liberty had cracked and wilted. They would not be firing again without a few good weeks in a shipyard, and the closest shipyard was a thousand light-years away. One Angel had even detached and floated off into space. The starboard thrusters were gone too. Blown away. Forget about making left turns anytime soon. Half the sensors had been shattered too. The ship was blind on her starboard side.

But that was only physical damage. Worse by far was the loss. The terrible death toll. So many heroes were gone.

Emily did not know everyone aboard the Freedom. Her full complement was ten thousand spacers, too many for one person to know. But she knew many by name. Many more by face. She had eaten with them, prayed with them, laughed with them, wept with them. Hundreds had fallen battling the Tyranny. Hundreds of men and women who would never fly home. Sitting here in the Raven, Emily whispered a prayer for them.

Surprising herself, she clenched her fists. Rage flowed through her.

"We must destroy the Tyranny," she said. "For what she did—we must!"

The monk Arav looked at her in concern. But Meytal raised her fist. "Hell yeah! We will, don't you worry."

Darjeeling was more restrained. He didn't raise his fist, didn't raise his voice. He kept staring ahead and spoke seemingly to himself. "We will. Oh, we will."

Then the mustached sergeant shoved down the thruster. The Raven streaked ahead, leaving the Freedom behind, heading into the depths of the alien star system.

CHAPTER FOUR

"Now what the hell was that girl talking about?" Bastian muttered.

He stood at the galley, staring at the bowl of eggs. Stowy was gone, leaving a trail of slime and this bowl of oddities. Bastian leaned closer, frowning at the wet spheres. Something was wriggling inside.

"Ugh." Bastian covered his mouth. "What the hell, Stowy?"

The girl had blathered on about magical fairies or this or that. Bastian could not understand half of what Stowy said at the best of times. And today she had seemed downright nonsensical. Sometimes Bastian wanted to wring her neck.

He sighed. That wasn't fair. Stowy was an odd bird, but it wasn't her fault. Autism was never easy, and Stowy also carried a burden of trauma. According to ship gossip, a burglar had murdered her parents, maybe even hurt Stowy too. She had ended up on the streets, finally stowing away on the Freedom to escape her pain on Earth.

No, Bastian couldn't stay mad at the girl. Crazy or not, Stowy had suffered enough for several lifetimes.

But dammit, Bastian wanted some answers. What in God's name were these pulsing, disgusting eggs in his cereal bowl?

He tried to contact Stowy via MindWeb, then remembered that she was a stowaway, not a soldier. She didn't have a neural implant. Okay, so he'd simply find her in the ductwork. He climbed onto the tabletop and tried to reach the vent. The table wobbled dangerously under him; he easily weighed twice as much as Stowy. He managed to catch the grate, only to rip it off. He crashed onto the table, shattering it.

For a moment, Bastian lay on the deck, groaning. Stupid. The bowl had overturned again. The eggs lay across the deck. One of them was twitching.

Well, Stowy was gone, along with any answers she might have. Even if Bastian could reach the vent, he was too big to squeeze inside. Maybe Alice was right. He did need to lose a few pounds. Well, there was no danger of him eating those eggs, Bastian could tell you that.

His MindLink chimed.

Alice materialized in the galley.

"Hey, Bas! Get your ass down to the Courtyard. Um—" Alice looked around. "What the hell happened here?"

Bastian sat there on the floor, surrounded by eggs. The table lay broken beside him. Alice was not physically there. It was just a MindWeb hallucination. But Bastian had preapproved her for visual cortex sharing. When she connected to his neural implant, she saw what he saw. Ah, the joys of marriage in the age of telepathy. Your wife saw everything. The days of hiding out in the pub were over.

"Stowy," he said. "Stowy happened."

Alice grimaced, looking at the eggs. "What are those things?"

"Octopus balls. They're a delicacy in Europe. Want one?"

"I'm pregnant. Don't tempt me. Bas, you better get down here. I'm training Lightning Brigade in Krav Maga, and a private broke his leg."

Bastian shoved himself to his feet and began collecting the eggs back into the bowl. "So? Some nanobots will have him running around again by the weekend. Call a medic, not me."

"I did, but apparently little Private Henderson is the nephew of a congressman. And he's threatening to raise hell and shut the whole brigade down."

Bastian reached under the chair for another egg. "Send him to the brig then."

"I can't! He has a broken leg. Aren't you listening? And he won't go with the medic. Oh great, now the medic just walked off. Bas, I can't handle this now, I swear. I—"

"Fine, fine." He groaned. "I'll be right there, babe. Hold on."

"You better hurry. I'm pregnant, I'm pissed off, and I'm pretty."

He frowned. "What's pretty got to do with it?"

"Nothing. I just needed to complete the alliteration." She blew him a kiss. "Love ya, babe. Get over here within five minutes, or I'll murder you in your sleep."

Her apparition vanished.

Bastian looked at the bowl of eggs. At least they had stopped wriggling. He'd figure out what these were later. Right now he needed to save a damsel in distress. A six-foot-tall, Olympic wrestling space marine damsel, that was. But a damsel nonetheless. He opened the fridge, shoved the bowl of eggs inside, and rushed out the galley.

Ten minutes later, he was arguing with Private Henderson about where he could shove his uncle, and he forgot all about stowaways and strange wriggling eggs.

* * * * *

The galley was empty.

Marshmallow cereal lay on the deck. The fluorescent light flickered. For a long time, nothing happened. All the marines were in their bunks or training in the Courtyard. The galley remained empty.

But not for long.

Inside the fridge, the eggs wriggled in their bowl. If anyone opened the fridge and listened carefully, they might hear the faint squeals.

One egg cracked.

A hand reached out from inside. A human hand. It looked like the pink hand of a fetus. It was barely larger than a Q-tip.

A leg tore through the egg next. A gleaming black spider leg. A leg like a hook, sharp and clawed.

The egg tumbled out the bowl and landed on the fridge shelf, knocking over a carton of milk. The little hand, still sticking out the gooey shell, pawed around blindly. Slender fingers, barely larger than grains of uncooked rice, grabbed onto the first thing they found. It happened to be a cherry tomato.

The hands tightened, piercing the tomato's skin, then yanked back hard.

The tomato vanished into the shell. Slurping, gurgling voices sounded from inside. Then a squeal. The creature within was still hungry.

More eggs cracked open. More little hands emerged. Tiny clawed legs pattered across the fridge shelves. Little teeth, no larger than commas in a paperback novel, ripped into fruit. Into cheese. Into chunks of raw meat. They liked the meat best.

The fridge rattled. Squeaks and screeches echoed inside. The little creatures feasted . . . and grew.

* * * * *

Corporal Nigel White, Lightning Battalion, Freedom Brigade, couldn't sleep that night.

How could anyone sleep at a time like this?

They were lost in deep space, a thousand light-years from home. They had no way back. A merciless dreadnought was hunting them. They were all going to die, more likely than not. As if that wasn't bad enough, young Nigel was suffering from a bad fungal infection.

It was in, um . . . a rather private place. Nigel wasn't about to tell anyone. Not even a doctor. Somebody would find out. The news would spread through his squad, then his platoon, finally the entire brigade. And for all eternity, Nigel would be known as Mushroom Crotch. He'd rather suffer silently.

He lay in bed, staring at the bunk above him. He missed Kansas.

He was nineteen years old, and he had never imagined himself fighting a war. Let alone in space. Then the rahs had invaded. Then the world burned. Then they drafted pretty much everyone of fighting age, boys and girls alike. And here he found himself, a year later, crammed into a cabin with five other grunts.

The room was about the size of his closet back in Kansas. The small closet. The one downstairs. Not the fancy closet in the master bedroom. An actual walk-in closet? That would be a luxury aboard the good starship Freedom. The cabin was so small there wasn't even room for beds. Bunks folded down from the walls. Bunks? They were just shelves with mattresses no thicker than a pancake. Here they lived, six men per room. Three bunks per wall, one atop the other. The Freedom was a big ship, but ten thousand spacers served here. It got crowded.

Nigel had the middle bunk. The worst possible one. The top bunk was luxurious. Nobody rolling around and farting above you all night. The bottom bunk was at least easy to get in and out of. The middle bunk was purgatory. He was trapped between heaven and hell.

This war was hell.

The battles he had fought were hell.

Oh God. Here came the memories again. The rahs charging across the fields of Kansas, ripping up the crops, devouring the livestock. Him, Private Nigel White, standing on a barricade, firing his gun. Holding them back. Later on, they told him that he had killed seventeen rahs. With one rifle. Some kind of Kansas record, they said. Nigel remembered none of it. He had been screaming in terror, eyes closed, throughout the battle.

But they gave him a medal. And they promoted him to corporal. And they sent him to join the Freedom Brigade.

Apparently, the Freedom Brigade had lost half its troops. Twice. They kept resupplying the brigade from Earth's best. Again and again. What could go wrong?

Nigel sighed. A lot, evidently. Such as getting transported to another star system with no way back and a psychotic, spider-shaped alien warship hunting them. That kind of wrong.

Ah shit. Now his crotch was itching again.

Nope, Corporal Nigel White was getting no sleep tonight.

He loaded an animated photo of his girlfriend on his MindLink. Zoe smiled at him, freckles on her nose, flowers strewn through her red hair. She blew him a kiss.

"I miss you, sweetheart," he whispered. "I miss you so much."

A tear rolled down his cheek. He cried most nights. Many of the troops did. They thought nobody knew. They cried silently into their pillows. But they all knew. They all had their ghosts.

He closed the file, closed his eyes, and tried again to sleep.

He saw the rahs clambering through the fields.

He saw his friends fall. Boys he had grown up with. Torn apart like they were just meat for the grinder. He saw the spiders smile. The aliens could actually smile, and they mocked him.

To hell with this. Nigel hopped off his bunk, landed on the deck, and left the cabin. If he couldn't sleep, at least he wouldn't lie there in his own sweaty misery.

He shuffled down the corridor, barefoot, wearing only boxer shorts and a faded red T-shirt. They let the soldiers sleep with pajamas from home. A little perk for the space marines. The luxuries never ended here aboard the starship Freedom.

Sometimes Nigel regretted firing his rifle that day in the fields. Sometimes he wished he had died with his friends. He didn't know why he had survived while they had not. Why he lingered on while they lay underground. If only they could see him now—a space marine. A wreck.

If not for Zoe, he would have blown his brains out. But Zoe was alive. She was beautiful, and she was waiting for him. A lump filled his throat, and fresh tears dampened his eyes.

"I'm going to make it out of this alive, Zoe," he whispered. "I promise. I'll survive this war, and I'll come home to you. We'll get married. We'll buy a house, fill it with dogs and kids, and I'll finally write my novel. I miss you."

He wandered into the galley, and his stomach rumbled.

He was hungry. Despite everything, he was actually hungry.

It seemed so trivial. Such a minor thing—hunger. How could he think about food when the galaxy was burning and his life was falling apart?

He had not eaten last night. He had felt too sick for food. As marines filled the mess around him, tucking in, Nigel had picked at his food. But despite the grief, the terror, and the goddamn fungal infection, his hunger caught up with him. A man could grieve. A man could cry. But a man still had to eat.

Hell, maybe a meal would make him sleepy. What were the odds he'd find some turkey and wine in the galley? Slim to none, but even a battle ration might help now. At least eating would give him something to focus on. Maybe if his stomach shut up, his brain would too.

He shuffled across the galley and opened the fridge door.

For a moment, he just stood there and stared.

The creatures inside the fridge stared back.

Nigel's arms fell to his sides.

"What the hell?" he whispered.

This was a dream. He was asleep on his bunk. It had to be a dream.

Several creatures stood on the fridge shelves. They were no larger than cats. But they were clearly not adorable felines. Each thing had the body of a spider, black and bulbous, with eight smooth black legs. That was bad enough. But it got worse. Much worse.

Instead of a spider's thorax, each creature sprouted the upper body of a baby. A human baby. Complete with baby arms and baby heads. Not adorable little bundles of joy either. These were hideous things, their skin gray and veined, their eyes pure black. There was no white to their eyes. Just black staring orbs.

They were all looking right at him.

They opened their mouths, revealing fangs.

"Nope!" Nigel said.

He slammed the fridge door shut and turned to run.

The fridge door burst open.

Something landed on his back. Claws gripped his shoulders. Baby hands grabbed his cheeks and ripped his skin.

Nigel let out a wet, gurgling scream as they tore his cheeks from mouth to molars. Another creature leaped from the ceiling, landed on his head, and sank its teeth in. Claws grabbed his legs. Little fingers tugged his eyelids. Nigel pitched forward and hit the deck.

They covered him. Biting. Flaying. Feasting. Nigel saw one of the creatures gnawing on a bone. His bone.

When they took his eyes, Nigel tried to think of Zoe. But at the end, as his life slipped away, he could not remember her face.

CHAPTER FIVE

The FAS Raven flew into space, leaving the Freedom far behind. She was small, silent, and stealthy. A ship like a shadow, reflecting no light, emitting no heat. A ghost.

The Raven was barely larger than a shuttle. Only a handful of people squeezed inside her. But the hopes of mankind rested upon her crew. They were a thousand light-years from home. They were alone in the dark. And they had to save the world.

"Well, isn't this peachy," Niles said. "Again, I find myself stuck in this rusty bucket of bolts, flying to certain death."

Emily frowned. "Um, Niles, you've flown to certain death before? And survived to tell the tale?"

"Barely. And no thanks to you." Niles huffed and looked away. If he had arms, the drone would have crossed them.

Emily sighed. "Niles, we're doing this to save humanity."

"If you haven't noticed, I'm not human. And a good thing too. A miserable lot you are. Too noble for your own good. Not to mention that you're crawling with germs. I say we turn back now. It's not too late to return to the Freedom. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I actually prefer that hulking monstrosity to this little death trap."

"Niles!" Emily spun the drone back toward her. "Look at me, Niles. We have to find the Aeolians. They're the only ones who know how to defeat the rahs."

"Oh, what good would it do?" Niles said. "We're lost in space anyway. Good luck flying back to Earth without a portal generator. It's a thousand light-years away. At the speed of the Freedom, it would take a hundred thousand years to fly back." He huffed. "Oh, you humans have nothing to worry about, of course. You'll all die within a few decades. But I'll live for those hundred thousand years! Doomed to roam the wretched, rusty halls of the Freedom for eras upon eras. Alone. My only entertainment will be watching your bones crumble to dust."

Emily bit her lip. "You do have a point there, Niles."

"The Mimori units might survive," Niles droned on. "But they're absolutely dreadful. No class at all. By the end, they'll have driven me mad. And when we finally do arrive at Earth, what do you think will await us? A wasteland! Nothing but a ruined dystopia, swarming with whatever wretched form you apes will evolve into next. No, thank you. Oh, why did I ever agree to join this foolish quest? I could have—"

"Niles! Enough!" Emily shook him. "Be hopeful for once. If the Aeolians defeated the rahs in battle, they're clearly a highly advanced species. They might know how to open portals. Or maybe Kim will figure it out. We won't be lost here forever."

He narrowed his camera lenses. "Who's Kim?"

Emily sighed. "Colonel Kim Fletcher, the chief engineer aboard the Freedom, one of the starship's senior commanders. No? Doesn't ring a bell?"

Niles snorted. "Oh, all you humans are the same to me. Some of you apes live on a higher branch of the proverbial tree. But at the end of the day, you all look like hairy simians to a sophisticated drone like myself."

Master Sergeant Meytal Koren sat nearby in the Raven's hold, her feet on their little coffee table. The Israeli commando wore olive battle fatigues, leather boots, and a helmet with the words WAR IS HEAVEN scrawled across it with a marker. Her brown hair hung across her shoulder in a braid. She bit into an apple. It crunched.

"Is the drone always like this?" Meytal asked. "I can shoot it if you like."

She drew a handgun from her boot, twirled it around her finger, then aimed it at the drone.

Niles yelped and hid behind Emily.

"It's all right," Emily said. "He means well. He's just a little fussy."

Meytal spat out an apple seed. "My mother is a little fussy. Your drone is a neurotic basket case."

Niles peeked from behind Emily's back. "Stop spitting on the deck, miscreant. And take your dirty feet off the table. This isn't your house."

When Meytal aimed the gun at him again, he squealed and rushed back to hiding.

Darjeeling was in the cockpit, flying the Raven. The others—Emily, Meytal, and Arav—sat in the Raven's hold. The cabin was smaller than Emily's shoe closet back home. Four bunks could fold down from the inner hull at night. Right now they were folded up.

The place was cluttered. Meytal had scattered her weapons everywhere. There were assault rifles, knives, a compound bow and arrows, a grenade launcher, and a samurai sword. The rest of the crew had unpacked their own supplies. Snacks, bottles of water (and booze), blankets, pillows, a teddy bear, shoes, and other sundries—they were everywhere. Somebody had even stretched a clothesline across the hold. Socks and underwear were drying there. Nearby rose a pile of laundry so large Emily could probably hide inside. For only four people, they had a lot of stuff.

Emily had once watched a documentary about the Electric Ladybugs, her favorite classic rock band. A camera crew had joined their tour bus back in the mid-twenty-first century. That's what the hull of the Raven reminded her of. A cluttered, sweaty tour bus. She had to admit. She rather liked it. She had grown up in splendor, a pampered princess in a palace. Then she had joined the military and had lived a spartan life. This place was neither luxurious nor spartan. Niles was miserable, of course, but he was always miserable. To Emily, it was perfect.

Emily herself had not unpacked yet. She looked at her duffel bag. It lay in the corner, bulging, tightly sealed. Emily winced and rubbed her shoulder. Carrying the duffel bag into the Raven had left her with sore muscles and aching bones. Clearly she had overpacked. She tried to live humbly like a common soldier. But she was a royal after all. Overpacking came naturally to her. Breaking old habits was hard.

She decided to contribute to the clutter. Why not? She untied the knot sealing her duffel back.

Jeweled treasures spilled onto the deck. A golden candelabra. A bronze bust of King Robert III. A crown and scepter. Gilded dinner plates. Even a silver horse studded with emeralds and sapphires.

Emily's eyes widened. "I don't remember packing all this." She spun around and placed her hands on her hips. "Niles!"

The drone was fussing over something in the corner, his back toward her.

"Niles," she repeated, tapping her foot. "Look at me. Is this your doing?"

He floated toward her, nose raised. "Well, I had to add a few basic necessities."

"Niles!" She rubbed her shoulder. "I nearly broke my back carrying all this."

"Your manservant should have carried it." Niles glared toward the cockpit, where Darjeeling was flying the ship.

"You shouldn't have filled my duffel bag with trifles."

"Trifles?" The drone bristled. "These are the crown jewels of England. They are priceless artifacts symbolizing the eternal glory of our kingdom. They are not trifles. Well, maybe the crystal trifle dish comes close. But certainly not the rest."

She heaved a sigh. "Maybe not. I apologize for calling them trifles. But in any case, they're unnecessary for this expedition."

"On the contrary. They are essential. This shuttle needs a bit of class." The drone extended a little arm, lifted a golden plate, and placed it on the coffee table. He glanced at Meytal, then back at Emily. "When is your maid serving dinner?"

Meytal leaped forward, grabbed the drone like a football, and shoved him into the duffel bag. Niles squirmed and cried out from inside. Meytal sat on the duffel bag, a smile on her face.

"That's better."

* * * * *

With Niles packed away, things became more peaceful aboard the Raven. They all sat quietly, everyone retreating into their own thoughts.

Then something happened that shocked Emily.

Meytal—this tough, crude, rude warrior—began to cry. Sitting on the duffel bag, she seemed to stare a thousand yards away. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Emily frowned and took a step closer. "Meytal, are you—?"

Meytal leaped up, rubbed her eyes, and said, "You know what we need? A good poker game to pass the time."

Emily blinked. The transformation was so fast it spun her head. Had she imagined Meytal crying?

"Well, you in?" Meytal said, hands on her hips. Her eyes were now dry. Maybe Emily had imagined it all.

"I played poker once," Emily said. "Spitfire taught me actually."

Meytal laughed. "Ha! So you'll be easy to beat. My sister is the worst player I've ever met." She rose off the duffel bag, rummaged through her things, and found a pack of cards.

Emily felt herself blush. "Well, she always beat me. But all right. We can play a few rounds."

"You will do no such thing." Niles flew out the duffel bag, covered with lint. "You are the Queen of England. You represent class, sophistication, and dignity. I perhaps shall allow some parlor games after high tea. But you shall certainly not gamble with the common class, least of all an ill-tempered—"

Meytal tossed dirty underwear on him. They draped over the drone.

"Get back into the bag," Meytal said.

The drone wailed. "I've been defiled! Oh, where is the disinfecting shower? I'm covered with germs! Horrible human germs!"

He flew blindly, the underwear covering his cameras, and banged into the hull twice. Finally he disappeared into the stern. Meytal laughed uproariously, and even Emily couldn't stifle a giggle.

"Hey, Arav!" Meytal tossed her apple core over the mountain of laundry. "Yo! Earth to Arav! Wanna join the game? We need another player."

The monk rose from behind the laundry pile. He wore his yellow robes, and his lotus pendant rested against his chest. His expression was serene, but Emily caught a slight twitch to his eye.

"I'm trying to meditate," he said.

"Was trying," Meytal said. "Now it's playtime."

Arav took a deep breath and smoothed his robes. His lips moved silently. He seemed to be counting down from ten.

"Perhaps, instead of playing poker, you would like to join me in a loving-kindness meditation? We will reflect about how we can be kinder, more loving, more peaceful."

Meytal blinked at him, then burst out laughing. "I'm not kind. I'm not loving. And I'm certainly not peaceful." She gave her handgun another twirl. "Come on, play with us, Monky! Show us what you got."

Arav pursed his lips. He seemed to be counting down silently again. Then he smiled. "You may call me Baba Arav. Or simply Arav. I prefer you do not refer to me as Monky, if that's all right with you."

"Whatever ya say, Bubs." Meytal pulled a deck from her pocket. "It's poker time."

She began to deal the cards across the coffee table. Emily sat down to play. Arav just stood there, looking uncertain.

Then the pile of laundry spoke. "I want to play."

Emily started. Meytal leaped to her feet and aimed her handgun. Back in the stern, Niles wailed. Apparently the drone had been spying in addition to sulking.

"An arachtaur!" Niles cried. "Shoot it, shoot it!"

"Please don't," said the pile of laundry. A grimy face emerged from under some shirts. "It's me, Stowy."

"Shoot it, shoot it!" Niles said.

The laundry shifted. Shirts and pants spilled across the deck. Out from the pile emerged Stowy.

"Don't shoot me please. I just added some new pockets to my dress, and I'd hate to get bullet holes in them."

As always, she wore her ragged dress of many pockets. The pockets were just patches of fabric she had sewn on. Each pocket featured another color and pattern. The girl still wore only one stocking, her other foot was bare, and her hair looked like a bird's nest. The brown strands stuck everywhere and spilled across her elfin face.

Emily sighed. "Stowy! What are you doing here?"

The girl curtsied. "'Ello, Your Majesty. I'm doing what I always do. Stowing away!"

"Clearly," Emily said. "Silly of me to ask."

Stowy flopped herself down by the table. "So, what are we playing? Texas Hold 'Em? Five Card Stud?" She plucked a sock off her shoulder, sniffed it, cringed, and tossed it aside. "Hey, anyone got some peanut butter cookies around here?"

A mouse fled from one of her pockets and scurried to the stern. Niles's cry of dismay filled the little ship.

"I'll leave you all to play," Emily said. "I'd like to spend some time in the cockpit."

Arav glanced at Meytal, who was twirling her handgun, and at Stowy, who was picking something out of her ear. It looked like bubble gum covered with mouse fur. The monk looked at Emily entreatingly.

"Please don't leave me with them," he whispered.

She smiled at him apologetically. "Teach them some loving—kindness. They could use it."

Arav winced. "It would be the challenge of a lifetime."

"A dirty rat!" Meytal suddenly shouted, pointed her handgun at the deck, and fired a pulse of energy. A mouse squeaked and scurried away. A dent smoldered on the deck.

"Don't you shoot Mr. Algernon!" Stowy said. "He's my best friend. And he's not a rat. Though he is a little dirty. That's just because he rides around in my pockets. Speaking of pockets …" She reached across the table and rubbed Meytal's fatigues. "Lovely fabric. Think you can spare a square? It would make a killer new pocket."

Meytal drew a knife. "Cut my uniform and I cut your hand."

Stowy gulped and walked toward Arav. She began caressing his robes. "Hey, you've got some nice fabric yourself. Spare a square?"

Stifling a smile, Emily entered the cockpit and closed the door behind her.

* * * * *

Sergeant Major Oliver Darjeeling sat at the helm, confidently piloting the Raven through the depths of space. Meytal was rough, Stowy was shabby, and Arav was ascetic. But Darjeeling? He was all elegance. As always, the aging sergeant wore his meticulous service uniform, its buttons and clasps polished to a sheen. His white mustache was neatly trimmed and combed, every hair in place like a soldier.

Emily, who wore simple fatigues, suddenly felt underdressed. And it was rare for the Queen of England to feel underdressed.

But I'm not the queen here, she thought. Here I'm a simple ensign in the Free Alliance Fleet. A soldier on a mission. Nothing more and nothing less. To me the honor of a soldier is honor enough.

She smoothed her uniform and sat beside Darjeeling.

The sergeant tipped his hat. "Good evening, Your Majesty. Would you like some tea?"

"I would love some. Sit down, Mr. Darjeeling! I'll make my own. Later. I just came to watch the stars for a while."

He settled back in his seat. "Of course, ma'am."

Emily sighed internally. She could tell herself all day long that she was just a lowly ensign. But even here, a thousand light-years from home, Darjeeling was a true Englishman, and she was his queen.

He kept flying, and she relaxed in the seat beside him, gazing at the starscape.

"It's beautiful, innit?" Darjeeling said softly. "Even here God paints the cosmos with his brush."

Emily sighed, this time for real. "I wish I had your faith. When I see all the death, all the millions who perished in this war, when I see the despair, the grief, the parents mourning their dead children, the orphans roaming the world … I wonder. Sometimes I wonder whether God abandoned humanity. Sometimes I wonder whether he ever existed at all."

Darjeeling nodded. He spoke softly. "I often wonder the same thing. I too am filled with doubts. But I keep coming back to him. I don't know why, but I still sense God in this grand, strange cosmos. And for all the evil that is out there, for all the darkness and despair, I sense that he is good. That he looks after us. Don't ask me to explain it, ma'am. I can't. It's a feeling in my heart that I can no more deny than its beating."

Emily gazed at the starlight. "I don't know what to believe anymore. Aside from one thing. I believe that we look after one another. That we humans can create our own miracles. We're a flawed species. We're tribal. We're hateful. We're petty and mean and greedy. But we can also show great nobility and honor. Maybe God is testing us, or maybe he has abandoned us, or maybe he was never there at all, but one thing I know. We are here. You and I. And we'll find help for humanity."

She scanned the darkness ahead.

An alien system. An actual new star system! Even with the danger, even with the grief, Emily couldn't help but feel some wonder. They were the first humans to see this place. Maybe someday portal technology would improve, and any human could hop to another star. But to Emily right now, that seemed miraculous. A tingle passed through her.

"It's a big star system," Emily said. "How do we find the Aeolians?"

"We'll search methodically," Darjeeling said. "World by world."

Emily bit her lip. "That could take a while. There are many planets and moons in this system. Let's narrow our search." She reached for the control panel. "May I?"

"Certainly, ma'am."

She tapped a few buttons. A map of the Aeolian system appeared across the viewport, momentarily obscuring the stars. Aeolia A shone in the center. The smaller star, Aeolia B, shone to its left. Eighteen planets appeared on the map. A hundred and seventy-three moons. And that was only what their sensors had discovered so far. Quite possibly, there were another dozen planets and hundreds of moons. A whole lotta worlds.

"Exploring this many planets would take months, if not years," Emily said. "Can we run another scan for radio signals?"

Darjeeling hesitated. "I can, ma'am. But that requires extending the radio dish. It might slightly compromise our stealth capabilities."

Emily thought for a moment. Back aboard the Freedom, ATLAS had scanned the system for signs of an alien civilization. It found nothing. No radio signals. No sights of starships zipping about. No space stations. Early spectral analysis of the system had not found any planets with significant oxygen. And who knew if the Aeolians even breathed oxygen? However, the testing had been incomplete when Emily had flown out on the Raven. The Freedom had powerful sensors, but she was engaged in battle with the Tyranny. Not exactly conducive to scientific research. And the Kuroko, their science ship, had been destroyed.

Emily chewed her lip. "I wish we could contact the Freedom. Maybe ATLAS has found out more since we left."

"Contacting the Freedom would be like blaring a foghorn, ma'am. If there are any arachtaurs in the system, they'd hear us. Loud and clear."

"Right. And if we extend a radio dish for our own little tests? How severe would that impact us?"

Darjeeling stroked his mustache. "Hard to say, ma'am. There are many factors at play. It wouldn't be a foghorn. More like the light rustling of leaves beneath our feet. Unless there are arachtaurs right nearby, I doubt anyone would notice. There's still a risk. But smaller."

"All right then. I've made up my mind." Emily nodded. "Run another scan of the system. Radio scan and a spectroscopy please."

Darjeeling worked on the keyboard. A radio dish extended from the Raven's prow, rippling their stealth shield. They sat in silence, watching the scan results come in.

Emily bit her lip.

"Nothing," Darjeeling said. "No radio signals at all. And the spectroscopy analysis sees no oxygen either. But the scan needs more time. The signals might be faint."

"Better stop the scan," Emily said. "One footstep in rustling leaves is bad enough. I don't want us stomping around."

"Agreed." Darjeeling tapped a button, and the radio dish retracted into the hull. A smooth plate hid the instrument.

An unnerving silence filled the cockpit. Once more the Raven flew like a shadow. The little vessel could go for hours without venting heat. Every once in a while, like a whale breaching the ocean and clearing out its blowhole, the Raven had to expel her heat waste. Emily was waiting until they were near a big object—a planet, moon, even just an asteroid—before emptying the heat sinks. It would help mask the venting. Until then, the Raven was holding her breath.

"Mr. Darjeeling, I suggest we compile a list of the most likely worlds to host alien life," she said. "Then we fly over for a look. We need to cut down our candidate list. How about we disqualify the gas giants right away?"

Darjeeling rubbed his chin. "How do we know Aeolians aren't from a gas giant?"

"No solid surface," Emily said. "Nowhere for aliens to evolve."

"I'm no scientist myself, ma'am. But I once watched a fascinating MindWeb program about alien life. It said that aliens might evolve on gas giants like Saturn and Jupiter. Big, blobby things like jellyfish. They float in the cloudy skies. They don't need no surface."

Emily tapped her cheek. "Hmm, I suppose you're right, Mr. Darjeeling. Then again, I can't imagine blobby, floating aliens defeating the rahs. I reckon the spiders would rip right through them. Come to think of it, I don't know why the rahs would invade a gas giant in the first place. Nowhere for them to land or build their webs. If the rahs did attack a planet, I doubt it would be a gas giant. And we know the rahs attacked the Aeolians long ago."

"Quite astute, ma'am. Very well." He tapped a few buttons. "Let's disqualify the gas giants for now. We can always check on them later if we change our minds."

The gas giants became gray on the map. So did their moons.

"Hang on. Can we bring their moons back?" Emily said. "It's possible the Aeolians evolved on a moon. And those moons might have solid surfaces. So far we only know of two alien species. We humans evolved on Earth, and the rahs come from a big planet called Arakavish. But nobody said aliens must come from a planet. There could be alien species that evolved on moons."

"I don't see why not." Darjeeling tapped a few buttons. The gas giants remained grayed out, but their moons reappeared on the map. A lot of moons. Over a hundred spread across the system, half of them orbiting gas giants.

Emily slumped in her seat. "It can take us years to study all those worlds. The flight time alone! We have to filter the list some more. Let's focus on the planets in the Goldilocks zone. Not too far from their star, not too close. Just the right temperature for liquid water. I know that some aliens might exist outside the Goldilocks zone. Extremophiles might be more common than we realize. But rahs are Goldilocks aliens, same as humans. They might have the same biases in their quests of conquest."

"We can't know the temperature for sure," Darjeeling said. "We don't know enough about the system to determine the temperature on each world. There are two stars in this system, already making things quite different from what we're used to. And there could be other factors, like a planet's atmospheric density or geological activity."

"But we can rule out a few planets for certain," Emily said. She reached for the keyboard. "May I?"

She tapped buttons, rotating the map, zooming in, zooming out. A few planets were orbiting quite close to Aeolia A or B. As close as Mercury to the sun back home. Too hot. Emily grayed them out. A few other planets were far in the darkness. As far as Neptune from Sol. Too cold. Out went those as well. Along with all their moons, of course. This was a binary system. She had to account for two stars—both Aeolia A and B. To disqualify one planet, it needed to be too far from both or too close to either.

She was left with twelve worlds. Three planets. Nine moons.

She dusted off her hands, a small smile on her lips. "Now that's more manageable. How about we start with the one closest to Aeolia A, then work our way out from—"

An alarm flashed on the dashboard. The map vanished. Letters flashed across the HUD. Emily read the words aloud, belly twisting.

"Unidentified ship detected."

CHAPTER SIX

Emily stared at the red dot on the screen.

An alien ship. A million klicks behind them.

A chill ran down her spine like a spider down a spout.

"Could it be an Aeolian?" she whispered.

Darjeeling sat beside her in the cockpit of the Raven. He was pale, also staring at the enemy ship detected on their HUD. "I don't know. It could be Aeolian. Or it could be arachtaur."

Emily shivered.

A cry of triumph sounded from behind the cockpit door, then a groan of protest.

"I win, I win!" Stowy cried, her voice muffled through the door. "Royal flush! Pay up, losers."

"You cheated!" came Meytal's shout. Then a clatter. An overturned table, perhaps.

Emily barely registered the muffled sounds. Her friends were in the hold, only a few meters away. They had no idea they might all soon die.

She watched the red dot on the screen. It matched their speed. It was following.

"They must have seen us," Emily said. "When we extended our radio dish, we rustled the leaves. And a creature heard." Her heart gave a lurch, and she looked at Darjeeling. "Could it be the Tyranny?"

Emily was a trembling mess, cold sweat on her brow, her heart fluttering. To his credit, Darjeeling remained calm. With confident hands, he tapped a few buttons, zooming in on the image. Just a red splotch. A few stats appeared around the image, but not much.

"It's about a hundred meters long," he said. "A sizable ship. Larger than the Raven. But much smaller than the Tyranny. Could it be Aeolian? I don't know. To learn more about the ship, I'd need to extend our radio dish again."

"No. Don't. I don't want to rustle any more leaves in this dark forest." Emily gulped. "We're in stealth mode now. Can we lose it? Yes, it could be Aeolian. But it could also be the enemy. We can't take any chances."

Darjeeling watched the ship move across the HUD. "It seems to be flying toward our last known location. The coordinates where we activated our sensor. We were exposed just long enough for an enemy to calculate our vector. I'm going to change course."

He nudged the yoke. The Raven yawed, bringing Aeolia B into view. The brown dwarf shone ahead. Despite its classification, it was neither brown nor particularly small. The star was bright and blinding. Emily squinted until the viewport dimmed automatically.

They flew in silence for a moment.

The red dot inched closer. Another pixel. Another. Then it curved its flight.

"It's following us," she whispered. "It can see us."

"Impossible," Darjeeling said. "Our sensors are all enclosed within our hull. We reflect no light. We're conserving all excess energy in our heat sinks. We don't even have an exhaust port. We're using a graviton drive."

Emily licked her dry lips. "Then it must be detecting our gravitons."

"No." Darjeeling shook his head. "Impossible. The amount of gravitons we're using is too small for the finest instruments to detect. We're emitting no gravitational waves. We're exerting virtually no gravity on our surroundings."

"But we're emitting some gravitons," Emily said. "Enough to sweep up cosmic dust. That's why we always have to scrub down the hull after a mission."

"True, ma'am, but the amounts are minute. To detect us in space? It would be like detecting a floating leaf on the Pacific Ocean. No such technology exists."

Emily hugged herself. "Humans have no such technology. But maybe arachtaurs do."

Memories of the dead floated around Emily. Soldiers ran through the corridors of the Freedom, and the claws tore them apart. Boys no older than her lay on the deck, burned beyond recognition, crying out for their mothers. Emily could still smell the burnt flesh. Her head spun, and darkness seemed to be closing in around her.

She began to shake, and cold sweat dripped down her brow. She took a deep breath, straightened her posture, and squared her shoulders.

Control yourself, she thought. Conquer your panic. Leash your fear. You are the Queen of England. You are a soldier of the Free Alliance. You are the commanding officer of this mission. Act like it!

"Mr. Darjeeling, change course once more," she said, and now her voice was calmer. "Let's see what happens."

"Yes, ma'am."

He pulled the yoke, yawing to the right, pitching downward, then accelerating. The brown dwarf moved off-screen. The g-force pushed Emily back in her seat. A clattering sounded from the hold.

"Great!" Stowy cried. "I was just winning this backgammon game, and now the Raven hit a bump in the road, and all the pieces fell."

"You overturned the board yourself!" Meytal could be heard yelling. "Just because you were losing."

"I was winning fair and square."

Meytal let out a groan like an enraged animal. "Your dice literally have six dots on each side."

Arav's voice rose next. "Ladies, please. Perhaps some loving—kindness would—"

"Quiet!" Meytal and Stowy both snapped at him.

Emily tried to ignore the noise from the hold. She watched the enemy ship on-screen.

Enemy ship? Yes, the more she stared, the more convinced she became this ship was not friendly. It was a feeling in her gut. Over two years of war, she had learned to trust her paranoia.

The enemy ship inched along the HUD, still moving on its earlier trajectory. A pixel. Another pixel. Another. It was still moving in a straight line. Perhaps the Raven had escaped it. Perhaps—

The enemy ship turned.

It pitched downward. It accelerated.

"It's still following us," Emily said.

The cockpit door burst open. Niles flew inside.

"Emily, you must help," the drone said. "Meytal has Stowy pinned to the deck, and the monk is trying to pull them apart, and—" Niles paused. He flew closer. "Emily? Are you all right?"

She looked at him, then at Darjeeling. "I suppose we should tell the others."

"Tell us what?" Meytal walked into the cockpit, dragging Stowy by the ear.

"Ow, ow, let go!" the girl cried. "I'm going to bite your bottom!"

Arav raced in after them. "Please, everyone, please learn to love each other."

"She keeps cheating," Meytal said.

"So what?" Stowy said, struggling unsuccessfully to free her ear. "Better a cheater than a violent, ear-twisting maniac with—"

"Everyone—shut up!" Emily cried.

They all shut up. Meytal even released the stowaway. The Israeli commando frowned and leaned over Emily's seat, staring at the viewport.

"What is that?" Meytal said, voice low.

"We don't know," Emily confessed. "It could be an arachtaur ship."

Niles let out a wail. "Oh, we're doomed! I knew it. I knew this mission spelled certain death! This is all because of Stowy."

"What?" Stowy gasped, her ear red. "Me? I didn't do nothin'. I'm innocent!"

Meytal pursed her lips, staring at the HUD. "I say we take them head-on. We turn the Raven around, charge right at 'em, and destroy 'em."

"The Raven doesn't have many weapons," Emily said. "Just a rotary cannon. It won't do much against an arachtaur warship."

A wicked smile spread across Meytal's face. "The Raven might not have many weapons. But I do. I happened to pack my favorite grenade launcher. I'll put on a spacesuit, ride this ship like a stallion, and blast the enemy to hell."

Arav paled. "Please. There's no need for violence." The monk placed his palms together and smiled serenely. "I'm sure there's a diplomatic solution. The arachtaurs are half human after all. They have human minds. And all human minds crave peace and understanding. If we reach out with loving—kindness, I'm sure we can sway their hearts."

Meytal spat right on the deck. "Bullshit. Easy for you to say, monk. You come from a beautiful temple in a peaceful forest. You flew in here on a starship shaped like a flower. I grew up in Israel. In the desert. In a war zone. Terrorists were trying to kill me since before I could walk. I didn't have the luxury of waxing poetic about peace and love. I had to fight to survive. And I'll fight now."

Arav lowered his head. "I'm sorry for how you suffered, Meytal. That must have been hard. I'm here for you."

"I don't need you!" she snapped. "I had a man. A man worth ten of you. Dado was a brave soldier. Not a pacifist like you. He fought the enemy! He didn't run. And he—"

She closed her mouth. Tears filled her eyes. She looked away.

Emily, who was watching the exchange, understood.

Dado was the commander of the Caracal, she remembered. Meytal loved him. She was crying earlier. I knew it. This is why.

"Meytal," Emily said softly, approaching the taller woman.

"Anyway—let's fight!" Meytal said, ignoring her. "I'll get my grenade launcher." But her voice had lost its edge.

"No, we didn't fly here to fight battles," Emily said. "We're on a stealth mission." She chewed her lip for a moment. She really had to kick that habit. "Our ship reflects no light, emits no heat. We think the enemy is following our graviton trail. So we can lose them in a field of gravitons." She pointed. "There. That bright planet ahead. It's large enough for a significant gravity well. It'll obscure our own gravitons."

They all looked at the planet. It was white with a few reddish mountain ranges.

"It looks like a baseball," Stowy said. "I call it Baseworld. Or Stowyworld. I like Stowyworld."

Everyone ignored her. The red dot—whatever ship that was—was moving closer on the screen.

"It's gaining on us," Meytal said.

Amazingly, Stowy fell silent. Even Niles was quiet. The stowaway sat on the deck, staring in concern at the monitor. The drone hovered beside her, and Stowy patted him absentmindedly. Niles huffed and muttered something about how Stowy's hands were filthy, but he hovered a little closer and let her keep patting him.

Darjeeling, who had been focusing on flying, tapped a few buttons and ran some calculations. "The enemy is faster than us. But not much faster. If we fly at top speed, we can reach the planet before the enemy reaches us. Then we'll vanish into the gravity well."

"I don't like it," Meytal said. "I never run from a fight."

"Emily is the commanding officer on this mission," Arav said softly. "Perhaps she should decide."

They all looked at her.

I'm only twenty years old, Emily thought. I'm only an ensign, the lowest rank of officer. I just graduated from officer school last month. I'm not ready for this.

Arav had spoken the truth, however. Darjeeling and Meytal were both experienced, tough soldiers, battle-hardened and intelligent. But they were not officers. Emily was much younger, so much less experienced, but this was her command.

It didn't feel right. Darjeeling should be making the decisions. He was so much wiser than her. But he only looked at her, awaiting her words, and Emily remembered that she was not only his officer. She was his queen. He would follow her to the end of the universe and back.

"We hide in the planet's gravity well," Emily said.

"Baseworld," Stowy said. "It's called Baseworld. I decided not to be greedy and name it after myself."

"Whatever it's called, we'll hide there," Emily said. "Floor it, Mr. Darjeeling."

"Yes, ma'am." The mustached sergeant smiled thinly and shoved down the throttle.

The graviton engine hummed. They were even more visible now, no doubt. But their cover was already blown. There was no need for subtlety until they could hide again.

The pursuing ship gained speed too. A lot of speed.

They flew in silence for a moment. Amazingly, nobody was bickering. Not even Niles. They all stared at the map on the viewport. The white planet—Emily was already thinking of it as Baseworld—was growing ahead. But not by much. It was still millions of klicks away.

And the enemy ship followed.

Finally it was Meytal who broke the silence. "Is it just me, or is that ship gaining on us at an alarming rate?"

"It's not just you," Darjeeling said.

Meytal groaned. "Can't you go any faster, old man?"

"The pedal is to the metal, Sergeant Koren," Darjeeling replied, a note of impatience in his voice. "If this is too slow for you, you can put on your jet pack, get outside the ship, and push."

Stowy burst out laughing. "Burn!"

Meytal reached for the girl's ear. Stowy squealed and scampered away.

* * * * *

They flew in nervous silence for a while, staring at the display. The Raven flew at top speed, her graviton engine thrumming at full capacity, exerting gravity to propel herself forward. Space was not entirely empty. There was the Higgs field, of course, and the fabric of spacetime itself, but there was also good old matter. Everywhere, even between galaxies, a few random atoms floated around. This system was particularly dirty. The nearby Firebird Nebula shed atoms like a golden retriever sheds fur, while two stars bathed the area with solar wind. At this speed, the Raven left a wake of agitated atoms. It took delicate instruments to detect such a trail, probably too delicate even for a system like ATLAS. But to the enemy pursuing them, it must seem like a flare. Even without gravitons, Emily wondered if they were visible at such speed.

And the enemy flew closer.

It too seemed to be using a graviton drive. But the ship was larger, its engine more powerful. It raced through the darkness like a barracuda on the hunt.

Emily bit her lip for the thousandth time. She would get a callus.

"This is going to be close," she whispered.

The bright planet ahead—Baseworld—was getting closer. Emily could make out impact craters on the white plains, orange rivers oozing between the red mountains, and a faint ring of debris. The view was magnified. Baseworld, with its cloak of gravity, was still maddeningly far away. Emily leaned forward in her seat as if she could give the Raven more speed.

Suddenly light flared from the alien ship.

The vessel blasted forward.

"What the hell?" Meytal cried.

"It used some sort of afterburner," Darjeeling said. "To give it an extra boost of speed."

"Well, fire our afterburner!" Meytal said.

"We don't have one."

The Israeli commando turned away in disgust, muttering under her breath. Something about how they should just fight like soldiers.

It might come to that, Emily thought. We might not have a choice.

The enemy was now gaining on them rapidly. It came within two hundred thousand klicks. The ship was breathing down their neck.

"We're getting a visual," Darjeeling said. "I'll magnify the image."

He worked at the controls. The viewport showed the enemy as a smudge, but with every tap of the buttons, the image sharpened, forming the shape of …

"A spider," Emily said, heart sinking. "A spider ship. It's the arachtaurs."

It looked like a spiderwing, one of the starfighters that could launch from the Tyranny. But this one was much larger. A hundred and seven meters long, according to the new sensor data. The length of a football field. Eight cannons extended from her sides like legs.

The ship was broadcasting her name. In English, no less.

God's Tomb.

Meytal pointed at the text. "Now that name was given to mock us."

Emily nodded. "It's an arachtaur ship. They're half human. They know us. They know how to taunt us."

Meytal pulled a Magen David pendant from under her collar. She kissed the star. "Well, I'm a daughter of God, and I'm going to put them in a tomb."

God. Emily kept coming back to him. Still she did not know if he existed. Was this a battle between God's soldiers and the godless? Was she, with her faltering belief, godless herself?

She didn't have answers. Maybe there were no answers. Maybe gods were just the creations of humans, rahs, and arachtaurs, seeking to understand the cosmos, seeking justifications for wars and conquest and courage. She didn't know. But one thing Emily did know. Whether supernatural or not, this was a battle between good and evil. And though she was scared, she would not falter in the face of the wicked. Let Meytal don the armor of God to fight the demons. Emily would carry with her the light of humanity, the belief that humanity—despite its flaws—was still good at its core, still worth fighting for. She wasn't sure she believed in God, but she believed in humanity, and perhaps that was good enough for now.

"Can't we go any faster?" Niles cried. "Darjeeling, I order you to go faster!"

"Niles, be quiet," Emily snapped.

"Oh, it's hopeless!" Niles said. "We must surrender. Wave the white flag! I'm sure that the arachtaurs will treat royal prisoners with dignity. As for what happens to our servants, well—"

"Niles, be quiet!"

Stowy leaned toward the viewport, gazing curiously at the pursuing starship. "Do you think it can shoot webs like the Tyranny? That would be cool. We definitely need a spinneret for the Freedom. I'll talk to Kim about installing one."

"Who's this Kim everyone keeps talking about?" Niles said.

"I told you a million times, she's—" Stowy began.

"Oh, who cares?" Niles said. "We're all going to die anyway."

Meytal cocked her handgun. "Nobody's going to die. Not without a fight at least. I'm going out there. Onto the hull in a spacesuit. I'll destroy that wretched piece of—"

"Transmission incoming!" Darjeeling said.

A green circle was flashing on the HUD.

Emily glanced at the others. They stared back, silent.

"Should we answer their call?" Darjeeling said.

"No." Meytal shook her head. "We don't talk to bugs. We kill them."

"I wanna talk to bugs," Stowy said. "I once had lice, and they would whisper in my ears, but I could never understand them."

Arav pressed his palms together and smiled. "Let us speak to the arachtaurs. We'll use our words, not our guns. With peace, love, and understanding, we'll assuage their pain. Anger comes from pain. Aggression comes from anger. With love and peace, the entire cosmos can—"

"Hell, I'd rather listen to the bugs than the monk," Meytal said. "Fine! Put 'em on."

Emily tapped the green circle. The map shrank to a square no larger than a paperback. A new window dominated the viewport, streaming a video from the alien bridge.

Emily felt herself pale. Meytal sneered and tightened her grip on her gun. Stowy only gazed curiously.

An arachtaur stared from the viewport. His human half was muscular, the gray skin marbled with purple veins, and ceremonial scars covered his broad chest. Black, oily hair framed his angular face and draped across wide shoulders. The creature grinned, revealing rows of fangs, and licked his chops with a forked tongue. The arachnid half was no less hideous. Eight spider legs clung to a web. The abdomen gleamed, bloated and black, a red stain like a skull in its center. That skull seemed to be grinning too.

He wore a white crown formed of finger bones, and a bandolier of gilded daggers hung across his bare chest. Several other arachtaurs hung from webs farther back, but they drowned in shadow. The crowned creature seemed to be their leader.

"Hello, humans." The arachtaur smiled crookedly. "I am Abraxas'rahda, son of Od'rahda, captain of God's Tomb. You may call me Abraxas. I'm here to kill you. I wanted to look at you first. And I'm not very impressed."

Meytal smiled at him, licked her gun, and beckoned with her finger. "Come get some."

Abraxas studied them for a moment longer, silent.

Arav stepped closer, smiling. "Abraxas, my friend, I sense that you're in pain. We mean you no harm. Let me come aboard your ship, and—"

The arachtaur hung up. The map expanded across the viewport, showing both ships racing toward the planet.

"Dumbass." Meytal slapped the monk on the back of the head. "See? Even aliens can't stand your claptrap."

"Abraxas is coming in fast," Darjeeling said. "He'll catch up with us five, maybe ten minutes before we reach Baseworld."

"Then we fight," Meytal said. "Turn around, Darjeeling. Charge him head-on. We'll crush that ship."

"That ship is much bigger than us," Emily said. "And probably has a lot more firepower. No. We must reach Baseworld and vanish into its gravity well. We'll just have to hold off Abraxas long enough."

She considered for a moment. The Raven had a rotary gun, but it was located on the prow. If they could only lay down some suppressive fire, but—

"Incoming fire!" Darjeeling said.

Eight torpedoes flew from the enemy ship, one from each mechanical leg. They were coming in fast. The computer calculated the time to impact. Three minutes and seven seconds.

Emily felt the blood drain from her face.

"I'll attempt evasive action," Darjeeling said.

"Nobody can evade eight torpedoes," Emily whispered.

"I'm going out there!" Meytal said. "Hang tight."

The Israeli commando raced out the cockpit.

Emily hesitated for just a second, then made up her mind. She ran after Meytal.

* * * * *

Both women stood in the hold. Meytal ripped the closet door off its hinges, revealing a rack of spacesuits. She began pulling one on. Spacesuits had come a long way in the past century. Gone were the big, bulky suits Neil Armstrong had donned when taking his legendary step. Today it was like pulling on a jumpsuit. You could do it within a minute if you were reasonably agile.

Meytal was more than reasonably agile. Within seconds, she was zipped up. Emily began pulling on a suit too, a bit clumsier with the clasps.

"What are you doing?" Meytal demanded.

"Going out there with you."

"Like hell! What are you, sixteen? Fifteen?"

Emily raised her chin. "Twenty. And a commissioned officer of the Alliance Fleet."

Meytal snorted. "Have it your way, ensign." She rolled her eyes. "Commissioned officer. More like commissioned toddler I have to babysit."

She pulled on her helmet, grabbed a bunch of guns, and ran toward the airlock.

Emily pulled her own helmet on, grabbed her assault rifle, and followed.

"Two minutes until those torpedoes hit us!" came Darjeeling's voice from the cockpit.

Emily shut the airlock's inner door, trapping herself and Meytal inside the little pressure chamber. It was so small both women pressed together. The outer door was still sealed. Air whooshed as the chamber depressurized.

"Come on, come on!" Meytal said, tugging on the outer door. But it was locked.

Emily attached a tether to her spacesuit. "It takes a few moments for the airlock to depressurize. The air needs to flow into a hidden tank beneath the deck, and it can be recycled later. The outer door is locked until the airlock chamber is a vacuum. You should tether up in the meanwhile."

"No time to wait," Meytal said. "Cover your ears."

"Why? Wait—"

Meytal shot the lock.

The outer door blasted open with a whoosh of air.

Emily tumbled out into space, flailing like a fish out of water.

For a few seconds, everything spun around her. Then the tether snapped taut. Now Emily just spun around like a tetherball. She grabbed onto the tether, pulled herself back toward the Raven, and slammed her boots against the exterior hull, finally steadying herself. With the graviton engines on, the ship exerted substantial gravity, pinning her boots to the hull.

Meytal didn't even have a tether. The commando simply leaned out the airlock, holding on with one hand, like a woman leaning out the open door of a racing car.

And there they came. The enemy torpedoes. Eight of them. Only seconds away now.

Meytal aimed her plasma rifle, closed one eye, and fired. A plasma bolt flew and hit one torpedo. It detonated with a blazing red flare.

Clutching her tether with one hand, Emily aimed her own rifle. It was a Mordecai plasma rifle, normally a two-handed weapon. Emily raised one knee, steadied the plasma pack against her thigh, aimed, and fired.

She missed. She fired again and again. The third bolt hit a torpedo. It exploded, showering shrapnel everywhere. The explosion caught another torpedo, and it too exploded.

Emily whooped. "I got two already!"

Meytal fired again and again. Two more torpedoes exploded. "Three for me." She fired again. "And four." She kept firing, and explosions kept lighting space like fireworks. "And five."

That left one torpedo. Emily fired. And missed. Meytal shot the last torpedo down.

"Six for me, two for you, kid." Meytal placed a hand on Emily's helmet and wobbled it violently. "Not bad for a rookie."

* * * * *

God's Tomb was still following them. Without magnification, Emily couldn't see much. Just a glint in the distance. She connected to her helmet telepathically, found the zoom slidebar, and cranked it to the max.

Now she could see God's Tomb in all its wretchedness. Lumps and crags covered the spider-shaped ship. Eight portals shone like red eyes. The ship seemed like a living being, hungry for flesh. Its mechanical legs stretched forward, and it fired another volley.

And another.

And a third volley.

Twenty-four torpedoes came racing toward the Raven.

Emily could only stare in silent shock.

Meytal didn't waste time on shock. She let off several quick shots, tossed her empty plasma pack into space, and loaded a fresh pack. Emily fired too. At this distance, it was harder to aim. She fired four shots but only one hit.

"I'm out of plasma," she said. "I only brought one battery."

Meytal groaned, plucked a fresh plasma pack off her belt, and tossed it to Emily. "Here. Don't waste any shots."

Emily reached out to grab the pack—and missed. The battery tumbled into space.

"Goddammit, girl!" Meytal said.

Emily pursed her lips, kicked off the hull, and flew through space. She grabbed the pack just as her tether snapped taut. Emily pulled herself back to the hull, reloaded, and shouldered her rifle.

The torpedoes were already much closer. Emily closed one eye, aiming, but her hands were shaking.

Focus, Emily, she told herself. Breathe. Be calm. Focus.

The torpedoes raced closer.

Her hand steadied.

She fired. A torpedo exploded. She fired again and again, eight full shots. Eight torpedoes exploded.

"I'm out again," Emily said.

Meytal fired another plasma bolt, destroying another torpedo, then shook her rifle. "Same."

Emily looked over her shoulder. The Raven was still racing toward Baseworld. The planet loomed before her, obscuring her vision. She had to reduce her zoom to zero. Even with no magnification, it loomed large—about the size of a watermelon held at arm's length. From here, it didn't look much like a baseball. The surface was crystalline and deeply striated, shattered with craters. Two mountain ranges snaked around the planet, one in each hemisphere, leaking orange liquid. They looked like brain surgery scars on a pale skull. Briefly, Emily wondered if the Aeolians lived here, but she remembered that this planet floated outside the Goldilocks zone. No liquid water. The orange rivers must be another chemical, perhaps a methane concoction.

She connected to Darjeeling telepathically. "How much longer before the gravity well masks us?"

"I need another two minutes, and we'll be close enough," he replied from the cockpit. "Three at most."

Emily turned back toward God's Tomb. The enemy ship was closer now. So close she didn't even need to zoom in.

God's Tomb fired another volley. Eight more torpedoes.

Emily stared in terror.

At this distance, they would impact within seconds.

"I'll race into the ship and get more plasma packs!" Emily said.

Meytal grabbed her. "No time. The airlock is busted, remember?" She handed her a handgun. "We take them down with bullets, my dear."

"Bullets against torpedoes?" Emily cried.

Meytal gave her a crooked grin. "David vs. Goliath. Let's rock."

Both women aimed their handguns and fired. Emily missed every shot. Amazingly, even Meytal missed.

Meytal groaned and reloaded. "Dammit, handguns just aren't as accurate."

They fired again. This time they hit only one torpedo. It exploded. Emily hoped the shrapnel would detonate the nearby torpedoes but no such luck. She fired another bullet, missed again. They were running low on bullets now. And the torpedoes raced closer, hungry predators prepared to feast. At this angle, Emily could only see the warheads. Small targets.

"Darjeeling, yaw left hard!" Emily cried. "Now!"

He didn't question her. The Raven made a sharp turn. Emily nearly flew off the ship.

The torpedoes were turning in space to follow. For a brief moment, they exposed their elongated bodies. Larger targets.

Emily and Meytal fired their guns. Bullets punctured the torpedoes. Two, then three exploded. The shrapnel took out the others. Emily exhaled in relief.

"Ma'am, Sergeant Koren, we're about to enter the gravity well," Darjeeling said over MindWeb. "This is about to get rough. You better get back inside."

Emily glanced at the airlock. The outer door hung open, its lock busted. Emily pulled herself along by the tether, entering the airlock. Meytal swung herself in too, and they pulled the outer door shut.

"It won't close properly," Emily said.

"Yes, well, I did shoot the lock out," said Meytal.

Without the outer door properly locked, there was no way to repressurize the airlock. No way to open the inner door.

"Well, isn't this peachy," Emily said. "We're stuck in—" The outer door swung open. She had to reach out, grab it, and pull it shut again. "Stuck in the airlock."

She summoned MindPlay and scrolled through available devices. The Raven's cockpit viewport popped up. Standing in the broken airlock, Emily streamed the viewport directly to her brain. She could now see whatever Darjeeling saw from the cockpit.

Meytal's avatar popped up in MindPlay nearby. She was watching the feed too.

They were almost at Baseworld now. The planet filled the viewport, hiding space behind it. Baseworld's gravity began tugging the Raven. Emily found herself pulled toward the inner airlock door. She stretched her arm, clinging to the outer door, keeping it closed. The airlock was so small she hung between both doors, holding a handle in each hand.

The Raven swung into orbit.

"We're deep inside the gravity well now," said Darjeeling. "There's no way anyone could detect our graviton drive here. It would be like picking out one raindrop in a storm. With our regular stealth cloak still on, I'll try to lose the enemy in orbit."

Emily clung to the outer door with all her strength. If the hatch swung open, it would disrupt their stealth cloak. The Raven had to be a particular shape to avoid photon detection. Even a scratch on the hull could be picked up, let alone a door swinging wildly.

She checked the rearview monitor. God's Tomb was still following. But Abraxas was not firing any torpedoes. Was he out of ammo? Unlikely, considering the size of his ship. He could fit a thousand torpedoes in there.

"He can't see us," she said. "It's working."

She loaded a map tracking Raven's flight around Baseworld. Darjeeling was flying them in an irregular orbit, rising, falling, and zigzagging. God's Tomb entered orbit too. She was not a stealth ship. The Raven could see her clearly. Abraxas's ship was veering off course. She was not following Raven's complex flight pattern.

Emily exhaled and slumped against the inner door. "It worked. We're invisible."

* * * * *

Standing in the ruined airlock, Emily examined her plasma pack. She shook it a few times. A few drops of fuel swished within.

"If I switch my Mordecai to automatic, I might be able to fire a thin stream of plasma," she said. "Just enough to weld the outer door shut. It'll need proper repairs. But for now, we'll be able to repressurize the airlock and enter the ship."

"I'll hold the door shut; you weld," Meytal said. "Try not to weld my fingers."

Soon enough, it was done. The outer door stayed shut. With a content chime, the airlock system came back to life. Vents opened and oxygen flowed from the supply tanks, refilling the chamber. The inner door dinged, then slid open. Right now, with the outer door welded shut, they were all trapped inside the ship. They'd fix that later.

Before Emily left the airlock, she looked at Meytal. The taller woman stood before her, silent.

Emily took a deep breath. "Meytal, I'm sorry about what happened to the Caracal. Your friends were on that ship. The man you loved was on that ship. I'm so sorry. If you ever need anything, even just to talk, I'm here for you."

Meytal's eyes dampened. Emily thought the woman would look away again, hide her sadness. But instead, Meytal pulled her into an embrace.

"Thanks, kiddo. I know you lost people too. And I'm always here for you." Meytal kissed Emily's visor. "We're sisters now. And forever."

"Sisters," Emily said.

"So hey, does that make me a princess?" Meytal winked.

Emily returned to the cockpit and slumped into her seat beside Darjeeling. Her muscles ached, and her heart still pounded.

"That was smart flying, Mr. Darjeeling," she said. "Thank you."

The old man blushed. "I did nothing, ma'am. You saved us. You and Sergeant Koren. I owe you my life."

Arav still stood in the cockpit. He smiled and placed his palms together. "It was a true team effort."

Meytal popped into the cockpit. "What? You didn't do anything!"

The monk smiled enigmatically and caressed his amulet. "Didn't I?"

"No." Meytal shook her head. "You did not. You really didn't."

Emily closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. They were safe. For now. But God's Tomb was still out there, hunting them. The mission to find the Aeolians had become a lot more dangerous.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Bastian yawned. He had not slept all night. Too much to do. Dealing with the congressman's nephew with a broken leg. Reviewing training logs. Submitting reports to the admiral. Paperwork. So much paperwork. Since Bastian had become a colonel, the paperwork never ended.

The Freedom didn't have proper days and nights. They ran on eight-hour shifts. Whatever eight-hour shift a soldier normally had off—that was night. And Bastian had just pulled an all-nighter.

He yawned again. His stomach growled. His joints ached. His Mordecai assault rifle only weighed eight pounds—not much more than a newborn baby—but right now it felt like carrying a tank. No matter how often he readjusted the strap, it dug through his fatigues and pinched his skin.

I need a meal, a nap, and a long cuddle with my wife, he thought.

Well, that latter option was off the table. Alice had just started another shift. But at least now maybe Bastian could actually finish a bowl of cereal. The Pots-o'-Gold called to him. Especially the little rainbow marshmallows.

When Bastian shuffled into the galley, yawning and rubbing his belly, he found a skeleton on the floor.

He paused, rubbed his eyes, and looked again.

There it lay. Right there at his feet. A shattered skeleton. Some of the bones were missing. Tooth marks perforated the skull. There was no flesh, no blood anywhere. The bones had been hollowed out and sucked of marrow.

Stupid MindWeb bugs! Lately, marines had been complaining about it. They talked about hallucinations. Seeing dancing fairies or talking mushrooms or something. One private had come to Bastian just yesterday, saying there were talking caterpillars with dog faces in his room. It must have something to do with the latest MindWeb software update. Sometimes Bastian hated having the damn implant in his head.

With a thought, he turned off his MindLink.

The skeleton was still there.

Bastian tapped his head. "Turn off, damn you! I won't turn you back on until your bugs are fixed."

But the neural implant was definitely off. Bastian couldn't raise MindPlay, the implant's operating system. He couldn't telepathize with Alice across the ship. The chip was cold. And the skeleton was still there.

It was real.

Bastian tensed, raised his rifle, and flicked on the plasma battery. The gun hummed.

He spun around in slow circles, eyes narrowed. Suddenly all his weariness was gone.

Nothing. No enemies. Aside from the skeleton, the galley was empty.

Was this some kind of joke? Had somebody pilfered a skeleton out of the morgue, placed it here? There was no blood. Could this be an old kill? Bastian remembered something he had learned long ago. When museums wanted to mount skeletons for display, they dropped a dead animal into a pool full of bugs. The little critters ate all the flesh, leaving sparkling-clean bones. That's what this skeleton reminded him of. Bones picked clean by tiny scavengers.

Then it hit him.

The eggs.

The eggs Stowy had given him!

Bastian's heart burst into a gallop. He had left them in the fridge. For an entire shift. Oh God.

Holding his rifle with one hand, he opened the fridge.

At once, Bastian stepped back, aiming his gun.

Nothing.

The fridge was empty.

Not only were the eggs gone. Everything was gone. Somebody had eaten every last item of food inside. The dishes were sparkling clean.

"What the hell?" Bastian muttered.

A baby's giggle sounded behind him.

Bastian spun around, rifle raised.

Nothing. Silence. Had he hallucinated that giggle?

He looked around the galley, seeing nothing. Wait a minute. Hold on. Bastian's heart raced even faster. The skeleton was gone. Okay, this had to be a hallucination. A MindWeb bug had to be affecting him, even with his neural implant shut off. The damn thing was still touching his brain, wasn't it?

Something hit the top of his head, then bounced to the ground.

Bastian frowned, knelt, and lifted it.

A tooth. A human tooth.

Slowly he looked up at the ceiling.

There it was. The skeleton. It was on the deckhead, staring down at him. Cobwebs held the bony limbs in place.

The giggle sounded again. Bastian whipped his head around. The laughter sounded once more, this time behind him. Then it was everywhere.

A cabinet rattled.

Bastian took a deep breath, reached out a shaky hand, and yanked the cabinet door open.

The creature leaped out at him, screeching.

Suddenly every cupboard door slammed open, and shrieks filled the galley. They were everywhere.

Arachtaurs. Baby arachtaurs.

Well, that certainly explained the missing eggs.

Bastian had been away from the galley for hours. The eggs had been the size of baseballs. Probably large enough to hatch something the size of a hamster. But these arachtaurs were the size of house cats. Big, fat house cats too. Clearly they had grown fast. Probably after devouring the skeleton. Their upper halves looked like human babies with ashen skin. The lower halves looked like black widows. Red stains reminiscent of skulls adorned their abdomens, and fangs filled their mouths.

Bastian took all this in within a second. He managed to squeeze off one shot, but he just hit a cupboard. Then the creatures landed on him.

Claws ripped his armor. And sank into his skin.

Bastian roared, grabbed an arachtaur, and ripped it off. He hurled the monstrosity at the wall. As it lunged back toward him, he opened fire. A stream of plasma washed over the creature. It thumped down, charred and twitching.

More creatures were still on him. Clawing. Biting. Bastian stumbled backward and slammed his back into a bulkhead, crushing some of the little chimeras. He ripped another off his head, threw it across the room, and opened fire again. Another burnt arachtaur hit the deck.

More kept climbing him, scuttling up his legs, ripping his uniform. Ripping his skin. He swung his rifle like a club, knocking them off. One of the beasts grabbed his hand and bit hard. He lost his grip on his rifle and roared.

He could not call for aid with his MindLink off, and in the heat of the battle, he could not spare a thought to reactivate it. But his screams seemed to alert his fellow marines.

A fist pounded on the door. A voice sounded from outside. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Need some help!" Bastian cried.

The door handle rattled. "Unlock the door!"

The damn arachtaurs had locked him in.

Bastian ripped off another, tossed it across the room. The little beast slammed into a shelf and leaped right back at him. One scuttled across the floor, and Bastian stepped down hard, crushing the creature. His boot flattened the baby's head. Nausea churned Bastian's belly, but he felt no guilt.

Marines were slamming into the door, trying to break in. For now, Bastian was alone.

He managed to regain his grip on his rifle. He spun in a circle, filling the galley with plasma. A few arachtaurs burned. But many still clung to him, safe from the inferno.

Cabinets caught fire. Great. Just what Bastian needed. Not only was he locked in here with man-eating monsters, he had managed to turn the room into a death trap. Brilliant. He could already imagine his obituary. Genius marine burns himself to death while battling babies!

He ripped off another creature and stomped it under his boot. The fire was spreading across the cabinets. Smoke filled the room. An arachtaur bit him on the shoulder.

Goddamn Stowy! This was all her fault.

But no. That was unfair. She had tried to warn him—in her own way. She had come to him for help. And he had ignored her. Now he would die for that mistake.

Another arachtaur bit him. This bite was deep. Right to his chest.

Bastian fell to his knees, bleeding and coughing.

He thought of Alice. Of the baby inside her.

No. No, he could not die now. He rose to his feet, covered with the biting beasts, and grabbed the fridge.

Bastian was a big guy, tall and strong. Even he groaned and strained, but he managed to move the fridge, then shove it hard at the galley door.

The door tore off its hinges.

Bastian stumbled out into the corridor, coughing, covered with baby arachtaurs.

At once, his fellow marines were there. They ripped the creatures off, tossed them onto the ground, and opened fire. Bullets slammed into the little monstrosities. Bastian joined them, firing his plasma rifle.

The baby arachtaurs realized they were beaten. The little hybrids fled, spider legs clattering.

"Don't let them get away!" Bastian cried, firing after them. His plasma bolts hit the deck, missing the critters.

The arachtaurs scurried up the bulkheads. They grabbed the ventilation grates, ripped them off, and vanished into the ducts. They were taking a page from Stowy, it seemed.

Bastian limped toward a grate and reached inside. Something bit his hand, and he pulled it out, groaning. The arachtaurs laughed, and their footfalls clattered deeper into the ducts. Bastian tried climbing in after them, but he couldn't fit.

He looked at the other marines. Big, hulking men all. Where was little Stowy when you needed her?

"We gotta catch them," Bastian said. "We … We …"

His blood dripped, and he collapsed to his knees. A few marines caught him, began tending to his wounds. Somebody shouted for a medic. Soon Bastian lay on a litter—for the millionth time this war, it seemed. As they carried him to the infirmary, Bastian wasn't worried about his injuries. He knew that Dr. Annie could patch him up.

He was far more worried about the creatures fleeing into the ducts. And he couldn't help but wonder: How many more arachtaur eggs lay hidden inside the starship Freedom?

CHAPTER EIGHT

Robby "Pickles" Cooper walked along deck 3, one of four decks dedicated to Freedom's complement of Eagle starfighters.

Four decks. Two hundred Eagles. He commanded them all. It was hard to believe.

Okay, he didn't command the actual decks. Bay Boss Eun-Yu did. And to be honest, Pickles was a little scared of her. And after so many battles, there were fewer than two hundred Eagles left. That was unfortunate. And technically, Spitfire—even as a bridge officer—directly commanded him. It really wasn't a big deal. He wasn't that high up.

He sighed. He was trying to downplay it. He had been for a while now. But dammit—this responsibility scared him. He was a colonel now. The new Flock Father. Leader of his fellow pilots. It still felt so strange.

The Freedom was on yellow alert. That meant half the pilots were sitting in their cockpits, ready to launch on order. The other half were hanging out in the aerie. Normally, Pickles would be with them. He could imagine it so clearly. He was drinking a cold beer. The jukebox was playing old rock 'n' roll. He was shooting some pool, shining a laser from his bionic eye to calculate his moves. He was winning the game, of course. Everyone was laughing, patting him on the back, and beautiful women were kissing him.

He sighed, and the daydream vanished. He was Flock Father now. He was too busy with other duties. He had to inspect starfighters. Survey the decks. Talk to the bay boss—even if she terrified him. And of course, fill out paperwork. Bastian had warned him about that. When you became a senior officer, the paperwork never ended. No time anymore for good ole Pickles to drink beer, play pool, and enjoy the kisses of the ladies.

Okay, that last part never really happened. But in his daydreams, he liked to embellish.

Each Eagle deck contained four airlocks—two on the starboard hull, two on the port. Thankfully, the devastating Tyranny bombardment had spared the lower decks. All four airlocks were still operational. The other three Eagle hangar bays—one above this one, two below—had their own airlocks. Combined, the Freedom could launch sixteen Eagles at once.

Pickles had implemented a new system. He had borrowed the two Rhino bays and the Sparrow bay. With the Rhinos denuded of armor, they were useless anyway. As for the Sparrows—who cared? They were normally used to transport dignitaries. This far out into space, the Sparrows were mothballed. That gave Pickles ten more airlocks. Now he could launch a full twenty-six Eagles at once. At a moment's notice.

Ha! A genius plan. Pickles definitely deserved a beer for this one. And kisses from beautiful women. And probably a medal. But life was unfair, so here he was, inspecting the decks.

He approached the airlock SB3, the starboard bow airlock. A scarred Eagle stood there on the deck, facing the hatch. Words were painted onto her hull below the cockpit canopy.

LIEUTENANT DANNI "TRASH PANDA" SHIELDS

THE THUNDER ROAD

Every Eagle in the fleet had a name, and every one had a dedicated pilot. For a moment, Pickles paused and just looked at the Thunder Road. He smiled softly. Despite everything, he loved these machines. So long as he could fly one—hell, even just look at one—he was a happy man.

Their hulls curved, graceful like a woman. Two exhaust ports peered from their sterns. Red and blue paint flaked across their charred, dented bodies. They were clearly machines of war. Battle scars adorned them. Their hulls were armored, and missiles hung below their wings. To Pickles, they were the most beautiful work of engineering man had created. Yes, even more than the Mimori units—and the Mimoris were total babes.

Pickles shoved the thought of bikini-clad Mimoris out of his mind. Be professional, Pickles! You're Colonel Pickles now. No more silliness!

The Thunder Road's canopy opened, interrupting his thoughts. Danni "Trash Panda" Shields peered out the cockpit.

"Hey, Pickles! Where's Eun-Yu?"

He gulped. He didn't want the bay boss anywhere near. "Why?"

Trash Panda slapped the side of her starfighter. "Something's wrong with the Thunder Road. I can't get the engine on. Just the battery."

Pickles frowned. "What? I thought the Thunder Road passed inspection this morning."

"She did! At least that's what Bay Boss told me." Trash Panda let out a deafening groan. "I swear, Pickles, if something happened to my beloved Eagle, I will find out why, I will find out who is responsible, and I will personally maul them to death."

"Hold off on the mauling. Let me check with Eun-Yu."

Trash Panda winced. "I gotta warn you, she's in a bad mood. I passed by her office earlier today. There was a lot of yelling. And cursing. And I think I saw a chair fly through the air."

Pickles snorted. "Oh please. I'm not scared of her. I outrank her. She works for me."

Trash Panda stared at him in silence for a moment, then burst out laughing. "I'll pray for you, dude."

Pickles gulped. "Please pray to every god in existence. You can download a list from Wikipedia Galactica. If I don't come back, avenge my death."

He left the Thunder Road and walked between other starfighters. He passed by a group of mechanics working on one Eagle. The men were cursing. One mechanic tossed his wrench aside in disgust. When they noticed Pickles, the curses quickly stopped. One young mechanic even stood at attention and saluted. Ah yes—Colonel Pickles inspired fear in his minions!

"What's going on?" Pickles said.

One of the mechanics, a beefy guy named Mike Dabrowski, knuckled his back. "It's problems all day long, sir. We just patched up this Eagle yesterday. Today the thruster cables are torn."

Pickles frowned. "What? How? This Eagle hasn't even flown today."

"Gotta be the rats again," said Mike the mechanic. "They sneak into the starfighters and eat cables. I've got one of the boys laying out traps."

"Yes, well, if you catch any, I want to be there when we blast the bastards out the airlock. There are only two things worse than rats. Rahs and—"

"Goddamn shit!" rose a shout across the hangar deck.

It came from the bay boss's office.

An office chair flew through her window and clattered across the deck.

Pickles gulped and loosened his collar.

"I better go talk to her," he said.

Mike winced. "I'll pray for you."

"Why does everyone keep saying that? You guys realize I'm the colonel around here, don't you?"

The mechanic patted him sympathetically on the shoulder. "Godspeed, soldier."

Pickles steeled himself, walked around the fallen chair, and into the bay boss's office.

Master Sergeant Lee Eun-Yu stood there behind her desk, fists clenched. She was a petite Korean woman, barely half his size. But she was the toughest soldier Pickles had ever known. Being bay boss was a big job. While officers flew the Eagles, a small army of enlisted spacers kept the fleet going. Mechanics maintained the starfighters. Flight controllers led them in and out of hangars. Technicians operated the airlocks. Deckhands kept the bays clean and organized. The bay boss oversaw them all. Each hangar deck had its own local chief, and Eun-Yu commanded them all. Her empire sprawled across four Eagle decks, two Rhino decks, and one Sparrow deck. And if you did anything wrong in her empire—off with your head!

"Good morning, Eun-Yu!" Pickles said, maybe too cheerily, stepping over a broken coffee mug. "How are you today? Would you like me to get you a fresh coffee?"

She pointed at him. "This is all your fault."

Pickles looked behind him, then back at her. He pointed at himself. "Moi?"

Eun-Yu pounded her fist on the desk, rattling gears and bolts. "None of this ever happened when Spitfire was Flock Mother. Then you replaced her. You're lazy! Now things are falling apart. Eagles are breaking. Airlocks are short-circuiting." She waved at the vent over her desk. "Even the air-conditioning is on the fritz."

Pickles loosened his collar. It was feeling hot in here. "Surely you can't blame me for a broken air conditioner."

"I can and I do! This is your fault, Robby Cooper. I know it! This all started once you replaced my beloved Spitfire." She marched around her desk, fists raised. "Tell me what's going on. Who's sabotaging my starfighters?" She grabbed his collar. "Speak!"

Delicately, he extricated himself from her grip. "Eun-Yu, really, there's no need for violence."

She grabbed him and shook him wildly. "You want to know what violence is? Violence is somebody ripping cables out of ten of my starfighters!"

"Wait. Wait. Hold on one moment." Pickles tilted his head. "Ripping out cables? The mechanic told me rats were nibbling on them."

She was a small woman, and Pickles was tall and lanky. But she reached up, grabbed him by the ear, and dragged him out of her office.

"Ow, ow, Eun-Yu, please!"

She pulled him toward a nearby Eagle and finally released him. Pickles rubbed his throbbing ear.

"Look." She pointed.

He winced. "You really hurt me. You know, I am your commanding officer. You can't just—"

"Look!" she insisted.

Pickles looked. He saw one of his Eagles. This one was the Whole Lotta Love, a good old bird with lots of kills to her name. She was piloted by Mongoose, who was currently off duty, probably drinking in the aerie.

At first Pickles saw nothing. Then he noticed the cables dangling under the fuselage. He stepped closer, knelt, and looked at the underbelly.

"What the hell?" he muttered.

The fuselage was lacerated. Somebody or something had ripped the cables out as if gutting a deer.

"You see?" Eun-Yu said. "This is what I'm dealing with. Not just on the Eagles. The airlocks, the ATLAS sensors, everything."

"No rats did this," Pickles said.

"No shit, Colonel Sherlock. This was sabotage."

Kneeling under the Eagle, Pickles connected to his bionic eye via MindWeb. He toggled the settings, switching from normal vision to heat detection. His regular eye still saw normally. But now he could also see heat maps.

"Aha, here we go," he muttered.

Eun-Yu knelt beside him, frowning. "You see something with that cyborg eye of yours?"

"Heat sensor. And you're boiling hot."

She smacked the side of his head. "Damn right I am."

Pickles frowned, looking closer. Little handprints covered the fuselage, so cold they were barely there. They almost looked like baby handprints. And … Oh boy. There was a redder heat source too. Something inside the fuselage. It was hard to see much through the metal—just vague red blobs.

"Something's stuck in there." Pickles reached through one of the lacerations in the hull.

"Careful, the edges are sharp," Eun-Yu said. Her voice was softer now. Bay Boss Eun-Yu, showing compassion? Now Pickles was truly scared.

He shoved his arm deeper, reaching toward the source of heat. His fingers touched something rubbery and damp. He pulled out a purple sphere, roughly the size of a baseball. Then another. Then another. Finally he retrieved five spheres from inside the fuselage.

He stepped out from under the Eagle and placed the spheres on the deck. One of them twitched.

Eun-Yu grimaced. "What are those? They look like fish eggs."

Pickles leaned down, staring closer at the eggs. He didn't want to touch them again. The damn things were slimy. Instead, he tweaked the settings on his bionic eye, sharpening the heat sensor. He could make out something inside. A rough form.

"Eun-Yu, step behind me please," Pickles said.

She snorted. "Why? I'm not scared of those things."

"I'm about to turn on X-ray vision."

She hurried behind him. Pickles cast a short burst of X-ray radiation from his bionic eye. Just for a second.

It was enough.

He saw what was inside the eggs. A chill washed over him.

"These are arachtaur eggs."

A screech sounded behind them. Then a scream. And then a gurgle. Suddenly something round slapped onto the deck by the eggs.

Eun-Yu screamed. Pickles covered his mouth, feeling sick.

It was Mike the mechanic's severed head.

Footsteps clattered across the deck, and a terrible shriek echoed through the hangar. Pickles spun around, pawing for his sidearm. His heart galloped, and cold sweat washed over him.

There it came. A creature was scuttling across the deck toward him, screeching in fury. An arachtaur. Not a full-grown one. Not like the one imprisoned in the brig. This one was smaller, about the size of a German shepherd. Its upper half looked like a human child, a girl about eight or nine years old.

"Stay away from my eggs!" the creature screeched, voice high-pitched, demonic.

Pickles aimed his gun. His hands shook. He fired but missed. He was trembling, about to faint. The arachtaur raced closer. Oh God. Oh God.

He fired again. He missed again!

Eun-Yu had no gun, but she pulled wrenches and hammers from her tool belt and hurled them. One hammer hit the arachtaur in the forehead. Blood splattered. The creature was only a few meters away now. The blow didn't stop it.

The arachtaur leaped into the air, claws flashing, and Pickles screwed his eyes shut and fired again and again.

A thump sounded. The deck trembled.

Pickles peeked between narrowed eyelids. The arachtaur lay at his feet, a bullet in its head. Eight spider legs twitched, kicking the air. Pickles wanted to throw up. Hands shaking, he aimed his gun and fired his last shot.

The arachtaur's legs curled inward. It finally lay still.

I'm used to fighting in an Eagle. Not like this. This is too close. Too damn close.

Then Pickles couldn't help it. Everything seemed so far away, and blackness came closing in. He swayed on his feet, and before he knew it, he fainted.

CHAPTER NINE

Baseworld. The planet was a cold wasteland. It hovered in space, far from its star, pale and lifeless.

The Raven orbited Baseworld, reflecting no light, emitting no heat. The planet's gravity well hid her graviton engine. To make them even harder to detect, Darjeeling kept adjusting their orbit. They flew in an irregular path, rising, falling, and zigzagging.

Another ship flew here. God's Tomb. A ship shaped like a spider. Abraxas's ship.

Thankfully, he had lost their scent. But he was still on the hunt. God's Tomb kept flying, scouring the planet's orbit, a hound sniffing for his quarry.

As soon as we leave the gravity well, he'll be able to see us, Emily thought, sitting beside Darjeeling. She hugged herself. She sighed. For now, at least, the immediate danger was gone.

"Ma'am, may I suggest a course of action?" Darjeeling said. "I can fly deep into the gravity well, position the Raven, then hit the graviton engine hard. We'll fly out of orbit, kill the engine, and coast deeper into the system. With our engine off, we won't be manipulating the graviton field. We'll be truly invisible to God's Tomb. Even in deep space."

"That's a good plan," Emily said.

"No it isn't." Meytal Koren stomped into the cockpit. Rifles and swords hung across her back, forming a turkey tail of death. "I never run from a fight. I say we charge them head-on and destroy them."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Meytal, their ship is ten times our size and armed to the teeth."

Meytal snorted, rattling her bandolier of daggers. "I'm Israeli. We're used to fighting enemies a hundred times our size. I say charge right at 'em. I'll lean out the airlock again and blast 'em to pieces."

"The airlock is still busted," Emily said. "After you shot it. Just saying."

Meytal crossed her arms. "I like shooting things. Sue me."

Arav entered the cockpit too, his yellow robes rustling. He pressed his palms together and smiled. "There's no need for violence. Mahatrism teaches us that violence only begets more violence. There's still time to reach out to Abraxas with love and kindness. He himself made contact with us. He wants to talk."

Meytal raised an eyebrow. "If I recall correctly, he called us to threaten us with destruction."

The young monk didn't lose a beat. "That's because he suffers. His suffering begets his anger. With loving—kindness, we can assuage his suffering."

Meytal drew her handgun and twirled it around her finger. "I know a better way to assuage his suffering."

"All right, enough, both of you," Emily said. "You've both made your points. For now, Abraxas can't see us. We have some time of grace. This planet is not on our candidate list for Aeolians. But while we're here at Baseworld, it doesn't hurt to take a look."

She checked the tracking map on the viewport. The Raven appeared as a blue dot, the God's Tomb as a red dot. Both were flying irregularly, the former to confuse her hunter, the latter to locate her prey.

Emily wasn't sure how long this dance could last. Sooner or later, they'd have to flee or fight. Until then, they would explore.

She minimized the tracking map. It hovered in the corner of the viewport, no larger than one of King's antique novels. If God's Tomb did anything funny—got too close, began mimicking their trajectory, or launched torpedoes—an alarm would sound. For now, a minimized map was fine.

That left the bulk of the viewport for exploration. The Raven's sensors weren't as powerful as Freedom's ATLAS system, but they pulled up some decent stats. Baseworld was a small planet, about the size of Mars. There was an atmosphere. Not a particularly dense one, but enough to form a hazy sky. The spectral analysis reported its contents. Ninety-nine percent nitrogen, with only some methane and trace amounts of oxygen.

There was more methane on the surface. Rivers of it, flowing out the mountain ranges and etching orange deltas across the white plains. Aside from that, the surface seemed icy and rocky. This was a cold world. Based on the distance from Aeolia A, coupled with atmospheric readings, the Raven's computer estimated the surface temperature. Minus 173 degrees Celsius. A tropical vacation spot this was not. Probably too cold for Aeolians. Or much of anything, really.

Then again, Emily was biased. Humans lived in a specific range of temperatures. The rahs seemed to thrive in that temperature as well. But who was to say Aeolians were the same?

"Isn't it fascinating?" Emily said. "To explore a new world. No human has ever seen this planet. We got here first. We even got to name it."

"Yes, fascinating." Meytal leaned against the bulkhead, sharpening one of her daggers. "Can we fight now?"

Arav looked at the knife. His smile faltered. "How about we try some meditation?"

Meytal grinned and gave a thumbs-up. "How about we try tossing you out the airlock?"

A cry came from the hold. "Unhand me, you filthy urchin! You're festering with flees."

Stowy's voice rose in protest. "They're not flees, they're ants. And let me hug you. You're cuddly!"

Niles wailed. "Let me go!"

Emily glanced at Meytal and Arav. The Israeli commando looked ready to kill the Indian monk. Or possibly die of frustration.

"Why don't you two go back to the hold?" Emily said. "Try to separate the stowaway and drone."

"Ah, a perfect chance for some loving—kindness." Arav bowed and left the cockpit.

"I'm going to kill that drone, I swear," Meytal said, drawing an electric baton. The tip crackled.

"No killing anyone, Meytal," Emily said.

"But . . . but …"

"No killing!"

Meytal groaned. "Fine!" She stomped into the hold, muttering about how this mission was an incredible bore.

Soon a cacophony of shouts, curses, and wails sounded from the hold. Emily heard Niles saying something about living in a human zoo before shutting the door, muffling the sounds.

"I think my drone is right," Emily said. "This does feel like a zoo."

* * * * *

She returned to her seat beside Darjeeling. She slumped down and yawned.

"Ma'am, are you all right?" Darjeeling said. "Shall I get you some tea now?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Darjeeling, thank you." She looked at the old man. "How are you? You've been flying all day. You must need a break. Can I take the yoke?"

He smiled, his mustache curling upward. "That's very kind of you, ma'am, but I used to take longer shifts back in the last war. I'm used to it. I'm happy to keep flying for a while longer."

Emily smiled too, hesitated, then patted his arm. "You're a dear man, Mr. Darjeeling. And a dear friend." She kissed his cheek. "I'm glad you're here."

He blushed and his mustache bristled. He could only mumble his thanks.

They flew onward, hovering a thousand kilometers above the surface. Emily examined the planet below.

"If the ancient scroll is right, an alien civilization exists in this system, or did at some point." She pushed herself up in her seat, leaned toward the viewport, and examined the planet surface. "If Aeolians were powerful enough to defeat rahs, surely they were powerful enough to colonize their system. And possibly neighboring systems too. Back home, humans built colonies on Mars, Titan, and the moon, all worlds inhospitable to life. If humans can do it, why not Aeolians?"

"I'm keeping both eyes wide open," Darjeeling said.

"Baseworld is probably not where the Aeolians evolved," Emily said. "Too cold and no water. But it seems a potential place to build a colony, don't you think? Or at least a research station."

"I don't know, to be honest," Darjeeling said. "I don't know much about Aeolians. No human does."

Emily chewed her lip. "Maybe I'm being biased again. I'm still thinking in human terms. Yes, we humans have a knack for exploration. An instinctual drive for it, in fact. We evolved on a world where climates often changed. If we stayed too long in one place, crops, prey animals, fruits and berries—they all faded away. The Sahara was once a forest after all. Antarctica was once lush and covered with greenery. Earth changes. So we evolved to become nomads, explorers, always seeking greener pastures. But who's to say Aeolians are the same? Maybe they never felt the need to leave home."

"Maybe they don't even have spaceships," Darjeeling said. "Maybe they simply defeated the rahs down on their world's surface."

"Maybe. Though I think that's unlikely. The rahs are technologically advanced. Surely the Aeolians have technology to match. Otherwise, it would be like the Spaniards invading Mesoamerica. The rahs would simply roll over the Aeolians with their superior tech."

"True, ma'am. Then again, look at human history. The Vietnamese, with only simple technology, managed to defeat great empires. It's rare. But sometimes cultures can defeat technologically superior invaders."

"Hmm. Point taken. Well, maybe we'll find nothing at Baseworld after all. We should travel deeper into the system, find warmer planets, and—" She gasped and leaned forward. "Wait! Look!"

A landform rose below. A mountain? It was hard to say. The surface of Baseworld was frozen and white, streaked with orange rivulets of dirty methane. But the landform below was different. It was a big gray lump. Baseworld suddenly reminded Emily of some undead creature, skin white and leaking orange pus. The lump looked like a gray wart.

Darjeeling frowned at the landform below. "What the devil could it be?"

Emily tapped her chin. "Peculiar. Very peculiar indeed, Mr. Darjeeling."

She drew a circle on the viewport with her finger, highlighting the landform, then swept her palms apart, zooming in. Now she saw … a larger gray lump. Very helpful.

"It looks rocky and rough," Darjeeling said. "Probably a natural landform, wouldn't you think?"

"I don't know." Emily drummed her fingers against her thigh. "We haven't seen other landforms like this. It doesn't look like it belongs. Mr. Darjeeling, do you suppose it could be a building?"

"A building, ma'am? I see no sign of that. No roof, no roads leading to it, nothing that resembles walls. It just looks like a hill."

"Exactly. A hill. Like an anthill."

The cockpit door banged open. Stowy raced inside, hair flying every which way.

"Ooh, ants! I want more ants!"

Niles flew in after her. "She's covered with lice! And one got on me."

Stowy placed her fists on her hips and groaned. "I told you—they're ants! I'm training them. I'm making an ant circus." The girl looked at the viewport. Her eyes widened. "Ooh, a giant alien anthill! Can we land there? Please, please!"

Stowy's long, messy hair brushed against Emily's cheek. Emily recoiled.

"Um, Stowy?" She cringed. "You do have lice."

The stowaway gasped. "Et tu, Emily? You too tarnish my honor with lies?"

"I'm sorry, Stowy. I can see the lice. Why don't you go back to the hold and put on a hat for now?"

Stowy grabbed a strand of her hair and examined it. Her eyes widened. "You're right! That is a lice."

"Louse," Niles said.

Stowy gasped. "Don't call me that!" She examined her strands of hair again. "Now I have ants in my pockets and lice in my hair. I can create two circuses. I'm the greatest show in town!"

She ran back to the hold, her patchwork dress swirling around her legs.

Darjeeling watched her leave. The sergeant shuddered. "I sure do wish she'd stop joining our missions. Oh heavens. I better not get lice in my mustache."

"I'll cut her hair later, and I'll force her to shower," Emily said. "For now, let's take a closer look at that hill. Can you swoop down for a closer look?"

Darjeeling had been circling the strange landform. Now he nudged the yoke, pitching the Raven's nose down. They descended. Emily checked the orbital map. God's Tomb was thankfully on the other side of the planet, way off their trail.

Yes, there was definitely something strange about this hill. The gray stone seemed completely out of place in the cracked, colorless surface. Emily could make out pale stains on the mysterious landform. Frost, perhaps?

"Can we get any closer?" she asked.

"If we fly any closer, ma'am, we'll disturb the atmosphere. The enemy might see us."

"The enemy is on the other side of the planet. Let's risk it. Quickly."

"Yes, ma'am."

The Raven descended fast. The g-force pushed Emily back into her seat. Her stomach lurched.

A few wails and curses sounded from the hold.

"We're entering the atmosphere!" Emily called to them. "Strap in!"

"Slow down, you'll get us all killed!" came Niles's voice.

"Shut it, drone, or you're going back into the rucksack," said Meytal.

Emily looked over her shoulder through the cockpit door into the hold. Her companions pulled folding seats down from hull, sat down, and snapped harnesses into place. All but Niles. Stowy grabbed the drone and held him to his chest.

"Let me go!" Niles said. "You're infested."

"Have it your way." Stowy released the drone who flew away in a huff.

The Raven's prow touched the alien sky. They were diving in headfirst. The atmosphere absorbed their kinetic energy, ionizing with flashing light. Emily thanked her lucky stars that God's Tomb was across the planet. They probably shone like a comet. The Raven rattled madly as she descended. Flames blazed outside the portholes.

A wail rose from the hold. Niles thumped hard against a bulkhead, then careened into the cockpit. Gemstones flew from his silver casing, scattering everywhere.

"Slow down!" the drone cried. "Darjeeling, you scoundrel, I order you to slow down!"

He almost hit the viewport. Emily grabbed him and pulled him to her chest.

"Niles, are you all right?"

"Most certainly not. I've lost my jewels! My precious jewels!"

Stowy scampered into the cockpit on all fours, snatched a few gemstones from the deck, then scurried back into the hold. "Finders keepers!"

Niles flew after her, so apoplectic he could only stammer.

The Raven's flight was steadying now. Emily checked the map. God's Tomb was still behind the horizon. They had some time.

The Raven slowed, then gracefully landed on the icy surface of Baseworld. Graviton drives made for smooth landings. The engines fell silent. Excitement tingled through Emily.

"Welcome to Baseworld," she said.

* * * * *

We're on an alien world, she thought. A real alien world! The first humans ever here.

Emily peered out the porthole beside her. The stony landform rose outside, small enough to be a large hill, large enough to be a small mountain.

"Look, Mr. Darjeeling, a cave." Emily pointed. "And right on the ground too. Interesting. Very interesting indeed."

Darjeeling's eyes widened. "It almost looks like a doorway, don't it, ma'am?"

"I want to take a closer look. Something very peculiar is going on here."

She stepped into the hold, then paused for a moment, gaping.

Meytal had one arm around Stowy, holding her in place. In the other hand, Meytal held an electric razor, trying to shave the stowaway's hair. The girl was having none of it, flailing like a fish out of water. Arav stood nearby, pleading with them to stop. Stowy kicked wildly, both feet in the air. One kick hit Niles, and the drone flew like a football to the stern, scattering more jewels.

"Touchdown!" Stowy cried.

Using the distraction, Meytal managed to run the razor alongside Stowy's head. Matted strands fell to the deck. Stowy wailed in protest.

"Everyone, enough!" Darjeeling cried, voice booming.

Emily jumped. She had never heard Darjeeling yell this loud. He was always so gentle around her. This was his sergeant voice, authoritarian and, to be frank, terrifying.

Everyone stopped fighting. Even Meytal seemed taken aback. She released Stowy, who fled to the other side of the hold. Most of her hair was still there. But a bare strip like a runway ran from her ear to the crown of her head. Arav, for all his hours of meditation, seemed shaken. The monk clasped his lotus amulet and mumbled prayers under his breath.

Emily sighed. "All right, everyone, spacesuits on. We're going to explore."

"Can I stay on the ship?" Arav said.

"No." Emily shook her head. "I don't know where that cave leads. We might meet Aeolians in there. Remember, Arav, you're our diplomat."

The monk glanced at Meytal and Stowy. "Are they coming?"

"Well, Stowy follows me everywhere like a baby duck, and Meytal is itching for a fight, so I doubt I could keep them back."

The monk sighed. "Very well." He closed his eyes and whispered more prayers. Emily heard him mumbling something about serenity in chaos.

As Emily grabbed her helmet, she realized that the outer airlock hatch was still welded shut. Thankfully, Darjeeling was not only an accomplished pilot but also quite handy. The Raven had spare parts, tools, and a 3D printer in the stern. With impressive speed, Darjeeling replaced the hatch's molten lock and hatches.

"I installed MindWeb sensors in the new airlock hatches," Darjeeling said. "Going forward, we can control the airlock telepathically. Faster. Good in battle."

Emily gave it a try. She pulled up MindPlay with a thought. The hallucinatory operating system hovered before her, set to a translucent, pastel theme. She scrolled through available devices and saw the Raven's airlock pop up. Merely by thinking about it, she opened the airlock's inner hatch, then closed it.

"Neat," she said.

Darjeeling beamed. "Thank you, ma'am."

Emily bit her lip, hesitating. She held her helmet but did not put it on. "Someone should stay and guard the ship. I confess I want to go very badly. But someone should stay. Maybe it should be me."

"I'll stay." Niles floated down onto the couch. "I wouldn't go if you dragged me on a leash."

Stowy's eyes lit up. "Can I get him a leash? Oh please, Darjeeling, can you print a leash in the stern?"

"Please take the stowaway with you," Niles said to Emily. "And don't bring her back. In fact, leave the monk, the commando, and the butler in the cave too."

Darjeeling's mustache bristled. "I am no butler."

"You're telling me," Niles said. "I ordered that cup of Earl Grey over an hour ago."

"Niles!" Emily said. "Be nice! Besides, you don't even drink tea."

He raised his nose. "I enjoy the smell."

Meytal was leaning against the bulkhead, polishing one of her rifles. She looked up, oil on her fingers. "I think somebody should stay here with the drone. I'd sooner trust a toaster to guard the ship."

Niles huffed and floated to the center of the hold. "Can a toaster do this?"

Something clicked inside the drone. Dozens of tools thrust out from his shell: blades, corkscrews, scissors, and even a little pellet gun.

"Oh, he's a Swiss army drone," Meytal said, voice dry. "As I said, somebody should stay."

Niles floated toward the commando, his weapons at the ready. "Watch your tongue, ruffian, for I could easily best you in combat."

Meytal drew her katana. The blade gleamed. Niles wailed, retracted his weapons, and flew behind Emily.

"Yes, I see your point, Meytal." Emily chewed her lip. "Somebody should stay with Niles. How about we have a draw?"

Meytal drew her deck of cards. "I'll deal a card to each person. Lowest card stays to guard the Raven."

"I told you," Niles said, "I don't need hel—"

Meytal flashed her katana, and the drone fled again.

They each chose a card. Arav drew the lowest one. A six of hearts.

"Very well," the monk said. "I'll stay."

"Wait." Emily shook her head. "I need you with me, remember? You're our diplomat."

"Also, you couldn't guard a piece of bacon at a Hasidic wedding," Meytal said.

Arav tilted his head. "I don't get it."

Meytal poked the monk in the chest. "You're a wimp."

He smiled calmly. "There is more strength in love, kindness, and understanding than in a thousand guns."

"That's why the Alliance has millions of guns," Meytal said. "Half of them are mine." She adjusted her many weapons across her back. "Whatever, let the monk stay. Let's get going."

"No, I want Arav with me," Emily said. "This mountain might be a building. A sort of Aeolian hive. He must come. He's the only diplomat. Meytal, you drew the next lowest card. You should stay and guard the ship."

"What?" Meytal laughed. "I'm not a guard! I'm a master sergeant in an elite commando unit. This is a commando mission." She pointed at Darjeeling. "Let the old man stay."

Darjeeling bristled. He squared his shoulders and raised his chin. "We old men defeated the Red Dawn."

Meytal nodded. "Yes, forty years ago, when you were young men. Stay behind, Sergeant Darjeeling. You've earned some rest."

He flushed, and his mustache bristled. "I'm not some old geezer who needs a nap. I'm the defender of the Queen of England, and I will not leave her side."

Emily groaned. "Fine! I'll stay." She flopped down onto the couch. "You all go in there together, and if you come outside without having killed one another, it'll be a miracle."

Darjeeling came to stand beside the couch. "As I said, I will not leave your side, Your Majesty. If you stay here, I will stay too."

"Same!" Stowy plopped herself down on the couch beside Emily. "It wouldn't be any fun without you."

Arav glanced at Meytal and took a step away. "I'll stay too. I'd rather not go into any dark caves with a psychopath with as much firepower as half an army."

Meytal looked at them, one by one, and blinked. "Well, I'm not going alone!"

Everyone stared back, silent.

Meytal let out a huge groan. She tossed her helmet onto the deck. It clanged. "Fine! Fine, I'll stay and guard the Raven. Go, all of you! Hurry, before I change my mind." She began to pace the cabin, fuming. "Maybe I'll get lucky and Abraxas will show up, and I'll have a proper fight on my hands. All this sneaking about is driving me crazy."

"You were crazy the first day we met you," Niles said.

She tossed a dagger at him. Niles fled with a yelp. The dagger slammed into the bulkhead and quivered.

* * * * *

Emily exited the Raven first, wearing a spacesuit, and looked around at the alien world.

Wow.

She was the first human ever on Baseworld. The first human ever on a planet outside the solar system. This was a historic moment.

She stood on the little ladder that extended from the airlock, clinging to the rungs. She paused before actually setting foot on Baseworld's surface. This was historic. She began to record the moment on her MindLink for posterity, using her eyes as the cameras.

She raised her foot in the air, then pulled it back, not yet touching the alien soil. Should she say something inspiring? Like Neil Armstrong when he set foot on the moon? Or like Kristen Lamb when she first stepped on Mars?

Yes, she supposed she should. This was a moment for the ages after all. The first step on Baseworld. The first human words spoken here needed to echo across the ages. She thought for a moment, planning what to say, then nodded.

Got it, she thought.

She cleared her throat, prepared to speak.

Stowy shoved past her, leaped onto Baseworld's icy surface, then froze.

"Oh crap, I need to pee," the stowaway said. "Why does this always happen to me right after I zip up my spacesuit?"

Emily sighed. So much for inspiring first words.

"Hold it in!" Emily said, stepping onto Baseworld with her.

Darjeeling followed, holding an assault rifle. Finally Arav stepped onto the planet. While the others wore blue military spacesuits, Arav wore a white spacesuit with a golden lotus on the chest. A religious garment. The sunlight shone on him. He almost seemed to glow.

Emily looked at the monk. "You look rather handsome. That's a lovely spacesuit."

She instantly cursed herself for blurting that out. But Arav only smiled and bowed his head. "Thank you, Emily. You're very kind."

Stowy pointed at the monk accusingly. "Stay away from her, lover boy. She's mine."

Arav blinked. "I wasn't—"

"Back, back!" Stowy shooed the monk aside like a farmer shooing away a duck.

"Stowy, calm down," Emily said. "Come now, we're on a mission here."

They walked across the frozen landscape, heading toward the gray mountain. Ice crunched below their boots. The HUD displayed the temperature at −164 Celsius. A gust of wind blew, scattering ice crystals across the ground. They chinked like chandeliers. The temperature dropped to −180. If not for their spacesuits, they'd be dead in an instant. This place made Antarctica seem tropical.

They took a few steps, and Emily glanced over her shoulder at the Raven. The little starship stood there on the ice. Frost was already whitening the black hull. Life support would keep Meytal alive, but still, the ship seemed so small and vulnerable. You could land her on a basketball court. It was hard to believe she had flown so far.

Emily looked back at the stony mountain ahead. A mountain … or a building. It towered above her. It seemed as big as the starship Freedom. Standing before this monolith, Emily felt like an ant standing by a boulder. The cave loomed before them, a dark mouth.

A doorway. It had to be a doorway.

Emily paused for a moment and just looked at this edifice. The others stood beside her, eyes wide. Even Stowy was speechless.

"It's a building," Emily whispered. "An actual alien building."

"It's beautiful," Arav said.

"It's inspiring," said Darjeeling.

"Spacesuits have built-in diapers, right?" Stowy said.

Emily turned toward the girl, frowning. "No."

Stowy blushed. "Oops."

Everyone shuddered. Emily kept walking, leading them toward the cave. It yawned open before her like a toothless mouth. For a building so large—if this was indeed a building—the doorway was surprisingly small. Not much larger than a regular door.

Emily paused outside. Icy crystals crunched under her boots. Tendrils of frost stretched ahead into the darkness. She could see nothing. Just blackness. A shiver ran through her.

With a thought, she turned on her helmet's built-in flashlight. A beam shone into the cave, but it illuminated nothing. She might as well have pointed her beam into the emptiness of space.

"I'll go first," Darjeeling said. He shouldered his rifle, stepped past Emily, and entered the darkness.

The others followed, and the shadows enveloped them.

CHAPTER TEN

Deep in the stern of the starship Freedom, Colonel Kim Fletcher faced a mountain of problems. She had been an engineer for many years. But she had never seen things break down so spectacularly.

"Nothing is working!" she exclaimed. "Why does nothing on this ship work?"

She tossed down her wrench in disgust. It clattered against the diamond-plate deck. She was crouched in a crawlspace under the exhaust port relays. Soot covered her jumpsuit, hardhat, and gloves. For some reason, the exhaust ports no longer delivered heat readings to the reactor coolant coils. Without working relays, the entire system would overheat and blow out the Talaria drive.

Just what the Freedom needed during the next battle. A dead engine.

It had taken Kim an hour to diagnose the problem, then another hour just to crawl into here. She had wriggled between gears, over pipes, up shafts, and along rickety bridges over pools of fuel. Charlie Chaplin had it easy in Modern Times. He never had to worm his way through a starship.

She wriggled in deeper, seeking the problem.

"Colonel Fletcher?" came a voice over MindWeb.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

Lieutenant Lisa Jansen appeared in the tunnel—a tiny hallucination, no larger than an action figure. She too wore a sooty coverall. The young engineer held a spool of cables and a graviton detector.

"The graviton pipes are on the fritz again," she said.

"Again!" Kim straightened too fast and banged her helmet against an overhanging pipe. The flashlight on the helmet flickered. She winced. "Darn it, Lisa, you just fixed those last week."

Lieutenant Jansen blushed. "I know, ma'am. But they stopped delivering gravitons to the shield generators, so I got back in there, and the pipes were cracked."

"Those pipes are made of solid graphenium, Lieutenant. They don't just crack. You could drop them into a volcano and they'll come out without a scratch."

"I know, ma'am, I can't explain it, but—"

"No buts—fix them again, and do it right this time. Fletcher out."

She cut the call and sighed. It had been like this all day. People calling her with endless problems. This or that breaking. The entire ship seemed to be falling apart.

Why was everything breaking all of a sudden? Well, yes. The Tyranny had bitten out a chunk of the Freedom the size of Mount Rushmore. Not the entire mountain. Just the part with the faces. But it was still a big chunk. That had not just broken the hull. It had destroyed thousands of internal components. Heating coils, electric cables, shield generators, life support ducts—they all ran through the hull, and they were all on the fritz. Kim and her team had been working around the clock to patch things up.

Still, even that couldn't explain all these problems. The pipes Jansen was repairing were on the opposite side of the starship, four hundred meters away from the impact. And Kim was now in the stern, just as far from the Tyranny's devastating blow. And everything here was conking out too.

"Must be gremlins in the ship," Kim muttered.

She had always believed in gremlins. Or pretended to at least—sort of like with Santa. They were a myth among engineers. Whenever you couldn't figure out a problem, you blamed the gremlins. It was a joke. Kim was a woman of science. She had never actually believed in gremlins hiding in a starship, but dammit, today was challenging her skepticism.

She crawled deeper, moving among gears and pipes and cables. Her MindWeb flickered, then went dark. There was no signal in these hidden nooks, especially not with the electromagnetic fields pulsing everywhere. Kim had never liked the feeling of being cut off like this. There were rumors of engineers who had gone missing in these dark tunnels. It was said that skeletons still hid here, decades old.

She pulled back a panel, revealing the heat relay tubes. They were taken apart. Somebody had literally unscrewed the pipes, dented them, and ripped out a bunch of sensors. A chill flooded Kim. She was sure of it now. Somebody was sabotaging her ship.

Footsteps pattered behind her.

Kim spun around. The flashlight on her helmet pierced the darkness.

A shadow scurried away. A cackle sounded.

"Rats," Kim said. Had to be rats. Every engineer hated them. You could sterilize a starship ten times over, but a few rodents sometimes still got aboard—and began to breed. They were the scourge of space travel.

But what kind of rat could unscrew valves? The damn things must be evolving.

Kim crawled among the pipes and gears, flashlight lighting the way. She pulled a heavy wrench from her backpack.

"Come on, little rodent," she whispered. "Where are ya?"

She crawled deeper, leaving the damaged relay tubes behind. She had a furry little saboteur to catch.

A giggle sounded in the darkness.

Kim froze. Her heart burst into a gallop.

Silence. Just silence and darkness here among the machinery of the ship.

"Stowy, is that you?" Kim whispered.

Something was breathing ahead.

Cold sweat trickled down Kim's back. Just a rat. Or maybe a leaking ventilation duct. Or it was the stowaway girl playing tricks on her.

"Stowy?" she whispered.

The breathing stopped. Then a soft voice rose from the darkness. "Come play with me."

Kim trembled. A girl's voice. A young girl.

"Stowy, stop messing around," Kim whispered. Her voice shook.

The girl giggled. Footsteps clattered forward like butter knives tapping across a steel table.

A face emerged from the shadows, peering from among the Freedom's machinery. A pale face. A young girl's face. No, it wasn't Stowy. This girl was younger, only eight or nine years old, with pale skin and pure black eyes. Eyes with no white to them.

"Do you want to play?" the girl said. Blood was trickling from her eyes.

"I'll call a medic," Kim whispered. "Did you get lost here? It's all right. I'll help you."

The girl smiled, revealing teeth like fishhooks. "Let's play."

She clattered out from the shadows, revealing a spider's body. Eight legs gleamed in the flashlight's beam.

An arachtaur.

Kim screamed.

The monster lunged at her.

Kim was no warrior, but instincts kicked in. She swung her wrench. It clanged against the creature. The hybrid scurried backward, squealing, legs flailing.

"Stay back!" Kim cried.

The hybrid hissed. Her black eyes narrowed, and she bared her fangs. The wrench had cracked the skull. When the arachtaur spoke again, her voice was deep and guttural. "I will feed upon your flayed skin, human."

She leaped forward again.

Kim had already drawn her blowtorch. A slender spear of blue fire lit the machinery.

The arachtaur slammed into her, legs slashing like blades. Screaming, Kim shoved it back and brought her blowtorch to the hybrid's face.

The flame burned the cheek. Then an eye. But the creature kept attacking like a rabid wolverine. A claw slashed Kim's arm, ripping through the thick overalls and cutting her skin. She yowled. Keeping her blowtorch in one hand, she swung the wrench in the other, clubbing and burning the arachtaur at the same time.

Finally the creature fell off her. But the young arachtaur was still alive. Burnt, her skull cracked, she rose and balanced on her eight claws. The machinery of the Freedom moved behind the strange hybrid, gears grinding, pistons pumping.

"You cannot defeat us," the arachtaur said. "You have already failed. Earth will fall. Humanity will per—"

Kim kicked the creature into the machinery. Gears caught the arachtaur, crushing her between their metal teeth.

Kim crawled away, arm bleeding. She had found her gremlin. And she wondered how many more infected the Freedom.

* * * * *

Past some pipes, gears, and winches, Kim reached a metal hatch. She opened the doorway, crawled through, and finally reached a place large enough to stand up. She straightened and rubbed her lower back. She stood on a mezzanine, overlooking one of Freedom's exhaust ports.

The cylinder was huge. You could fit a football stadium inside. Kim stood on the mezzanine, shuddering, and took a few deep breaths. She examined her wound and winced. Blood dripped onto the grated mezzanine floor. Several drops passed through the grates and vanished into the pit far below.

She got on MindWeb. "Bastian? Bastian, are you there?"

She was still trembling. The Freedom had a handful of military policemen to provide security, but this job was beyond them. This was a job for the marines.

Bastian's voice spoke in her mind. "Kim! I've been trying to reach you."

She nodded. "I was deep inside the machinery. Bad signal. Bastian, I saw something. There are—"

"Kim, you have to be careful!" Bastian said. "There are loose arachtaurs on the ship. Just baby ones. No larger than cats. I killed a few, but others got away."

Kim swallowed and leaned against the railing, woozy. "Oh, they've grown."

"Kim? You saw one?"

"Yes, I . . ."

She heard crackling above. A sound like rustling twigs.

Slowly Kim raised her eyes.

"Kim? Kim, are you there?"

She moved her flashlight from side to side, illuminating the curved top of the exhaust port. It loomed above like the ceiling of a cathedral.

Hundreds of baby arachtaurs hung there like bats, sleeping.

Kim's knees trembled.

"Bastian, I have to go," she whispered. She was telepathizing. She didn't actually need to whisper. She could broadcast her thoughts at a shout if she liked. But a whisper felt appropriate.

She hung up on him. She barely dared breathe. The arachtaurs just hung there, so many of them, sleeping. A few stirred, spider legs twitching.

How the hell did they get onto the ship? Kim didn't know. But apparently, the creatures grew fast.

She made another MindWeb call. This time to the admiral.

"Jim?" she whispered.

He had preapproved her for sensory sharing. She could see through his eyes. King stood on the bridge, Jordan at his side.

"Kim, what's wrong?"

"Look through my eyes, Jim."

She looked again at the top of the exhaust cylinder. As she swept her flashlight from side to side, the arachtaurs stirred. A few twitched in their sleep.

"Arachtaurs," King grumbled. "You're not the first to see them. Reports have been flooding the bridge. They're all over. But I haven't seen this many in one place before."

Kim pursed her lips. She had been deep in the machinery with a poor MindWeb signal. She must have missed the news.

"Jim, you have to turn on the Talaria engine. Just for a second. Fill this exhaust port with fire."

"As soon as you get out of there. Hurry."

The arachtaurs stirred again. A few yawned and muttered in their sleep. A few legs moved, scraping across their metal perch. If they were anything like human babies—and their upper halves were human—they would wake up soon and scream.

"I'm getting back into the service crawlway," Kim telepathized. "I won't have a signal there. Give me five minutes to get far enough, then blast fire from the exhaust."

"No. Kim! I'll wait until you're back on the engineering deck. Contact me from there."

"It'll take me twenty minutes to get there," she said. "These creatures will be awake by then—and running amok through the ship. Just give me five minutes. I'll be far enough into the crawlway by then. Love you, Jim."

Not giving him time to argue, she ended the call.

She stood on a mezzanine, facing the vast cylinder, and took a deep breath. Okay. In five minutes, this place would be full of ionized gasses hot enough to melt boulders. The exhaust cylinder was made of tantalum hafnium carbide, reinforced with layers of graphite. It could take some serious heat. The arachtaurs, presumably, could not. When the Freedom's engine blazed out exhaust, the arachtaurs would instantly disintegrate into individual atoms.

So would Kim, if she didn't get a leg up.

She took a step back from the railing. The mezzanine creaked. Loudly.

Kim froze, heart pounding. She glanced up. The arachtaurs shifted in their sleep. One moaned but did not wake.

Okay. Calm down, Kim. You're fine. You're safe.

She took another step back.

The mezzanine creaked again.

High above, one arachtaur opened its eyes. It stared right at her.

Kim ran, rattling the mezzanine, until she reached the service hatch. She squeezed into the crawlway and crawled as fast as she could.

Behind her, arachtaurs screeched. Their cries echoed in the towering exhaust port like the voices of demonic monks in an unholy cathedral. Kim glanced over her shoulder. The creatures were scuttling across the cavernous exhaust cylinder, swarming toward the mezzanine. Very soon now, they'd race through the hatch into the crawlway where Kim hid.

She had to keep them inside that giant exhaust port!

She managed to wriggle around in the narrow passageway, then returned to the hatch. The first arachtaurs reached the mezzanine. They lunged toward the crawlway where Kim crouched. Their eyes blazed red, and their fangs shone.

Kim slammed the hatch shut. She crushed one arachtaur against the doorframe. Four of its legs stuck into the passage, slicing the air. Kim groaned, shoving against the hatch. The arachtaur pressed its human face—a baby's face—between the hatch and doorframe.

"I'll eat your organs, human!" it rumbled in an impossibly deep voice. "I'll devour your guts as you watch!"

Kim grimaced, shoving the metal hatch, trying to close it. But more arachtaurs kept pushing back, keeping the door open. They laughed.

Holding the door with her shoulder, Kim grabbed her blowtorch and switched on the flame. She burned the arachtaur's smirking face.

It squealed and fell back. Kim shoved the door with all her strength. The hatch closed, sealing the arachtaurs in the chasmal exhaust port. Severed spider legs clattered down onto the crawlway floor.

At once, the arachtaurs began pounding on the door again. It had no lock. Of course not. Why would a service hatch need a lock? Kim shoved herself against the door, grimacing, desperate to hold the creatures inside the exhaust port.

How long had it been? She had told King to fire up the engine in five minutes. That meant four, maybe three minutes were left. Then the exhaust port, a cylinder the size of a football stadium, would fill with enough fire to burn a small town.

This service tunnel, where Kim now crouched, would get very hot. Maybe not as hot as on the other side of the hatch. Probably not hot enough to disintegrate her into individual atoms. But definitely hot enough to burn the flesh off her bones.

The arachtaurs banged against the door. It jolted. A spider leg reached through. Kim grimaced and slammed the hatch shut again, severing this leg too.

She tried to call King. Hold off! Don't turn on the heat!

But here in the crawlway, the machinery was already interfering with the signal.

How long did she have? Two more minutes?

"Open up, human!" screeched an arachtaur. "It won't hurt much."

"We eat fast!"

"We'll suck your marrow."

"We'll crunch your bones."

"Open up, open up!"

They banged against the door even harder. More and more were slamming against the hatch. Kim leaned back against the door, pressed her boots against a pipe, and pushed back with all her strength. The door creaked open again. The arachtaurs were too strong.

With a trembling hand, she raised her blowtorch.

She let out a flame.

The arachtaurs screeched and fell back. The door slammed shut.

At once, Kim began welding the latch. The metal melted, sealing the door in place. The creatures banged against the door, nudging it open again. Kim slammed it shut, clenched her jaw, and kept welding. Sparks flew over her. She lowered her helmet's visor and kept working.

How long had it been? She could not call King from here. But she could check her call log.

Fifty more seconds.

The welding job wasn't done. The melted latch wouldn't hold the arachtaurs for long. But maybe it would just hold the beasts just long enough. It would have to do.

Kim dropped her blowtorch and crawled for her life.

Behind her, the arachtaurs banged at the door. It held! They could not get through!

She kept worming her way down the tunnel. Gears turned around her. Pipes thrummed below, and cables cracked overhead. Twenty more seconds. The arachtaurs roared. Kim moved faster, bloodying her elbows against the machinery, moving faster, faster.

Ten more seconds.

The dreadnought began to tremble.

Machinery clanked deep inside the ship.

The engines were warming up.

Five more seconds.

Arachtaurs squealed with joy. Kim glanced behind her.

They were through! The hatch was open again!

She crawled faster. The little beasts came scurrying down the tunnel, legs clattering, eyes shining.

Four more seconds. The hybrids laughed. Their voices echoed.

"Feeding time!"

Three more seconds. The entire ship was rumbling now.

"Human time!"

Two more seconds.

"Time for bones and blood!"

Kim scurried around a bend in the crawlway.

One more second.

She leaped down a shaft, not even bothering with the ladder.

Light.

Heat.

Flames roared through the crawlway above.

An inferno blazed. Kim fell down the shaft. She reached out, caught a ladder's rung. She dangled in the shaft. Fire roared above her. She grimaced, clinging on.

The arachtaurs screamed. This time they were screaming in pain.

"It burns!"

"Help us!"

"The fire burns!"

An arachtaur jumped down the hatch. It was ablaze. Kim pressed herself against the ladder. The creature tumbled down, a fireball, and vanished into the depths. A few more arachtaurs fell into the hatch next. They were nothing but charred skeletons.

The flames died.

The terrible heat dissipated.

Kim clung to the hatch ladder, weeping.

She climbed lower, arms trembling, until she landed in another service tunnel. She lay there among pipes, crying, shaking … and laughing.

"Take that, you bastards," she whispered, then laughed some more, tears on her cheeks.

Once she had caught her breath, she kept crawling through the service tunnels. Finally she returned to the main engineering deck, covered in ash, her coveralls torn and bloody. Her MindLink connection came back to life.

King called her at once.

"Kim, are you okay?"

She collapsed into a chair. "I am. I think you got them all."

King was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was grim. "Kim, they're all over the ship. This is an infestation."

The voices echoed in Kim's ears.

We'll suck your marrow!

We'll crunch your bones!

She shuddered and wrapped her hand around her wrench. "Then we'll kill them," she said. "We'll kill them all."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Emily walked in darkness, delving into the strange gray mountain on Baseworld.

The flashlight on her helmet could barely pierce these shadows. A tunnel stretched ahead, cold and barren. She pointed her slender beam of light at the walls, struggling to see. Frost etched pale fractals against the rough stone. Icy crystals crunched beneath her feet.

Blue letters appeared across her visor's HUD.

WARNING. EXTREME TEMPERATURE DETECTED.

She checked her spacesuit's thermometer. Minus 197 Celsius. Colder than liquid nitrogen. Emily hoped her suit held together. One crack and this temperature would freeze her bones.

"Could Aeolians truly live in such frigid temperatures?" she asked.

She was speaking through the comlink built into her helmet. Neither Stowy nor Arav had MindLinks, so if she wanted to talk to everyone, telepathy was out of the question. Funny. A year ago, after getting her own MindLink installed into her skull, Emily had found telepathy so confusing. Now it was second nature. She often preferred it to speaking.

"On Earth, some animals live at the bottom of the ocean," Darjeeling reminded her. "Some animals even live around hydrothermal vents. Tardigrades can survive virtually anything; we've found them clinging to the hull of the Freedom, out in the vacuum and radiation, as happy as could be. Life can survive in extreme conditions."

"Extremophiles," Emily said. "I've heard of them. Organisms who can survive extreme conditions. We'll see."

They kept walking. The tunnel stretched on. The temperature kept dropping. The darkness seemed to thicken. Soon Emily's flashlight could barely penetrate these inky shadows. It was as if the darkness were a living thing, an entity enveloping them, prepared to constrict them.

Arav walked beside her. The monk's white spacesuit, which had shone so brightly outside, turned dark gray. But the golden lotus on his chest caught the meager light and flared, a symbol of hope. The monk gave her a little smile and nod. He stepped closer to her.

"Baba Mahal teaches that the light of peace, kindness, and wisdom can banish any darkness."

"He sounds like a wise man," Emily said. "Or at least a very optimistic one."

Arav nodded. "He was both. He was among the wisest and most enlightened men who ever lived. He taught only a century ago. But we believe that Baba Mahal shares a bond with generations past. We believe he was the Buddha reborn."

"Mahatrism is an offshoot of Buddhism, isn't it?" Emily said.

"Indeed it is. Baba Mahal began his training as a Buddhist monk. He learned great wisdom there. But he disagreed with many things, and he often clashed with the older monks. He refused to study martial arts, which the other monks practiced with great passion and skill."

"He was a pacifist," Emily said.

"Indeed. Baba Mahal taught a path of pure kindness, not resistance. He considered even self-defense to be sacrilegious, the tainting of a soul with violence. He taught that an enemy can do worse than kill you. He can force you to kill—a fate worse even than death."

Emily bit her lip. "But does pacifism always work? Could it have worked against the Red Dawn? Against Hitler? Or against the rahs?"

"It does not always work," said Arav. "Sometimes even the kindest monk cannot reach the heart of a cruel foe. Baba Mahal was the kindest man who ever lived. But when his enemies closed in around him, he could not sway their hearts. They took arms against him."

"Even then, he didn't defend himself?" Emily asked.

Arav shook his head. "No. He stood peacefully, smiled, and allowed the bullets of his enemy to pierce his flesh. It's said that as he lay dying, he smiled. He said that it is better to die a peaceful man than live with bloodied hands."

Emily considered that for a moment. "I think I'd rather live with bloodied hands."

"Ah, but we monks also believe in reincarnation. We believe that our baba is not gone forever. Someday he will be reborn. We pray every day for his return. And when he is reborn, his soul will be truly pure, a soul enlightened from birth itself. The baba reborn will bring great peace to the cosmos."

Stowy emerged from the shadows. She hopped toward them, interrupting the conversation. "I'm bored! Are we there yet?"

"Are we where?" Emily asked.

"You know—there!" Stowy danced around her. "Wherever we're going. The light at the end of this tunnel."

"I don't know. It can't be too much longer. Or we'd have—"

She bit down on her words. She stopped walking and stared ahead.

Darjeeling and Arav stopped too, eyes wide.

Stowy skipped along, oblivious. "This place is like the ducts of the Freedom, only it's not nearly as nice, and— Ow!"

She slammed into a stone wall ahead, recoiled, and fell down hard on her bottom.

Emily helped the girl up. "Are you all right?"

Stowy groaned. "Who put a wall here?"

They all stood in a line, aiming their flashlights together. The wall filled the tunnel, blocking their passage.

"Is that it?" Emily wondered. "Did we reach the end of the mountain?"

"No, I've been measuring the distance on my MindLink," Darjeeling said. "We walked a kilometer. But the mountain—or whatever this place is—is over two kilometers wide. We seem to be in the center."

Emily frowned and tapped the wall. "Just rough stone and ice. Like the walls at our side."

"So we came here for nothing?" Darjeeling asked. "A dead end?"

Stowy stamped her feet. "Where are the alien ants? I was promised alien ants!"

"Nobody promised you ants," Emily said.

Stowy dropped to all fours and began sniffing around like a dog. "Where are you, little ants?"

The others tried to ignore her, studying the wall. Emily ran her hands along it. "Could there be a secret doorway?"

The ice was jagged under her palm. She could feel the cold even through her glove. She ran her hand along the wall, seeking grooves or any hint of a secret doorway. Her flashlight caught something green, but the color vanished at once. Emily froze, then looked back. This time the light flashed on something purple.

She frowned. "There's something under the ice. I can't see what exactly."

Darjeeling leaned forward, squinting. "Something colorful. I see green, purple, blue."

Emily raised her Mordecai plasma rifle. With the muzzle, she tried scraping off the ice. But it was frozen solid. She'd have better luck scraping steel. Instead, she flipped her rifle to automatic, then lowered the intensity to minimum. When she pulled the trigger, a tiny flame emerged like a blowtorch. She began melting the ice.

Darjeeling, who carried his own plasma rifle, helped. Rivulets of dirty liquid spilled onto the floor. Emily wasn't sure if it was water. At least not pure water. The liquid was gray and tinged with blue.

Stowy rose from the ground. "Hey, you're washing away all the ants!" She reached into her pack and pulled out a miniature laser blade. "Make way, make way. I've got this."

The stowaway tapped a button on the hilt. A thin blade of searing white energy emerged.

"Where did you get that?" Emily squinted in the light. "Laser blades are illegal in civilian hands."

Stowy snorted. "Oh please, I'm an honorary soldier by now."

Darjeeling flushed an angry red. "You are not! Did you steal that from the armory?"

"I borrowed it! Like I borrowed Niles's jewels. And your mustache comb."

Darjeeling's mustache bristled behind his visor. "You did what?"

Stowy rolled her eyes. "I needed a lice comb! You're the one who didn't want me to have lice. Here, take it back." She handed him the comb.

"Get that away from me." Darjeeling shoved the comb away.

"Hey, do you think there might be aquatic ants here?" Stowy knelt and began splashing through the puddles.

Emily didn't pay them much attention. She kept working, melting the ice. Before long, she exposed a purple crystal the size of a plum. It was embedded into the stone. They all kept working, melting more ice, excavating more crystals.

Finally the work was done. Eighteen crystals appeared on the door, each in a different color.

Stowy leaped to her feet. "Those look like my crystals! The ones Niles dropped. But even bigger."

Emily only gazed in wonder. "They're cut and polished. So much for this being a natural cave. Somebody placed these here. Aeolians." She spun toward Darjeeling, smiling. "It had to be Aeolians."

Darjeeling did not smile. He gave the jewels a sidelong glance. "Could it have been the rahs?"

"No." Emily shook her head. "Rahs don't care about beauty. We've never seen them display any jewels. And we've studied rah eyes. They can only see black, white, and red. And these gems are all the colors of the rainbow. Aliens who appreciated beauty placed them here. Not the rahs."

"Could it have been the arachtaurs?" Darjeeling said. "They're half human. They have eyes like ours."

Emily hesitated. "I haven't thought of that. I suppose that's a possibility. But the arachtaurs are a new race. Elder'rah only created them a year or two ago, as far as we know. And this place feels old. All covered in dust and grime and ice. I think these crystals have been here for a very long time." She looked at the crystals, and a soft smile touched her lips. "I think we're looking at an Aeolian artifact."

"It's beautiful," Stowy said, gazing in awe. "I want it."

The stowaway scampered closer.

"Stowy, no!" Emily cried.

But it was too late. Stowy grabbed one gemstone—the purple one—and plucked it right off the wall. It came free effortlessly, leaving a depression in the stone.

Stowy held it up. "Ooh, pretty."

Emily gaped. "Samantha Perry! Put that back!"

"Don't wanna." She stuffed the gemstone into her pack.

"Stowy!" Emily pulled the stone out of the girl's pack. "Stealing things from other humans is bad enough. But you can't steal ancient alien artifacts."

"But it's purple! You know purple is my favorite color."

"That's as may be, you still can't steal."

Stowy pouted and crossed her arms. "You're no fun at all."

Emily placed the gemstone back into the hole. It snapped into place, glowed briefly, then dimmed.

"Wow." Emily blinked. "Did anyone else catch that?"

"A glow," said Arav. The monk knelt reverently. "This place is holy. It's blessed with light."

Emily plucked the gemstone out of the wall again. It came free easily. Like one of those puzzles where babies snapped shapes into a wooden board. She plugged it back in. Again, just for a second, the purple stone lit up.

She reached for another gemstone. A green one this time. Emerald, she thought. It was the size of a kiwi. She plucked it from the wall just as easily. When she snapped it back into place, it too briefly shone.

"Why is it doing that?" Stowy said.

"I don't know." Emily considered for a moment. "Could it be an art installation?"

"Perhaps it's an alien computer system," Darjeeling said. "A control panel, and these are the buttons."

Arav was still kneeling, palms pressed together. "This is a holy place. These are blessed stones."

Emily smiled wistfully. "Whatever it is, Niles would have loved it. It's too bad he had to stay with Meytal on the ship." She plucked a few gems out, then plugged them back in, watching them glow and fade. "Remember how we thought this might be a door? Maybe this is the lock."

Darjeeling raised an eyebrow. "A control panel for the door?"

"Maybe we have to key in the right code," Emily said. "How would that work? Eighteen gemstones. Do we press them? No, they're not buttons. Maybe we need to …" Her eyes widened with realization. "Organize them in the right order! That might be it. Maybe they're all scrambled. And once we arrange the stones properly, the door will open."

"If it's a door at all," Darjeeling said.

Emily took a few steps aside, reignited her plasma, and melted more ice. She revealed a seam along the tunnel wall. "Look here. A straight line between two surfaces." She squinted. "I can see a tiny gap. Not even a millimeter wide. I think it's the doorframe."

Darjeeling placed his hands on the stone doorway and groaned. "It's stuck. Locked all right."

Emily tapped the side of her helmet, lost in thought. "That does lend credence to our hypothesis, doesn't it? That the gemstones are some sort of key. Like a combination key on a safe. If we—Stowy! Stowy, did you take a few gemstones?"

The stowaway quickly hid her hands behind her back. She shook her head, her face a study of innocence.

"Give me those." Emily pulled them free. "Stowy, what did I tell you about—"

Suddenly Emily's comlink crackled. She winced as static filled her helmet. Everyone else winced too. They must be hearing the same thing in their helmets.

Meytal's voice emerged from the speakers, staticky. "I—trying to contact—MindWeb—no signal—"

"Meytal, you're breaking up," Emily said. They were deep in the tunnel now. Meytal wouldn't be able to telepathize with them. She was using standard radio now, but this deep into the mountain, even the radio waves were weak.

"—or seven of them!" Meytal said. "—n't leave Rave—care—" More static. "—into tunne—"

A scream tore over her words. It was a terrible, shrill sound like ripping skin.

The call died.

For a moment, the companions stood in silence. Even Stowy dared not say a word. Nobody even breathed.

Then another scream sounded. This one wasn't coming out of their speakers. It came from the cave, flowing down the tunnel in waves. Then another scream. And a furious screech. Then many voices crying out together. Words echoed in the darkness.

"Humans!"

"Humans in the dark."

"Time to feed!"

Emily gripped her rifle tighter. "They found us. Arachtaurs."

* * * * *

The arachtaur cries filled the tunnel. The clattering of their legs echoed.

"The tunnel is a kilometer long," Darjeeling said. "They'll be here in moments." He shouldered his rifle. "We've got a fight on our hands."

It sounded like a lot of arachtaurs. Emily had a gun, but she was no warrior. Neither were Stowy or Arav. Darjeeling was a fighter, but he was in his sixties now, a little slower on his feet. Emily didn't like the odds.

The arachtaur voices sounded closer.

"Skin, skin to eat!"

"Bones to crunch!"

"Blood to slurp!"

Even Arav seemed taken aback. For once, the monk wasn't smiling pleasantly. Stowy, God bless her, drew her laser dagger. Her blade blazed with light, and she snarled, ready to fight. Maybe the girl was a warrior after all.

"Don't worry, boss, I'll protect you," the stowaway said.

But Emily doubted that even the valiant Stowy would help now. They had to get through this door. And fast.

She spun back toward the gemstones. Eighteen gems, each a different color. Each one could be plucked out, placed back inside. A combination lock. It had to be a combination lock. Instead of numbers, based on … the types of stone? The color?

They pulled a few gemstones out, put them back in. They shone, then faded.

The arachtaurs roared behind them.

"There they are!"

"There are the humans!"

"We will feast!"

Darjeeling opened fire. The bullets almost deafened Emily. She wanted to turn around and fight too, but she forced herself to focus on the door. It was still her best chance.

"All right, eighteen stones. I just need to arrange them properly." She ran some quick calculations in her MindLink calculator. "There are … trillions of combinations of eighteen stones. Great."

She bit her lip so deeply now she tasted blood.

"We smell them!"

"We smell the blood!"

Darjeeling kept firing. Bullets roared. The arachtaurs kept charging. Emily only had a minute or two now. Maybe only seconds.

The Aeolians had built this place. She had to think like an Aeolian. Those mysterious aliens had fought the rahs. Spiders. Bloodthirsty monsters. Creatures who didn't care for gemstones or beauty. Who were …

"Colorblind," Emily whispered. "The rahs are colorblind. The Aeolians built a lock the rahs could never solve!"

According to Earth's astrobiologists, the rahs could only see black, white, and red. But if Aeolians were like humans, they could see all the colors of the rainbow. That was it! A rainbow! Something intuitive to Aeolians and meaningless to rahs.

Frantically she began rearranging the stones in the doorway. Purple on the bottom, then working all the way up to red. Traditional rainbows, as drawn on Earth, featured seven colors. But in reality the shades were infinite. Perhaps the Aeolians had sharper eyes, and they traditionally included eighteen hues.

Emily placed the last stone in and admired her work.

The stones shone, then faded.

Nothing happened.

Emily pulled and pushed the door. It didn't budge.

"Feeding time!" came a voice from behind.

Emily spun around to see an arachtaur leaping toward her. His face was hideous. A face covered with frost like caked makeup. A clown face. A twisted face. The mouth opened, the tongue white and frozen, and the bloodshot eyes bulged, coated with ice like cataracts. The hybrid wore no spacesuit, and the cold was devouring him like a hungry ghost, but still he lunged in for the kill. His fangs shone in the light of the gemstones, and his claws reached out, ready to eviscerate Emily.

A year ago, Emily would have screamed in terror and died. Today her training kicked in. She raised her rifle and fired.

Plasma bolts slammed into the arachtaur, burning off his face, ripping holes through his chest. The creature kept flying, moving on momentum alone, dead in the air. Emily stepped aside. The arachtaur slammed into the door, dislodging gemstones. They scattered across the floor.

Emily's heart sank to her pelvis.

More arachtaurs came racing down the tunnel. Darjeeling had to pause to reload. Another creature leaped at them.

Emily fired, roasting the beast.

Stowy, for all her earlier bravado, stepped back. Her hand trembled.

"I … I'll kill you!" the stowaway whispered, face pale. She waved her laser blade but dropped it.

Emily shot another leaping arachtaur, burning through its chest, revealing its pulsing organs. Its human body wilted, but the spider body kept racing forward. Emily fired again and again. Finally the spider's abdomen deflated, and the creature crashed down.

More eyes shone in the dark. More alien cries echoed.

"Stowy, Arav, get the gemstones!" Emily said. "I'll hold them off."

The stowaway nodded, knelt, and began lifting the gemstones from the ground. Arav, who had no weapon, helped her.

Emily reloaded her rifle, fired again and again, desperate to hold the enemy back. "We need to find the right arrangement of stones. I tried a rainbow, but it didn't work."

"I thought rainbows only have seven colors," Stowy said. "There are eighteen gemstones."

Emily roasted another creature. "The Aeolians have better eyes, I think!" she shouted over the battle. "They see more shades. They …" She gasped. "They see rainbows on a wider spectrum."

An arachtaur made it through the hailstorm of Darjeeling's bullets and Emily's plasma bolts. Body full of holes, it leaped toward Emily. Darjeeling ran forward, barreled into the beast, and knocked it down. Another arachtaur lunged, slamming into the old sergeant. Darjeeling swung his rifle like a club, holding them back, but just barely.

Emily wanted to help. But she had to get that door open!

She turned toward the doorway, raised MindPlay, and toggled through available devices. She found it. The helmet's visual array field.

She switched to infrared light. Suddenly all the colors changed. She saw the gemstones in entirely new hues. One gemstone, which had appeared yellow earlier, now shone deep red. She turned on ultraviolet light next. Another gemstone, which she had mistaken for azure, actually glowed a pale lavender.

Of course. The Aeolians didn't see colors like humans did. Humans saw better than rahs, but even they did not see perfectly. Some animals, including many birds and insects, could see a wider range of colors than humans. Apparently, so could the Aeolians. Only with technology could Emily see the true colors of these gemstones—or at least the closest approximation her helmet could provide.

"Arrange that one on top," Emily said. "That one below. No, toggle those two. Yes, like that."

She had to speak while firing her weapon. Stowy blinked in confusion, but Arav seemed to understand.

"Of course!" the monk said. He adjusted his visual input parameters too. His visor shimmered. "We need to expand our spectrum of colors."

He quickly placed the gemstones into the right place, forming a perfect rainbow. A rainbow on a wider spectrum than the naked human eye could see.

The tunnel rumbled. Dust flew. The stone door began to slide open, inch by inch.

A claw pierced Darjeeling's leg. He fell to one knee. An arachtaur loomed above him, smiled crookedly, and licked her bloody claw.

"Darjeeling!" Emily cried in horror. She fired several plasma bolts, slaying the arachtaur. For a moment, no enemies were attacking.

"I'm all right," Darjeeling said, still on his knees. "I'm fine. She just nicked me."

The stone door kept sliding open, moving at a snail's pace. The opening was still too narrow to squeeze through. Arav began to pull the stone, trying to widen the opening faster.

Claws clattered in the darkness.

Emily stared down the tunnel.

A new arachtaur was heading their way. This one wasn't running, wasn't shouting or bragging. He just walked calmly. A towering male. He stepped into the light, and Emily recognized him at once. The alabaster skin, sharp features, and long black hair were unmistakable.

"Abraxas," she whispered.

The commander of God's Tomb drew two scimitars. He raised them like an additional pair of claws.

Emily didn't have much plasma left. She fired at him. He swung his scimitars, blocking every bolt.

"The door is wide enough!" Arav said. "Come on, everyone."

"Get in, everyone!" Emily said. "I'll hold the arachtaurs off."

Stowy raced into the room first. Arav helped Darjeeling up. The aging soldier was mumbling that he would not leave Emily behind. But the monk pulled the wounded Englishman into the chamber.

Emily remained in the tunnel alone.

"Emily, come on!" Stowy's voice came from beyond the door.

But Emily did not move. She felt paralyzed. She stared down the tunnel at Abraxas. He stared back, a crooked smile on his face.

"Hello, Emily," he said.

She fired two more bolts. He blocked them both with his scimitars. She tried to fire again but her rifle dinged. Out of plasma. She wanted to open her pack, to find another battery, but her hands were shaking too badly.

Abraxas burst into a run, eight legs clattering. His lips peeled back to reveal the fangs.

"Emily!" Stowy cried, reached out, and grabbed Emily's arm.

The spell broke. Emily raced through the doorway into a shadowy chamber. At once, Arav and Darjeeling began shoving the door shut.

"Wait!" Emily said. "The lock is still open!"

She reached through the doorway. Abraxas was only meters away. Emily grabbed one gemstone from the door and pulled it into the chamber. Darjeeling and Arav shoved, and the door slammed shut.

An instant later, Abraxas slammed into the door.

He was an enormous arachtaur. The thud reverberated through the heavy stone door. But the door held. His screech seemed to shake the mountain. He slammed into the door again and again. Dust blew. But the door barely budged. With one gemstone in Emily's hand, the rainbow lock was broken. The door was locked solid.

Emily slumped to the floor, breathing heavily, clasping the crystal in her hand. For now, they were safe.

Then she saw where they were, and her heart nearly stopped in her chest.

CHAPTER TWELVE

"I want those things off my ship, dammit." King glared over his reading glasses. "I don't care what you have to do. This is not just a pest infestation. This is a hostile alien boarding. I want those creatures out of the ductwork. Kill them. By any means necessary."

Bastian stood before the desk, wearing a battered battlesuit. "Absolutely. This is war." He hesitated. "I'm used to fighting war in open spaces. Most of the marines, well … we can't fit into the ducts."

Sheepishly, he glanced down at his belly.

King put down the book he was reading. Anabasis by Xenophon. He always turned to the old masters during times of hardship. Even with the chaos engulfing his ship, King had retired to his stateroom for an hour of reading, thinking, and recalibrating. His stateroom was where he thought best. The bookshelves, the crackling fireplace, the suit of armor, the model sailing ships—they could always ground him. He needed some deep thinking now. It would be with his wits that he defeated the Tyranny. It looked like he was relaxing, but this was how King fought. Not only with cannons but with books.

"Bastian, I'm busy dealing with the Tyranny. You are the commander of my marine brigade. The arachtaur invasion is a job for my marines. I won't do this job for you. Figure out a way—and get these little bastards off my starship!"

Bastian took a deep breath, pursed his lips, and nodded. "Understood, sir. I'll recruit the smallest, skinniest marines. We'll do a sweep of the ducts for more eggs. And more … babies." He grimaced. "Nasty little buggers, aren't they?"

"Little now, but they grow fast," King said. "Faster than any organism I'm familiar with. We believe this infestation started with Telve'rahda laying a single clutch of eggs through the vents. The babies grew to maturity within days—and began laying eggs of their own."

Bastian shuddered. "I haven't seen any full-grown arachtaurs yet. But if they grow this fast, it won't be long. And the little ones are bad enough. So far we only lost one marine, but—"

A rattling sounded above.

Both men stared at the deckhead.

The HVAC grate tore off. Normally that was a sign of Stowy popping in for a visit. Today a baby arachtaur dropped into the stateroom. The hideous creature was the size of a beagle. It was hard to know for sure, but King thought this one was male. The human half looked like a sickly boy, his skin the color of wilting lavender blooms. The arachtaur crouched on the deck, bared his fangs, and hissed.

King and Bastian both drew their sidearms and opened fire.

The arachtaur squealed and scampered aside. The bullets perforated the wooden floorboards and lodged into the steel deck plates beneath. Sharp legs clattered. The arachtaur shot a strand of webbing, caught the corner of a bookshelf, and scampered up. His eight spider legs ripped through rare and antique books. A few tumbled onto the deck, their leather spines lacerated.

Bastian raised his handgun and fired. Bullets slammed into the bookshelf. A few more books fell, riddled with bullets. The arachtaur yelped and scurried away.

"Stop, dammit, those are priceless books!" King said.

"Dad!" Bastian spun toward the arachtaur, who was scrambling across the crown moldings. "There's a murderous alien hybrid in your office. This isn't the time to worry about books."

He fired again. Again. A bullet sparked against the suit of armor by the fireplace. Another bullet shattered a glass bottle. A model ship collapsed inside.

"You're causing more damage than the goddamn alien!" King said. "Hold your fire."

Reluctantly, Bastian lowered his sidearm. The arachtaur was now on the desk, hissing. His legs knocked over a book, a bottle of Ganymede ale, and a model starfighter King had been painting. The little Eagle broke.

Dammit. King had spent hours on that.

He reached out with his prosthetic fist. It looked like a medieval gauntlet, complete with steel claws on the fingertips. In fact, Mimori had modeled the prosthetic off the suit of armor by the fireplace. The same suit of armor that now had bullet holes in the chest.

The arachtaur scampered across the deck, bared his fangs, and leaped at King.

He caught it in his prosthetic fist and squeezed.

The arachtaur made a sound like a dog when you step on its tail. King snarled and squeezed tighter, tighter. He was holding the creature right where the human half met the spider. A hydraulic system powered the gauntlet, giving the metal hand superhuman strength. Bones snapped. Blood dripped. The arachtaur's head slumped and his tongue dangled. When King finally released his grip, there wasn't much left connecting the human and spider halves. It looked like a red, well-rung towel. The beast thumped down, dead.

Bastian turned green. "Dad, that's disgusting."

King took a hand towel he had been using while painting the model. He cleaned his metal fist. "What's disgusting is shooting books."

Bastian rolled his eyes. "Dad, I was shooting the alien, not books."

King knelt and lifted his antique copy of Moby-Dick, printed on actual paper that had survived the centuries. A bullet had shot straight through it. King looked at the book, then at Bastian.

"Do you know this novel, Bastian? Herman Melville wrote Moby-Dick in 1851. There are no original editions left. This edition was printed in 1951, celebrating the book's centennial anniversary. It was printed on actual paper. Real paper from a real tree! This book had survived centuries, a world war, an alien invasion, and a leap to another star system. And you shot it."

"Dad, enough about the books!"

King looked around his stateroom. The fallen books. The shattered models. He nodded. "You're right, son. This is war. I've been fighting a war out there in space. But now this war has invaded the starship Freedom. Now the enemy strikes us in our very home." He clenched his metal fist. "I made a mistake. I allowed a creature onto my ship. I took an arachtaur prisoner, because I wanted to interrogate it. To learn from it. I let this infestation happen."

"Dad." Bastian's voice was softer now. "You couldn't have known. Nobody could have predicted Telve'rahda would lay eggs in a vent. That the eggs would hatch, and those arachtaurs would lay their own eggs. Not even Mimori with all her game theory algorithms foresaw this."

"I should have," King said. "This was my mistake. My responsibility. And I'm going to do something I should have done on day one. Bastian, rally the marines. Kill every arachtaur on this ship. Aside from one. Aside from Telve'rahda." He marched toward the door. "That one is mine."

* * * * *

King marched down the corridors, scowling. He ignored the spacers who stood at attention. Ignored the racing mechanics and medics. Ignored the MindLink calls that kept coming in. Right now he cared about only one thing.

He took the elevator to the underbelly. Engines rumbled around him. The lights were flickering. Claw marks scarred the bulkheads. A guard lay on the floor, his belly slashed open. Two medics were treating him. King stepped around them and marched on.

I'm coming for you, Telve'rahda.

As King walked down a corridor, cables sparked, spilling out of a crack in the deckhead. The overhead lights died with a thud, and the smell of smoke filled the air. Yellow eyes shone in the darkness, and hisses rose from the shadows.

King didn't have a flashlight. He halted and stood, tense, still, just listening.

Scuttling below. Spider legs on the deck.

King drew his sidearm and fired. An arachtaur squealed. For a split second, the muzzle lit the darkness. King saw eleven juvenile arachtaurs. They covered the bulkheads, the deck, even the ceiling. They were big ones too. The size of coyotes.

Their claws pattered. They were racing closer.

King fired again. Again. Each time his muzzle lit the darkness, he got an updated picture of his enemies' locations. With every shot, he killed another. And the survivors moved closer.

King fired his last bullet. Another arachtaur thumped down, a bullet in its head. For a split second, the muzzle had revealed five more arachtaurs. All leaping toward King.

King had come here from his office, wearing a formal service uniform, armed only with a handgun. He had no more bullets. No spare magazine.

He would have to do without.

He swung his metal fist in the darkness. He hit something. Crushed something. An arachtaur skull.

Four more remained in the darkness. One slammed into his chest. Another grabbed his shoulder.

The darkness was blinding, but the pain told King where they were. He ripped them off and crushed them between his metal fingers. Pain flared on his leg. He reached down, grabbed another arachtaur, and slammed it against the bulkhead.

A screech pierced his ears. A stench filled his nostrils. An arachtaur was leaping toward him! King brought his hand to his face. The arachtaur slammed into the metal palm. King closed his fingers around the creature's human skull. He squeezed. Tighter and tighter. The creature flailed. Its legs kicked madly, scraping across a bulkhead. Sparks lit the darkness.

King squeezed even tighter. The arachtaur's skull shattered in his gauntlet with a sickening crunch. Then came the sluicing sound of brains dripping onto the deck.

The lights flickered back on. The mechanics must have switched to battery power. The stark light revealed blood across the bulkheads and decks. All the arachtaurs lay dead. King stepped over them.

* * * * *

He walked onward until he reached the brig.

Odd. Mushrooms grew from the deck. Knobby branches were coiling over the bulkheads, sprouting purple leaves like decaying butterfly wings.

Several men were guarding the prison cell. But one guard was kneeling, cradling something invisible, weeping and begging forgiveness. Another guard just stared at a bulkhead, eyes wide. He reached out to touch something King could not see. A third guard sat in the corner, hugging himself, pleading with an unseen demon for mercy.

Telve'rahda sat there in her cell, smiling thinly, her spider legs folded beneath her abdomen.

King knelt by one weeping guard. "Give me your weapon."

"She's beautiful, sir," the guard whispered, tears flowing down his cheeks. "She's larger than this ship. Larger than the world. She's so beautiful." He gripped King's arm. "I have to solve the labyrinth. I have to reach the throne in the heart of this maze. I have to worship her."

The man was looking at a bulkhead. Nothing but a metal wall.

King grunted, grabbed the man's Gideon rifle, and wrenched it free.

He stared at the brig. Telve'rahda simply sat there, smiling at him. The force field shimmered between them.

"Somebody open this goddamn cell," he said to the guards. Nobody replied. Caterpillars were crawling over them, and the faces of dogs sprouted from their bodies like parasitic twins. King blinked and the visions faded.

He stepped over a man and tapped on the control panel. The force field shimmered, then vanished.

Bars still separated King from Telve'rahda. The admiral and the arachtaur stared at each other between the bars, silent. For a few seconds, they were both still. Just staring into each other's eyes.

Then, within a split second, Telve'rahda knelt and raised her stinger overhead like a scorpion. She blasted a spray of venom.

King raised his prosthetic hand, blocking the spray. It sizzled against the metal palm.

With his other hand, he thrust his Gideon between the bars and opened fire.

Bullets slammed into Telve'rahda. The arachtaur shrieked, scuttling back in her cell. She slung a web, caught the ceiling, and pulled herself upward. At once, she swung forward, thrusting all eight legs between the bars.

King took a step back. Too slowly. A claw slashed his arm. King roared. Telve'rahda pressed the attack, lashing her sharp legs between the bars. Another claw cut his hand. He yowled, and his gun clattered onto the deck. Each of those arachnid legs was as long as King was tall. They forced him to retreat until his back hit the wall.

Telve'rahda could not break the bars. She clung to them, hissing and drooling. King's assault rifle lay on the deck—just by the bars.

He lunged toward it, raising his metal fist for protection. A claw slammed against the gauntlet. Sparks flew. With his real hand, he reached for the Gideon.

Telve'rahda caught it first. With her front leg, she pulled the rifle between the bars and into her cell. At once, she flicked the rifle into the air, caught it with her human arms, and aimed.

King rolled aside. Bullets pounded the bulkhead behind him.

"Get out of here!" King cried to the guards.

The roar of gunfire seemed to break their trance. They scampered to safety, a few still weeping. Some guards.

They all retreated to a corridor around a bend. King too, his wounds bleeding. Around the corner, Telve'rahda was screeching in her cell.

Safe for the moment, King paused for breath, examined his wound, and winced. Two ugly gashes bled, one above the elbow, one on his hand. Out of sight, Telve'rahda was still firing her stolen rifle. Bullets filled the hall outside her cell. King and the guards sheltered behind the corner. Some shrapnel flew their way, sparking against a bulkhead across from them.

As he bandaged his wounded hand, King looked at the guards. "Why the hell didn't you return fire?"

One guard stared at him, tears on his cheeks. "You're covered with bugs. Oh God. You're covered with bugs with human faces."

"It's just a hallucination, goddammit!" King said. "The arachtaur is causing them. Give me your gun."

He yanked the rifle from the man. King himself was hallucinating now. The rifle looked like a serpent, writhing and hissing. Well, so long as it could fire bullets.

He noticed that Telve'rahda had not fired bullets for the past few seconds. What was she up to? Was she out of ammo?

Suddenly a clawed leg reached around the corner. Telve'rahda was stretching between the bars. King's stolen assault rifle was strapped onto the claw with cobwebs. Like marionette's string, one strand of gossamer pulled the trigger.

Bullets flew. King raised his metal hand, blocking one bullet. Other bullets slammed into guards around him.

King snarled, raced forward, and grabbed the assault rifle's barrel. He pulled hard, ripping it off the claw. Torn strands of cobwebs fell to the deck. A last bullet flew from the muzzle, grazing King's leg. He ignored the pain, marched back to the brig, and opened fire. He had two rifles now. He fired one with each hand. A storm of bullets flew into the cell.

Telve'rahda screamed and fell back. She curled into a ball in the corner. King kept pounding her with bullets. One gun ran out. A few seconds later, the second gun did too.

The arachtaur whimpered in the corner, bleeding from many bullet wounds. Her head was lowered, buried under her arm. Seven of her legs were folded. The eighth twitched, jutting out at an odd angle. Roots coiled along the bulkheads, creaking, eyes peering from knots in the wood.

King knew he should go to the armory, get a battlesuit and more bullets. But his rage flowed over him. If Jordan were here, the man would hold him back, force him to breathe, to think, not to act so impulsively. But Jordan wasn't here.

King grabbed the brig bars with his metal fist and yanked them out.

He marched into the cell, his mechanical hand thrumming with power. His boots sluiced through blood. Both the red blood of humans and the black blood of spiders. This creature bled two colors. Serpents slithered through the blood, lapping it up. More hallucinations.

Standing before Telve'rahda, King raised his metal hand. The fist vibrated with electromagnetic power. He unleashed a beam of pure devastation.

Telve'rahda leaped aside, scattering droplets of blood. The beam slammed into the wall, denting the bulkhead.

The arachtaur leaped toward the ceiling, then swooped down, screaming with fury.

She plowed into King, slamming him onto the deck.

"Stupid, brave human!" she roared, voice deep and demonic. "Now I will feed upon on your heart."

With one hand, she grabbed his chest. Right over the heart. She squeezed.

King bellowed in agony. Her claws pierced his skin. His muscle. The pain flowed over him. She was going to rip his heart out.

With a howl, he swung his metal fist into her face.

Her jawbone shattered. Fangs clattered against the deck. One eye socket cracked, and her eyeball bulged. Still she gripped his chest, digging her fingers deeper.

King reached up and caught her face between his metal fingers.

They both squeezed—harder, harder. He roared with agony and kept squeezing until her skull shattered like a melon.

Finally her hand released his chest.

King rolled over, coughing, tears on his cheeks. He looked at his chest and winced. Five claw marks bled. Another second, and she would have dug those claws deep enough to kill him.

The hallucinations vanished. The arachtaur was dead. Her human body slumped forward, and her arachnid abdomen thumped onto the deck.

King lay on his back, wincing.

"I'm too old for this shit," he muttered.

He tried to stand up, groaned, and fell back down. He had wanted to walk out of the cell, shoulders squared, back straight, like some ancient knight returning from a successful dragon-slaying quest. Instead, he called the medics. Within moments, they were in the prison cell.

"Sir, we're just going to put you on this litter, and take you to—"

"No," King snapped. "Bandage me up here. I'm walking out of this cell on my own two feet."

This wasn't about his pride. At least, he told himself it wasn't. His spacers were scared. They were lost a thousand light-years from home, no way back. The Tyranny was hunting them. Telve'rahda was dead, but her spawn still infested the starship, hungry for human flesh. His spacers needed to see their leader strong, in control. He needed to inspire them. If they saw him on a stretcher, they would lose courage. And more than guns it was courage that won wars. A good commander gave his troops courage.

The medics nodded, and they patched him up. Antiseptic. Stitches. Bandages. The works. Thankfully, the arachtaur hadn't damaged anything critical. King would live, though he would carry the scars for the rest of his life. It hurt like hell, but King walked out of there on his own two feet. He marched down the corridors, jaw tight. Across his starship, the battle was raging. Marines ran everywhere. Claws clattered through the ducts, and from every deck rose the screams.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"Meytal?" Emily said, speaking into her helmet's speakers. "Meytal, can you hear me? Sergeant Koren, come in!"

No reply. Emily switched to MindLink, sending out a telepathic message.

"Meytal, can you hear me?"

Again—nothing. No reception. They were too deep inside the mountain. Mountain? No, this was no mountain. It was a tomb.

"It's no use," Emily said. "I can't reach her. I hope she's okay."

Darjeeling rose to his feet, wincing. His leg was bandaged, his spacesuit patched up. The sergeant's face was worryingly pale.

"Don't you worry, ma'am. Meytal Koren is a tough warrior. If anyone can hold back the arachtaurs, it's her."

But how could Emily not worry? Last time Meytal had contacted them, she had warned of arachtaurs attacking the Raven. At least, Emily thought so. It had been hard to make out the commando's words.

And now here Emily was, trapped in this alien tomb. The door was locked. Arachtaurs still pounded on it, roaring in rage. And dear old Darjeeling was wounded. An arachtaur had slashed his leg, which was bad enough. Worse, perhaps, was the exposure to the bitter cold atmosphere of Baseworld. They had sealed the Englishman's suit, but he needed medical attention.

Did I lead us to our deaths? Emily thought.

She wished Niles were here. The fussy drone would be wailing of their impending doom. Emily would find ways to contradict him. But now, with her drone back on the ship, Emily had become the resident pessimist.

"Well, chins up everyone," she said, trying to sound optimistic. Not entirely convincingly, perhaps, but she gave it her best. "Not all is lost. We're safe for now. And we found a new place to explore. Remember—this is a mission of exploration. And we discovered something grand."

They all raised their chins, metaphorically but also literally, aiming their helmet flashlights at the grand chamber.

And indeed—this chamber was grand.

"It's beautiful," Emily whispered, eyes damp. Even Stowy gazed in silent awe.

This was nothing like the crude tunnel that had taken here. Perhaps the tunnel had once been beautiful too, but time had ravaged it, cracking and freezing its walls, hiding any murals that might have once graced them. But this inner sanctum had been sealed from the elements. It shone with grandeur.

The round chamber was the size of a cathedral nave. Crystals covered the walls, forming intricate mosaics in a dizzying array of colors. The flashlight reflected in a million hues.

Stowy crept toward one wall, grabbed a gemstone, and tried to free it. But unlike the puzzle gems on the doorway, this one didn't come loose. Undeterred, Stowy reached into her pack and retrieved a screwdriver. Arav had to gently pull her aside.

Darjeeling came to stand beside Emily. The aging sergeant had tears in his eyes. He placed a hand over his heart.

"It sure is lovely, ain't it, ma'am? I've flown across the solar system. I've seen aurora borealis over the north pole of Saturn. I've watched the sunset on Titan and I've gazed at the red deserts of Mars. But I ain't even seen anything quite as majestic as this."

"It's like standing inside a kaleidoscope," Emily said. "The patterns are beautiful. Look how the blue crystals are arranged in waves like the sea! And the green crystals roll like hills. I wonder if the patterns represent actual landscapes. Perhaps I'm imagining things. They look almost like abstract paintings."

She walked through the rotunda. Oddly, while the walls were spectacular, the chamber's innards were rather uninspiring. A few boulders sat in the center. That was all. No splendid furniture, not statues, no fineries. Just a few big rocks. Very odd. Emily would examine the boulders later, perhaps. For now, she could not take her eyes off the crystal mosaics. She walked along the round walls, studying the intricate designs and colors. It was overwhelming. Almost too colorful, too brilliant, like being inside the galaxy's most complex geode.

As a child, Emily had once looked through a book of autostereograms. The pictures inside seemed nonsensical, just colorful patterns like abstract art. But when Emily focused her eyes just right, 3D images popped from the pages, featuring sharks, dogs, and other animals. That was what these mosaics reminded her of.

"Hidden artwork," she said to herself.

She pulled up MindPlay again. The neural operating system let her interface with her spacesuit. She selected her helmet's visor and, like she had outside the door, turned on both infrared and ultraviolet vision.

She gasped and stumbled back.

Suddenly images came to life across the walls. The abstract patterns became crystalline depictions of grand battles.

"Widen your visual spectrum, everyone," Emily said. "It's incredible."

She took a few steps back, gazing at a towering mosaic. The artwork was beautiful, but it sent shivers down her spine like spiders scuttling down a spout. The mosaic depicted an army of rahs.

The spiders were created with infrared crystals, and obsidian stones formed their claws. The artists—presumably the Aeolians—had crafted a hundred crystal spiders or more. The aliens were racing up a mountainside made from emeralds, sapphires, and jade. A round building rose atop the mountain, haloed in sunlight. The sun was formed from yellow, orange, and white crystals, each ray meticulously crafted. The round building was assembled from unpolished quartz tiles, plain compared to the crystalline tiles around it. But the artists had highlighted the side of the building with topazes, creating the illusion of reflected sunlight.

It reminded Emily of the round building in which she now stood. Aeolian architecture, she presumed. They built simple mounds. Interesting. Clearly they cared for beauty if they filled their chambers with crystal mosaics, but they kept the beauty hidden. The exteriors of their buildings were plain. Was there some meaning here?

Boulders appeared in the grand mosaic, rolling down the mountainside, slamming into rahs, and crushing them. Unlike the rest of the mosaic, the boulders weren't made from crystals. They were assembled from simple tiles in shades of gray, white, and brownish green.

Emily pointed at the top of the mosaic. The quartz building rose there atop the green hill. "That's an Aeolian building, similar to the one we're in right now. The rahs are attacking it. The Aeolians are rolling boulders downhill to crush the spiders. An ancient battle, immortalized on this wall?"

"I don't see any Aeolians in the artwork," Darjeeling said. "We still don't even know what they look like."

"Let's keep looking," Emily said.

* * * * *

She walked along the wall, admiring other parts of the mosaic. Another section depicted crystal rahs skulking through a forest. The infrared spiders moved among trees of emerald, jade, and peridot. As Emily walked along, the scene changed. Meteorites fell from the sky, leaving trails of rubies and garnets, crushing spiders.

She kept walking. On the far side of the chamber, opposite from the door, she found a grand mosaic of a space battle. There was no mistaking the rah starships. Formed of obsidian tiles, they were shaped like horizontal teardrops, sprouting many blades. The same ships that were attacking Earth. Clawships.

In the mosaic, the clawships were attacking a planet forged of ultraviolet crystals. Jets of plasma, formed from thousands of rubies and garnets and tiger's eyes, flew toward the planet. Emily was all too familiar with those horrible weapons. Asteroids formed from white, blue, and gray tiles tumbled from deep space, crashing into the obsidian clawships. Several clawships were shattered, their black tiles arranged in great explosions across the walls.

"The same theme," Emily said. "Boulders crushing spiders. Meteorites crushing rahs. Asteroids crushing rahs. It's the same in all the mosaics. Always big rocks. This entire building is shaped like a huge boulder. A holy symbol for the Aeolians, perhaps? Is this how they defeated the rahs? Using … rocks?"

"It worked for David against Goliath," Darjeeling said. "And the Aeolians placed real boulders here in the center of their chamber. Maybe the same boulders that crushed the rahs."

Emily turned to look at the boulders. They rose in a henge in the shadows. A tingle ran through her. "We flew all the way here, across a thousand light-years and through many dangers, to find out how the Aeolians defeated the rahs. And we found some real clues."

"We found rocks," Stowy said. "Wow. So exciting."

Emily sighed. "Yes, I know, it doesn't seem like much, but—"

"I'm serious, boss. I love rocks!" Stowy was trying to remove a few tiles from the mosaic again. Darjeeling had to rush forward to stop her.

The door suddenly thudded.

Abraxas screeched outside.

Emily spun toward the door, gripping her rifle. The arachtaur was pounding it again. Maybe several arachtaurs. For now, the thick stone door held. But Emily didn't know how long it would keep the enemy back.

"We must hurry," she said.

Stowy bounced up toward her. "But why must we hurry? We're dead anyway." She grinned. "We're going to turn into skeletons together. Won't that be cool?"

"Stowy!" Emily gasped. "How could you say that?"

The girl shrugged. "What? We can't leave the chamber. There's only one door, and the arachtaurs are behind it. Even if we find clues here, those clues will die with us." She heaved a sigh. "My only regret is dying before kicking Niles one last time."

Darjeeling raised his rifle. "We're not going to die. Not while I'm here. I'll blast our way out."

Stowy rolled her eyes. "Oh please, Gramps. You've got one foot in the grave already."

Darjeeling flushed, his fists clenched, and his mustache bristled. "Why you—you good-for-nothing—" He could say no more, just fume.

Arav stepped forward hurriedly, hands held out in a placating gesture. "Please, Stowy, show the old man kindness."

"Old man?" Darjeeling boomed. "Yes, I might be older than you, but I'm as strong as I ever was." He marched past Arav and Stowy. "Out of the way, youngsters. Ha! One foot in the grave? My foot's as steady as it ever was."

But Emily noticed he was limping. She worried about him. Around the others, Darjeeling could be stern, even grumpy. But to Emily he revealed a softer side. He was the noblest man she knew.

"Mr. Darjeeling." She hurried toward him. "Perhaps you should rest your wounded leg."

"I told you, my leg and foot are—" He spun around, then blushed and stammered. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. With these comlinks, I thought it was Stowy speaking. I apologize for my tone."

Emily placed a hand on his shoulder. "There's nothing to apologize for, my dear friend. You're the strongest man I know. The bravest warrior. The most noble of companions. I love you dearly. I just hope you'll take care of yourself. So that you can keep protecting me."

He sniffed, mustache wobbling from side to side, and blinked back tears. "You honor me, Your Majesty." He got down to one knee. "I'm forever yours. My heart beats only for my queen. So long as there is breath in my lungs, and so long as there is strength in my arms, I will fight for you."

Stowy leaned against him. She popped bubble gum inside her helmet. "I noticed you didn't mention strength in your legs, old man."

Darjeeling shoved her off.

The door thudded again, louder this time. Dust flew. Emily looked at the door, which was across the cavernous rotunda. She zoomed in with her visor.

Her heart almost stopped.

A crack appeared on the stone door.

Another boom. The door shook. The crack widened.

Stowy turned toward the door too. Her eyes widened. "We're about to have company!" she shouted, then smiled. "I always wanted to say that."

Darjeeling raised his rifle, narrowed his eyes, and aimed at the door. "I won't let them harm you. Any of you."

"Even me?" Stowy asked.

Darjeeling nodded. "You're under my protection now. Your life is precious to me. I'll fight to the death if I must."

For once, the stowaway didn't have a clever quip.

Arav pressed his palms together. "See how easily we all choose violence? Both the arachtaurs and us humans—always eager to fight! If only we practiced more peace, love, and kindness, we wouldn't—"

"Shut up!" Stowy said.

Arav's jaw dropped. He swallowed and smoothed his expression. "I sense anger in you. Perhaps some love and—"

"Arav, shut up," Emily said. She raced toward the boulders in the center of the chamber. "Let's at least find something useful before the arachtaurs kill us. Or before we kill one another."

* * * * *

Seven boulders stood in the shadows, arranged in a rough henge. Each boulder rose about as tall as Emily's shoulders. They were just wide enough that Emily could probably hug them and touch her fingertips. While the rest of this chamber was beautifully decorated, these boulders were plain. Just craggy old stones.

Perhaps these boulders had been launched like cannonballs, had slain important rah leaders, and were kept as mementos of victory. Emily began recording her vision onto her MindLink. Her eyes acted as cameras. She might be missing details now, but later she could relive the memory in high fidelity.

The door thudded again. The sound echoed. The entire chamber trembled. Emily glanced toward the door. The crack was wider now. A claw reached through, scratching, seeking purchase.

Darjeeling opened fire. A bullet hit the claw, snapping off the tip. The arachtaur outside howled and the claw withdrew. Many creatures cried out, vowing death.

Emily looked at the boulders again. There had to be a hint here. Was this really the fabled weapon of the Aeolians? What, just boulders to lob at your enemies? Like ancient Romans with a catapult? There had to be more here. A building shaped like a giant round stone. Crystals in the door. Boulders crushing rahs on a mountain. Meteorites falling on rahs in the forest. Asteroids destroying clawships. The common theme was rocks. What was their significance?

She walked among the boulders, seeking a clue. The seven stones rose around her. Seven catapult stones? Ancient meteorites? Maybe stones from some ancient temple? Why had the Aeolians flown all the way to Baseworld, built this structure, and placed boulders inside? This entire place felt ancient. Holy. Almost like …

"Like a tomb," she blurted out. "Like the pyramids on Earth."

The pyramids too were mostly just solid rock. A few tunnels led to relatively small chambers in the middle.

The door jolted again, interrupting her thoughts. Dust flew.

"I will devour you, humans!" rose a cry from outside.

The arachtaurs pounded the door again and again. The entire chamber shook. The boulders trembled.

Emily looked at the boulders, frowning. They were massive stones. Yet they were shaking on the ground. As if they were too light. As if they were … hollow.

Suddenly it all came together.

Emily gasped. This place—it was a tomb. A giant mausoleum!

"The boulders might be sarcophagi," she said. "Maybe the Aeolians buried their dead inside hollow stones."

She approached one boulder at random and ran her hands over it, feeling for a hidden doorway. Soon enough, she found something. A round lid on the top, roughly the size and shape of a dinner plate. Emily stood on tiptoes and took a closer look. She saw no handle, no knob, no combination lock of gemstones. Just a round stone lid set into the top of the boulder.

She placed her hand on the stone lid and shoved. The lid slid open, vanishing into a hidden compartment.

"Bingo! It's hollow."

Even with the aliens pounding at the door, Emily smiled. The wonder of discovery overpowered her fear. She leaned over the hole, shining her flashlight inside, hoping to find a dead Aeolian.

Her spirits crashed. No mummy inside. No skeleton. No alien remains at all, not so much as ashes. But wait. Her flashlight shone on something blue. Another crystal? She tried to reach it, but the crystal was too deep.

Another boom reverberated through the chamber. Gemstones fell from the walls and clattered across the floor. Emily glanced at the door. Another crack appeared in the stone. Three spider legs reached through like the black fingers of a giant. Darjeeling fired, tearing off one leg. Blood spurted. The creature retreated.

Emily wasn't keeping count, but she doubted Darjeeling had many bullets left. And it sounded like quite a few arachtaurs were out there.

Emily had only seconds before the aliens burst in.

"I'm not dying without figuring this out," she said and shoved the boulder with both hands.

It overturned and slammed onto the ground. Emily knelt and reached into the hole, hoping to grab the crystal inside. Pain stabbed her finger. She pulled her hand out. It was bleeding.

With a great crack that shook the tomb, the stone door shattered.

The arachtaurs swarmed inside.

* * * * *

Emily had to abandon the stone vessel for now.

She shouldered her rifle, aimed at the enemy, and opened fire. Plasma bolts flew through the chamber and slammed into arachtaurs. Their skin peeled. Their ribs snapped. One arachtaur fell, then another. More kept charging into the room.

Emily was on her last plasma pack. She had a handful of shots left. That was all.

As more arachtaurs swarmed into the chamber, a terrible thought filled her mind.

Maybe I should keep the last shot for myself.

"Hey, boss!" Stowy said from behind her. "What's this dagger inside the boulder you opened?"

Emily barely heard the girl. She was too busy trying to stay alive. An arachtaur came scuttling toward her. The creature was female, her face gray and wrinkly, her bloodshot eyes bulging, her breasts bare and decaying. Her white hair flailed behind her like a tattered banner, and her spider legs moved so fast they reminded Emily of needles in a sewing machine. The creature shrieked and vaulted toward her.

Emily stood her ground. She aimed. Fired.

A plasma bolt tore through the arachtaur's head. The creature kept flying, face gone, still moving on momentum. Emily hurried aside. The corpse crashed into one of the boulders, overturning it.

The boulder's lid slid open. A glittering dagger spilled out. The hilt was carved from nondescript stone, but the blade was a gleaming red crystal.

"Ooh, another one!" Stowy said, racing toward the dagger. "I'm going to collect them all."

The stowaway already held a crystalline dagger. Hers had a blue blade. Blood speckled the sparkling blue crystal.

My blood, Emily realized. It was inside the first boulder I opened. It's what cut me.

Stowy grabbed the second dagger, the one with the red blade, then shoved another boulder. This boulder overturned too, spilling a third dagger. This one had a white crystal blade, brilliant like a shard of moonlight. Stowy whooped in delight.

"I'm gonna collect them all!"

Stowy was already holding a dagger in each hand, so she lifted the third dagger in her mouth.

"Stowy, watch out!" Emily cried.

An arachtaur was racing toward the girl. The creature looked like a crone, hunched over and covered in warts, eyes bugging out. She was missing a few fangs, but her claws still seemed sharp.

Stowy gasped, dropping the dagger from her mouth.

Emily aimed her rifle, but she couldn't fire. Arav was standing right behind the creature, his eyes wide with terror. If Emily shot now, she risked killing the monk.

The warty arachtaur cackled and scurried toward Stowy.

Stowy assumed a battle position, legs spread apart, back hunched forward. She snarled and aimed two crystal daggers at the arachtaur, one in each hand.

The crystal blades lit up.

Beams of blinding light shot from the daggers. One beam was red, the other blue, matching the colors of the crystal blades.

Emily stumbled back, squinting, nearly blinded. Her helmet's visor dimmed automatically.

The red beam blazed through the hunchbacked arachtaur, carving a hole through her chest. The warty crone crashed down dead.

Meanwhile, the blue beam caught a racing male arachtaur. The beam shone just where his human torso met his spider abdomen, splitting the hybrid in two. The monstrosity fell in two halves, spider legs curling up.

Stowy's eyes widened. "Whoa. I'm a badass."

She swept the beams sideways.

"Careful!" Emily ducked. A beam arched over her head.

Behind her, Emily heard a scream. Crouching, she looked over her shoulder. The red and blue beams sliced through a white-haired arachtaur. Severed legs clattered down around Emily. The creature's corpse thumped onto the ground.

The spider body was carved up, but the upper human body was still alive. The mutilated arachtaur reached toward Emily, snarling, snapping his teeth. His hands reached out, ready to throttle her. Emily had only two plasma bolts left. She fired one. Right into the arachtaur's human chest, finally slaying it.

Emily rose to her feet and looked around. For a moment, nobody was attacking. Arachtaur corpses lay all around, some still twitching.

Stowy loosened her grip on the daggers. The beams died.

"These are cool," she said.

* * * * *

Darjeeling stood by the shattered door, his spacesuit splashed with blood. He still stood tall. The blood was not his.

"More coming down the corridor!" he cried.

In the center of the room, several hollow boulders still stood upright. Emily ran toward one, tilted it over, and another dagger spilled out.

"Quick, everyone, grab some of these crystal daggers," Emily said.

Emily wasn't sure these Aeolian daggers were deadlier than human guns. But she had only one plasma bolt left in her Mordecai rifle. Darjeeling was surely almost out of bullets. Daggers it would be.

Stowy helped, knocking over the last few boulders. Each boulder spilled out a dagger with a different colored blade. Buttons on the hilts seemed to activate the beams. Emily wasn't sure what the energy source was, but hopefully there was still juice in those batteries.

Stowy ran over to Darjeeling with two daggers. "Here, old man. Take these."

Darjeeling slung his rifle across his back and accepted the daggers. "Thank you, lass."

Stowy gasped. "I'm a lass! You didn't call me an urchin or ragamuffin or anything!"

"You're still an urchin and ragamuffin!" Darjeeling boomed. "Don't get a big head." His voice softened. "But you're also a warrior."

The girl beamed.

Emily raced toward Arav. She held out two daggers, hilts first. "Here, take these."

The monk looked at the daggers, then at her. He shook his head. "No. I will not take a life."

Arachtaur cries rose from the tunnel. Darjeeling began firing his daggers into the shadows. Screams rose. Claws clattered.

"Emily, there's a lot of them!" Stowy cried. "We need help."

Emily looked back at the monk. "Take the daggers. That's an order. We need every fighting man we can get."

The monk raised his chin. "I'm not one of your soldiers. And I'm not a fighting man. I swore a vow to never raise a weapon."

"Not even in self-defense?" Emily cried.

"Not even to save my life," answered Arav. "I've sworn a sacred vow of pacifism. Baba Mahal preferred to die rather than raise arms against his attackers. I too would rather die pure than live tainted."

Emily groaned. "I don't have time for theological debates." She shoved the hilt into his hands. "Just hold the damn thing at least. Save our lives if you won't save your own."

The monk looked at the dagger like she had just placed a slug in his hands.

Emily turned away and ran toward the shattered door. Darjeeling and Stowy flanked the doorway, firing their daggers into the corridor. Emily joined them, a crystal dagger in each hand, and aimed the weapons down the tunnel.

Arachtaurs came racing toward her, eyes blazing in the shadows, jaws open to reveal their terrible fangs. Their legs pattered across the floor, the walls, the ceiling.

Emily pressed the buttons on her stone hilts. Beams of light blazed from her crystal blades. One beam was white, the other blue. The light tore through one arachtaur, then another behind it, then a third. Blood sprayed in a mist. Stowy and Darjeeling kept firing their daggers too.

The arachtaurs screamed, then turned tail and fled, leaving their dead behind.

Darjeeling laughed. "Ha, away with you, beasts! Run, cowards!"

Stowy fired a few beams after the fleeing arachtaurs. "Yeah, get lost, scum!"

"Stowy, you can't fire on a fleeing enemy," Emily said, lowering her dagger.

"Yes I can." Stowy fired a few more crystal beams their way. "It's way easier this way. Try it!"

"The Alliance code of conduct forbids it," said Emily.

Stowy flashed her a grin. "Good thing I'm not in the Alliance." She fired a few more bolts at the fleeing enemy.

Finally, the arachtaurs had all vanished from the tunnel. Emily took a deep breath and leaned against the doorframe.

"Well, that was something." She placed a hand on her chest. "My heart is racing." A smile touched her lips. "We actually found an alien weapon. It's what we came all this way for. What we fought so hard for. To find out how the Aeolians defeated the rahs. And we found these crystal daggers."

Darjeeling looked at the dagger in his hand. His face was somber. He looked into Emily's eyes next. "Pardon, ma'am. But I'm not sure these daggers are what we're looking for. They're splendid weapons, no doubt. And when we ran out of ammo, they saved our hides. But …" He hefted the blade. "I'm not sure they're any deadlier than our regular weapons. And they're harder to aim. Is this really how the Aeolians defeated the great rah empire? With laser daggers? I beg your pardon, ma'am, but our engineers aboard the Freedom could probably build daggers like this within an afternoon."

Emily lost her smile. "You're right, Mr. Darjeeling. Of course you're right." She looked around her at the mosaics covering the chamber walls. "The daggers don't even appear in the artwork. We see boulders, small and large, used to defeat the invaders. The daggers must be simpler weapons."

Arav approached them. Amazingly, the monk was actually still holding his crystal dagger, though he kept the blade pointing downward. "The Aeolians took great effort to fly to Baseworld, to build this tomb, to cover the walls with mosaics, and store these daggers inside stone vessels. There must be more to them than we see. This entire place …" He swept his arm around him. "This is a holy sanctum. A temple. They would not build something this grand for simple laser shooters."

Emily looked at the mural across the chamber, the one depicting the battle in space. The crystal clawships were attacking the ultraviolet planet, only for the asteroids to foil them.

"There's where we must go next," Emily said. "That planet. That must be the Aeolian homeworld, where we can find—"

A rumbling sounded in the depths.

Emily spun back toward the tunnel.

She shined her flashlight inside. It illuminated only shadows. No arachtaurs.

But the rumbling grew louder. It was coming from the tunnel. The entire tomb shook, and cracks raced along the floor.

Darjeeling and Stowy aimed their daggers at the darkness.

"I don't see anything," Emily said. "No arachtaurs. What is it?"

Darjeeling fired a beam from his dagger. Deep in the tunnel, it hit solid stone. Stowy began firing beams too. They cascaded against a rocky surface. And that surface was coming closer and closer.

Then Emily saw it. She understood.

A giant boulder was rolling down the tunnel.

* * * * *

Emily stared, frozen in horror for a moment.

The boulder came rolling closer, filling the tunnel. Arachtaur cries rose behind it. The creatures were shoving the boulder like dung beetles.

Emily aimed both her daggers and fired down the tunnel. The beams hit the boulder but did nothing. Darjeeling and Stowy fired too. Working together, they chipped off some chips from the tumbling sphere. It wasn't enough.

"Arav, get over here and help us!" Emily cried.

"I won't wield a weapon." The monk placed the dagger at his feet and crossed his arms.

Emily groaned. She was tempted to kill Arav herself. But first she had to stop that boulder.

She raced toward the center of the chamber. The smaller, hollow boulders were there. Could they stop the giant rolling ball? She doubted it. Nevertheless, she had to try. She grabbed one hollow boulder and strained. Hollow or not, it was still damn heavy.

"Arav!" she said.

"This I can help with," said the monk.

He lifted the hollow boulder with her. They carried it toward the tunnel and placed it at the doorway. Meanwhile, the much-larger boulder was still rolling down the tunnel, rumbling and shaking the entire mountain. Quickly Emily and Arav rushed back, collected two more hollow boulders, and formed a crude blockage.

The enormous stone kept rolling closer and closer. It was easily taller than Emily.

It reached the doorway.

Emily held her breath.

The round boulder rolled over the smaller, hollow stones, crushing them like mere clay jugs.

Emily and the others leaped aside. The huge boulder rolled across the chamber, slammed into the mosaic on the wall, and dislodged thousands of gemstones. They cascaded across the room in a glittering hailstorm. Unable to resist, Stowy knelt and began collecting them.

Emily spun toward the doorway, daggers at the ready.

A second later, the arachtaurs burst into the chamber.

Ten at least. Maybe more. They leaped to battle, claws flashing like scythes.

"Stowy, come help me!" Emily cried.

Her hands shook, but Emily managed to fire her daggers. Beams tore into two arachtaurs. They fell, holes in their chests. But more lunged at Emily, claws flashing. Stowy finally rose, abandoning the gemstones for now, and began firing her own daggers. She slew an arachtaur, and the creature fell, splattering black blood.

The living arachtaurs pushed closer. Emily stumbled back, tripped over scattered gemstones, and crashed to the floor. An arachtaur swooped from above. Emily fired her dagger upward. A beam tore off the arachtaur's head, but the rest of the creature kept flying. The corpse landed on her, crushing her beneath its bloated abdomen.

Emily tried to shove the dead creature off, but it outweighed her. The corpse was pressing down on her chest. She struggled to breathe, groaning and flailing beneath it. The spider's legs draped around her like the bars of a prison.

Screams, both human and arachtaur, rose across the chamber. Now it was only Darjeeling and Stowy fighting. The monk would be no help at all; the dagger still lay at his feet, and he pointedly ignored it. Emily had to get back into this fight.

She strained, trying to shove off the dead arachtaur pinning her down. No good.

Curse my small size and skinny arms! she thought.

A living arachtaur leaped onto the corpse, doubling the weight on her.

Emily groaned, unable to breathe. The weight seemed to flatten her lungs. The living arachtaur stood atop its dead brethren, leaned down, and hissed at Emily. His saliva dripped onto her face.

"You're mine now, girl."

Emily's arms were pinned to the floor. But she still managed to twist her hand around, then turn on her dagger. A beam shot upward—through the dead arachtaur, then into the living one.

And … now two dead arachtaurs were crushing her. Great.

Struggling for air, Emily flicked her wrist from side to side. The beam of light sliced through the arachtaurs above her, carving them like a roast ham. Chunk of arachtaur slipped to the floor. Emily managed to stand up, covered in alien blood and guts.

Darjeeling and Stowy stood back-to-back, sweeping their beams in a circle. Emily had to duck as Stowy's beam swung by, nearly decapitating her. Arachtaur bodies piled up around the pair.

Emily scanned the room for Abraxas. The captain of God's Tomb was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he was back on his ship. Maybe he was attacking Meytal and Niles aboard the Raven.

Meanwhile, Arav stood among fallen gemstones, looking at the horror. Blood stained his white spacesuit. Was it his blood or just stains from the blood splashing everywhere? Emily didn't know. The crystal dagger Emily had given him lay at his feet. The monk made no move to lift it, not even as another arachtaur leaped into the room.

The new arrival was a hideous creature. Some kind of conjoined twin. It had one spider body, bloated and warty, but two human bodies that sprouted side by side. Both human bodies were sickly and pale, and claws like icicles grew from their fingertips. The hybrid charged toward Arav, both mouths opening to screech. Their eyes were red, bulging, and their white hair fluttered like banners.

"A monk, a monk!" the creatures cried, speaking in unison. "Slay the holy wretch!"

"Arav!" Emily cried out, firing her daggers. Her beams sliced through one of the arachtaur's human bodies. It crumbled, but the other body still stood upright. The deformed arachtaur vaulted into the air, claws gleaming, prepared to slam into Arav and lacerate him.

The monk grabbed the dagger at his feet, raised the blade, and fired a beam.

The arachtaur crashed onto the floor, dead.

Arav stood before the corpse, looking down at it. His hand shook. He dropped the dagger and took a step back, trembling.

I never knew he had it in him, Emily thought. He didn't know either.

Three more arachtaurs still lived. She fired her daggers, slaying them.

Emily swayed on her feet and struggled to take deep breaths. Her chest still ached from the crushing weight of the hybrids.

"Your Majesty!" Darjeeling raced toward her. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Yes. Just a bit winded." She looked around her at the dead arachtaurs. "I think we got them all. For now."

More shrieks came from outside the mountain, echoing down the tunnel. Emily shuddered. The arachtaurs were learning. They had attacked blindly and got mowed down. Then they charged with a boulder, which got them into the chamber, only for them to die in here. When they attacked a third time, they would be smarter yet, perhaps bringing projectile weapons of their own.

They were a new species. They had hatched in the depths of Arakavish only this year. In many ways, they were infants. And like infants, they learned fast. In their case, they learned how to kill.

"We have to get to the Raven," Emily said. "We found all that we're gonna find here. Everyone—we'll fight our way through the tunnel. Quick, before more arachtaurs arrive. Stowy, stop collecting those crystals! Arav— Arav, are you with us?"

The monk stood by the wall, looking at his hands. A tear rolled down his cheek.

"I took a life," he said softly. "I killed. I sinned. I betrayed my faith."

"Deal with your guilt once we're on the Raven," Emily said. "Come on! Darjeeling, you and I will lead the way. Into the tunnel!"

The companions made their way toward the tunnel—and skidded to a halt.

Arachtaurs were already storming toward them.

This time they held round reflective shields.

Emily fired her dagger. The beam flew down the tunnel, hit a shield, then bounced back.

Everyone ducked. The beam flew over their heads. It seared the top of Stowy's helmet, leaving a black mark.

"We're trapped!" Stowy said.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Stowy's words echoed through the cavernous Aeolian tomb.

"We're trapped!"

As the arachtaurs screeched in the tunnels, Emily shuddered. Would this become her own tomb?

A sudden boom shook the mountain. Deafening. Louder than anything Emily had ever heard.

Gemstones cascaded from the mosaics. The walls cracked. Chunks of stone fell.

"They're bombarding the mountain!" Emily cried.

Another explosion blasted the tomb, then another. A hole tore open in the roof. Stones cascaded to the floor. Dust and sunlight spilled into the chamber.

Emily aimed her daggers, ready for another invasion of arachtaurs.

Instead, she saw Meytal.

The Israeli commando stood on the roof, holding a bazooka. She leaned over the hole. "Hello, kiddies. Our call got cut off, so I had to bomb the roof off."

Niles peeked over her shoulder. "I wanted to leave you all to die, but she made me come."

Meytal looked at the drone. "Hey, who's flying the Raven?"

"The autopilot. Dreadfully dumb thing."

"Lower a rope or something!" Emily shouted. "Quick! Arachtaurs are coming our way."

"All right, all right, hold your horses." Meytal began lowering a rope through the hole. "A thank-you would be nice, but it's just do this, do that …"

"I've been living with her all my life," Niles said. "It never gets better."

Emily rolled her eyes. "I'm glad you two found something to bond over."

A shriek from the tunnel interrupted her. She turned to see the arachtaurs burst into the chamber. They held their reflective shields. They looked like round mirrors.

Emily tightened her lips and fired her dagger, trying to aim over a shield. But an arachtaur raised the mirror. The beam bounced back, searing Emily's arm. She cried out in pain.

"Arav, grab the rope and climb!" she said.

If the monk wasn't going to fight anymore, at least he could get out of the way.

Arav obliged, climbing toward the hole in the roof. Before lowering the rope, Meytal had tied knots throughout its length, making for easy handholds. The Israeli commando helped the Indian monk, heaving him toward the roof.

Meanwhile, the arachtaurs scuttled across the room, kicking aside the corpses of their brethren. They sneered at the remaining humans.

"Now is your end," hissed one, a female with flaming red hair.

Emily raised a fistful of gems from the floor. She tossed them at the arachtaur. The red-haired hybrid raised her shield to block the gemstones. Emily knelt and fired a beam parallel to the floor, slicing off the arachtaur's legs. The beast fell, screaming, and dropped her shield, allowing Emily to finish the job.

More arachtaurs attacked. Darjeeling and Stowy stood back-to-back, firing their beams. But only a few beams got through. Most bounced off the hybrids' shields.

Emily had an idea. She grabbed a shield from a fallen arachtaur, then ran closer to the battle.

"Darjeeling, shoot me!" she cried.

The sergeant looked at her. "Ma'am!"

"Shoot me!" she shouted. "That's an order."

His eyes dampened. "Ma'am, I cannot—"

"I'll do it!" Stowy said and fired her dagger.

A beam flew toward Emily. She raised her shield. The beam bounced off—and slammed into an arachtaur. The creature fell and its legs curled up.

Ha! You weren't expecting that, were you? Emily thought.

At once, the arachtaurs changed their positions, arranging some of their shields toward Emily. Well, so much for that trick.

"All right, who's next?" Meytal cried from above. The monk had reached the top. The rope still dangled from the hole, awaiting another climber.

"Stowy, you go," Emily said.

The stowaway nodded and began climbing the rope. She moved like a monkey, several times faster than Arav. As she climbed, Stowy kept firing a dagger with one hand, slaying arachtaurs from above. Creatures fell all around. They were forced to raise their shields overhead, allowing Emily and Darjeeling to shoot their legs out.

Stowy reached the ceiling, crawled through the hole, then leaned back into the chamber.

"I'll cover you!" the girl cried from above. "Climb, Emily!"

"You go first, Mr. Darjeeling," Emily said.

The sergeant shook his head. "Not yet. Go, my queen. I'll hold back the beasts."

Emily didn't bother arguing. She knew Darjeeling was stubborn. He'd rather die than flee before her.

She began to climb the rope too. As she climbed, Emily tried to fire from above too, but she was less successful at it than Stowy. Years in Freedom's ductwork had given the girl incredible agility. As Emily climbed, Stowy kept taking potshots from above, keeping the arachtaurs away.

An arachtaur laid down his shield and shot a web at Emily, who was still climbing the rope.

The web caught her leg.

She cried out.

The web began pulling her down. Emily screamed and slashed her dagger, cutting herself free. Darjeeling roared, ran, and barreled into the web-slinging arachtaur. The aging sergeant knocked the beast down, then slashed its neck open.

Emily reached the top. She crawled through the hole, emerging onto the roof of the Aeolian structure. The Raven hovered above, so close Emily could almost reach out and grab the airlock. The God's Tomb lurked on the striated landscape below, a mechanical spider the size of an old sailing frigate. Abraxas had parked the damn ship right outside the cave.

Kneeling on the roof, Emily stuck her head through the hole Meytal had blasted open. From up here, she could see the arachtaur corpses covering the floor, mangled and smoking among the fallen gemstones. Only one human still stood below. Oliver Darjeeling.

"Mr. Darjeeling, hurry!" Emily said. "Climb the rope. We'll cover you."

The sergeant was bleeding from several gashes in his spacesuit. He had sealed the breaches with specialized tape, but that had taken some time. Even brief exposure in this environment could cause as much damage as arachtaur claws. The sergeant fired his beams in arcs, slaying more arachtaurs. The dead hybrids piled up around him. Truly, he was a marvelous fighter, the best Emily had seen. She finally witnessed the legendary Oliver Darjeeling, hero of World War III, in full action. What a fighter he must have been in his prime!

"We have to go now!" Niles cried, hovering to and fro above the roof.

"Not without Darjeeling," Emily said, kneeling on the rooftop.

The drone bounced in the air. "Sometimes in war, it's perfectly acceptable to leave a man behind. Now is one of those times. This is no time for nobility. We must save ourselves. Quick, everyone, leave the old man and get into the Raven."

"Niles, shut up!" Emily said.

Leaning over the hole in the roof, she fired both daggers. She couldn't aim well from up here. Most of her blows missed, hitting the floor instead. But they still sent the arachtaurs scurrying back. Darjeeling was able to limp toward the rope and grab it.

Meytal began pulling him up, straining with the effort. Arav helped. The young monk was perhaps a pacifist, but he was young, healthy, and strong. Together, the Israeli commando and Indian monk pulled the rope up at a quick pace, reeling up the Englishman. Meanwhile, Emily and Stowy kept firing through the hole, laying down suppressive fire. A few arachtaurs shot webs, but the beams sliced them apart.

When Darjeeling was halfway up, the arachtaurs below parted and bowed.

Emily frowned. What the heck?

A new arachtaur entered the room. Tall. Powerful. His oily hair spilled down to his waist. He carried a mirror shield in one hand, a spear in the other. He looked up at Emily, a thin smile on his face.

Abraxas.

* * * * *

Standing on the roof of the crumbling tomb, Emily fired her crystal dagger through the hole, aiming at the hideous arachtaur captain.

Abraxas raised his shield. The beam bounced back. Emily had to pull her head back. A beam shot through the hole in the roof. Standing beside her, Arav screamed and stumbled back. His arm smoked.

Darjeeling climbed the last length of rope, finally reaching the hole in the roof. He caught the rim and began climbing out. Emily grabbed his arms and began pulling him to safety.

From the floor far below, Abraxas fired a web.

The silky strands caught Darjeeling's leg, pulling him back into the hole. The sergeant's hands scrabbled across the rooftop, desperate for purchase. Emily pulled but Abraxas was stronger. Darjeeling slipped deeper into the hole. Soon only his fingers were clutching the rim.

"Go, Emily," he whispered to her. "Go on without me."

"Never without you," she said. "I would rather die."

She leaned over the hole, closed one eye, and fired her dagger. The beam sliced the web holding Darjeeling's leg.

Emily pulled hard. Stowy helped, and they managed to get Darjeeling safely onto the roof. The old man was wounded. His face was pale, and his spacesuit was ripped at the knee. The skin was already freezing.

Niles shot up toward the Raven, which was hovering above.

"I'll bring her down!" the drone cried.

God bless him, the little drone flew fast. He slipped through the Raven's airlock. A moment later, the Raven descended and paused only a meter above the roof.

Arav hopped in first. The monk was wounded, his face pale and arm burnt, but he was still quick on his feet. He stood in the airlock, pulling the others in one by one. Emily remained on the roof last, covering their retreat into the ship.

A web caught the edge of the hole.

Claws reached out from inside.

A creature emerged.

He crawled onto the rooftop. Abraxas. He stood before Emily, the mocking smile finally gone from his face.

For a second, she and he just stared at each other.

"Come on, boss!" Stowy cried from the Raven above.

But Emily could not even turn away. One wrong move and he'd pounce and slice her throat.

Stowy began firing beams out the airlock. Abraxas raised his shield, casting them back. He never broke eye contact with Emily. He took a step toward her, another step, casting back beam after beam.

He lunged toward her.

Emily raised her Mordecai rifle.

She still had that one last plasma bolt. She fired.

At this short rage, the bolt delivered a serious punch. The ball of energy slammed into the shield, shattered the mirror, and shoved Abraxas back into the hole. He tumbled down into the tomb.

"Emily!" Stowy cried.

Emily spun away from the hole, ran two steps, and leaped toward the Raven's airlock. Stowy caught her and pulled her inside.

At once, the Raven began soaring. Emily raced through the hold, battling the crushing g-force, and stumbled into the cockpit. Niles was alone in there, zipping madly from control panel to control panel, tapping buttons with the pointy part of his shell. The ship wobbled, tilted, and nearly crashed onto the stony tomb.

"Niles, learn how to fly!" Stowy cried.

"It's not my fault." The drone fluttered over the controls like a butterfly from flower to flower. "This ship is built for clumsy human hands with those ridiculous long arms of yours. Why isn't there an interface for drones?"

Emily sat down, waved Niles aside, and grabbed the yoke. Normally Darjeeling flew the ship, but he was in the hold now, recovering from his wounds. Emily was no pilot, but she had watched him fly often enough. Hopefully she could handle this.

She pulled the yoke back, and the Raven pitched up hard. Emily shoved down the thrust lever next, and the Raven blasted upward. The ship rattled. Emily bounced in her seat. Niles flew and slammed into the bulkhead. Curses and clatters sounded from the hold. The human crew was probably crashing into the bulkheads too. Hopefully they would find something to grab on to.

As she flew, Emily checked the rearview monitor. They were flying nearly vertically now. Below her, Emily saw the Aeolian tomb drop away, becoming as small as an anthill.

A few seconds went by in tense terror.

Then God's Tomb rose from the surface of Baseworld and gave chase.

* * * * *

Emily's heart sank.

The God's Tomb soared.

A torpedo flew their way.

Emily tugged the yoke, swerving. The torpedo overshot them, flew fifty klicks up, then turned to swoop. Emily pulled the rotary cannon trigger. Bullets pounded the torpedo. It exploded just overhead. The Raven soared through the explosion.

"She's prepared to fire more torpedoes!" Darjeeling warned.

Emily looked over her shoulder. The cockpit door had swung open, revealing the Raven's hold. The crew stood there, holding on to anything solid they could find.

"Meytal, you're gonna have to fire out the airlock again!" Emily shouted.

The commando shook her head. "No need. I installed a stern cannon."

Emily frowned. "When?"

"While you were inside the mountain. I got bored."

Emily blinked. "Well, go fire it!"

"God, you're bossy." Meytal winked, saluted, and ran toward the stern.

More torpedoes came flying their way. Three of them this time. Previously, God's Tomb would fire eight torpedoes at once. But many arachtaurs had died in the mountain. Their crew was decimated. They could no longer fight at full capacity, it seemed.

We hurt you, Abraxas, Emily thought. You're still hunting us. But you're bleeding. We hurt you bad.

The Raven was soaring faster than a bullet. But the three torpedoes were faster, racing toward their stern. Sitting in the cockpit, Emily watched them approach on the rearview monitor.

"Meytal!" Emily shouted, simultaneously telepathizing to the commando in the stern. "The torpedoes are almost here! Shoot them down!"

"On it!" Meytal said.

On MindWeb, Emily glimpsed a crude rig in the stern. Meytal had essentially just sawed a hole in the stern, stuck a bazooka through it, and welded the edges. Hopefully the kludge would withstand the rigors of spaceflight. The commando shoved a grenade into the bazooka, aimed, and fired at the incoming torpedoes.

A split second later, a torpedo exploded. The shrapnel took out the second torpedo too. The third one kept flying. Closer. Closer. Meytal was still loading her next grenade.

Emily yanked the yoke to the left, yawing as hard as she could. The torpedo overshot them. Emily fired the prow's rotary cannon, destroying the torpedo only a few klicks ahead. Shrapnel pattered the Raven. The ship shook but the hull held.

The Raven was soaring through clouds, racing toward the upper atmosphere of Baseworld. God's Tomb kept following.

Darjeeling limped into the cockpit, face still pale. He had removed his spacesuit, and bandages covered his wounds.

"I'll take it from here, ma'am."

Relieved, Emily gave him the pilot's seat. She sat shotgun, arms shaking. Wounded as he was, Darjeeling held the yoke with confident hands.

"Thank you, Mr. Darjeeling. Flying is harder than I thought."

"You flew splendidly, ma'am."

Emily watched God's Tomb chasing them. "Mr. Darjeeling, how do we get out of here?"

"We can use our stealth cloak in space," Darjeeling said. "And we can coast and keep our graviton drive cold. But only after we shake off their pursuit. We can be invisible, but if they know our vector, they could still follow it."

"So we need to lose them just long enough to set a new vector," Emily said.

"A few minutes is all I need," said Darjeeling.

"But isn't Baseworld's gravity still cloaking our graviton drive?" Emily said. "That's how we slipped past them last time."

"Last time, we were thousands of klicks apart," Darjeeling said. "Now they're breathing down our neck. They've got us in their line of sight. We can't shake them off if they're this close."

More torpedoes flew their way. Meytal blasted them. Explosions flared across the rearview monitor. Good. Meytal was getting better at rapidly firing those grenades.

We learn quickly too, Abraxas, Emily thought.

The Raven reached Baseworld's upper atmosphere. Clouds of nitrogen and methane swirled. A storm was raging in the distance. Lightning flashed, illuminating the clouds from below.

"Can we lose them in those storm clouds?" Emily said.

"Not a chance," said Darjeeling. "Clouds make it worse. We'd create a trail a hundred klicks long."

Emily was chewing her lip raw. She still couldn't kick that habit. Yes, she definitely had a callus now. "All right, then we'll lose them in space."

Darjeeling yawed sharply, barely dodging another torpedo. This one swept only a meter past their prow. Emily fired the rotary cannon, destroying it.

"Sorry, sorry!" Meytal cried from the hold. "I let one through."

"No worries, I got it!" Emily said. "Can you fire something on God's Tomb?"

"Nope," Meytal said. "Too busy shooting down torpedoes. Sorry, babe, but this ain't a warship. I could have destroyed the God's Tomb no problem in the Caracal. The Raven is a piece of junk."

Emily was about to argue, to insist the Raven was not a piece of junk, she was a highly sophisticated stealth ship. Then again, maybe not. Perhaps QT had overestimated and overstated the Raven's abilities.

"All right, so we can't lose them in the clouds, and they're too close to shake off in orbit," Emily said. "We need a better place to hide."

She pulled up a map of the system. Baseworld was in deep orbit, far from Aeolia A, the system's primary star. The next planet over was a huge, violent world, covered with active volcanoes. Lava swirled across the surface and blasted into space every few moments. It reminded Emily of Earth's earliest days.

"Can we reach this planet?" Emily said. "Look. Volcanoes keep erupting into space. We can hide among the geysers, change course, then blast off into the distance." She looked at Darjeeling. "Think it can work?"

The sergeant considered for a moment. "Yes. If we can get there. It's a long flight. Six, seven hours at least, and that's if we fly with the pedal to the metal. God's Tomb would likely chase us all the way. But we damaged her. She seems to be flying slower now. We might just make it."

Emily contacted Meytal telepathically. "Meytal, think we can hold them off for six, seven hours?"

"Babe, you forget who you're talking to," Meytal said. "Give me a big shoe and a portal to Arakavish, and I'll crush Empress Elder'rah herself. God's Tomb shouldn't be a problem."

The commando was bragging, but on MindWeb, Emily saw that Meytal's pulse was racing. She was scared.

I'm scared too.

Emily got everyone on comlink. Easier than shouting.

"I want to let you know what's happening. We can't shake off God's Tomb here at Baseworld. Abraxas is too close. He's not letting us out of his line of sight. We're going to make a run for a nearby lava planet. We'll shake him off among the erupting volcanoes."

"Ooh, Lavaworld!" Stowy said. "I'm calling it Lavaworld from now on."

"Pele," Arav said softly. "Call it Pele. The ancient goddess of volcanoes."

"Whatever we call it doesn't matter," Emily said. "What matters is getting there in one piece. We're going to fly as fast as we can. But we've got a long chase on our hands. We've come this far. I pray we make it farther."

She ended the call just as the Raven breached the atmosphere. They soared into space, and God's Tomb followed.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

After two grueling shifts on the bridge, Commander Larry Jordan was exhausted. Sixteen hours on his feet, commanding the bridge of the starship Freedom, dealing with endless problems. Not his idea of fun. The starboard beam was crumbling. The arachtaurs were swarming everywhere. And the Tyranny was still out there.

Thank goodness Jim decided to stay aboard, even as admiral, Jordan thought.

Having the admiral here helped. Jordan didn't know how he'd handle such a crisis without his friend.

Right now King was beginning a shift on the bridge, God bless him. And Jordan could finally take a break.

He was ready to collapse into bed. He had eight hours off. He planned to spend them sleeping in the arms of the woman he loved. His cabin had never seemed so far away. Jordan forced himself to walk sternly through the ship, back straight, shoulders squared. The troops needed to see the XO in charge. But Jordan was so tired he wanted to crawl.

Finally he made it to his quarters. The guard at the door saluted. Jordan returned the salute, stern and strong, then entered the cabin.

He stood for a moment in silence, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

"I'm exhausted."

A voice came from his bedroom. "Come to bed."

Jordan opened his eyes and felt soothed at once. Timori stood at his bedroom door, beckoning. His gentle logistics android. His great burning love. Even now, she was working. Algorithms were racing through her mind, organizing stores of food, supplies of crude materials, ammunition stores, and the movements of spacers and drones through the ship. She was having a dozen telepathic conversations, managing the starship, even as she stood there in Jordan's doorway, wearing her red chemise, waiting for him.

He came to her. She had many threads of thought, and she gave him one. She gave him the most important one. Her soul.

He pulled her into his arms, held her, and closed his eyes. She leaned her head against his chest. For a long moment, they just stood in the doorway, embracing.

"I love you, sir," she mumbled.

"I love you too. Always."

He caressed her long black hair … and strands came off in his hand.

He pulled his hand back. Locks of hair coiled between his fingers.

"Sir?" She blinked at him. "What's wrong?"

"Your hair. It's …" He shook the strands off his hand. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Of course. Come with me, sir. Come to bed."

She held his hand. When Jordan tightened his grip, her hand detached from her arm. He was left holding a severed hand. Cables spilled from the stump of her arm and little gears whirred.

"Timori!" he said.

She looked at her severed hand, then into his eyes. "I don't know what's wrong." A tear rolled down her cheek. "Hold me."

She stepped into his arms, and he held her, and then her arm detached. It clattered onto the deck. She gasped. Her leg fell off next, spilling cables and gears. Jordan tried to hold her, to keep her together, but she was coming apart in his embrace. Her pieces all thumped onto the deck. He was left holding just a torso and a head, and then her head too detached. It rolled across the deck and vanished under the bed.

"Help me," came her voice from the shadows. "Please, sir, help me."

"What the hell is going on?" Jordan said.

He knelt and peered under the bed.

A hideous face grinned at him. The pale face of a dead baby boy, skin gray, eyes pure black. Fangs filled its mouth, gleaming with saliva. The baby scuttled forward, revealing a spider body and eight claws.

The creature leaped at him.

Jordan stumbled back. The arachtaur burst from under the bed, landed on Jordan's chest, and began to claw.

He roared as a claw slashed his chest. He grabbed the creature by the human half, ripped it off, and hurled it against the bulkhead.

Briefly, he glanced around the room, looking for Timori. Or pieces of Timori at least. They were all gone. Not a single screw remained.

The arachtaur scuttled up the bulkhead like a true spider. The creature hissed from above, fangs bared. It leaped back at Jordan, letting out a bloodcurdling cry.

Jordan stood his ground, drew his sidearm, and fired.

Bullets slammed into the baby's body. The arachtaur fell back, hit the deck, but bounced right back up. Spider legs clattered as the little beast raced toward Jordan.

From outside the door rose more screeches, then the bellows of the guard. The arachtaurs were in the hallway too. No guards would be rushing in anytime soon. Jordan was on his own. Well, he had faced Russian hordes and rah swarms in battle. He could handle a baby.

That baby leaped onto his chest and began clawing and biting like a rabid wolverine. Jordan tried to rip it off, but it clung on hard. Claws pierced his skin.

Jordan tried to pistol-whip the critter. The alien hybrid dodged the blow, scurried along his arm, and bit his hand. Jordan shouted a curse. His gun fell to the deck. A bullet flew and shattered a framed photo on the wall.

The arachtaur kept attacking, racing over Jordan, clawing and biting. He stumbled around, tried to find his gun, but it had fallen under a dresser. Instead, he made his way to the closet. One of his dumbbells sat there on the floor—a concentrated lump of iron.

As the arachtaur scurried across his shoulder, Jordan swung the dumbbell, driving it into the creature's head.

The alien fell to the deck and whimpered.

Jordan slammed the dumbbell down, crushing the hideous little critter. It gave a last twitch, then died.

Jordan took a few deep breaths and winced. His wounds were bleeding, and his uniform was shredded. But he had suffered worse. He looked around the room.

"Timori?"

Nothing. She was gone.

Jordan retrieved his handgun from under the dresser, opened his cabin door, and saw two arachtaurs savaging the poor guard. Jordan ripped one off, tossed it down, and shot it. The second leaped at him. Jordan knocked it down and fired again, hitting the beast in the shoulder. The guard, though bleeding, fired his own sidearm, finishing the job.

"Nasty little buggers, aren't they, sir?" The guard winced and leaned against the bulkhead.

"Indeed they are." Jordan pulled up MindPlay. "Timori, where are you?"

The android answered at once. "Down in the warehouse. Is everything all right, sir?"

"Yes. Thank you, Timori." He ended the call and looked at the guard. "Come, soldier, walk with me to the infirmary. Let's get ourselves patched up."

"I'm okay, sir."

"No, you're not. You're bleeding and need stitches. So do I. Come, we'll walk together. It's not far."

Before heading out, Jordan lifted one of the dead arachtaurs from the floor. A nasty little bugger indeed. The spider body was worse enough; the bloated abdomen was the size of a soccer ball, and the claws were like kitchen knives. But the upper human half was worse. It looked like a dead human baby. In a way, it was.

Carrying the creature, Jordan walked down the corridor. The guard followed, gun drawn.

* * * * *

The infirmary was overflowing. The patients were everywhere. They shared beds. They lay on blankets on the deck. They even lay on the corridor floor. Doctors, nurses, and medics moved among them, triaging. Some patients they treated on the floor; there were no beds left. Other patients they rushed into surgery rooms. One doctor was performing surgery right there in the reception room.

The Freedom had been built to lead a fleet. A fleet that included hospital ships. So far from home, with the enemy bombarding them, the medical team could not keep up.

Carrying the dead arachtaur from his cabin, Jordan walked among the patients. The arachtaur infestation had sent some people here. Jordan recognized the bite and claw marks. But most people were still here from the attack on the starboard hull. They suffered burns, lacerations, and vacuum sickness. As Jordan walked by, he saw a patient flatline. Right there on the floor. The medic treating him shook his head sadly, shut the dead man's eyes, and moved onto the next patient.

Jordan stood for a moment, looking at the dead spacer. A young ensign. Barely into his twenties, by the looks of him.

"Goodbye, son of Earth," Jordan said softly. "Godspeed. We will remember you."

Jordan was now a full-fledged commander, second in rank only to Admiral King. Someday, if they ever returned to Earth, it would be Jordan's duty to visit the families of the fallen. To deliver the terrible news. He already grieved for all those who had fallen. His heart already broke for all the families back home.

He realized that patients and even the nurses were looking at him. Perhaps they were awaiting some words of comfort.

"The fallen gave the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom," Jordan said. "To all the wounded, I wish a speedy recovery. You are heroes of Earth. You are my heroes. And I'm here for you. God bless you all."

The words felt hollow. He meant every one, but somehow they sounded trite as they emerged from his mouth. How did King do it? How did he come up with the right words? How did he inspire his people? Jordan was now a commander, and two stars shone on each of his shoulders. Technically, with King the admiral, Jordan was the commander of the starship Freedom. But he still stood in the shadow of his friend.

Everyone was still staring at him, silent. Jordan remembered that he was still holding the dead arachtaur. It was dripping. Probably not the best prop for an inspiring speech.

Jordan kept walking until he found his daughter. Dr. Annie Jordan was just stepping out of an operating room. She wore scrubs, and an errant curl spilled out from under her surgical cap. She handed a bloody scalpel to a nurse, peeled off her gloves, and discarded them.

She looked at Jordan and raised an eyebrow. "Dad, it might not be the best idea to carry dead arachtaurs through my clinic."

Jordan remembered her as a little girl, playing doctor. She was a woman in her midthirties now, an accomplished physician. He was proud of her.

"I brought it so you—or your team—can study it." Jordan raised the creature higher.

Annie glanced at it. "Eight claws. Fangs. Little stinger on the back. Got it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have another surgery to prep for."

"Annie, this thing causes hallucinations." Jordan shook it. "When this arachtaur entered my room, I hallucinated. Other soldiers reported the same thing."

The doctor was already heading down the corridor. "Yes, many of my patients have reported hallucinations. We figured it's a MindWeb bug. Because of the new update."

Jordan followed her down the hallway. "It's not MindWeb. We checked the update. It's clean. Annie, hallucination reports have been coming in since we brought the first arachtaur aboard."

Annie looked at him, then halted. "I …" She frowned, tilted her head. "What …?"

Jordan inhaled sharply. "What are you seeing, Annie? Are you hallucinating right now?"

She rubbed her eyes. "Yes. You seem to be holding a cat." She grimaced. "A dead, strangled cat." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "My cat. It's Mitzi. My childhood pet. Remember how you found her dead under the deck one day?"

Jordan looked at the arachtaur in his hand. He saw something else. He was holding Timori's severed head. A bloody tear trailed down the android's cheek.

"Walk with me," Jordan said. "Just a few steps back."

They retraced their steps down the hallway. Jordan looked at the dead arachtaur in his hand. And yes, it was just a dead arachtaur again.

"The hallucination is gone," Annie said.

Jordan frowned, took a few steps forward again. Now he seemed to be holding another severed head. His daughter's severed head.

He knew it was a hallucination, but he couldn't help it. He dropped the head in disgust.

"There's an arachtaur near us. A live one." Jordan looked around him. "We're right by it."

Jordan tapped the bulkheads. He reached toward the deckhead, pulled out the air vent, peered into the ducts, but saw nothing. Finally an idea struck him. He lifted the severed head of his daughter—just a dead arachtaur, he reminded himself—and moved it around the hallway. Near the deckhead, the hallucination faded. The creature now looked like a dead arachtaur again. As Jordan lowered it closer to the deck, it morphed into Annie's head again.

"Annie, step back," Jordan said.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his multitool, and unscrewed one deck plate. The deck plates were expensive technology, manipulating gravitons to provide artificial gravity. As Jordan pulled the plate free, the gravity faded. The dead arachtaur, the one Jordan had carried here from his chamber, floated up.

Jordan looked down. Aha. Beneath the deck plate was a crawlspace full of pipes and cables. And there, between an electric cable and water pipe—three arachtaur eggs.

All three were hatching.

Jordan pulled the eggs from the crawlspace and placed them on the deck. One arachtaur, no larger than a guinea pig, wriggled out of the egg. Its stinger was leaking. The little critter leaped onto Jordan's leg and bit him. Jordan groaned. He stepped down hard several times, crushing all three creatures under his heel.

"Eww, Dad!" Annie cringed. "Did you have to step on them?"

"Would you prefer me firing my gun in your infirmary?"

She sighed. "No." She looked at the crushed arachtaurs. "I'll get a drone to clean this up."

Jordan looked at his daughter. A proud, confident woman who was very much alive. He tried to forget the hallucination of her severed head.

"Dad? Are you all right?" She put a hand on his arm. "Did you hallucinate too?"

"Yes. Do you see what I mean? As soon as I killed the hatchlings, the hallucinations vanished. They're causing it, not a MindWeb bug."

"All right, I'm convinced," Annie said. "I'll take your dead one to the lab. And … whatever I can scrape off the deck. We'll find out what's going on here."

"I'll join you."

"No. You're hurt. And you look exhausted too. I'll send a nurse to patch you up, and then you sleep." She patted his arm. "Give me a shift or two, and you take care of yourself. We'll find a solution. I'll call you as soon as I have answers."

Jordan nodded. "All right." He turned to leave, then looked back. "Annie, I know this isn't easy, taking care of so many spacers during a war. I'm damn proud of you. And I love you. I love you more than anything."

Her eyes dampened. She nodded. "I love you too, Dad."

* * * * *

When Jordan returned to his cabin, Timori was waiting for him, wearing her red chemise, standing in the bedroom door.

Jordan paused, stared at her, and drew his handgun.

Her eyes widened. "Sir?"

"Where are you?" he said softly.

The android blinked at him. "I'm right here, sir. I was waiting for you. What's wrong?"

Jordan shoved past her. He looked under the bed. Nothing. He checked the closet. Nothing! He knelt, unscrewed a deck plate, and peered into the crawlspace.

"Sir, what's wrong." Timori put a hand on his back. "I'm right here for you."

Jordan rose and faced her. He grabbed the android's head and stared into her eyes. "What's the five hundredth digit of pi?"

"Two," she replied. "If you mean decimal digits only. If you include the three that pi starts with, then one."

Jordan pulled up his MindPlay calculator app. He confirmed the numbers. No way a hallucination could know that. It was her.

"Thank you." He sat on the bed. "Thank you, Timori."

She sat beside him and pulled him into her arms. "I love you, sir."

As he held her, he remembered her body falling apart. The limbs and head clattered to the deck. He released her, feeling that if he squeezed too hard he would break her.

She stroked his cheek. "What's wrong?"

"I'm tired. I want to sleep."

She nodded and kissed his forehead. "Of course."

Jordan lay down in bed, and she nuzzled beside him, and he held her in his arms. Weariness tugged at him at once.

"You feel warm," he whispered. "Your body is warm. You've never felt warm."

The android nuzzled closer. "I installed heat pads under my skin. For you, sir. To make me feel more real. Next I want to install fans in my throat so you can feel my breath."

"You're perfect the way you are, Timori. You're real. And I don't need you to be any more human than this."

She smiled and caressed his hair, and Jordan slept.

He floated in a land of murky dreams. He was lost in a labyrinth, and thorny branches coiled along ocher brick walls. The air was dry, the sun merciless, and the sky was the color of ancient mummies. Snakes flowed between the cobblestones like rainwater, and broken androids lay on piles of stones. Jordan ran through the labyrinth, fleeing an unseen force. Shadows danced on the walls, and cackles sounded behind him. He kept running, seeking a goddess in the center of the maze.

Finally, past dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, he came to the heart of the labyrinth. A great throne rose there like a ziggurat, and a mechanical goddess sat upon it. Jordan stood before her, and he knew he should worship her, that her wisdom would light the path to salvation. Yet when he knelt before her, cracks spread across the ziggurat. The goddess's leg detached and crashed down, crushing walls, and then she was crumbling along with her temple.

Brass bells chimed again and again, a warning cry that echoed over this sepia dreamscape. Bird skeletons fled across the sky.

The chiming sounded again, louder now.

Jordan's eyes opened. He was back in his bed, Timori in his arms. It was his MindLink chiming. Annie was calling him.

He checked the time. He had been sleeping for five hours. That was a lot for a soldier at war.

He took the call. "Annie, did you learn anything from studying your specimen?"

She nodded. "Yes. I know what's causing the hallucinations."

He had two more hours until his next shift on the bridge.

"I'll be right there," he said.

He realized that he had fallen asleep in his uniform. Well, that would save some time. Jordan hurried out the door, making his way back to the infirmary.

* * * * *

"Pheromones," Annie said. "They release pheromones from their stingers, not venom like we thought. And those pheromones are overflowing with hallucinogens."

The dead arachtaur lay on an operating table—the same critter Jordan had killed in his chamber. Annie stood there, wearing a surgical mask, hat, and gloves. Jordan stood at the other side of the table.

"But they haven't been stinging us," Jordan said. "Just biting and clawing."

"Exactly." Annie tapped the dead arachtaur's stinger. "The stingers aren't stabbing weapons. They release the pheromones into the air."

Jordan nodded. "That explains something Admiral King said. When he fought Telve'rahda in the brig, she pointed her stinger at him and sprayed something. He blocked it with his metal prosthetic. I reviewed the security footage and saw it myself. We both assumed Telve'rahda had tried to poison him. But no. She must have realized that King showed an unusually strong resistance to airborne pheromones. He did report hallucinations. But he seemed to suffer less than the guards, who were positively psychotic. So she tried to drench him with the stuff."

"Dad, I collected a vial of pheromones from this dead one. They could give peyote a run for its money."

She pointed at a whiteboard, on which she had drawn with markers. The board showed the chemical composition of the pheromone, a complex molecule containing dozens of atoms of various elements.

Jordan looked at the dead monstrosity. Half human. Half rah.

"Elder'rah, the empress of spiders, genetically engineered these creatures for one purpose. To kill humans. She designed the pheromones as a weapon."

"And a fearsome weapon it is," Annie said. "First drug 'em, then kill 'em."

"Can you create an antidote?" Jordan said.

She thought for a moment. "Maybe. I studied antipsychotic therapy as a resident, but it's a complicated process. It would also require many clinical trials. Hallucinogens are notoriously difficult to treat. Creating an antidote could take months. Maybe a year."

"We don't have that kind of time," Jordan said.

Annie heaved a sigh. "I know. The Kuroko could have helped. The ship contained chemists, neurologists, and psychiatrists. All gone."

"Hang on a second," Jordan said. "We already have MindLinks installed. We all do. Microchips installed into our brains which create controlled hallucinations."

Annie frowned. "Yes, but we need to stop hallucinations, not create more."

Jordan tapped his chin. "I'm not a neuroscientist. But I know a little about how MindLinks work. They can generate hallucinations at will. The avatar of somebody standing across the starship—or even on another ship entirely. Menus. Videos. Graphs and schematics. All hallucinations. And when we're done with them? MindLink can turn them off. There you go. MindLinks can turn off hallucinations."

Annie's eyes widened. "The answer is already in our heads."

"I'll get the MindLink team on it at once," Jordan said. "Can you work with them? They're programmers but not doctors. I want this to be a collaboration between the tech, science, and medical teams. The programmers might need to know the exact molecular format of the hallucinogens."

"I'll work with them every step of the way," Annie said.

"Excellent. Hopefully, we can get a MindLink patch that can give us immunity to arachtaur pheromones." He took a deep breath. "No more hallucinations. That'll make things easier for everyone."

He remembered again what he had seen. Timori, the woman he loved, falling apart like an old clockwork machine. Many spacers aboard, no doubt, had suffered visions just as terrible.

"Thank you, Dad," Annie said.

He raised an eyebrow. "I didn't do anything. You've been doing all the work."

She smiled thinly. "You've always been humble."

Jordan checked the time. His shift began soon. He kissed his daughter on the cheek and left the infirmary.

"Commander on deck!" cried the sentry at the bridge door.

Jordan stepped onto the bridge. King stood there, surrounded by monitors, overseeing the hunt of the Tyranny.

The admiral nodded at him. "Good morning, Larry. A fresh pot of coffee is brewing for you."

Jordan filled a cup, grateful for the hot brew, then told King about everything that had transpired over the past few hours.

King listened carefully until Jordan was done speaking.

"This MindLink patch is top priority," King said. "Mimori, can you assist?"

The android turned from her station and nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll work with the neural programmers."

"I want a patch released as soon as possible," King said. "I want it automatically installed to every MindLink on this starship. All ten thousand spacers."

"We'll get it done," Jordan said. "Now get off my bridge, Jim. Your shift is over."

King snorted. "Eager to get rid of me?"

"Damn right. Get to bed, old man. We've all seen you without sleep, and it's not a pretty sight."

"I'm not here to be beautiful."

"A good thing too." Jordan smiled thinly. "Get some shut-eye, Jim. This will be a long battle yet. I'll hold down the fort."

After King had left the bridge, Jordan looked at the monitors around him. The Freedom was lost in the darkness. They were fighting a dreadnought and an alien infestation. But oddly, Jordan felt good right now. He felt hopeful.

Timori was still whole, and she loved him. His daughter was confident and strong. His best friend was here on this ship, inspiring them all with his courage. In the darkness, the people he loved gave Jordan strength. He hoped that he could inspire them the way they inspired him. If there was any hope in the terror of war, if there was any light in the darkness of space, it lay in the bonds between them. They were humans—some real, some artificial, but all humans. Their souls gave their life worth. Their hearts were why their salvation mattered. They would perhaps suffer, and they would perhaps lose many friends to the enemy, but their humanity shone in this dark, distant place, and Jordan believed that with their humanity they would always defeat the monsters.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Raven flew through space, a shadow among shadows, and God's Tomb followed.

The arachtaur ship had lost much of her crew. Maybe most of her crew. But she still flew fast. And in a face-to-face fight, Emily didn't doubt that God's Tomb would win.

So the Raven fled.

"They're only four thousand klicks behind us now." Emily hugged herself. "Right on our tail."

She sat in Raven's cockpit, struggling to keep her eyes open. As usual, she sat shotgun, manning the prow's rotary cannon. Darjeeling sat beside her, piloting the vessel.

Meanwhile, Meytal was back in the stern, improving her makeshift cannon. The commando had already drilled a hole through the hull, slung her bazooka through it, and given the Raven a handy grenade launcher. Now Meytal was drilling smaller holes, these ones for the crystal daggers. The Aeolian relics were marvelous devices. Soon, Emily hoped, they could fire them from inside the Raven. That should give Abraxas a little surprise.

A yawn interrupted Emily's thoughts. She had not slept in … Gosh, how long had it been? Emily didn't know. Her chin kept dropping, and her eyelids felt so heavy.

"Niles, will you be a dear and fetch me a tea from the stern?" Emily said.

"No." Niles raised his silver nose. "Ask your butler to do it."

Darjeeling grumbled. "I told you, drone, I'm no butler."

"And you never will be with an attitude like that," Niles replied. "Fine. I'll fetch the tea myself. But only because this useless butler would probably break the cups."

The drone flew into the hold. The sound of clattering dishes and curses followed.

"You're burning the dishcloth!" rose Stowy's voice.

A dish shattered. Water spilled. Steam whistled.

Finally Niles returned into the cockpit. He had extended a wrench and screwdriver from his shell. He was using them to carry a tray. On the tray were two cups of tea, a puddle, and soggy biscuits.

"Lovely, Niles, thank you." Emily lifted one cup. It was only half full. A broken piece of biscuit was floating in it.

"Well, go on, drink up!" Niles said. "It's good for you."

Emily winced, forced a smile, and took a sip. She struggled not to lose that smile. "Yum. You … added cinnamon. A lot of cinnamon."

"Two spoonfuls," said Niles. "And some black pepper. It's my magic ingredient."

Darjeeling laughed. "No worries, I like me a strong cuppa." He reached for the second cup. "So long as it's hot and wet, it's right by me."

"It's one of those things," Emily said.

Before Darjeeling could grab the cup, Niles extended a little metal rod and slapped his hand away. "That cup is mine."

The sergeant pulled his hand back, glowering. "You don't even have a mouth."

"But I have olfactory sensors. And I like to smell it." He leaned over the cup and made a show of sniffing. "Delightful."

Emily wrinkled her nose and took another sip, cinnamon and all. That was how badly she needed some caffeine.

"Oh, by the way, I used the decaf tea," Niles said. "Don't want us getting the shakes, do we?" He laughed.

Emily sighed and put the cup aside. She checked the rearview monitor again. God's Tomb had inched even closer, coming within only thirty thousand klicks. In space, that was nothing. Abraxas was tailgating them.

Darjeeling kept changing course, then coasting, trying to throw them off. But it was no use. The Raven had suffered some hull damage from the torpedo shrapnel. That reduced their stealth capability. They could probably still avoid detection at a longer range, say a million klicks. But this close? Abraxas just needed to look out a porthole.

"At least his ship is damaged too," she said. "He's slow. Slower than he was at least. This spider is limping and missing some legs, but it's still a venomous menace. Can we outrun him to Pele?"

She glanced at the map, which shone in the viewport's corner. Baseworld, where they had fought Abraxas and found the daggers, lay millions of klicks behind now. Far ahead shone Pele, a lava world. The planet was twice the size of Earth and roiling with geological activity. Even from here, they could see the odd volcano flare up, blasting lava into space.

A place to hide, Emily thought.

She wasn't looking forward to flying around erupting volcanoes. But if there was anywhere to shake off God's Tomb, it was in hell.

"I think we can just make it," Darjeeling said. "It'll be close. But once we're there, we'll be safe."

Emily slumped in her seat. "So to escape Abraxas, we're going to zigzag between volcanoes the size of Mount Everest. Are we jumping from the frying pan into the fire?"

"Not with me at the helm. Don't you worry, ma'am. Flaming inferno is the perfect place for the Raven to hide. Once we shake off Abraxas, we can put some distance between us, then disappear."

"And then quest onward," she said. "To find the Aeolians."

"We'll find them, ma'am. Don't you worry."

Emily leaned back in her seat, drew her Aeolian dagger, and examined the crystal blade. She turned it over and over, admiring how the light shone inside the shimmering stone. The blade was pale blue, reflecting her face a hundred times.

I no longer look like the Queen of England, she thought. I'm wearing bloodstained fatigues, my face is smeared with ash, and—horror of horrors—my tea is cold. I've become a true soldier.

She ran her fingers over the hilt. It was carved of smooth stone. Smooth aside from the button which could activate the laser. Darjeeling told her the technology was simple. Something humans could build too. In some ways, the dagger was inferior to human weapons. It had no scope. You could barely aim the blasted thing. Surely this was not how the Aeolians had defeated the mighty rahs. It was a fine enough weapon in a pinch, and it certainly looked splendid, but it was hardly some deadly superweapon that could take down an alien empire.

Then again, the rahs had attacked the Aeolians long ago. Maybe back then, the rahs had been weaker. Just a nascent empire. Easy to defeat with simple laser shooters. But no. A silly thought. That couldn't be. The rahs were expert predators. They lived for killing. Even in their earliest days, to invade another star system implied brutality and technological terror. Even then, it would have taken more than a few laser blasts to bring them down.

"I keep thinking of those boulders," she said. "The ones we saw in the murals. The ones depicted crushing the rahs. Boulders, meteorites, asteroids—all big rocks. It has something to do with stone."

"That seems strange to me," Darjeeling said. "I associate stone with, well, Stone Age societies."

"As do I, but that might be my human bias. Not even human bias but European bias. The Incas built grand empires without even knowing how to forge iron. They were a Stone Age civilization, and they built wonders. Maybe the Aeolians don't have access to metal on their homeworld. So they build everything from stone and crystal."

She looked again at the map. One particular planet, one among many in this system, drew her eye. A distant planet. Much farther than Pele. A crystalline planet. A planet that shone with ultraviolet light.

The planet they had seen on the murals at Baseworld.

"The Aeolian homeworld," Emily said softly, looking at the planet on the map. "This is it. I know it. I feel it. The planet is just a pixel from here. But that's where we must go. That's where we'll find answers."

Darjeeling nodded. "We'll get there, ma'am. Don't you worry. We'll shake the beasties off at Pele, then make our way to …" He thought for a moment, mustache twitching. "Heavens, we haven't named the Aeolian homeworld yet, have we?"

"I suggest Stowyworld!"

The voice came from behind them. Emily turned around in her seat. Stowy sat on the cockpit floor, eating the soggy biscuits and drinking the cold tea.

"How long have you been sitting there?" Darjeeling demanded.

"None of your business." Stowy took another sip of tea, pinky sticking out.

Emily looked again at the pink pixel on the map. The planet shone in ultraviolet light, which her eyes could not see. The computer was translating it into a color her brain could understand.

"Cleodora," Emily said. "How about we name it Cleodora? She was a Greek nymph, said to foresee the future by tossing stones and crystals. And Aeolians love stones and crystals. Even their homeworld glitters like a precious stone. Cleodora is a good name for their planet. At least until we learn what name the Aeolians themselves gave it."

"Why not just call it Aeolia?" Stowy asked, munching on a peanut butter cookie.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Darjeeling said, prompting Stowy to stick her tongue out at him.

"Aeolia is the name of this entire star system," Emily said. "At least the name we humans gave it. The planet needs its own name. Cleodora will work for now."

"I still like Stowyworld better, but fine."

Emily smiled thinly. She looked again the map. Twenty-odd planets and hundreds of moons filled this binary system. Emily chose one at random—a small blue planet orbiting Aeolia B, the system's brown dwarf.

"How about this one? This can be Stowyworld."

Stowy examined the planet, eyes narrowed. "It's a bit small." Then her eyes softened. "But so am I. I love it."

Emily checked the map again. God's Tomb was even closer. Abraxas was breathing down their neck.

"We might have a battle on our hands before we reach Pele and her volcanoes." Emily rose to her feet. "We must prepare."

* * * * *

Emily left the cockpit. She wanted to check on Meytal in the stern, to see how the new cannon was operating. To get there, she had to cross the little hold. It was a small space, about the size of a motel room. They had been living here since leaving the Freedom.

Normally, the hold was the busiest, noisiest place in the Raven. But right now Darjeeling was in the cockpit, and Stowy sat beside him, eating the soggy biscuits. Meytal was in the stern, and Niles was sulking somewhere. The bustling hold was unusually quiet. Battle ration containers, piles of laundry, weapons, and random knickknacks covered the deck. Stowy's mouse, the incorrigible Mr. Algernon, was munching on a potato chip. Even over the starship's humming machinery, the chewing was loud.

Besides the mouse, only Arav was here. The monk sat on the couch, his head in his hands.

"Arav?" Emily said. "Are you all right?"

He did not look up. He did not even move.

Emily walked toward him. "Mind if I sit down?"

She took his silence as acquiescence. She sat beside him. The couch creaked. A potato chip fell off the armrest to the deck. Algernon raced up and snatched it. For a moment, they both sat in silence. A queen and a monk, lost in space, with a mouse eating a crisp at their feet. Had there ever been a stranger tableau?

Emily took a deep breath. "When you become a queen, you make many vows. To defend Great Britain and the commonwealth. To serve God and your people. To forever be honorable and just. When you become an officer of the Free Alliance, you make other vows. To obey your commanders. To fight valiantly. To be prepared to give your life for Earth should the need arise. So many promises. And I've broken many."

Arav said nothing, just kept his head lowered.

"I swore to defend Great Britain, yet I left my kingdom and flew a thousand light-years away," Emily said. "Yes, I swore to fight valiantly, but many times in battle, I cowered. Vows are holy but people are not. Vows are unbreakable but people can break. But people can also mend. People can stand up again."

Finally Arav spoke. His voice dripped bitterness. "Vows are unbreakable? I broke a vow!"

"Unbreakable on paper, yes. Unyielding. Unforgiving. Blind to the ever-changing sea of situations. Perhaps I should say that the sea cannot break but its waves can."

He finally looked into her eyes. Tears dampened his cheeks. "I killed. An arachtaur, yes. An alien hybrid. A demon. But my faith teaches that all life is precious. And I took a life."

"I've taken many lives, and it was never easy."

"But you're a soldier!" His voice rose louder. He stood up. "Your job is to kill."

"Is that what you think a soldier's job is?" She stood up too and balled her fists. "Our job is to save lives! Human lives."

"To me all lives are sacred!" Arav said. "Human lives. That mouse on the deck. The lice in the stowaway's hair. And yes, the arachtaurs we faced. And I killed one! I vowed that I would die before raising arms. And I raised a weapon." His face twisted in disgust. "I aimed it. I fired it. And you know what? It felt good. It felt good to kill." Fresh tears flowed. "I am ashamed. I shamed my guru. My religion. And most importantly I shamed myself."

Emily looked at him for a moment in silence. "You know what? In the chaos of battle, I forgot all about Stowy's lice. I was going to shave her hair off. Don't worry. I'll let the lice live."

He blinked at her, eyes damp, then laughed. Emily laughed too. They sat back down on the couch.

"I apologize for my outburst," Arav said. "That was very unmonklike of me."

"All is forgiven. I don't know much about Mahatrism. But I know that queens are meant to always be proper too. And by God, sometimes I'd love to just let out a great big shout."

The monk smiled. "You should."

She laughed. "Someday I shall."

"How about now?" Arav said. "In fact, we can make a meditation out of it. A shouting meditation. Let out all your rage from your lungs! I think it could work. Would you like to try it with me?"

Emily bit her lip. "I'm not sure. I feel shy."

"Oh, come on!" He grinned. "If you could slay arachtaurs in battle, you can shout with a humble monk. On three. Two. One."

They shouted together. Two huge, glorious shouts.

Emily stared at Arav for a moment.

"I can't believe I did that." She giggled. "I must admit—I do feel better. Let's do it again. On three. Two. One."

Again, they both shouted. Even louder this time. They heard a third shout coming from the cockpit—Stowy.

Finally, out of breath, Emily ended her cry. She had spent the past few days chewing her lips, but now those lips smiled.

"I feel better too," Arav said.

Niles stuck his head out the cockpit door. "You are all insane," the drone said, then vanished again.

Arav pressed his palms together and bowed to Emily. "Thank you, Emily. This helped. I was ready to abandon the monastery. But I'll meditate on this. Perhaps there is still a path to salvation for me."

She kissed his cheek. "I'm glad you're still with us, my friend."

She left him to meditate and entered the stern.

* * * * *

The stern was a small place, not much larger than the bathroom. The Raven's engine was in the crawlspace below the main deck. Since they used a graviton drive, there were no exhaust ports, just graviton coils running around the hull. The stern wasn't used for engineering but storage. This was where they kept their spare oxygen, water, and food. At least whatever wasn't scattered across the hold's deck.

Meytal had ripped off the shelves, exposing the stern hull. All their supplies were crammed into the corners. Her bazooka thrust through a hole in the hull, crudely welded into place. A second hole had been carved open above, then fitted with steelglass. A makeshift porthole for aiming. Grenades filled a crate nearby.

"It's beautiful work," Emily said. "You're very clever."

"I spent enough time with combat engineers," Meytal said. "Must have picked up a few things."

The Israeli warrior knelt on the deck, raised a drill, and began carving another hole through the hull. Sparks flew across her helmet. Emily had to lower her own helmet's visor. It dimmed automatically.

"Meytal, be careful," she said. "We must keep the stern pressurized."

Meytal paused. She looked at Emily, one eyebrow raised. "You did notice I'm using hull jelly, right? You didn't learn about hull jelly in your fancy officer school, huh? It's a chemically engineered metallic alloy, used for sealing hull breaches. But I guess officers don't do grunt work." She winked.

Emily took a closer look. A wiggling blob of goo clung to the hull, silvery and translucent. It looked like a small jellyfish. Meytal was drilling through the jelly and into the hull. The strange material kept the cabin pressurizing while Meytal worked.

"Oh." Emily blushed. "I feel silly. Don't mind me."

"Ah, don't worry about it." Meytal got back to drilling. "I didn't know shit at your age. I still don't know shit about much. I mostly just know about weapons. Mostly. But I figure during an alien war, I come in handy."

She pulled the drill free. It left a hole in the hull. At once, the jelly wriggled into place like a living creature, sealing the breach. Meytal drew one of the crystal daggers, gently pierced the jelly, then slid the blade through the hole in the hull.

"Perfect fit!" Meytal said. "We'll leave the jelly in the hole. It'll keep the hole sealed tight. And it's bendable, so we'll be able to move the daggers around and aim."

"I think you're brilliant," Emily said. "Soon we'll be able to fire these daggers at our enemy."

"Really?" Meytal gasped. "I had no idea! I was doing this so we could put on a laser show for tourists."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Okay, I get it. I'm stupid. Are you always so rude?"

"Always." Meytal winked. "It's my thing. But if I'm rude to you, that means I'm your friend."

"I'd hate to see how you treat an enemy."

"I kill my enemies." Meytal slapped down more jelly and began drilling a second hole. "We're going to need two daggers. I can fire one, and Stowy can fire the other one. The girl's not a bad shot. She'd make a good soldier if she ever enlisted."

"I'm sure that's just what Darjeeling wants—Stowy in his beloved military."

Emily looked through the porthole Meytal had installed. From here, God's Tomb was barely visible to the naked eye. She just looked like a speck of light. But when Emily applied her visor's zoom filter, the God's Tomb ballooned into a great mechanical terror, a spider hunting them relentlessly. She could see a dark figure in the clawship's porthole. She could feel eyes watching her.

Abraxas. Emily had the terrible feeling that he was staring at her right now. That he could see her.

She shuddered and turned away. She looked at the tools and weapons on the deck. "When will the system be ready?"

"In fifteen minutes, if you help," Meytal said.

"I'll help."

"Great. Drill another hole right over there. We'll add another dagger there. We can probably install two more daggers on the starboard and port hulls too. Maybe even the dorsal hull and underbelly. We'd be able to fire in multiple directions."

"These Aeolian daggers are coming in handy," Emily said. "I hope we can find more weapons at Cleodora."

She got to work.

No sooner had they finished installing the second dagger than alarms blared.

Darjeeling's cry came from the cockpit.

"She's launching torpedoes!"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Meytal's words echoed through the Raven's stern. "She's launching torpedoes!"

Emily's heart nearly stopped.

Standing in the stern, she stared out the crude porthole Meytal had installed. With her visor's zoom, she saw it. God's Tomb had come within firing range. Her eight mechanical legs pointed at the Raven. Eight torpedoes flew at them. The enemy was fighting at full capacity again.

Emily grabbed one crystal dagger. The blade thrust through the hole in the hull. Meytal grabbed the other dagger.

The two women glanced at each other. Meytal gave her a little wink.

They opened fire.

Beams shot out the stern, one white, the other blue.

At once, they ran into a problem. Meytal had installed only one porthole here, a round window the size of a dinner plate. Both women now tried to look outside so they could aim. Their helmets banged together.

"You take the porthole," Emily said. "I have an idea."

She telepathically connected to the computer in the cockpit, found the rearview monitor, and directed the feed directly into her brain. As she stood here in the stern, firing her dagger, she hallucinated a little window, no larger than a playing card. It streamed a video from the camera mounted onto the stern. Finally Emily could aim.

"You didn't even need to install a porthole," Emily said. "We can telepathically connect to the camera on the stern. I'm doing that now."

Meytal snorted. "Until a blast takes out the local MindWeb. Don't rely too much on your precious technology, princess. It won't always save your ass."

"I'm not a prin—" she began, then decided to drop it. No time for bickering now.

Both their initial beams had missed. Eight torpedoes were still racing toward them. They were only a minute or two away, Emily estimated.

She fired the dagger again, this time aiming through her MindWeb monitor. These Aeolian daggers were hard to aim at the best of times. Meytal had sealed them into the hull with the jelly, and that jelly was surprisingly thick. It felt like trying to move a knife buried deep in peanut butter. Emily could wriggle the dagger around in an attempt to aim, but the motions were stiff and slow.

She fired another beam, missed again. The torpedoes raced closer. Hoping the daggers had a powerful battery, Emily kept the button on the hilt pressed down, firing a continuous laser beam. She swept the beam from side to side, finally hitting a torpedo. An explosion lit up space.

Meytal took out two more. Firing her dagger with one hand, Meytal loaded a grenade with the other.

"Cover your ears!" she said, then fired the grenade.

The bazooka fired. The stern shook. The sound was deafening. Emily couldn't cover her ears; they were inside her helmet. They rang.

The grenade flew out and exploded among the torpedoes, destroying a bunch of them. Shrapnel flew through space.

Three torpedoes were still flying. They were only a few hundred klicks away now, racing forward at an insane speed. Emily and Meytal both fired their daggers, taking one out. Two more were coming in fast.

"Darjeeling, evasive action!" Emily shouted, telepathizing the words at the same time.

Meytal shot down another torpedo, but one remained.

Darjeeling yawed hard.

The torpedo overshot them.

Emily knew what would happen next. The torpedo would fly ahead for a few seconds, execute a sharp U-turn, and roar back toward them.

And Emily was back here in the stern. Nobody was manning the prow cannon.

She ran toward the cockpit.

She raced through the piles of laundry and food in the hold.

She tripped on something, fell down hard, bloodied her elbows. She rose and raced into the cockpit.

An explosion blazed across the viewport.

We're hit! Emily thought. It got us!

But she was still alive. She blinked. Stowy was sitting in the shotgun seat, holding the rotary cannon triggers. She looked at Emily, eyes wide.

"I shot a torpedo!" the girl whispered. "I actually shot a torpedo!"

"Emily, I need you back here, dammit!" Meytal cried from the stern.

Emily patted Stowy's head. "Keep at it."

* * * * *

Emily raced back to the stern. More torpedoes were incoming. Meytal was firing a dagger with one hand, the grenade launcher with the other. Emily grabbed the second dagger and pressed the button.

Torpedoes exploded. They were so close shrapnel pattered Raven's stern.

Briefly, Emily wondered how long before the daggers' batteries drained. In the chaos of battle, nobody had time to disassemble the daggers and learn how they worked. Emily hoped they still had lots of juice in them. God knew how long they had been lying in that ancient tomb. For all she knew, it could have been millions of years. It was a wonder they still worked at all.

Again God's Tomb launched torpedoes. Again Emily and Meytal fired grenades and lasers, blowing them up.

Another volley flew.

"Heavens, how much ammo does Abraxas have?" Emily said.

"God's Tomb is a big ship," Meytal answered. "He could easily store hundreds of torpedoes in there."

Emily looked at the pile of grenades. They had three left.

"Oh dear." Emily cringed. "I hope these crystal blades hold out a bit longer."

She fired her dagger again. The beam hit a torpedo. And the torpedo kept flying.

Emily frowned and pressed the hilt button again. Another white beam shot out, hit the torpedo, and did nothing. The beam looked decidedly thinner this time.

"I just had to jinx it." A chill flooded Emily. "My battery is already running low."

"Mine too," Meytal said. "Let's fire together on the same torpedo. On three, two, one."

They fired together. One thin white beam, one thin blue beam. Combined, they did the trick. The torpedo exploded just a few klicks away. Shrapnel slammed into the stern. The porthole shattered.

Air began fleeing the ship.

Emily screamed.

"Fire the grenades!" Meytal shouted over the roaring air. "I'll seal the breach! Where's the damn seal kit?"

"What's happening?" Niles cried from the cockpit.

"No time for seal kits, we're depressurizing fast!" Emily said. "Niles, get in here!"

The drone raced into the stern. "What the devil did you two do? Look at this ship! Just look at— Ah, let me go!"

Emily grabbed the drone and shoved him into the shattered porthole.

Niles fit perfectly.

The air stopped fleeing. The leak was sealed.

At once, Emily and Meytal got back to firing the daggers. More torpedoes exploded, these ones a little farther out.

"Let me out of here!" Niles said, wriggling inside the shattered porthole. "I am not a plug!"

Meytal took a moment to slap some hull jelly around him, sealing the drone into place. "You are now."

The two women kept firing their daggers. It was harder now. They had to aim together, combining their waning beams. They could barely keep up with the volley. And God's Tomb was gaining on them. Soon the ship was only fifty thousand klicks away—right by them—and coming closer still.

"Mr. Darjeeling, how long until we reach Pele?" Emily telepathized.

"We're almost there, ma'am. The planet is right ahead of us. I need another twenty minutes."

Emily winced. "I'm not sure we have another twenty minutes." She looked at Meytal. "We have more crystal daggers. We took six from the Aeolian temple. We need to replace these ones."

"They're already welded into place," Meytal said. "Hull jelly hardens fast."

"It what?" Niles said, sealed into the porthole with globs of the metallic goo.

Meytal ignored the drone and kept speaking to Emily. "I'd have to burn off the old jelly, get a new canister, and redo it all. We don't have time. Not with torpedoes flying our way."

Niles gulped, wriggling in his jelly seal. "Burn it off?"

Emily thought for a moment. "We might not need to. We just need to swap the batteries. Arav! Arav, fetch me more daggers!"

Not a moment later, Arav rushed into the stern, carrying four more crystal daggers. He placed them on the deck, then began tinkering with them, looking for the power source.

Emily and Meytal fired on another approaching torpedo. Their beams barely shone now. This time they had to focus both beams for long moments before the torpedo detonated. The explosion came dangerously close. More shrapnel hit the stern. Niles, half his body sticking outside the ship, cried out in pain.

"I'm hit! I'm hit! Oh, I'm going to die!"

Emily gasped. "Niles! Is your computer hit?"

"No. Worse. The shrapnel broke my silver casing. Oh, I'm hideous. I'm deformed. I'm a monster now!"

"Got it!" Arav said.

The monk held out a dagger. He had managed to separate the crystal blade from the stone hilt. Inside glowed a bar of energy enclosed in glass.

"This must be the battery," Arav said. "Opening the dagger is a bit tricky. You have to spin the hilt while pressing down hard. Like opening a bottle of aspirin."

"Meytal, you fire the last few grenades while I swap out the batteries," Emily said.

"On it." Meytal loaded a grenade and fired. More torpedoes detonated.

Meanwhile, Emily worked furiously. The jelly was now harder, almost solid. The blades were outside, the hilts inside. The damn jelly was making it impossible to unscrew the hilts. Emily had to raise a blowtorch, heat up the jelly until it softened, then finally detach the hilts. By the time she had loaded fresh batteries, Meytal was out of grenades.

More torpedoes launched.

Meytal and Emily fired their recharged daggers on full power. The torpedoes exploded.

Emily exhaled in relief.

"Ten more minutes and we're at Pele!" Darjeeling telepathized from the prow. "Can you give me ten more minutes?"

"I think so," Emily said. "Yes, I think we can."

* * * * *

"Emily? I would like a turn with the daggers please." Arav stared at her, his face hard. "I cannot take a life. But I can shoot down torpedoes. And I want to help."

"Please." She stepped aside. "Good luck, Baba Arav."

Baba. A term of respect for a Mahatrist monk. He nodded at her solemnly, grabbed the dagger's hilt, and began firing at the torpedoes.

Emily made to return to the cockpit, then paused and looked at the monk. It dawned on her. "Wait a minute. Arav, you have no MindLink. You can't connect to the outer camera. And Niles is plugging the porthole, hiding the view. How will you aim?"

And yet, the monk was aiming true. A torpedo exploded. Then another one. Emily saw it all on MindPlay, streaming the view from outside.

"How?" she whispered.

Arav smiled thinly. "An old monk trick. You have technology. I have my faith."

He fired blindly again. And another torpedo exploded.

Emily blinked. She had no idea how Arav was doing it. But he was doing a good job.

Leaving him to it, she raced into the cockpit.

Red light washed over her. Pele loomed on the viewport, nearly covering their field of vision. Lava swirled across its surface. Volcanoes thrust up everywhere. As Emily watched, one erupted, casting lava into space. Truly, this planet was hell.

There were only two seats in the cockpit. Darjeeling sat in one, Stowy in the other.

"Stowy, get up," Darjeeling. "Let the queen sit."

"You get up," the stowaway said.

His mustache bristled. "I'm flying the ship!"

"Don't cry to me about your problems." Stowy leaned back and placed her feet on the dashboard.

"It's all right, I'll stand," Emily said.

Another volcano erupted ahead. The lava blasted through the planet's hazy atmosphere and rose like a solar flare into space. Heat warnings flashed on the HUD. Lava churned and smoke and ash filled space like a nebula.

"A perfect place to hide," Emily said.

Meytal's cry rose from the stern. "He's right on our ass! Just a few klicks behind us!"

Emily checked the rearview monitor. Her ribs seemed to tighten around her heart. Meytal wasn't kidding. God's Tomb was right behind them. So close he could almost ram their stern. The ship was huge, a metal spider the size of a football field. Its mechanical legs spread out. Emily felt like an ant fleeing a tarantula.

"All right, hold on to something, everyone," Darjeeling said. "This is going to get rough."

Emily looked around for something to hold. She settled for the back of Stowy's seat.

An explosion flared behind them. Shrapnel battered the stern. Niles let out a pitiful wail. Emily could hear it even from here. A torpedo must have detonated unusually close this time, probably within a few klicks. The Raven rocked through space.

"She's coming in hot; I can't hold her back!" Meytal shouted. "She's gonna ram us!"

"Not on my watch," Darjeeling said.

He pitched the nose down hard, and the Raven swooped toward Pele.

* * * * *

Emily clung on for dear life. The g-force pulled her legs off the deck.

A torpedo overshot them. Stowy pulled the trigger. Bullets roared out, the torpedo detonated, and Darjeeling swerved around the explosion. He dived down on full throttle, heading closer to the planet. The lava surface swirled, thick with rocky black floes. A lava world. A hellish world. A planet of cascading magma and seas of bubbling molten rock. A volcano rose ahead, cracked and leaking, larger than Olympus Mons. The planet trembled. The volcano erupted.

"Hold on!" Darjeeling cried.

A pillar of lava rose ahead, a torrent wide enough to engulf a dreadnought, casting out heat and light and ash. Darjeeling leaned sideways, pulling the yoke with all his might. The Raven swerved around the flaming, crackling geyser. Droplets of lava hit the Raven, sizzling. The alarms blared.

Emily lost her grip on the chair. She stumbled backward, hit the bulkhead, then pitched forward. Darjeeling was still flying like mad. He was now raising the nose high. Emily tumbled backward, but Stowy caught her. The girl pulled Emily onto her lap.

"I got ya, boss!" Stowy wrapped her arms around Emily and squeezed. "I'll be your seat belt. You fire the cannon."

Sitting on Stowy's lap, Emily grabbed the rotary cannon triggers.

Darjeeling completed a loop around the geyser of lava, and there Emily saw her. God's Tomb. The starship hovered above the bubbling, molten surface of Pele.

"Die, you bastards," Emily hissed, surprising herself with her harsh language, and opened fire.

Her bullets flew. They pounded God's Tomb but only pinged off her armored hull. The HUD displayed a warning. LOW AMMO.

"We better get out of here fast," Emily said.

God's Tomb rose higher, aimed her eight legs, and fired.

Darjeeling flew around another erupting geyser. The lava caught the torpedoes. They exploded in midair, but in this flaming world it was barely noticeable. Darjeeling flew toward a third volcano, a fourth, whipping around the eruptions. Pillars of lava rose everywhere, forming a cathedral to an unholy god. Chunks of stone flew through the air. Fire rained. They flew like a true raven, fast and dark and sure.

And God's Tomb still followed.

The mechanical arachnid was much larger, but she moved with terrifying dexterity, sweeping from side to side like a spider swinging from a web. She almost seemed to dance. She moved through the fiery gauntlet.

Torpedo after torpedo launched.

The Raven swerved from side to side, lasers beaming from her stern, fire all around her. A volcano erupted ahead. A wave of lava soared, covered the sky, and came crashing down. The Raven skimmed the rocky, crumbling surface, racing at incredible speed as stones cascaded and ash filled the air. The wave of plasma crashed down behind them, melting landforms, shoving stones back into the molten stew of Pele. This planet was like Earth in its earliest days, still not fully formed, an embryonic world of fire with no night, day, land, or sea, a kingdom of chaos and destruction. The universe was birthing to a new world here, a child named Pele, and the birth was hard. A red birth. A birth in fire.

"We can't shake her off!" Emily said. "She's still right on our tail."

A radio transmission swept over the Raven, so powerful it crashed through their security algorithms. A hideous visage appeared on the viewport.

Abraxas.

Emily gasped.

He was hurt. Badly. A crystal dagger's beam must have hit him. His left ear was gone. So was half his lower jaw. The cheek was carved open, revealing the molars. Crude metal bolts held his face together.

But his eyes were still fine. And they stared at Emily in cold fury.

"I'm coming for you," Abraxas said. "Here in this hellish world you will remain. May your souls suffer here forever."

"Joke's on you. I don't have a soul," Stowy said and blew him a raspberry.

"I sold mine a long time ago!" Meytal cried from the stern.

Abraxas sneered. "Then you will die and nothing will remain of you, not even a—"

Emily tapped a button, hanging up.

"What a creep," Stowy said.

* * * * *

"Look, Mr. Darjeeling." Emily pointed. "That volcano ahead. It's massive. We might be able to lose him there."

The mountain rose ahead from a sea of basalt, its sides cracked, leaking rivers of lava that could swallow cities. The volcano soared and soared, piercing the clouds, rising from the atmosphere itself, and its tip bubbled in space.

"The size of it!" Darjeeling whispered. "That volcano must have the mass of a small moon."

"Nothing about that thing is small," Stowy said. "And it's about to erupt."

The colossal mountain trembled violently. Fissures appeared on its sides. Smoke blasted from its vent.

"It's going to burn us!" Emily said.

Stowy's eyes widened. "Cool! We'll become skeletons."

"Not today, m'ladies." Darjeeling pursed his lips and tightened his grip on the yoke. "Today we are in hell. So today we fly like angels."

Stowy covered her mouth, eyes even wider. "He called me m'lady! First you said my life is precious. Now I'm a lady." She studied Darjeeling thoughtfully. "Maybe you're not so bad after all, Gramps."

Darjeeling raced forward, then pitched upward, roaring up along the mountainside. Rocks crumbled and cracked below. Thin spurts of lava rose everywhere. The Raven zigzagged between them.

God's Tomb followed, doing her best to avoid the onslaught. Meytal and Arav were firing their daggers from the stern, but with so much ash in the air, only weak beams reached God's Tomb. She kept chasing, skimming the mountainside, moving closer, closer. Her mechanical legs reached out.

Darjeeling banked hard.

The mountainside cracked open. A curtain of lava soared.

The inferno washed over one of God's Tomb's legs.

The mechanical leg melted. Aboard the Raven, they all cheered.

But Abraxas wasn't down yet. One leg missing, he still chased. Both ships raced up the mountainside, rising higher, higher, reaching a hundred klicks over the rumbling surface of Pele. They breached the hellish atmosphere, soaring through clouds of ash and floating chips of stone.

They flew in space. Everything seemed so silent.

There ahead it rose like a pustule, emerging from the atmosphere into the darkness. The volcano vent, ringed with layers of dripping basalt. It was like a portal to hell. A hole that could swallow a city. A cauldron for a goddess of dark magic. Smoke rose from the pit, and lava bubbled, oozing down the sides. Any second, the lava would burst like a geyser, like a sun flare, rising thousands of kilometers into space.

Darjeeling raced toward the vent.

"Mr. Darjeeling, are you mad?" Emily cried.

"Hold on!" he said. "We're going to make it!"

The volcano belched smoke and fumes and sulfur. The magma swirled faster within, bubbling madly.

"She's gonna blow!" Stowy cried.

They reached the rim of the volcano.

Emily winced and held Stowy's hands.

The Raven shot over the vent. They streaked straight forward. Below them, the lava bubbled and swirled like the surface of a dying sun.

The volcano erupted … just as the Raven reached the far side.

Enough lava to cover a planet soared into space. The Raven kept flying at breakneck speed. A tidal wave of fire loomed over their stern.

Behind the volcano, God's Tomb swerved, then vanished behind the holocaust of molten fury.

Stowy cheered. Emily slumped on the girl's lap, feeling faint. Even Darjeeling allowed himself a deep breath.

"Turning on stealth cloak!" Darjeeling said. "We only have a moment before God's Tomb circumvents that lava. We must disappear by then."

He tapped buttons. The Raven's stealth capability kicked into action. The ship's lights dimmed. The hull hummed. All energy was now diverted into the heat sinks stored along the dorsal hull. They reflected no light, emitted no energy. Their hull had sustained some damage—scratches, dents, bits of shrapnel. All that would hurt their stealth cloak. But in a planet full of ash and smoke, it might be enough.

Darjeeling kept the graviton engine running. This close to Pele, they were deep inside a massive gravity well. Their own gravitons drowned in the noise.

For a tense moment, Darjeeling flew onward. He approached a few smaller volcanoes, flew around them, then skimmed the ashy atmosphere.

On the rearview monitor, God's Tomb emerged from behind the colossal volcano.

Emily watched, holding her breath.

God's Tomb flew fast.

She was no longer following the Raven.

The mechanical spider changed course. She rose higher, dipped lower, flew left, flew right. Finally she flew in the wrong direction.

Emily laughed, tears flowing down her cheeks. "We did it. We're invisible."

* * * * *

They put more distance between them and God's Tomb. Soon enough, the two ships were flying on opposite hemispheres. Emily finally allowed herself to relax. She rose off Stowy's lap.

"All right, we shook him off," Emily said. "But he's still seeking us. We're not in the clear yet."

"What do we do now?" Stowy said. "Can we fly to Stowyworld next?"

Emily shook her head. "No. We'll fly to Cleodora. The ultraviolet planet. The planet we saw on the mosaic at Baseworld." She raised the hallucination map. It shone there—a small glittering planet halfway across the system. "On the mosaic, Cleodora had a place of importance. A planet where a great battle was fought. It's where the Aeolians defeated the rahs. So it's where we'll fly."

Darjeeling tapped some buttons, running calculations. "We'll have to set course here at Pele, blast off at great speed, and coast the rest of the way. Right now we're in Pele's gravity well. We can operate our engine while invisible. But once we're out there in space, if we turn our engine on again …"

"Abraxas would see our gravitons," Emily said. "We'll have to coast." They had not planned on anyone being able to detect their graviton drive. The Raven was not quite as stealthy as they had thought. They'd have to deal with it.

"It'll be a long flight without a running engine," Darjeeling said. "Nothing in space can slow you down, of course. Once we set our speed, we'll continue at the same speed. Forever, in theory. But normally, starships keep accelerating throughout their flight, dramatically cutting down travel times. We can't do that now."

"How long if we just coast?" Emily said.

"Sixteen days, I reckon. Assuming we slingshot around Pele for a boost of speed. We have just enough rations to get there and back."

Emily took a deep breath. "All right. It's a long flight. But we have no choice. Let's set a course now. Then give us as much speed as you've got, Mr. Darjeeling."

Stowy raised her fist. "To Stowyworld!"

"To Cleodora," Emily said.

Stowy raised her fist higher. "To Cleodora! And then to Stowyworld!"

"Course is set," Darjeeling said. "We'll race one orbit around Pele, then slingshot into the distance. We'll hit some serious g's. So buckle up."

Emily sat on Stowy's lap again. "Do you mind, Stowy? I mean, if you insist on stealing my seat …"

"My pleasure." The stowaway wrapped her arms around Emily again. "I got ya, boss."

"Um, ma'am?" Darjeeling said, glancing at the young queen. "Beg your pardon, but when we accelerate, our weights will increase. Dramatically. You'll suddenly weigh as much as an elephant. You might not want to sit on the stowaway."

Stowy gasped. "I'd be flattened into a pancake! Cool!"

Emily bit her lip. "Oh. Quite right, Mr. Darjeeling. Um, Stowy, dear? How about we squeeze in side by side? We're both small enough to fit, I think."

It was a tight squeeze. But Stowy and Emily managed to share the seat, squished in side by side. They buckled up.

"Arav, Meytal?" Emily cried over her shoulder. "Buckle up!"

"Buckling up," Meytal said,

"Buckling up," said Arav.

"I'm still stuck in the hull!" Niles cried. "Get me out of here!"

"And here we go," Darjeeling said. "On three, two, one …"

He shoved down the throttle.

The force shoved them back in their seats.

Stowy groaned. "Ow, boss! You weigh a ton!"

Emily winced. It felt like her skin was being pulled backward from her face. "I'm … . not … sitting on you."

"You're leaning on me. I can't breathe!"

"Once we're out of this gravity well, I can turn on the g-dampeners," Darjeeling said. His voice barely seemed strained. The tough old sergeant had been flying in space for decades. He must have built up incredible resistance to the rigors of spaceflight.

As they were soaring away from Pele, the great volcano of Pele erupted again. Emily watched it on the rearview monitor. Truly, the volcano was awe-inspiring. Lava roared upward into space, painting the darkness like a deranged god with a brush of fire.

"Lalahon," Emily said softly. "We should name the volcano Lalahon. After the Filipino goddess of volcanoes."

"Look at her go," Stowy said.

The lava rose higher and higher, then suddenly flared outward and faded. Emily frowned.

"Did you see that?" Emily said. "It's like the lava hit some invisible barrier. Wait, no! It's rising upward again."

The lava kept rising, painting splashes of red across space, then dived back down toward Pele.

"Somebody tell me you saw that," Emily said.

Stowy frowned. "Saw what? I didn't see anything."

"Me neither," Darjeeling said. "Though I wasn't watching carefully."

Emily rubbed her eyes. "I must have imagined it. The image of rising lava almost seemed to flicker, but … I'm tired." She yawned. "I haven't slept in ages. Are we in the clear yet?"

She checked the tracking map. God's Tomb was still at Pele, trawling the atmosphere.

"Abraxas lost our scent," Darjeeling said. "We're in the clear."

They increased distance from Pele, emerging from the gravity well, and coasted. Darjeeling switched on the g-dampeners, and the terrible weight lifted off Emily. Literally and metaphorically.

She closed her eyes and fell asleep.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The neural update rolled through the ship, spreading through MindWeb to every brain aboard the starship Freedom.

Bastian was in the stern, talking to Kim, when it happened. They stood in the Nerd Lab, the stern's upper deck. It was here that Freedom's brightest minds invented new technology. Standing here, Bastian felt out of place—a big, hulking, dumb marine standing among geniuses. Many brilliant scientists and engineers worked around him on sundry projects. It was an enormous lab, the creative center of the ship.

When the update hit, Bastian and Kim both stopped talking and shuddered. Everyone on deck did.

Bastian felt like electric eels were crawling through his brain. Another, more violent shudder passed through his entire body.

"Whoa," he said. "That was not like other MindLink updates." He rubbed his eyes. "I'm seeing stars."

Updates to one's neural network were never pleasant. Usually a soldier received a notification, then chose to install the update at a convenient time. Usually while asleep. It was easier that way. This update had not been optional. There was no postponing it. The MindWeb administrators had pushed it with brute force into every brain.

The PA system crackled to life. A baritone voice emerged from speakers above.

"Attention, all spacers of the starship Freedom, this is Commander Jordan. As you might have noticed, we just pushed a MindWeb update. It will protect you from arachtaur-induced hallucinations. If you suffer any neural problems, please do not report to the infirmary. Our doctors are busy treating battle injuries. Any discomfort from the update will pass. Thank you. Jordan out."

Bastian blinked a few times. The stars gradually faded. The electric eels slowed down, then curled up and stopped crawling through his brain.

Standing before him, Kim rubbed her temples. "Did you just feel like worms were crawling inside your brain?"

"Eels," he said. "Felt like electric eels."

"Most updates just affect the microchips in our skulls," Kim said. "They update the software, that's all. But sometimes an update pushes deeper, out of the microchip and into the actual brain. It changes the neural structure. Sorry, I'm blabbering on like a typical engineer. Bottom line is …" She shivered. "I hate those updates."

Bastian looked at her for a moment. Her blond hair spilled out from under her hardhat, and her blue eyes sparkled with eager curiosity. She was a beautiful, intelligent woman. Bastian couldn't help noticing that.

Could the rumors be true? Bastian wondered.

He had heard them, of course. Soldiers talked in the mess hall, in the officer's lounge, while cleaning their rifles, while mopping latrines. And gossip spread. They said that Admiral King and Kim Fletcher were secret lovers. That the engineer sometimes left her station, rushed toward the admiral's stateroom, and did not emerge until an hour later. Ostensibly she was presenting him with reports, but soldiers were soldiers, and all soldiers gossiped.

Bastian didn't know what to think about that. His mother had been dead for years, but the grief had never left Bastian. His father had never remarried, never even dated again. After his wife had died, James King had dedicated himself to only one woman. The starship Freedom. Could that be changing?

Ah hell, maybe they were just rumors and nothing else.

"Bastian?" Kim tilted her head. "You okay?"

His cheeks heated. He noticed he had been staring.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. It's just the neural update. It dazed me for a moment. Anyway, we were talking about duct cleaning, right?"

"Indeed we were."

Bastian raised a MindWeb schematic of the Freedom, highlighting the miles of ducts that ran through the dreadnought.

"We don't know exactly where the arachtaurs laid eggs," Bastian said. "But we know that baby arachtaurs are crawling out the vents. My guess is these ducts are rife with eggs."

"I agree," Kim said. "I personally saw two arachtaurs heading into the ducts. I think they're using them to move through the ship. Like Stowy." She lowered her head. "I worry for the girl. Still nobody's seen her?"

Bastian shook his head. "No. But I'm guessing that Stowy is no longer on the Freedom. She probably flew off with Emily. You know she follows the queen everywhere."

"Good." Kim took a deep breath. "Because those ducts are overrun."

"And you have an engineering solution," Bastian said. "Show me."

"Right over there. My little duct cleaners."

They turned together. The robots stood on a table. Six of them. They looked like blowfish, sprouting steel spikes. Each was about the size of a basketball.

"These are only prototypes," Kim said. "If they work, I can build more."

"Can I see one in action?" Bastian said.

She gasped. "You don't trust your engineer?"

"It's not that." He felt his cheeks flush again. "I'm just curious to see one, and—"

Kim patted his cheek. "I'm messing with you." She winked. "You look cute when you blush."

"You got me. I am adorable. Now show me your killing machines."

Kim pulled on a glove woven of graphene fabric; the material could stop a bullet. She lifted one of the spiky balls. The blades twitched like the legs of an angry isopod pulled from the ocean depths.

"I call it the ball-o'-blades," Kim said. "What do you think of the name?"

"It looks like the head of a medieval morning star," Bastian said. "With more blades. And more attitude. Maybe call them morning stars?"

She bit her lip. "Nope. I still like balls-o'-blades."

Bastian rolled his eyes. "You know what, you can call them pom-poms as far as I'm concerned. So long as they can clean our ducts from arachtaur eggs."

She tapped her chin. "Pom-poms, huh? I actually like that. I'm going to call them pom-poms."

"Um, Kim? Still waiting for my demonstration here."

"Right, right. Let's see this pom-pom in action."

Holding the metal ball of death, she approached a duct made of transparent steelglass. It rested atop cinder blocks, several meters long. Several golf balls lay inside.

"This simulates an HVAC duct," Kim said. "I made the walls transparent so we can look inside."

"And the golf balls represent arachtaur eggs," Bastian said.

Now it was Kim's turn to blush. "Actually, no. We were playing golf and, um, practiced punting into the duct."

They looked toward the back of the Nerd Lab. A few scientists stood there, holding golf clubs. One waved sheepishly.

"Really, Kim?" Bastian said.

"I mean—yes! The golf balls totally represent arachtaur eggs." Her blush deepened. "Don't tell your dad we were golfing on the job."

"Not a word. Now show me how the pom-pom works."

Kim placed the machine into the transparent duct, stepped back, and raised a remote control. "I'm working on a MindLink sensor. For now a remote." She tapped a button.

The pom-pom began to whir. Every blade flashed back and forth like a claw. The ball began to roll through the duct, blades flashing. When it reached the golf balls, it knocked them straight out the duct.

The balls flew toward a group of engineers. The men ducked. A beaker shattered.

Kim switched off the pom-poms.

"Was it meant to do that?" Bastian said.

Kim looked around. "I need some tennis balls. Anyone got some tennis balls?" She glanced at Bastian. "They're better stand-ins for arachtaur eggs. Softer."

An engineer ran up with a few tennis balls. "Here ya go, Kim." He trotted back to his station.

"Why do you have tennis balls in the engineering department?" Bastian said. "And golf balls? And why are those engineers bowling?"

"To, um, learn … physics?" she said.

Bastian just stared at her.

"Shut up, we've got our arachtaur eggs," she said, stuffing the tennis balls into the duct. "These balls are larger and softer, not small and hard like golf balls. Let's see what happens."

They ran the experiment again. Once more the pom-pom turned on, the blades whirred, and the sphere of death rolled through the duct.

This time the blades tore through the balls. Tore through them? It pulverized them. Nothing but fluff flew out the other end.

Kim pressed a button, and the pom-pom shut off.

"How many of these can you build?" Bastian said.

"No more than fifty. The 3D printer already has the specs, but we're limited with steel. And 3D printer slots are hard to come by too, even for me. Lots of other things we need to print."

Bastian checked the schematic again. "Fifty pom-poms should do nicely. Let's make them. Then let's roll these through the ducts and crush those eggs. And hopefully some baby arachtaurs too."

* * * * *

Within hours, the army of pom-poms was ready.

Bastian stood in the Courtyard, one of the ship's largest decks, the mustering ground of the marines. The Freedom Brigade stood there, wearing battlesuits and carrying guns. The pom-poms lay on a nearby table, neatly lined up.

"Listen up, soldiers!" Bastian said. "We're going to be sending these bladed balls of death into the ductwork of the starship Freedom. We call them pom-poms, but don't let the name fool you. They're deadly."

A few snickers sounded in the brigade. Alice laughed loudest.

Bastian ignored the laughter and continued speaking. "The pom-poms are going to roll their way through the entire ductwork of the starship, cutting up arachtaur eggs. We know that many arachtaurs are hiding in the ducts. Once the pom-poms roll through, we expect the babies to jump ship. They're going to flee for their lives and drop through the vents. There are thousands of ventilation grates in the starship. And there are thousands of us. Every soldier will be assigned a vent at random. You'll stand there, and once arachtaurs flee the duct, you'll shoot 'em. Any questions?"

Sergeant Hicks raised his hand. "Yeah, sir, can I guard the grate in the women's showers?"

Some laughter sounded. And some groans of disgust.

"You can report straight to the brig, mister," Bastian said. "You'll guard the brig's grate. From behind a locked door."

Hicks began to protest, but Alice shot him a glare. "Report to the brig, or I'll have the MP drag you there," she said.

The sergeant spat onto the deck and marched off. A few marines cheered.

"Anyone have any serious questions?" Bastian said.

Nobody did.

"All right," Bastian said. "An algorithm will assign you each a random vent. It'll be sent to your MindLinks … now."

A notification popped up in Bastian's MindLink. His vent was located in the chapel, deck 31 in the midsection. A map showed him the way there. Across the Courtyard, marines shifted on their feet, staring at maps only they could see.

"Everyone ready? Good. Sergeant Allenby will call out one platoon after another. When your platoon is called, leave the Courtyard and move to your assigned vents."

Alice strutted forward, boots thumping across the deck. "Typhoon Battalion, First Company, First Platoon—go!" Fifty marines ran out the Courtyard. "Typhoon Battalion, First Company, Second Platoon—go!"

As Alice kept dispatching them, Bastian approached the table of pom-poms. He lifted one of the balls. It was surprisingly heavy. The size of a basketball, it sprouted multiple curved blades. He opened a grate near the deck and rolled the pom-pom into the duct.

The pom-pom appeared in MindPlay as an accessible device. Kim had fitted the spheres of death with telepathic sensors. With a thought, Bastian activated the machine. The blades began to whir, and the pom-pom rolled into the depths.

Alice was still sending troops to their positions. "Lightning Battalion, Second Company, First Platoon—go!" It took a while to move five thousand soldiers out of a room.

Meanwhile, Bastian kept inserting the pom-poms into the ductwork, one by one. They rolled off on their mission. A MindPlay map showed Bastian their positions in the labyrinth of ducts. The bladed balls of death were heading in different directions. Kim had programmed them to spread through the starship like white blood cells, clearing out the entire ductwork. Smart engineer.

By the time the last platoon had dispatched, Bastian had inserted all fifty pom-poms. Now they just had to wait for these little round lawnmowers to do their work.

"Go, pom-poms!" Alice said. "Rah, rah, rah!" She paused. "I mean—arachtaur, arachtaur, arachtaur!"

"You're hilarious."

"Hey, Bas, we need real pom-poms to cheer on the pom-poms!"

"We'll cheer with our guns."

He watched the map. The pom-poms were still rolling through the ducts, moving deeper. Bastian, Alice, and one last marine platoon remained in the Courtyard. The deck suddenly seemed much larger, and every sound echoed.

A pom-pom was rolling through a duct right above them. Bastian could hear it whirring its way along.

Bastian didn't know if any arachtaurs were in there. Kim hadn't installed cameras on her little balls of deaths. Too impractical. The pom-poms were in the dark. So was he.

Then he heard it.

A terrible screech from above.

Another scream. And a third.

"Arachtaurs in the ducts!" Alice cried.

"Get ready, soldiers," Bastian said, hefting his weapon. "Guard those vents."

Several airflow vents serviced the Courtyard, located high on the bulkheads. Soldiers ran up to them, raised their rifles, and waited.

Bastian chose one vent. It loomed above him, its grate like a baleen whale's mouth. He aimed his rifle at the little opening.

"Come on," he whispered. "Out with you."

The arachtaurs in the ducts fell silent.

They weren't fleeing through the vents.

Bastian could hear the pom-pom still whirring. But on the map, it wasn't progressing anywhere. It was stuck in the duct.

"Are the arachtaurs dead?" Alice said, guarding a nearby vent. "Did it get 'em?"

Bastian took a deep breath. "I hope so. I think so. Maybe the pom-pom got clogged up with arachtaur chunks and got stuck."

"Eww, gross." Alice turned green. "I can just imagine—"

A terrible crack and rip echoed across the Courtyard.

Bastian spun around to see the deckhead tear open.

An arachtaur stuck its head and claws out the gap. It was not a vent. The bugger had clawed through the deckhead itself. Both its human arms ended with bleeding stumps. The creature let out a terrible screech, then kicked out the whirring ball of blades.

The pom-pom fell from above, hit the deck, and rolled at incredible speed.

Marines leaped aside, shouting. One man was too slow. The sphere of spinning blades rolled through his legs. He fell, shouting, his legs lacerated.

The ball was rolling at Bastian. He jumped aside, barely dodging the machine. It rolled up the wall, then flew through the air, hit another soldier, and cut open his chest.

"Turn it off, turn it off!" Alice shouted.

Only Bastian and Kim had telepathic access to the pom-poms. And Kim wasn't here.

"I'm trying!" Bastian said, scrolling through his MindPlay devices. He saw his rifle, his minicom, his—

"Watch out!" Alice pulled him aside.

The pom-pom rolled by them. A blade scraped Bastian's leg, cutting his armor—and a bit of skin beneath. He roared.

"I got it!" Bastian said, grabbing the MindPlay icon of the device. He disabled it.

The ball stopped rolling. The blades fell still, slick with blood. Soldiers lay on the deck, wounded. One man was dead.

Bastian closed his eyes, grief washing over him.

Then more cracks sounded above.

He looked up.

The deckhead tore open in three more spots. Wounded arachtaurs, some with severed limbs, tossed three more pom-poms onto the deck. The bladed spheres rolled everywhere, carving through everything in their paths. Including the marine platoon.

Bastian began scrolling through his neural devices again. He had to jump aside, and he lost the interface. Goddammit, he had no time for clumsy operating systems. He aimed his Mordecai and shot plasma bolts at one of the rolling balls. It kept rolling. Toward him. Bastian kept firing. Finally, just a second away, his plasma bolts burned the internal components. The pom-pom slowed to a halt.

He managed to grab the other two in MindPlay and shut them down.

He took a deep breath. And then he heard it.

Screams from the deck above. And the deck below. Screams from across the starship.

He checked his MindPlay schematic of the Freedom. The pom-poms were no longer in the ducts. None of them were. The arachtaurs were hurling them all through the ship.

"Shut them off!" Alice cried. "Bastian, shut them all off!"

He nodded, scrolling through devices, shutting them down. There was no way to highlight all the pom-poms. Bastian had to shut them down one by one. So slowly. A few pom-poms were turning off on their own. No—not on their own. Kim, the only other officer with access, must be turning them off from the stern. The devastation must have reached there too.

It seemed to take forever. But finally all the pom-poms were shut down. The sound of whirring blades died. But not the screams. Blood was dripping from the deckhead. Somebody lay bleeding on the deck above.

Bastian lowered his head.

"We thought they'd flee through the vents," he whispered. "They didn't even bother running that far. They just tore holes through the deckheads."

He and Alice moved among the wounded, treating the soldiers as best they could until the medics arrived. As they worked, the sound of laughter rolled through the ducts. Voices echoed, taunting them.

"You cannot kill us, humans. This ship is ours! We will devour you all!"

* * * * *

Bastian regathered the marines in the Courtyard. Blood still stained the deck. Forty-one fewer soldiers stood here now. Twenty-nine lay in the infirmary. Twelve lay in the morgue.

They all stared at Bastian, faces grim and pale. There was no more laughter. A few soldiers had tears in their eyes.

"We tried sending machines into the ducts," Bastian said. "That was a mistake. We should not have sent machines to do the work of warriors. We're going into the ducts ourselves. We'll clean them out. We'll crush every egg. We'll kill every arachtaur."

The marines looked around, uncomfortable.

"Sir?" somebody said. "How will we fit in there?"

"Stowy always fit," Bastian said.

The marines glanced around again. A few of the guys patted their bellies. They were marines. They were all in shape. But, well, some shapes were larger than others. Bastian could sympathize.

"Sir, Stowy is much smaller than us," a corporal said.

"Much smaller than you, soldier," Bastian said. "And smaller than me. You and I can't fit. But marines come in different shapes and sizes. I've measured the width of the ducts. And some of us will fit." He raised his voice louder. "Every marine who weighs under 125 pounds step forward."

Most of the marines did not move. Some were twice that size. But quite a few did step forward. They were women, almost all of them. This was a mixed brigade. About twenty percent of the Freebies were female. And, apparently, a bunch of them weighed under 125 pounds. Bastian smiled to himself. Scrawny little she-devils.

"Look at you lot," Bastian said. "The Skinny Brigade."

A few chuckles sounded.

Alice stepped forward too. "I'll go with 'em."

Bastian looked her up and down. "Um … Alice?"

She placed her hands on her hips. "Yes, Bastian?"

He had to tread carefully, he knew. "You … did hear me say 125 pounds or less, right?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "Your point, sir?"

Bastian was teetering on the abyss. "Alice, they literally displayed your weight during the Olympics with billions of people watching."

"So?" Her face reddened. "That was five years ago! I've slimmed down."

Marines looked aside. Nobody dared laugh. They valued their lives.

Bastian decided to try another approach. He lowered his voice so that nobody else could hear. "It's just because you're pregnant. It's the baby who's adding the extra pounds. Better sit this one out, Alice." He stepped closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. "I love you. Don't murder me in my sleep."

He looked at the small soldiers. They had assembled before him, a group of skinny little killers. MindPlay displayed their names in floating text, but Bastian already knew most of them by name. There were five thousand soldiers in the brigade, but to him, they were all family.

Bastian noticed Private Evan Fletcher in the crowd. Kim's son. The kid was eighteen, scrawny like a twig and pale like a marshmallow.

Bastian thought again of the rumors, of the romance between Admiral King and Kim Fletcher.

If those rumors are true, you might be my little brother someday, Bastian thought, looking at Evan.

Little brother. Very little. The kid was eighteen. Bastian was thirty-five. It all felt too strange. It all felt wrong.

"Private Fletcher!" Bastian said.

The kid looked at him. He turned even paler. "Sir?"

"Are you really under 125 pounds, Fletcher?"

"124, sir." He raised his chin. "I'm small but I'm tough."

Bastian frowned and pulled up the kid's MindPlay stats. "Your medical records say you're 133 pounds."

"I was when I enlisted. I lost weight in the service, sir. Not a big fan of army food."

Some muffled laughter sounded in the crowd.

Bastian cleared his throat. The laughter died.

"All right, skinny soldiers. The ducts are narrow. You won't be able to wear your battlesuits. Too bulky. You're going in fatigues only."

"I'm willing to strip down to my undies!" said one soldier, a scrawny guy even smaller than Evan. He began unbuckling his belt.

"Is anyone around to grease us up?" said another soldier, unbuttoning his shirt.

Most of the little soldiers were female. They groaned.

"Does anyone feel like joining Hicks in the brig?" Alice boomed.

That shut them up.

"Assault rifles are too big for the ducts," Bastian said. "And we won't want to punch holes through our ductwork anyway. After all, we need air to live. Sergeant Allenby will bring you pulse handguns. They're not as powerful as your Gideon rifles. But they're small, agile, and powerful enough to rip through juvenile arachtaurs."

Alice shoved a wooden crate forward, cracked it open, and revealed a cache of guns.

"Walk up, one at a time!" Alice said. "Collect a gun and step back into formation."

Finally everyone in the Skinny Brigade was armed. They removed their battle armor, remaining in fatigues. Bastian looked at them. Many women. A few men. Small but tough. They would save this ship.

"I'm too big to enter the ducts with you," Bastian said. "But I'll be there on the MindWeb. Godspeed, soldiers."

* * * * *

The soldiers shimmied through the vents and crawled into the ducts. Bastian stood in the Courtyard, watching them go.

He sighed. "I'd love to go with them."

Alice patted his belly. "Not as much as you love cinnamon rolls."

"You're a cinnamon roll."

"Bite me."

"I'd love to. But later. We've got a war to win."

Bastian loaded up the starship schematic, highlighting the ductwork. The map displayed blue dots moving through the vents. Each dot represented another marine in the so-called Skinny Brigade.

As a colonel, Bastian had administrator rights over every MindLink in his brigade. He could choose one soldier and, for all intents and purposes, hop into his brain. He didn't like using this feature. It felt like a breach of privacy. But right now it was the only way to see inside the ducts.

Bastian chose one soldier. Evan Fletcher. He hopped into the boy's mind.

"Private Fletcher?"

Evan was crawling through the duct. "Colonel, is that you, sir?"

Connecting to Evan telepathically, King felt the kid's fear. His heart was pounding, his fingers shaking, and cold sweat trickled down his back. A MindPlay monitor hovered before Bastian, showing him a view from Evan's eyes.

"I'm here with you, Evan," Bastian telepathized. "You got this, soldier."

Evan kept crawling, and his heartbeat slowed its wild gallop. "Thank you, sir. I really appre—"

The private fell silent.

Bastian saw it through his eyes. Eggs. Arachtaur eggs—right there in the duct. Not a hundred meters away from the Courtyard.

Alerts came flooding in. Other soldiers were finding more eggs.

"You know what to do," Bastian said.

"Yes, sir." Evan tightened his lips, raised his pulse gun, and fired.

Blasts of energy flew from the muzzle. The eggs exploded, splattering goo and bits of arachtaurs across the duct walls. Claws clattered down. Evan let out a whoop of joy.

"Good work, soldier," Bastian telepathized. "Keep going and watch out for hatchlings."

Like a dybbuk hopping from host to host, Bastian switched to a few other soldiers. They were crawling everywhere through the ship, finding eggs, and destroying them.

Never send a machine to do a marine's work, Bastian thought.

Then Evan screamed.

Bastian had the private's eyeview minimized. He switched over. Once more, a window hovered in the Courtyard before Bastian, showing the view from Evan's eyes. And right now that view was ugly.

A baby arachtaur, fully hatched and hungry.

The creature charged down the duct, jaw open and teeth bared.

Evan fumbled with his gun.

"Shoot!" Bastian cried. "Shoot it!"

The arachtaur raced closer, claws rising, ready to feed. Evan dropped the gun. It clattered onto the duct. The hybrid pounced.

"Evan!" Bastian cried.

A claw slashed.

Pain flared on Evan's shoulder. Bastian felt it. Standing here in the Courtyard—he felt it.

A sonorous thump deafened him.

For a split second, light filled the duct.

Evan took deep breaths, holding the pulse gun. The muzzle smoked. The baby arachtaur lay dead before him.

"Evan, are you all right?" Bastian telepathized, sending the thought as gently as he could.

The private gulped and nodded. Blood dripped down his shoulder. "I'm fine. I'm good, sir." He smiled shakily. "I killed one. I actually killed an alien. My first kill."

"I'm proud of you, Private." Bastian smiled. "You did great. Now keep killing those critters."

"Gladly, sir."

A scream tore through MindWeb.

It came from Corporal Snider. She was crawling through a duct on deck 28. Bastian switched to her mind at once.

"Corporal!" he said.

He looked through her eyes and saw them. Three arachtaurs—savaging her. Bastian saw the bloody fangs. The ear in one creature's mouth. The severed finger on the duct floor. Then an arachtaur swiped its claws and Corporal Snider's feed went dark.

"Corporal?" Bastian said.

Nothing.

Her avatar grayed out.

Bastian lowered his head. But he didn't have long to grieve. He hopped into another soldier. He watched, feeling helpless here in the Courtyard. But he wanted to encourage his troops. To let them know he was with them—telepathically if not physically. When they killed arachtaurs, he celebrated with them. When they died, it felt like he was dying.

It took hours. They fought through the ductwork, mile after mile, inch after inch. And every inch was a battle. Another soldier died in the dark. The claws tore into another marine. And another. Bastian felt all that pain. He stood in the Courtyard for hours on end, moving from mind to mind. Fighting with them. Dying with them. In the dark labyrinth of the starship Freedom, the smallest soldiers fought, and the smallest heroes won the day.

Finally the survivors crawled out of the vents. Over three hundred marines had crawled into the ducts of the starship Freedom, nearly all of them women. Thirty-two did not return. Thirty-two had given their lives to protect their starship. Thirty-two had given the ultimate sacrifice for the freedom of their brigade, of their ship, of all humanity.

Bastian reported to the bridge. His father stood there, the proud admiral, steering the ship through the darkness. King hadn't noticed him yet. He stood among many floating monitors and maps, his eyes gazing ahead at a field of stars. The bridge crew bustled around him, but Admiral King was the pillar around which they all served. Bastian stood for a moment, just looking at his father, at the strong leader at the helm.

I try to be a leader like you, Dad, he thought. I try to inspire my troops the way you inspire all of us. The way you inspire me.

King finally noticed him. He turned toward Bastian.

"Sir." Bastian raised his chin. "The ducts are clean. The Freedom Brigade got it done. We lost good soldiers in there. But we got the job done."

King's face was still hard. His eyes were chips of steel. His shoulders were squared, his back straight. But Bastian saw something nobody else could see. There was a deep sadness in his father. A grief barely visible through the walls of stone and steel.

"We've received reports of more arachtaurs, Bastian. Hundreds more. Big ones, and still growing fast. They're down in engineering. They're rampaging through the midsection. They've taken over a flight deck. The ducts are clean. But they're everywhere else."

Those words hit Bastian like floods of ice. He remembered the arachtaurs in the ducts. He felt again the deaths of his soldiers. And he knew that more would die.

But Bastian would be with his soldiers. He would give them strength as they fought. He would give them comfort as they died. He would lead them onward—through darkness and fire to glorious victory or to noble defeat. The way his father led them all.

"We will reclaim this ship," Bastian said. "The Freedom Brigade fights on."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Emily had sixteen days in space to kill.

Sixteen days trapped in a tiny starship the size of a New York apartment.

Over two weeks. Trapped with the strangest motley crew the galaxy had ever seen. Sergeant Oliver Darjeeling, a proud old Englishman with a white mustache and a lion's heart. Baba Arav, an Indian monk in yellow robes, a pacifist with blood on his hands. Meytal Koren, hardened in the flames of war, an Israeli commando who carried around enough weapons to defeat an alien invasion singlehandedly. Stowy, a Canadian urchin with lice in her hair, mice in her pockets, and an impish smile on her lips, yet whose bright eyes hid a haunting past. Finally, herself—Emily. Just the Queen of England. No big deal there.

Truly, if there had ever been an odder crew, Emily had never met them.

Oh, and there was Niles too. If you wanted to count him. Emily usually did, but she was the only one.

They spent the time in different ways. Darjeeling spent hour after hour in the cockpit. He enjoyed flying, he said. Truth was, he had little to do in there. The ship was coasting. But Darjeeling enjoyed sitting in the pilot's seat, sipping tea, watching the stars. Sometimes he hummed old tunes from England. Sometimes Emily joined him and sang.

Arav spent his days meditating, begging forgiveness. He ate little. He spoke less. The young monk was battling many demons.

Meytal was perhaps the most restless. She often paced the ship, swinging her katana through the air. When people complained, she only swung harder. At other times, she disassembled her weapons, polished them, reassembled them, over and over again. Whenever her restlessness abated, Meytal spent her time reading, sometimes for hours at a time. That surprised Emily, who had considered the Israeli commando something of a meathead. But apparently Meytal was something of a bookworm too, chewing through novels.

As for herself, Emily thought a lot about home. About her family, who had fallen in the war. About England and Earth. About the starship Freedom. She missed her friends there. But she found that too much moping dampened her spirits. So Emily decided to give herself a project. While Meytal cleaned up many weapons, Emily decided to clean Stowy.

Easier said than done.

The stowaway was a walking mess. Her hair stuck every which way—aside from the strip Meytal had shaved off back at Baseworld. Various stains covered her dress of many pockets. Her bare feet were so dirty they were gray. The girl was badly wanting of a bath, a change of clothes, a haircut, and a thorough decontamination by a dedicated team in hazmat suits. Since the latter option was unavailable, Emily decided to tackle the first three.

"Stowy, please just have a shower!" She chased the girl across the ship.

"Uh-uh. No way!" Stowy ran across the hold, dodging Emily.

"You have to wash."

"Don't wanna."

Emily made a grab for her. Stowy hurried aside, formed antlers with her fingers, and blew Emily a raspberry.

"Stowy, don't make me get a net!" Emily said, running after the girl.

Stowy opened a hatch on the deck and vanished into the crawlspace. Emily sighed. She was not going down there. The crawlspace was full of cluttered gears, pipes, and motors. Stowy was in her element down there. Emily would have better luck chasing a mouse up a chimney.

"Get back here!" Emily cried. "You stink."

"You stink!" Stowy shouted from the crawlway.

That night, everyone lay down to sleep. They dimmed the lights and left the ship on autopilot. The Raven glided onward silently. Of course, there was no day or night in space, but the Raven kept a clock set to Greenwich Village back home.

Finally, past midnight, a shadow stirred.

Dirty bare feet padded across the floor.

The galley fridge creaked open.

At once, Emily leaped from the shadows and turned the galley lights on.

"Busted!" she cried.

Stowy stood there, wearing her ragged dress with many pockets, holding the fridge door open.

As expected, the girl made a dash to the galley door … where Meytal was waiting. The tall warrior grabbed the little stowaway and held on tight.

"Let go, let go!"

Stowy struggled, legs kicking in midair. But Meytal would not release her.

"You're having a shower—now!" Meytal said.

"Don't wanna!"

"Don't care," Meytal said, dragging the struggling girl toward the washroom. Emily had to grab the girl's kicking legs.

"Stowy, it won't be so bad," Emily said. "Why won't you wash up?"

Stowy stopped struggling. She went limp in Meytal's arms. Tears flowed down her cheeks, and she sniffed.

"I'm scared," she whispered.

Emily frowned and tilted her head. "You're scared of washing?"

"I'm scared of water. Okay? Happy now?"

Emily blinked. "Stowy, you traveled under the oceans of Europa with me, and you were fine."

"Well, I was wearing a spacesuit there," Stowy said. "I wasn't … wasn't . . ." She blushed and her voice dropped to a whisper. "I wasn't naked."

Emily tilted her head. "You're scared of being naked?"

Stowy nodded.

"What, like, with other people watching?" Meytal said.

"With anyone watching," Stowy said. "Even a mouse. Even fleas. Even myself. It's called gymnophobia. It's a real condition. Look it up on Wikipedia Galactica if you don't believe me."

Emily closed her eyes. Her memory returned to Stowy's story. Her confession back at Darkland, the twisted amusement park on the moon.

Her name is Samantha, Emily reminded herself. She wasn't always Stowy. She was a regular girl once. An autistic girl who lived in Canada with a happy family. Until a man murdered her family. Until a man hurt her.

Emily didn't know exactly what that home invader had done to Stowy. Maybe she would never know. But whatever it was—it had left deep trauma. Her autism was one reason Stowy was quirky, no doubt. But there was deep pain there too.

"Meytal, why don't you leave us?" Emily said.

"Gladly." The commando left the washroom, muttering about dirty urchins with lice in their hair.

Emily held Stowy's hands. The girl had dirt under her fingernails.

"Stowy, you know that I care for you very, very much," Emily said. "You know that I love you. That you're my best friend."

Tears ran down Stowy's cheeks. "I know, boss. It's hard not to love me."

Emily laughed. "Indeed. So how about this. I'll watch Mr. Algernon while you bathe yourself. And nobody will watch you."

"What about the lice?" Stowy said.

Emily pulled a pair of scissors from the cabinet. She sliced the air. "I'll take care of those."

An hour later, Stowy stepped out of the washroom. Her skin was scrubbed clean. Her fingernails were trimmed. She had even allowed Emily to launder her dress of many pockets. Instead, the girl wore Meytal's pajamas, though they hung loosely on her.

Even more shocking than seeing Stowy clean was her hair. It was buzzed down to stubble.

Actually, no, Emily decided. Seeing Stowy clean was still more shocking.

"You look lovely," Emily said.

Stowy blushed. "Can somebody lend me a hat?"

Meytal leaped to her feet. "You stole my pajamas! Give them back."

"Don't wanna."

Meytal began to chase her. Stowy fled, giggling. Things were back to normal. The journey to planet Cleodora continued.

* * * * *

After a long journey, after battles and chases and so much fear, the FAS Raven reached her destination.

Cleodora, the Aeolian homeworld, hovered ahead.

At least, Emily told herself this was the Aeolian homeworld. No other planet fit the bill.

Cleodora was in the Goldilocks one. Not too hot, not too cold. Just the right temperature for liquid water—and for life as humans knew it. The atmosphere wasn't too thick or too thin. A magnetic field protected the planet from solar wind. The conditions seemed optimal for life to evolve.

But it was more than that. Emily had seen this planet depicted in the murals of Baseworld. During the long flight here, Emily had been thinking about Baseworld again and again. A holy mountain on a distant planet. A cavern full of murals and crystal daggers. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became. The Aeolians had traveled to Baseworld. They had built a sacred site there. A temple. Perhaps a tomb, its bodies rotted away long ago. A place to preserve their story.

And that story pointed to here. To Cleodora. A glittering crystal world.

"There she is," said Darjeeling. "The legendary Aeolian homeworld. She's not much to look at, is she? A rather plain-looking planet. Not what I expected."

Cleodora did look somewhat plain. The landforms were beige, boasting no forests or mountains or anything to break the monotone. There were rivers and lakes, though not many, and the water looked grayish and muddy. This was nothing like the sparkling blue jewel that was Earth. Certainly, Emily was biased. But she couldn't help those biases.

"On the murals of Baseworld, Cleodora glittered like the most wonderful jewel," Emily said. "But I had my ultraviolet filter on."

She fiddled with the controls, activating the viewport's ultraviolet mode. The display picked up light outside the visible range, translated it into colors the human eye could understand, and displayed a new image.

Now the planet shone with swirls of color. No human knew what ultraviolet actually looked like. The human brain could not perceive it. But the computer could, and the computer displayed a panoply of blues, purples, and pinks, swapping ultraviolet hues with colors humans could see.

Stowy stepped into the cockpit. Her eyes widened. "It turned into a disco ball!"

"It looks like one of the daggers," Emily said. "A crystal world, plain to human eyes. And rah eyes, I suppose. But precious to Aeolians."

"Think we'll find them here?" Stowy said.

Emily heaved a sigh. "I don't know. We're not detecting any satellites. Any starships. Any radio transmissions with artificial patterns. The scrolls we found, and the tomb we explored, both seemed ancient. Maybe the Aeolians are extinct."

"Then we'll find their ruins," said Darjeeling. "And we'll search for weapons there. We found the daggers on Baseworld. Imagine the wonders we'll find here. Even if the Aeolians are gone, hope is still here."

Emily smiled. That sense of wonder tickled her again. This mission was full of danger and terror, but the thrill of exploration still pulsed through her.

"Ours are the first human eyes to see this wonder," she said. "Ours will be the first human feet to step on this world. Let's go exploring."

* * * * *

They entered orbit around Cleodora, the (likely) Aeolian homeworld. The Raven didn't have a sophisticated ATLAS system like the Freedom, but her sensors were decent enough. They ran a scan of orbit and deep space, seeking anything artificial. Satellites, spaceships, space stations, anything.

They found nothing.

"At least that means God's Tomb isn't here," Emily said.

Darjeeling's face hardened. "I hope we saw the last of that scoundrel."

"Likewise, though I doubt it." Emily hugged herself. "Abraxas was in the Baseworld tomb too. He also saw the murals. He did not see them in ultraviolet light. It might take him a while to know which planet the murals depicted. But sooner or later, he'll figure it out. He'll come here too."

"If he does, I'll knock his lights out." Darjeeling made a fist. "For now though, we're alone."

"Very alone," Emily said. "I don't see any sign of Aeolians at all. I— Whoa!"

Emily pointed. A comet was rolling toward them. Darjeeling had to bank hard, dodging it. The boulder rolled onward.

"Sorry, ma'am!" Darjeeling said. "It came out of nowhere."

"There comes another one!" Emily pointed.

Darjeeling swerved again. The boulder rolled by.

"Even more ahead." Darjeeling frowned. "Mostly in this orbit. Let me dip a bit lower."

He pitched downward. The Raven descended to an altitude of a thousand klicks. They were very close to the planet's surface now. Emily watched the rivers coil and fractal between crystalline hills. They looked like gleaming purple snakes.

But she didn't have long to study them. Emily looked up at the boulders hurtling around Cleodora.

"Odd. Those aren't usual meteors or asteroids. They're in a stable orbit. All around the same altitude too."

"Could this be a crude ring system?" Darjeeling wondered. "The rings of Saturn are made from countless small rocks."

"Pebbles and grains of sand, yes. Not large boulders like this. Remember the murals, Mr. Darjeeling. The murals showed boulders attacking the rah starships."

Darjeeling's eyes widened. "It's a defense system. Boulders ready to launch at enemies."

"Perhaps. An ancient defense system. Like a bunch of catapult stones. But where are the catapults?"

"Maybe all that remains are the relics," said Darjeeling.

Emily scrunched her lips. "I wouldn't mind examining one of those boulders up close." She highlighted one boulder on the viewport. A red matrix wrapped around it, calculating its dimensions. "Interesting. It's about the size of the boulders we found in the temple on Baseworld. Only four feet tall, three feet wide. They're all this size, more or less. I think somebody placed these boulders here."

"A galactic Stonehenge," Darjeeling said.

Emily smiled wistfully. "It's all rather exciting, but also sad, isn't it? To find the relics of a lost civilization. Mr. Darjeeling, do you suppose we can bring one into the ship?"

"To examine a rock, ma'am?"

"The rocks at Baseworld were hollow. We found daggers inside. This one might just be a chunk of stone. But I wonder …"

* * * * *

Not long later, Emily was hovering outside the Raven in her spacesuit, only a thin tether connecting her to the ship.

She had floated in space before but never so close to a planet. For a moment, she forgot all about retrieving a boulder. She looked down and marveled. She still had her helmet on ultraviolet mode. The planet sparkled. She wondered what the source of ultraviolet light was. Normally rocks and water didn't reflect such light, at least none that Emily knew of. It was a mystery.

She had first seen the planet on a mosaic, made from thousands of crystals. But the actual planet surface looked like a mosaic too, just as bright, as if billions of crystals covered it. Maybe that was the source of ultraviolet light—a rare crystal never seen on Earth.

"Hey, princess!" Meytal said from the ship. "Stop sightseeing and pull that rock in."

"I'm a queen, not a princess," Emily muttered.

Meytal snorted. "You're a princess."

Begrudgingly, Emily turned away from the view. The little asteroids—or whatever they were—hovered above. They had not brought a jetpack to this mission, but Meytal had kludged one together. Emily wore the contraption over her spacesuit. The straps dug into her. Two cylinders of pressurized air hung across her back. She held a tube with a pressure valve. It was a crude machine but still better than anything Emily might have built.

"How do I aim this thing?" Emily asked.

"You don't," Meytal answered from the airlock. "Just point your body in the right direction and go."

Emily spotted one asteroid hovering above. It was moving at incredible speed around the planet, but the Raven was matching its speed. The boulder seemed to float gently overhead.

Emily loosened the jetpack's pressure valve.

And … she bolted right toward the Raven and smacked herself against the hull.

"Ow!"

She reeled, seeing brand-new stars.

"Aim properly," Meytal said.

"You said you can't aim!" Emily winced and gingerly touched her helmet. Hopefully she wasn't concussed.

"I said point your body in the right direction."

Emily groaned. "Fine."

Pulling her tether, Emily managed to climb onto the Raven's dorsal hull. The boulder hovered above. Emily reached out one hand like Superman, aiming at the floating stone. She released a bit of air pressure. Just a bit this time.

She blasted straight up, overshot the boulder, and her tether snapped taut. It began pulling her back at dizzying speed.

On her way down, Emily reached out, wrapped both arms around the boulder, and clung.

"Got it!" she cried … a second before she slammed into the Raven, jolting every bone in her body.

She almost lost her grip on the boulder. But she clung on. She reeled that boulder in.

Once inside the airlock, the graviton deck plates kicked in. The boulder thumped onto the deck, chipping the tiles. Meytal helped. The two women rolled the boulder into the hold. It was heavy, yes, but not nearly as heavy as it should be. Normally, it would take more than two women to move a boulder this size.

"It's hollow," Emily said. "I knew it. Just like the boulders at Baseworld."

The others gathered around her, even Darjeeling. The Raven was in stable orbit, and if any trouble arose, the alarm system would notify them. Everyone wanted to see this boulder. Perhaps just a rock. Perhaps a shell enclosing another alien relic.

"How do we open it?" Stowy popped her bubble gum. Her mouse perched on her shoulder. He too was watching the boulder.

"Back on Baseworld, we found a secret hatch on the top." Emily ran her fingers along the top of the boulder. "Ah, here we go! I can feel the edges. Just a little push and … voilà."

A hidden stone latch slid open. Even after so long in space, it did not jam. The Aeolians knew how to build stone vessels. A stench rose from inside. Emily wrinkled her nose. Stowy made gagging noises.

"Finally something that stinks worse than Stowy," Niles said. The drone hovered among them, his body covered in crude patches.

"Shut up." Stowy crossed her arms, pouting. She wore a hat to hide her shaved head. "I'm clean now."

Emily peered inside. "Hmm."

"What's in there?" Stowy stamped her feet. "Tell us!"

"I can't see." Emily squinted. "Anyone got a flashlight?"

"Just knock it over!" Stowy shoved the boulder.

"Stowy, wait." Emily grabbed the boulder and steadied it. "You don't want to break what's inside."

"Maybe it's another dagger." Stowy gasped. "Maybe it's an alien larva! Maybe it's an alien larva who will leap out, wrap around our heads, and plant parasites inside our bellies. That would be cool."

"Stowy, please!" Emily said. "Calm down and give me some space."

Meytal cracked her knuckles. "Want me to toss her out the airlock?"

Emily shook her head. "No, thank you."

Stowy growled at the Israeli commando and raised her fists. "Bring it on."

"I'll do it!" Meytal said. "I'll toss you out the airlock."

"A wise guy, eh?" Stowy rolled her fists like an old timey boxer. "Why I oughta— Ow, ow! Meytal, stop twisting my ear!"

Emily sighed. "Meytal, leave the girl alone."

Arav, who had been quiet until now, pressed his palms together. "How about we all practice some peace, kindness, and love."

Both Meytal and Stowy turned toward him. Meytal was still gripping Stowy's ear.

"Shut up!" both women said.

Arav pursed his lips and seemed to count silently to ten.

Emily found her flashlight and peered into the hollow stone. Her heart nearly stopped.

"Oh God," she whispered.

"What, what?" The others gathered around her.

"What's inside?" Stowy said. "Is it a larva?"

"Is it a weapon?" said Meytal.

"A piece of machinery?" said Darjeeling.

Emily looked at them, the shock still pulsing through her body. "I think it's an Aeolian."

* * * * *

The alien inside had been dead for a long time. No doubt about that. There wasn't much left.

Normally, a corpse didn't decompose in space. There was no oxygen. No way for bacteria to survive and eat the dead. Years after World War III ended, salvage crews sometimes stumbled across bodies floating through space, their spacesuits torn, their visors shattered. The bodies were mummified, akin to ancient corpses pulled from tar bogs or ice. The vacuum preserved them.

But this Aeolian had been sealed inside a stone container. Presumably, microorganisms had hitched along for the ride. If Aeolians were anything like humans, they carried trillions of microbes inside their bodies. And here in this stone case, the tiny creatures had feasted, eating their host down to the bones. Eventually the little critters had probably starved to death. But not before a kingly last meal.

The skeleton was all that remained. It was still intact. And it was strange.

"Well, it's certainly not humanoid," she said. "But it's hard to see inside this big rock. Let's try to remove the creature. Make room on the deck."

As the others swept laundry and supplies aside, Emily reached into the hollow boulder. The bones inside were slick. There was a foul ooze floating around in there. It felt like reaching into a pot of stew. Emily grimaced. She didn't want to imagine what the liquid was. Rotten flesh? Best not to think about it.

She felt around in there, found something round and hard, and pulled it out. It fit through the hole in the boulder perfectly.

"A skull," Emily said.

Everyone crowded around closer.

"Whoa," Meytal whispered. "I'm recording this on MindWeb. This is historic shit."

Emily was recording it too. Her neural chip was storing everything her eyes were now seeing. She moved the skull around, letting her eyes view it from every angle.

The skull was shaped like a wheel of cheese, bulging on the top. And like cheese, there were holes. One hole on top. Three around the rim, arranged at equal intervals. Finally—two smaller holes near the bottom.

"Did something make those holes?" Meytal said. "A laser blaster?"

Emily shook her head. "Look at the edges. They're smooth. These holes are natural. Holes for sensory organs."

Meytal squinted. "I can't tell what's what. These holes are all over the place. I can't tell eyes from ears from nostrils. It's like a goddamn Picasso."

Stowy covered her ears. "I wish you couldn't find my ears."

Meytal winked at the girl. "Yours are nice and big and floppy. Excellent for grabbing."

Stowy gasped. "My ears are petite!"

Meytal snorted. "Whatever you say, Dumbo."

"The skull is confusing me too," Emily said, pulling the conversation back. "One thing is clear. This creature did not have a face like humans. Or any animal on Earth, for that matter. One hole might have been a mouth. Others? Maybe eye sockets. Or ear canals. Or nostrils. For all we know, its reproductive organs were on its head too."

Stowy giggled. "I know a few people like that."

"It's hard to say without organic material to look at." Emily stuck a finger into one hole and wiggled around inside. "Odd. The cranial cavity is surprisingly modest. Very curious. You'd think an intelligent species would have larger brains. But the skull is so small! They couldn't have a brain larger than a cat's."

"Are we sure this is an Aeolian?" Darjeeling said.

"No," Emily confessed. "But I think so."

"Why is it inside a rock?" Stowy asked.

"I don't know." Emily shrugged. "I don't have any information you don't, Stowy."

"Yes, but you're clever."

Emily laughed. "Not so clever. But let me guess. Maybe instead of spacesuits, they floated around inside big rocks? It's all perplexing."

A spine was attached to the bottom of the skull. Emily pulled the skull higher out the boulder. The spine emerged like a snake from a basket.

The skeleton got stuck halfway. Emily pulled. It wasn't coming out. She pulled harder. Harder. Something ripped inside.

Emily winced. Oops. Had she damaged something?

"What happened?" Stowy said. "It made a horrible ripping sound. Like Meytal's pants will if she keeps eating all the lasagna MREs."

Meytal fumed. "Like your ear will once I rip it off!"

"Ladies, please," Emily said. "I don't know what made the sound. Now stop bickering."

Emily pulled the skull again. This time the rest of the skeleton came out easily. Whatever had ripped had been holding it in place. Maybe a harness? A seat belt?

She kept pulling, removing the entire creature. Five legs came out along with the spine. Each leg ended with a powerful foot with three toes. Emily laid the skeleton down on the deck. It was dripping rot. Thankfully, Meytal had been smart enough to put down a towel. Everyone knew to always take a towel into space.

They all gathered around the skeleton, examining it.

"No ribs," Emily said. "Interesting."

The pelvis bone was circular with ball joints for the five legs. Those legs looked powerful. Aeolians could probably run fast and kick hard. Emily lifted one foot and manipulated the three toes.

"Flexible joints and opposable toes," she said. "The Aeolians were tool users. I wonder if there are more crystal daggers inside. Or any other tool."

Leaving the skeleton, Emily returned to the boulder. She rolled up her sleeves, reached inside, and fished around the goo. No daggers. No tools. She felt … something. Something hard and wobbly.

She pressed it like a button. Another hatch opened in the boulder! This one near the bottom. Goo spilled out.

Stowy crossed her arms, frowned, and shook her head. "Look what you did."

"Good thing I brought a towel," said Meytal.

Emily tilted the boulder on its side. She felt along the bottom and found more hatches. Six of them, in fact. One small hatch was dead center. Five larger hatches surrounded it.

"Five large hatches for five legs!" Emily said. "Fascinating. The Aeolian could stick its legs out the bottom. And … of course! The hole on top was for its head."

"And the little hole in the middle of the bottom?" Stowy said. She stuck her finger inside.

Emily understood. It all came together.

"I think, Stowy, that little hole is the cloaca."

Stowy frowned. "What's a cloaca?"

Meytal smirked. "Stowy, you've got your finger up its butt."

Stowy squeaked and pulled her finger out.

Emily laughed too. "This boulder isn't a spacesuit. It's not a boulder at all. It's a shell."

* * * * *

"A shell?" Stowy leaned forward and squinted. "Like a turtle shell?"

"Why are you squinting?" Meytal said. "Do you need glasses?"

Stowy gasped. "No! Gosh, I hope not. I already got my hair shaved off and my ears stretched into Dumbo wings. If I get glasses too, I'll look weird."

"Unlike now?" Meytal muttered.

Niles floated up to them. His silver chassis was dented, scratched, and missing several jewels. But he still raised his silver nose with all the aristocratic dignity he could muster. "Personally, I think shells are wonderful. I myself am a proud shelled being. Of course, my shell is forged of precious metals and inlaid with gemstones. Nothing like this crude stone vessel."

Stowy tapped her shaved head. "I have a shell too now."

They all looked at the stone shell again. Emily ran her hands over it, feeling the bumps and nooks.

"Are you sure it's a shell?" Meytal said. "Maybe it's a sort of spacesuit."

"When I pulled the skeleton out, something ripped," Emily said. "Maybe some rotting tendons that held the bones in place. That makes me think this is a shell, not a spacesuit. The holes seem to confirm that hypothesis."

"But it's made out of stone," Meytal said. "Maybe the Aeolians hollow out boulders and live inside them. Like hermit crabs that crawl into anything they can find."

"Maybe," Emily said. "That's a good hypothesis too. Though I'm not sure this shell is stone. Maybe it just mimics stone. Camouflage. It would make sense, wouldn't it? The Aeolians evolved on a rocky world. What better camouflage than to look like a rock?"

"Pyura chilensis," Arav said.

Everyone turned to look at the monk.

"Pardon?" Emily said.

"He's speaking in tongues!" Stowy whispered, eyes wide. She formed a cross with her fingers as if trying to banish a demon.

"Pyura chilensis," the monk repeated. "It's an animal on Earth. It lives on the seabed, and it looks exactly like a rock. You would never realize it was an animal. Not until you cut it open and saw the mushy creature inside. They're mentioned in an old Mahatrism fable. In the story, the mighty barracuda dies attacking fishermen, but the humble living rock survives. We monks are taught to be as living rocks."

Meytal smiled crookedly. "Where I come from, we have a tale about rocks too. Out King David slung one between Goliath's eyes."

"There's a lesson here," Arav said. "A rock can be used for peace or for war. There is strength to both. Rocks build the walls of castles. Rocks can tear them down."

"The question is, how did this rock get into space?" Emily said. "I wonder. Maybe this was an Aeolian astronaut. Maybe its starship was destroyed, and the Aeolians spilled out and still orbit the planet."

Darjeeling thought for a moment, stroking his mustache. "We found seven such rocks on Baseworld, arranged inside a tomb. But we found daggers inside them, not skeletons. Why were those shells empty?"

Emily considered. "That is peculiar. The structure at Baseworld did feel like a tomb, did it not? Maybe the Aeolians remove the bones of their dead, placing only the shells in tombs. Similar to how the Egyptians removed the internal organs of the dead before mummification. Perhaps the Aeolians could not remove the bones of fallen astronauts floating in space. Or it could be something different. Maybe the atmosphere of Baseworld caused the bones to decay and crumble, but the stony shells survived. I think, though, that the first explanation is more likely. The way the stones were arranged on Baseworld felt significant. Perhaps they were seven great warriors, their shells emptied and cleaned, and their ceremonial weapons placed inside."

"That would explain the difference between those shells and this poor sod," Darjeeling said. "Never had his bones buried. Never had his shell cleaned. Never had a ceremonial dagger placed inside him."

"Until now," Emily said softly. She took one of the crystal daggers and placed it inside the shell.

"Hey, we need those!" Meytal said.

"We can spare one," said Emily. "And I chose one with an empty battery. This dead astronaut deserves a proper farewell. Let's take his remains down to the planet. Let's bury his bones and place his shell under the sky."

They all nodded.

Emily entered the cockpit and looked down at the crystalline surface of Cleodora. They were going down there. To explore. According to the scrolls, the Aeolians won a war against the rahs. The only species who ever had. Emily had found nothing but relics and remains so far. Maybe down there on that rocky world she would find answers.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Bastian stood in the Courtyard on deck 1, the mustering ground of his troops. He wore battle fatigues, armored plates, and a helmet. Hundreds of troops mustered around him, cradling their assault rifles. They were ready for war.

Bastian pulled up MindPlay, scrolled through the options, and chose to broadcast his words to the entire starship Freedom. Only somebody with the rank of colonel and up had that privilege. Bastian just squeezed into this exclusive club.

He activated the telepathic call. A neurological path spread from his mind, reaching out tendrils like growing branches, and connected with every other brain on the starship. Ten thousand people.

It was overwhelming. Bastian swayed on his feet.

Holy smokes. He had never connected to so many people at once. Ten thousand minds were all tapped into his. He nearly fainted.

Bastian blinked, took a deep breath, and broadcast his thoughts to all the brains on the ship.

"Attention, all spacers aboard the starship Freedom. This is Colonel Bastian King, commander of the Freedom Brigade. We're continuing our battle against the arachtaur infestation. If you notice any arachtaur or arachtaur eggs, do not approach them. They are extremely dangerous. Report the sighting to me. The marines will show up at once. We're here for you."

He ended the call and rubbed his eyes. Everything was spinning. Suddenly Bastian was falling toward the deck. Alice had to rush forward and catch him. A few marines gasped and hurried forward to help too, but Bastian waved them back.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." He took a deep breath and composed himself. "I just . . . never connected telepathically to so many people before."

Alice put a hand on his shoulder. "Dude, did you forget we have a PA system? You could have just spoken into a mic."

Bastian stared at her.

Oh crap.

"I um . . ." He felt his cheeks flush. "I wanted to but the arachtaurs destroyed it."

Suddenly the PA system crackled to life. A soothing baritone emerged from the ceiling-mounted speaker. "This is Commander Jordan, speaking from the bridge. Just a little reminder that we'll be reinforcing all ventilation grates today. Please keep your cabins unlocked and do not interfere with the work of our welders. Future communications on the arachtaur infestation will be delivered promptly via PA. Jordan out."

Alice nudged Bastian. "That line about the PA was for you."

"Shut up," Bastian muttered.

She grinned. "So the arachtaurs destroyed the PA system, did they?"

"Somebody must have fixed it."

Her grin widened. "You forgot we had a PA system, didn't you? The speaker is right there! Literally right there! How could you—"

"Shh, telepathy call coming in," Bastian said.

His MindLink chimed. He took the call. It came from a computer analyst in the prow. The scrawny officer stood with his back to the wall, holding an office chair like a shield.

"Two of them!" he said. "Two arachtaurs! I can hear more in the vents!"

"I'll send a team right over," Bastian said.

His MindLink chimed again. This time it was Roy Abercrombie, the ship's top cook, a portly fellow with a red mustache. He was brandishing a rolling pin in one hand, a cleaver in the other.

"Arachtaurs, sir!" Abercrombie had a thick Scottish accent. "A bunch o' the wee beasties all over the galley, sir!"

The cook let out a cry, swung his meat cleaver, and sliced through an arachtaur. But more covered the countertop. One emerged from inside a pot. Abercrombie turned the heat on, and the arachtaur squealed and leaped to the deckhead, knocking down frying pans.

"We'll be right there," Bastian said. "Alice, organize one team for the IT department in the prow, another for Abercrombie's kitchen. Hang on—more calls coming in."

A dozen avatars lit up on his MindPlay. Then a hundred. Then hundreds.

Bastian's heart sank.

"Okay, I need a secretary." He turned toward his wife. "Alice?"

She flipped him off. "Sure, I'll file this in your ass."

Bastian sighed. "Okay, I need a secretary who is not my wife."

"You mean a dispatcher," Alice said. "Not a secretary. We need someone to answer calls, keep track of the infestation, and dispatch us to the right locations."

"I know just the person for it." Bastian raised MindPlay again and scrolled through his contacts. "Timori? I need your help."

* * * * *

The logistics android materialized in the Courtyard. Bastian was streaming the hallucination to himself and Alice. The rest of the marines stood in formation nearby; they could not see the avatar.

"Sir?" Timori said.

The logistics android wore a service uniform, beret, and reading glasses. She held a clipboard and pen.

Bastian frowned. "I didn't know androids needed glasses. Or clipboards, for that matter."

"We don't. They're fashion accessories." She showed him the clipboard. She had drawn turtles on it.

"Lovely. Timori, I need your help. I need a marines dispatcher. Somebody who can take dozens of calls at once, keep track of arachtaur reports, and send the marines to—"

"I'll do it," Timori said. "I already know what to do. This is a job for a logistics android."

Hundreds of calls were piling up on Bastian's neural notifications bar. Each call appeared as a sphere in his peripheral vision. "Can I forward you my calls?"

"Go right ahead," Timori said. "I can run three hundred threads at once. I can take each call simultaneously, telepathizing with each caller individually. Send them my way."

Bastian sighed in relief. "You're a lifesaver."

"Finally somebody who appreciates logistics. In war, everyone always praises the warriors. The brave men and women who charge into enemy fire win the medals, and indeed, brave they are. But where would they be without food in their bellies? Without boots on their feet or ammo in their guns? How would they charge so courageously without trains, shuttles, and starships to deliver them to their field of battle?" Timori raised her chin. "It is logistics that is the backbone of a military. Logistics that wins wars! We, the soldiers of the logistics corps, are the unsung heroes of war. It is we who, even under enemy fire, make sure that—"

"Timori, please get to work," Bastian said.

She gulped, nodded, and saluted. "Yes, sir."

Bastian passed her the calls. The spherical avatars rolled out of Bastian's notification bar like bingo balls. Timori shut her eyes and began taking the calls, telepathically communicating with a hundred or more people at once.

A few moments later, her eyes snapped open.

"Sir, I've compiled a list of all arachtaur sightings, then sorted them by number of arachtaurs and priority of the department affected. I've allowed myself to triage them. I'll display them on a map. Red for the urgent infestations, then orange and yellow for lower priorities."

Bastian nodded. "Share the map with me, and with every officer and NCO in the brigade."

"Yes, sir. Sharing now. And I'm still talking to over a hundred spacers reporting more sightings. I'll continue to update the map in real time."

The map hovered before Bastian—a schematic of the starship Freedom. It was three-dimensional. He could turn it around in his hands, zoom in, zoom out, examine different decks. A heat map showed infestation spots, colored by priority, along with little spider-shaped icons denoting known arachtaurs.

"Excellent work, Timori. This is really gonna help."

"Of course it will. Maybe finally, the world will come to appreciate the importance of logistics in war, and no longer shall the unsung heroes toil in obscurity while—"

"Marines!" Bastian barked, turning toward his brigade. "Listen up! We've got a bug hunt on our hands. We're going to move through the ship, following the map, killing every arachtaur in our path. We're going to split this job between our five battalions. Lightning Battalion—you defend the prow. Thunder Battalion—you defend the stern. Hailstorm Battalion—you fight for all seven hangar decks. Typhoon Battalion—you'll clear out the midsection crew quarters. Finally, Nova—you'll liberate everything in the midsection that's not a hangar deck or bunk. That means the armory, the railgun station, the cargo decks, the infirmary, the mess hall, the chapel—you get the idea. You're our elite battalion so you get the toughest job. Understood?"

The marines stared back. They nodded.

Bastian looked at them. Thousands of warriors. The salt of the earth—here, a thousand light-years away from Earth. Some faces were determined—jaws tight, eyes hard. Other faces were scared—skin pale, lips trembling. Some of the faces Bastian knew well. They were hardened veterans, soldiers who had been fighting with Bastian since the beginning of the war. They had been here since the battle in Nebraska when the aliens first rained from the sky. Other faces were new, soldiers who had joined the Freedom Brigade to replace the fallen.

The soldiers were still looking at him. Bastian realized he had been lost in thought. He pulled himself back to the present.

"Once more, we face battle," he said. "I know you're scared. I know this is a vicious enemy. But I also know that the Freebies are the best damn soldiers in the galaxy. Your officers will guide you. And I'm here for you. Now let's go reclaim our ship!"

They roared and ran to battle.

Bastian remained alone in the Courtyard. He watched as the soldiers drained from the vast deck until finally only he and Alice remained.

The place felt so empty. So much larger with everyone gone. Bastian wondered how many of his soldiers would die today.

Alice held his hand. "So, where do you wanna get started?"

Bastian looked at the Freedom's schematic. Thousands of marines, represented by red dots, were swarming through the ship. Already battles were flaring.

"I'm going to hangar 4. The place where we first reeled in the spiderwing with Telve'rahda aboard. I want to start where this whole infestation began."

"Hangar 4 it is." Alice slammed a magazine into her rifle and flashed a grin.

"Not you, Alice. You go rest."

She gasped. "What? Hell no. I wanna kill bugs."

"You're pregnant. You can take a battle off."

"No way, dude. No way. I'm only in my first trimester, and I'm not going to give this up. Killing aliens is my passion. You know that."

He rolled his eyes. "I thought your passion was wrestling."

"It is! I intend to wrestle them to death." She slapped his shoulder. "Come on, Bas. You and me, fighting side by side. Like always. Like we did from day one."

Suddenly his eyes dampened. He thought back to that day long ago. To the aliens invading Earth and the battle flaring across Nebraska. To himself—stuck in a rut, dumped by his wife, hapless, hopeless. Then finding his purpose under fire.

Alice had always been there, fighting with him every step of the way.

He held her hand. "Alice, you're not only my wife. You're my best friend. And you're my sister-in-arms. I love you."

Guns in hands, they kissed.

"Now let's go kill some aliens," Bastian said.

"Hell yeah!" She cocked her rifle, then winked. "By the way, I love you too, you big dope."

They ran out the Courtyard, armor clanking, heading toward another battle side by side.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The Raven glided into lower orbit over Cleodora, the glittering homeworld of the Aeolians. They flew only a hundred klicks over the surface, skimming the atmosphere.

Emily was sitting shotgun as usual. She watched the surface roll by below. Cleodora was a world of wild beauty. Crystals grew as large as mountains. Canyons dived into the depths, glittering like geodes. Silver and gold rivers flowed between hills, their banks shining with crystalline sand. But all this beauty was barren. No plains of grass, no forests, no animals.

"I don't see any signs of civilization." Emily bit her lip. "Not even signs of life."

"Don't you worry, ma'am," said Darjeeling, piloting the ship. "We'll find them Aeolians. They're shy folk, I reckon. And they're masters of camouflage. But we'll find 'em."

Emily shuddered. "Hopefully before Abraxas does. And before he finds us!"

She did not doubt that Abraxas was still out there. Seeking the Aeolians too. Seeking her. For now, the Raven was one step ahead. Which meant Abraxas was just one step behind.

We must hurry, she thought.

She kept watching the landscape roll by below. The sensors picked up no transmissions. The planet seemed dead.

"Maybe they're all gone," she whispered. "Dead like the one we found in orbit."

They flew on in silence, passing over endless miles of rock and rivers.

"Maybe they never built cities," Emily said. "Maybe they just lived in the wilderness. Rocks among rocks. Who's to say that all intelligent civilizations build cities like humans? That might be our bias."

"It might," said Darjeeling. "But spaceflight is complex. It takes thousands of people to build a starship. Millions to wage a war in space. To reach that level of organization, you would need a city."

"We would need a city. Maybe the Aeolians don't. Or maybe they built their cities underground. Maybe their cities are just clusters of millions of Aeolians crowded together like a colony of barnacles."

"Pardon, ma'am, but the Freedom did detect those cities on the asteroid belt. Back during the battle where Caracal and Kuroko fell."

Emily lowered her head to remember that terrible day. The day the Tyranny had struck her terrible blow. "That's true. I think I pushed that day out of my memory. We did see ruined cities on those asteroids, didn't we? Our battle with Tyranny destroyed whatever remained. I do wonder if those had been Aeolian cities. They could have been rah colonies. Or maybe…"

A glint caught Emily's eyes, and her voice trailed away.

She looked at the horizon. A bright line shone there. The sun rising behind the planet? No, that could not be. Both Aeolia A and B were behind them. Yet the horizon glittered.

They flew closer, and Emily gasped.

She leaped from her seat, and tears filled her eyes.

"A city," she whispered. "An Aeolian city."

"Aha!" Darjeeling grinned. "I knew it."

"They don't live in clusters like barnacles." Emily grinned too, a grin so wide it hurt her cheeks. "They don't live underground. They build cities. Real cities. Like we do."

Brick and crystal buildings rose from the landscape. Roads snaked between them. Bridges spread over canyons and rivers. The tallest buildings clustered in the center, built from white stone and tipped with blue and silver crystals. A few buildings were domed, others tall and slender. A few buildings looked like rings slung onto a central pillar like a giant child's stacking toy. Farther out, the buildings became smaller and simpler, constructed of simple beige stone with no crystals to adorn them.

"They have a downtown and suburbs," Emily said. "Very much like us. Oh, this is wonderful. There's so much here to learn."

The cockpit door banged open. Stowy raced inside.

"Emily! Emily! There's an alien city down there! I saw it from the porthole! I— Oh. You're already looking at it." Stowy pressed her face against the viewport, admiring the view. "I've named it Stowytown."

"It's not called Stowytown!" Darjeeling said.

Stowy stamped her feet. "But I'm the first one who saw it!"

"We all saw at the same time," Darjeeling said.

"Stowytropolis. That's my final offer."

Darjeeling's mustache bristled. "No!"

"Stowyville?"

"How about we name the city Melaina?" Emily said. "We've named the planet Cleodora, after a Greek nymph associated with stones. Melaina was her sister."

Stowy thought for a moment. "Melaina. I like that. You know what would be even better though? New Stowy."

Emily frowned. "Why New Stowy?"

"Like New York. I'm the old Stowy. The city is the New Stowy." She nodded sagely. "New Stowy City."

Emily sighed. "How about we just land and look around?"

"Agreed," said Darjeeling, pitching the Raven's nose down.

* * * * *

As they flew closer, Emily noticed how still the city was. There were roads but no cars. There were windows but no lights shone in them. No Aeolians moved along the streets. No vessels flew through the air.

"It's a ghost town," Emily said.

They glided even lower. No vessels rose to meet them. Nobody peered out windows or pointed from the streets. A dead city.

This close down, Emily saw more details. The crumbling walls of buildings. The collapsed bridges. The rubble along the streets. The boulders lying everywhere. No, not boulders—the shells of dead Aeolians.

Darjeeling's eyes darkened. "This place is a graveyard."

The cockpit door opened. Meytal and Arav stepped in too. Niles floated over them.

"Move aside, humans, move aside!" said the drone. "Let me see."

They all stared at the city below. Darjeeling slowed their flight. They flew over a skyscraper. Its walls were whorled like a narwhal horn, and a cluster of purple crystals rose from its crest. Thousands of broken windows perforated the skyscraper. A chunk of the building was missing, exposing a honeycomb of rooms and corridors. Dead Aeolians lay inside like so many rocks. Nearby was a rotunda the size of Wembley Stadium. The roof had caved in, revealing thousands of Aeolian shells.

"It's sad," Emily said softly.

Meytal lowered her head. "They were noble warriors." She placed her hand on her heart. "May they rest in peace."

Stowy looked around at everyone in the cockpit. "Why are you all sad? Emily, you're crying! What's wrong?"

"What do you mean—what's wrong?" Meytal snapped. "Don't you see? They're all dead!"

Emily placed a hand on Meytal's arm. She sent the warrior a private telepathic message. "She doesn't always understand emotion. It's her autism."

"I didn't know she's autistic," Meytal telepathized back. The commando's face softened. "That explains some things. I'll try to be nicer to her."

"My ears are burning!" Stowy said. The girl did not have a MindLink.

Emily blushed. "Sorry, Stowy. How did you know we were telepathizing about you?"

The stowaway gasped. "You were? I mean—my ears really are burning. From all the times Meytal twisted them." She tugged Emily's sleeves. "Can we land? I really gotta pee."

Emily looked around, confused. "We have a bathroom on the Raven."

"Yes, but Darjeeling was just in there, and you really do not want to use the bathroom after him, trust me."

The sergeant flushed, his mustache bristled, and he raised his fists. "Why you good-for-nothing little—"

"She's autistic," Meytal said, pulling Darjeeling's fists down. "Let's be nice to her."

Stowy squinted at the tall commando. "What game are you playing?"

"No game," Meytal said. "I'm just being nice."

Arav clasped his hands together. "Finally! My teachings are filtering through. Meytal, I'm proud of you. When I first met you, you were a rude, crude, violent miscreant. But thanks to my hard work, you've decided to embrace loving—kindness. The world is much nicer when— Ah!"

Meytal twisted the monk's ear and snarled. "I said I'm nice to Stowy! And only Stowy. So don't push your luck."

The Raven descended until they were flying between the skyscrapers. Everyone fell silent and watched the ruins roll by. The devastation seemed worse from here. Buildings lay in piles of rubble. Millions of dead spread across the streets, covered in dust. Some Aeolians had died with their limbs sticking out of their shells. Only bones remained.

"Look." Emily pointed. "What are those? Can you fly closer, Mr. Darjeeling?"

They flew closer. A few massive boulders—some were the size of houses, others the size of cathedrals—lay on the city, embedded into craters.

"Asteroid impacts?" Meytal said.

Emily scrunched her lips. "Maybe. But I have another hypothesis. Remember the murals on Baseworld? We saw asteroids slamming into clawships. At least we thought they were asteroids. What if they're starships?"

Meytal's eyes widened. "Starships shaped like asteroids!"

"Or maybe they're real asteroids that were hollowed out, mimicking Aeolian shells." As the Raven flew overhead, Emily watched the giant boulders. "Maybe they're even used as camouflage. The Aeolians are used to disguising themselves as rocks on their planet. Maybe in space, they disguise themselves as asteroids. Or maybe—"

"Look!" Meytal grabbed her arm. "There."

Darjeeling flew closer, and they all saw it.

Lying across the city, crushing buildings and roads, was a rah clawship.

Emily started and reached for the cannon triggers. Darjeeling pulled the yoke and aimed the prow down—a battle position. Stowy growled and raised her fists, for all the good that would do. Like an angry Swiss army knife, Niles thrust out his assortment of blades, can openers, and wine corkscrews.

"Calm down, everyone," Meytal said. "It's dead. It's been dead for a while, by the looks of it. Just a shipwreck."

Emily released the triggers. Indeed, the clawship was just a hulk. Like the clawships that had invaded Earth, this one sprouted hundreds of metal blades. But the blades were rusty now, a few had fallen off, and jagged holes perforated the hull. She zoomed in. Several dead rahs lay outside. Their abdomens had rotted away, leaving only jutting legs. Dead Aeolians lay among them.

"Land here," Emily said. "By the wreckage."

Arav shuddered. "Why land here? Of all the places we could land, why a place of violence?"

"We came here for violence," Emily said softly. "We came to learn how the Aeolians won the war. Let's land, Mr. Darjeeling. As close to that crashed clawship as possible. We'll find answers here."

* * * * *

As close as possible, as it turned out, wasn't that close at all.

The Raven was a small ship. And with her graviton drive, she could hover down like a feather. No need for a runway. But Melaina City lay in sharp, jagged ruins. Everywhere they looked, they saw piles of rubble, jutting crystals, and the sharp foundations of crumbling buildings. Emily wanted to land by the shipwreck, but they could sooner land a balloon on a field of thistles.

Finally they found a spot—a city square covered in dust. It was three klicks from the crashed clawship. They would just have to hoof it.

The Raven touched down, scattering clouds of dust. The crew all pulled on their spacesuits. The atmosphere here contained high levels of carbon dioxide, some methane, a decent amount of nitrogen, and not enough oxygen for humans. Perhaps the Aeolians had breathed this air, or perhaps the atmosphere had changed since whatever catastrophe had befallen this place. In any case, the crew would remain confined to their spacesuits.

They all collected their weapons. Especially Meytal. The commando carried enough weapons to take down an alien phalanx. Several rifles, a grenade launcher, and a katana peeked over her shoulders. Grenades covered her bandolier. Daggers and handguns clung to her legs. Her spacesuit was splotched with gray and beige camouflage patterns, and she had smeared war paint across her face.

"You look ready to take on the rah empire," Emily said.

Meytal winked. "Just point me at 'em."

As for Emily, she slung her trusty Mordecai plasma rifle across her back. Back during her enlisted days, she had used a Gideon assault rifle, firing plain old bullets. Now that she was an ensign, a graduate of the Alliance Officer Academy, she could wield more powerful weapons. Mordecais were a nice upgrade. She patted the plasma gun. It had saved her life many times.

On a whim, she lifted one of the crystal daggers from Baseworld. She tucked it into her belt. The Aeolian weapons were hard to aim, and she had no spare batteries for them. But it didn't hurt to have a backup.

Armed and ready, Emily entered the airlock. The others followed. She opened the outer door, exposing the ruined landscape of planet Cleodora.

Emily paused. The others crowded behind her. But Emily could just stand there, frozen.

"Well?" Stowy said. "While we're young. Oh, sorry, Darjeeling, old chap."

His mustache bristled and his face reddened. "Why I oughta feed you to the—"

"Be nice to Stowy!" Meytal said.

Emily took a deep breath. She tried to tune them out. She gazed at the alien ruins that spread out before her. Tears dampened her eyes.

"A few years ago, we didn't even know if aliens existed. Today we're about to step onto an alien planet. To explore an alien city. How privileged we are! Ours will be the first feet to step here. The first eyes to see these wonders."

Emily raised her foot, ready to place it down on Cleodora, then hesitated.

I need inspiring words, she thought. Like Neil Armstrong spoke when he first set foot on the moon. Last time, at Baseworld, Stowy ruined my first words. But here on this planet, the Aeolian homeworld, I can say something truly inspiring.

She thought for a moment, composing words in her mind. Perhaps—

"Outta my way!" Stowy cried.

The stowaway shoved past Emily and leaped onto Cleodora. Her feet stamped down hard, scattering dust.

"Welcome to Stowyworld!" the girl cried, hands raised in the air.

Emily sighed. Maybe next time.

Darjeeling hopped outside next. He landed on the ruins with a cloud of dust. Wearing his spacesuit, holding an assault rifle, he struck an imposing figure.

"Ah, it's good to have my boots on solid ground again." Darjeeling cocked his rifle. "I'll lead the way, everyone. I'll look after you."

He looks ten years younger all of a sudden, Emily thought. We were wilting in there.

Arav exited the Raven next. Once more, he wore his Mahatrist spacesuit. The fabric was purest white, and a golden lotus shone on his chest. One of the crystal daggers hung from his waist.

Emily looked at the dagger, then into the monk's eyes.

Arav stared back, his face hard. "I killed once. I will not sin again. But I am not defenseless."

"Well, I can kill, and I will kill again," came a voice from behind him. "Outta my way, monk."

Meytal shoved her way out of the Raven. She carried considerably more than one dagger. Her grenade launcher, plasma guns, and katana bristled across her back. Her trusty Sabra rifle, a mainstay among Israeli soldiers, hung at her side for easy access. A bandolier of daggers hung across her chest, and several handguns were strapped to her sides. Emily blinked at her, for a moment overwhelmed by the display of firepower.

"What?" Meytal shrugged. "I'm a girl. Girls pack a lot."

"You definitely pack a lot of heat," Emily said.

Niles floated out of the Raven next. "Ah, at long last, I am free from the confines of that dreadful excuse for a starship." The drone paused in midair and looked around him. "This place is an utter dump. Everyone—let us return to the Raven at once."

"No way," Stowy said. "I like it here."

Everyone seemed a little happier to be outdoors. Even if it was in a ruined city, and they had to wear spacesuits. So much time in the Raven, crammed together, had been hard. Another day and they would have killed one another. Some shore leave sure hit the spot.

Emily looked at the Raven. The hull was dusty, scratched, and dented. The ship seemed so small from outside. It was hard to believe they had all been living in there for so long.

But who cared about the Raven now? She had an alien city to explore! True, it lay in ruins. But it was still fascinating.

Piles of rubble, cracked pillars, and jagged boulders surrounded the square. An orphaned archway stood among the desolation, the wall around it fallen. A rotunda rose nearby, its dome sporting a cracked, dusty mosaic. Many of the tiles were missing. A portico of columns stood like sentinels watching the land of the dead. The wind moaned, raising clouds of ash, revealing bones strewn across the ground. When the dust settled, the bones disappeared again. The dead were like pebbles on the shore, appearing and disappearing as the waves came and went.

"Imagine this place in its heyday," Emily said. "It must have been beautiful. As glorious as ancient Rome or Egypt."

"Well, it's a dump now," Niles said.

Emily looked to the side of the square. Several Aeolian shells lay there. A few were cracked.

"I wonder what happened here," he said. "According to the scroll, the Aeolians won the war. But this does not look like a victorious planet."

Meytal spat and raised her plasma gun. "The rahs killed them all. That scroll was bullshit."

"No." Emily shook her head. "We found that scroll on a rah warclaw. The rahs wrote it in their own script. They're a boastful race. They would not simply make up losing a war."

Arav looked at the ruins, eyes hard. "There are no victors in war. There is only defeat. Only pain and suffering. Look around you. This is what victory in war looks like. Indistinguishable from defeat."

Meytal wheeled toward the monk. "Easy for you to say. You come from a cushy temple on some peaceful mountain. Easy to badmouth warriors when you never have to fight." She scoffed. "I come from Israel. A country that had to fight to survive for thousands of years. If we thought like you, you know where we'd be now?" She gestured around her. "We'd be like this. Rubble and ruin."

Arav met her gaze. His face was so hard it might be an Aeolian shell. "When I was a child, a group of equalists invaded my village in India. The Red Dawn had already lost the war, but nobody bothered telling them. They slaughtered my family. My mother. My grandparents. My older sister. I fought them and I killed three men. I was only fourteen. So do not lecture me about self-defense. I lived it! I killed for it! I still wake up with nightmares. I chose a different path."

Meytal stared at him in silence for a moment. She took a step closer. Her eyes narrowed. "Yes, I saw that different path on Baseworld. When you killed that arachtaur. You're no different than I am, monk. The only difference is—I'm honest about who I am."

"Please, everyone," Emily said. "Let's not bicker. We did enough of that on the ship. We're all here for the same reason. To find out how the Aeolians beat the rahs. The war clearly ended long ago. Maybe thousands of years ago. But if there are answers anywhere in the galaxy, it will be here. We spotted a rah clawship among the ruins. A clawship the Aeolians must have shot down. It's still a few klicks away, so it's a bit of a walk. Let's get started."

* * * * *

Before they could start their hike, Meytal raised a valid point.

"We can't just leave the Raven out here in the open," the warrior said. "If Abraxas scans the ruins from above, he'll see our ship."

Emily nodded. "You're right."

They looked around the square. Nearby, Emily located a portico leading into a cavernous rotunda. The round roof was sagging, and two columns had fallen and lay shattered on the marble porch. A dusty mosaic spread above the gateway. Once this building must have been grand, perhaps a music hall, theater, or temple.

"The Raven can fit through the portico," Emily said. "There, where those two columns fell. If Abraxas looks down from space, he won't be able to see inside. So long as we keep the Raven away from any holes in the roof."

Darjeeling hopped back into the Raven and taxied her across the square. He just managed to squeeze between the remaining columns. A perfect fit. The Raven disappeared into the shadows of the rotunda. A moment later, Darjeeling emerged from inside, dusting his space suit.

"What's it like inside?" Emily said.

"Beautiful mosaics, ma'am. Statues too. And what looks like a stage and many stone seats. At least I think they're seats. They're not designed like human chairs. They look more like bowls."

"So it is a theater." Emily sighed wistfully. "I wish I had time to explore. But first we must complete our mission."

"Don't worry, ma'am. We'll complete our mission, then have time to explore the wonders of this planet."

"I can't wait. Now let's get to that clawship."

Darjeeling led the way. He was the oldest, most experienced warrior, always ready for another battle. He kept his assault rifle loaded, his finger on the trigger. Oliver Darjeeling was old for a soldier, but Emily had seen him fight. Truly, he was a legendary warrior. In danger, she could think of a no better companion.

Emily walked just a step behind him, her own rifle raised. Niles floated over her shoulder, mumbling under his breath about getting dust in his gears. Stowy skipped along next, eyes wide. She popped her bubble gum, getting it on the inside of her visor. Arav followed, his stony face hiding the war inside him. Meytal brought up the rear, a gun in each hand. Every step, she looked side to side, then behind her, scanning the ruins for enemies.

We're a thousand light-years from home, Emily thought. We're on a ruined world, and an insane enemy hunts us. But these are the bravest souls I know. These are my friends. My family. They give me strength.

She wasn't transmitting those thoughts telepathically, but Niles seemed to sense them. The drone flew closer and nuzzled her.

"I'm here with you, Emily. As always—your loyal servant, teacher, and protector."

She patted him. "Thank you, dear old friend."

The companions approached the towering stone archway. It reminded Emily of the Arch of Titus but even larger and grander. At least it must have been in its heyday. The arch was crumbling with age, though bas-reliefs could still be seen, carved across the monument. Emily craned her neck back, admiring the engravings.

The reliefs depicted an ancient battle. The rahs were unmistakable. Hundreds of spiders were carved into the stone archway, crawling from the base toward the keystone. A few clawships were depicted too, spilling arachnid warriors. Farther up the archway appeared engravings of boulders crushing the spiders. No, not boulders. Emily understood now. They were Aeolian warriors inside their shells.

She squinted, looked at the top of the archway, and activated her visor's zoom lens.

"Look!" She pointed. "Atop the archway. Statues! Statues of Aeolians with daggers!"

The sculptures were unmistakable. Aeolian warriors stood upon the archway, defending their city. And these ones weren't hiding inside their shells. For the first time, Emily saw how Aeolians looked. Not just the shell. Not just the bones. Real Aeolians on full display. Okay, they were not real Aeolians. They were stone statues placed atop the archway. But it was still the best depiction she had found so far.

Each Aeolian stood on five legs, which emerged from holes at the base of their shell, arranged in a pentagon. Each foot had three long toes tipped with claws. Four of those feet were gripping the archway. The fifth foot rose in the air, holding a dagger's stone hilt. The blades were missing. Perhaps they had been made of crystal, a prize for looters.

"Interesting," Emily said. "The infantry soldiers retract into their shells, then roll through enemy lines. Other Aeolians, like the ones depicted here, stick their limbs out and fire the crystal daggers."

"And their heads are out," Darjeeling said. "Curious-looking creatures, aren't they?"

Emily zoomed in one statue. Again, she was struck by how small the head was. No larger than a pug's. How did they have room for big brains in there?

Each Aeolian had three eyes, arranged at equal distances around the skull. Presumably, it provided 360-degree vision. Two little ears stuck out below the eyes. The ears reminded Emily of toadstools. There was no mouth. But Emily remembered the skull she had found. The skulls had holes on the top of the cranium. Maybe the mouth was located on the crown of the head. From this angle, standing below the statue, she could not see.

"Their heads are so small and cute," Stowy said. "Like baseballs."

Emily bit her lip, considering. "You know what I think? I think those aren't actually heads at all. Not in the sense we think of heads. I think they're just … sensory input receptors. They include eyes, ears, maybe other sensory organs we're unfamiliar with. When the Aeolians want to experience the world, they stick this round organ—what we call a head—out of their shell. Sort of like a multipurpose antenna. And the brain remains safe inside the shell."

Darjeeling harrumphed. "Interesting hypothesis. That would be unlike any animal or alien we've ever seen."

"It makes sense from an evolutionary point of view," Emily said. "You keep the brain protected. Humans have thick skulls, so we keep the brain there. But Aeolians have small skulls. Their shells are much sturdier. I think the brain is kept inside the shell, and the so-called head just passes it input. Sort of like a long elephant snout with eyes."

Stowy giggled. Emily allowed herself a smile too.

"Imagine how awful it would be for an Aeolian to lose his head," said Darjeeling. "They would survive it. The brain would still live. But the Aeolian would lose all his senses. Forgive me, ma'am, it's a morbid thought. But it popped into my mind, and I blurted it out."

"It is a curious thing, isn't it?" Emily said. "We humans are so used to our brains and sensory organs being in the same general area. Well, that's not entirely true, is it? Our fingers are certainly important sensory organs, and they're not on our heads."

"Personally, I think all biological organisms are ridiculous," Niles said. "All so crudely designed! None of you can match my sophistication. I'm embarrassed to even fly beside you."

Stowy skipped between scattered bricks. "The kids at my school always said that my head was empty too." She frowned. "Or was it that my head is full of mashed potatoes? Oh wait, that's what my teachers said. They were so nice to me."

"That's horrible!" Emily said.

"Why? I love mashed potatoes."

Meytal, who had heard the conversation, marched up toward them. Her lip peeled back in a snarl, and she clenched her fists. "Once we get home to Earth, Stowy, you point me at those kids and teachers who bullied you. I'll crack their heads open! Then we'll see who has no brains."

Stowy hugged the commando. "Aww, thank you, Meytal. So sweet of you. I have a guardian angel." She turned toward Niles and growled. "Just watch it, flying football! I have my own Israeli elite commando now. Insult me again, and Meytal will kick you out of orbit."

Niles raised his nose. "I'd like to see her try."

Meytal rattled her katana. Niles squeaked and hid behind Emily.

The companions passed under the archway, emerging from the city square onto a cobbled boulevard. Marble colonnades had once lined the boulevard. A few pillars still stood, their tips shining with jagged crystal crowns. They reminded Emily of torches. Most of the columns had fallen, however. Some lay strewn across the boulevard, and the companions had to climb over them.

The dead littered the road too. Shells were everywhere, collecting dust. Bones lay strewn among the rubble. Emily imagined this place as it had been—hundreds of columns soaring, thousands of Aeolians moving to and fro, their legs sticking from their shells. In her mind, she saw colorful banners fluttering. Wooden carts sold exotic fruit and vegetables. Brass vehicles with rattling pipes and leather wings flitted back and forth. Aeolian musicians stood on pavilions, playing silver pipes.

Stowy kicked a rock the size of an apple. It rolled toward Emily, interrupting her thoughts. Stowy ran up and meant to kick the rock again.

"Stop!" Emily said.

Stowy frowned. "Huh? I'm just playing."

Emily lifted the stone. It was hollow. When she overturned it, a few small bones fell out.

"An Aeolian child," Emily said.

Stowy paled. "Oh no. I didn't know." Tears filled her eyes. "Did I kill it?"

"It died long ago," Emily said softly.

Stowy knelt, collected the bones, and placed them into the shell. Gently she laid the hollow stone on the roadside.

They found many small stones like that. Thousands of them everywhere. The smallest were only the size of plums—newborn babies, perhaps, or pets with similar morphology. Many of the shells showed signs of violence. They were cracked. Some crushed. Others punched full of holes.

Emily spotted something black and sharp emerging from the rubble. She stepped closer, then recoiled and aimed her rifle.

"A rah claw!" she cried.

At once, Darjeeling and Meytal aimed their guns too.

"A rah!" Niles cried. "Oh, we've stepped into a trap! I knew it. I warned you. Run away, run away, everyone!"

"Wait!" Emily exhaled shakily. "False alarm. It's dead."

She approached the pile of rubble. Several rah claws stuck out, dented and cracked and dusty. Emily tapped one claw with her rifle. It crumbled to black dust.

"These remains are old," she said. "For all we know, this battle was fought when humans were still building the pyramids. Let's keep going. I want to examine that clawship."

* * * * *

They kept walking down the boulevard, passing ancient buildings. They were built of natural stone inlaid with crystals, though war and time had ravaged them. One building boasted a proud portico, soaring porphyry columns, and a domed roof covered with a mosaic. A theater, perhaps? Or a temple? Other buildings were tall and slender, sprouting crystals from their rooftops. Tubular bridges connected them, curving like water slides.

One building was shaped like a double helix. The stone strands coiled upward, rising taller than Big Ben. Was this shape meant to signify a DNA strand? Did Aeolians have DNA like humans? The rahs did—so why not other aliens? Perhaps this was a museum, a hospital, or a university. Emily wanted to step inside and explore. If this was a place of knowledge, she could hardly imagine the wonders within. There were so many secrets in this city. So much to explore. She could spend a lifetime here and still learn new things every day.

Some buildings looked residential. The curtain walls had slid off, revealing honeycombs of apartments. Or … dens? Lairs? Emily wasn't sure how to call them. Apartments sounded like such a human term. Then again, maybe it was apropos. The Aeolians had built cities, roads, buildings—why not call their homes apartments?

Emily zoomed in from a distance, examining one exposed apartment. Dust covered the place and piled up on the floor. A faded mosaic was still visible on the wall, depicting a desert with winged, long-snouted animals hovering over the dunes. Five Aeolian shells lay on the floor—two adults, three children. Rubble lay among them. The shells were cracked.

A family had died there. Emily's eyes teared up. So many families, all over the building—dead.

"Hey!" Meytal tapped her shoulder—hard. "Keep moving, princess. Stay focused."

"I'm not a—"

"Shh." Meytal spun away, raising her plasma rifle. The battery hummed.

"Wha—" Emily began.

"Shh!"

Everyone tensed and raised their weapons. Stowy drew one of the crystal daggers. Surprisingly, even Arav drew his blade. Niles clicked and sprouted his assortment of corkscrews, tweezers, and can openers.

For a moment, Emily saw and heard nothing. She glanced at Meytal, but the tall soldier ignored her. She was staring at the ruins, face hard, her finger on the trigger. Nobody dared breathe.

Finally Stowy broke the silence.

"There's nobody here!" the girl cried.

She wore a helmet, but her voice was loud enough to carry through the air and echo between the ruins.

Emily cringed. Meytal bared her teeth and tightened her grip on her gun.

For long moments, they were all silent again. Emily looked around her, seeking enemies. A breeze scattered dust. A stone shell fell over. Then nothing at all. Stillness and silence.

Meytal lowered her rifle. "I thought I heard something. Maybe just the wind."

Emily released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "All right. We're all jumpy. Let's—"

Then Emily heard it. A creak. Then a clatter. It came from the roadside.

The ruins shifted. Bricks tumbled. A few more shells fell over and cracked, spilling their bones.

A creature emerged, prowling onto a fallen column.

Emily inhaled sharply.

A wolf! she thought at first. But no, this was no canine. Maybe not an animal at all. The beast seemed made of crystal and stone, but its movements were so fluid it seemed almost like liquid. The creature had eight legs tipped with white claws of flint, and its upper lip twitched, revealing canines of sharp diamond. The eyes shone, purest white and cruel like little stars.

"What is it?" Stowy whispered, more curious than scared.

"A foul beast," Darjeeling replied. "A predator and menace. Be gone!" He swung his rifle like a club. "Away with you, beast!"

The wolf of stone stood its ground. Three more beasts emerged from behind the rubble, their flint claws scraping the stones. Their eyes shone, silent and pitiless, blinding if stared at directly. Their lips peeled back to show gleaming sharp teeth like crystal blades.

"They have eight legs," Emily said. "Like rahs. But they seem made of stone like Aeolians. Maybe the rahs made these creatures. Hybrids like the arachtaurs."

The arachnid wolves, all four of them, turned their heads toward her. Their eyes shone. Their mouths opened wider, revealing dark caverns full of squirming, squiggly lines like nests of worms. They spoke in terrible voices. Discordant. Echoing. Voices from another world.

Arav stepped closer to the creatures. Slowly he sheathed his knife and raised his open palms.

"We're friends," the monk said, voice soothing. "We're humble travelers from another world. We mean you no harm."

But the wolves paid him no heed. They all stared at Emily. Their skin darkened, going from gray and white to black like obsidian, and their eyes shone brighter. The black squiggles inside their mouths squirmed more violently. Their voices deepened, speaking a language of clatters and hisses and screeches.

Emily recognized it. The tongue of rahs.

She turned on MindPlay and loaded her translator app. Now she could understand them.

"… to the queen of the luminous throne. The lord of pain will break her. The mare will come from the forest, woven of smoke, and her eyes are the lights beyond the dark. Suffering shall be our gift to the queen of the luminous throne. The lord of pain will break her. The mare will—"

"I've heard enough!" Darjeeling cried. "Go back to the shadows from which you crawled or I'll send you back myself." He cocked his assault rifle.

The spiderlike wolves ignored him. They all took a single step closer to Emily, their movements perfectly synchronized. They seemed to suck the light around them. Shadows gathered around the stone creatures and cloaked the ruins. Pebbles danced across the ground. A column cracked and fell. They spoke again, voices writhing together like serpents.

"… come from the forest, woven of smoke, and her eyes are the lights beyond the dark." They took another step. "Suffering shall be our gift to the queen of the luminous throne." And another step. "The lord of pain will—"

Darjeeling made true of his promise. He opened fire, peppering the wolves with bullets.

The creatures shrieked. It was a deafening sound. A sound like the shattering bones of children. Like the falling temple of Jerusalem. Like the cries of dying civilizations. It was a cry from beyond the stars and below reality. A cry that burrowed into Emily's soul and laid the festering eggs of grief. The ruins shook. Clouds stormed above and dark lightning flashed. All the world was their cry. And their eyes were the lights beyond the dark.

But in this storm, Emily found a calm place. Below this terror, she found a well of strength. She was a queen, and she was an officer, and she was a woman, and from that well she drew her courage.

She aimed at the wolves of stone and opened fire.

Emily could barely see her friends. Vaguely, she was aware of them shouting, firing their weapons, but they drowned in the darkness. They seemed dimensions away. The white eyes of the wolves trapped her. They were like will-o'-the-wisps. They were ghost lights. Death lights. She aimed at one of those blinding white eyes and held her trigger down.

A jet of plasma shot from her rifle, white in the center, flaring out to blue and crackling red. The spear of fury slammed into one of those gleaming starlike eyes.

The wolf howled.

The world seemed to crack open.

The eye like a star exploded, and the wolf fell.

"Have at you, beasts!" Darjeeling cried, charging through the shadows. His gun boomed. Bullets slammed into another wolf. But they only pinged off its stony body. The creature pounced onto Darjeeling, knocking him down. The wolf began clawing and biting. Darjeeling raised his rifle protectively, holding it back.

"Hit them in the eyes!" Emily cried.

Meytal was shouting somewhere in the distance. Blasts of red plasma seared through the shadows. Emily could see little more. The others cried out, but their voices sounded miles away.

Darjeeling was closest to her, still wrestling with the wolf. Emily took a step toward him. She wanted to run, but the shadows held her back like living things. It felt like wading through tar.

A wolf leaped from the ruins, landed before her, and stared with those terrible eyes. The jaws opened. Black worms squirmed inside. It spoke again but this time in a language she could not understand. Not rah. Not any language MindPlay recognized. A language that sounded old. A language like rotting flesh sliding off bones and wooden pipes over frozen rivers full of the dead.

"Who are you?" Emily demanded.

Its eyes shrank to pinpoints of light, searing white dots in a black face.

"We are the guardians of the forests of stone," it replied, now speaking in rah again. "We are the servants of the mare. She will emerge from the forest, woven of smoke, and we will circle your throne."

"Talk normally!" Emily said. "Who made you? Where are you from?"

"We are the children of the petrified forest. We are the servants of the web. The white spider sees you. Her eyes are the stars. Her web is the void. We will circle your throne."

"Elder'rah," Emily said. "Elder'rah made you! The empress of Arakavish."

The wolf howled.

Five more arachnid wolves leaped from the shadows, joining it.

All six wolves screamed. The sound shattered columns. Cracked the ground. Cracked the sky. Thunder boomed and a bolt of black lightning split open a temple, spilling thousands of stony shells.

Emily had heard enough. She fired on automatic.

Darjeeling trudged to her side, shouldered his rifle, and fired too.

The others ran up. Meytal fired a plasma rifle in each hand. Stowy wielded her dagger, casting beams of light. Surprisingly, even Arav joined the fight. He stood at Emily's side, aimed a crystal dagger, and fired at the wolves of stone.

One wolf's eye exploded. White flames consumed the creature.

They all fired again. Somebody hit another eye. Flames engulfed that wolf too.

One of the beasts leaped toward them through the gunfire. The creature slammed into Emily, knocking her to the ground.

At once, Niles flew and began stabbing at the wolf. "Leave her alone, you beast!"

The wolf's claws pinned Emily down. A claw pierced her spacesuit and cut her skin. The creature's jaws dropped open, and saliva like molten rock hit her chest. The pain radiated across her ribs. She screamed.

"Earth will fall," the creature hissed. "Your palace will burn. We will circle your throne."

She tried to aim her rifle. But pinned down under the beast, she could not raise the heavy gun.

Instead, Emily reached to her belt, drew her crystal dagger, and thrust the blade into the wolf's eye.

White flames burst from the socket, consuming the wolf's head. Some of the flames licked Emily's gloved hand. She screamed and kicked the wolf off. It collapsed to the ground, burning. The flames raced across it like serpents, turning blue, then finally red. When the flames cleared, nothing remained of the wolf but liquid stone.

Emily shoved herself to her feet, wincing with pain. Her chest was clawed. Her hand was burnt.

One wolf still lived, a black beast covered with a thousand jagged crystals like a suit of blades. It looked at Emily and ran toward her. She tried to aim her dagger but her fingers curled up with pain. She dropped the weapon. The wolf leaped, jaws opened wide.

A white beam shot from behind Emily, passing over her shoulder.

The wolf's eye exploded.

The creature slammed onto the ground before Emily, burning up.

She turned, expecting to see Darjeeling or Meytal with a crystal dagger in hand. But it was Arav who stood there, holding the weapon.

The last wolf burst into white flames, shrieking as the inferno melted its stony body.

"The web will spread!" the burning creature cried, voice like steam from a kettle. "The white light will burn you. Praise Elder'rah! Praise the pale goddess!"

Then its stone jaws melted, and the fires went out. All that remained was a puddle of hardening basalt strewn with tiny crystals like the stars. The shadows pulled back from the ruins. The clouds cleared, revealing an indigo sky. A cold wind blew, scattering the smoke.

Emily turned toward Arav.

"Thank you," she said. "You saved my life. But … you killed."

The monk stared at the pile of basalt, his own face like stone. He turned to look at Emily. His eyes were so cold that she took a step back. All the love and kindness was gone from him.

"One can only kill what was alive," he said. "That was no living being. That was a demon. An unholy mockery of life. Whatever evil comes my way on this land—I will smite it down." He began walking, holding his crystal blade. "Let's keep going. Night is falling. We have a clawship to explore."

The companions walked onward through the ruins of the Aeolian city.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Wearing heavy battle armor, helmets on heads and guns in hand, Bastian and Alice raced toward the hangar on deck 4. They stopped before a locked hatch. A note hung on the door, scribbled with a marker.

DECK CLOSED

ALL FLIGHTS DIVERTED TO HANGAR 7

"What the hell?" Bastian tried the hatch again. Locked.

"Um, dude? Maybe you shouldn't open that door." Alice gulped. "The map isn't showing anything inside."

"Well, isn't that a good thing?" Bastian loaded the Freedom's blueprints again. The hallucination showed arachtaurs in red, orange, and yellow, color-coded based on their threat level. Thousands of marines appeared as blue dots. Both aliens and humans filled the starship, fighting everywhere. But deck 4 appeared dark. No heat signature at all.

"Bas, the map is based on reports from spacers," Alice said. "If nobody reported anything on deck 4, then …" She gulped. "Whatever's behind that door killed everyone."

Bastian stopped trying to yank the door open. He gulped too.

"Hang on."

He sent a telepathic call to Eun-Yu. A few seconds passed in silence. Then the bay boss answered.

"Can't talk!" she snapped. "Go away."

A hallucination of her appeared in the air before Bastian, no larger than an action figure. The bay boss was waving a hammer in one hand, a chainsaw in the other. Little hallucinatory arachtaurs were leaping at her from all sides.

"Eun-Yu, I've sent the marines to all hangar decks, they'll be there soon to help."

"Your meatheads are already here, and they're useless!" Eun-Yu said. She swung her hammer, shattering one arachtaur's head. "These little fuckers are everywhere. How the hell do they breed so fast?"

She swung the chainsaw next, carving through an arachtaur. Bastian cringed.

"Eun-Yu, why is deck 4 closed?" he said.

"Too many of the bastards in there. Don't go inside!" She chainsawed another arachtaur's legs off.

"Can't you just open the airlocks and blast them out into space?" Bastian said.

"Not remotely. The critters disabled the airlocks. Now shut up and let me kill them."

She hung up.

Bastian looked at his wife. "I think we'll need some help. It's time to call up the Badgers."

The Badgers Company. The same company Bastian had begun his service in seventeen years ago. He had cut his teeth as a Badger, and though he was a colonel now, and he commanded the entire brigade, in his heart he was still a Badger.

"Badgers Company, this is Colonel Bastian King. If you have a moment, I could sure use your help at hangar deck 4."

Right now the Badgers were fighting in the mess hall. They were doing excellent work. Barely any arachtaurs remained there. The company commander appeared on MindWeb—a tough officer with dark skin and a scar across one cheek. "Absolutely, sir. We'll be right there."

Bastian watched on the map as his old company moved through the Freedom, heading down to join him. He was damn proud of them.

He remembered that Evan Fletcher was a Badger too. To hell with those rumors about their parents. Bastian wouldn't think about it for now. Evan Fletcher was young and green, but he was a Badger, and that made him family.

Maybe someday he'll be literally family, whispered a voice inside of Bastian. He shook his head wildly. Nope, nope! Don't think about that.

Soon they joined him in the corridor. Two hundred men and women. Best marines in the galaxy, if you asked Bastian. Not that he was biased. Evan stood there too, smaller and thinner than the others, eighteen years old and scared out of his mind. But he still stood there. He did not run or weep or whimper. Brave kid.

He made eye contact with Bastian. Maybe he had heard the rumors too.

"All right, Badgers, listen up," Bastian said. "We don't know what's behind this door. But odds are this hangar deck is swarming with arachtaurs. This is where the infestation began. Let's clean this deck of bugs. For freedom!"

"For freedom!" his marines roared in answer.

Bastian aimed his rifle at the hatch lock and fired. The lock exploded. Bastian kicked the hatch open and stormed inside, gun blazing.

* * * * *

Yep—the place was swarming.

Arachtaurs covered the hangar deck. They swung from the deckhead. They scuttled across the bulkheads and columns. Cobwebs hung everywhere, as large as sails. Eun-Yu had diverted most of the vessels to other decks, but two Eagles and one tug shuttle remained here. The arachtaurs had ripped them apart, scattering components everywhere.

Only one vessel still remained intact. A spiderwing. One of the enemy's starfighters. Spiderwings were truly hideous machines, shaped like spiders the size of a semitrailer. The Eagle pilots had been battling them in space. Bastian didn't envy Spitfire and her gang.

This was a particularly ugly spiderwing, its black hull charred and dented. It was the only spiderwing the Freedom had managed to capture. The one Telve'rahda had piloted, the arachtaur who had started this infestation. Her spiderwing stood in the center of the deck, draped with cobwebs.

Just the vessel Bastian wanted to see. Good. He wanted to study this spiderwing. To get inside. They still didn't know much about arachtaurs. Maybe some answers hid inside that vessel.

But hundreds of arachtaurs guarded it.

They were not fully grown yet, but they were big ones. The biggest Bastian had seen so far. Their human halves looked about twelve years old. Their spider bodies were the size of ponies. Only a week or two ago, they had hatched from eggs, no larger than hamsters. Damn, these creatures grew fast.

And they were already laying their own eggs. Bastian caught them in the act. Three females, there at the back of the room—laying eggs right into a ventilation duct. No wonder these creatures spread so fast.

Bastian kept firing. He didn't even need to aim. The enemy was everywhere. His plasma bolts slammed into arachtaurs, knocking them back. Unfortunately, he had to keep the plasma setting on medium. He was too close to the outer hull. He didn't want to blast a hole out to space. But even dialed down, his gun delivered enough heat to burn through arachtaur flesh and crumble bones to ash.

His fellow Badgers charged onto the deck with him, roaring for war. Once more, like they had so many times, the Badgers Company fought together. Bastian remembered the Battle for Fort Liberty, their first battle. Just a company of green marines with no combat experience—holding down the fort alone against a rah invasion. It seemed a lifetime ago. Those green boys and girls had grown up into the galaxy's deadliest warriors. Bastian was proud to fight among them again.

Bullets and plasma bolts slammed into arachtaurs. Cobwebs burst into flame. The creatures screamed as they died.

But within moments, the arachtaurs regrouped and launched a counterattack.

They scuttled across the deck, the bulkheads, the ceiling. They swung on webs like demonic Tarzans. Their claws came at the marines like a storm of arrows, and their fangs thrust from their mouths, hungry for flesh.

An arachtaur slammed into Bastian, shoving him back a step. She was shaped like a young girl with lavender skin and long, slender fangs like filleting knives.

"I'll eat your liver!" she said, her voice like cracking bones.

Claws slashed across Bastian's battle armor. Sparks flew. Bastian shoved the monstrosity back, aimed, and fired at point-blank range. A plasma bolt tore through the hybrid's bony chest, ripping pulsing veins. He fired again. Another plasma bolt shattered her spider abdomen. Eggs spilled across the deck.

At once, another arachtaur swung on a strand toward Bastian. This one was male, his hair long and scraggly, his jaw unhinging to reveal rows of fangs. Bastian shot the beast through the chest. But the arachtaur kept flying and slammed into Bastian.

The blow knocked Bastian onto the deck. The arachtaur screeched above him, then leaned in to bite. Teeth punched holes through Bastian's armored shoulder. He roared in agony, blood bubbling out.

He grabbed the monster by the hair, yanked the rancid head back, then drove his fist into the bloody mouth. Teeth clattered across the deck. Bastian shoved the arachtaur off. The beast crouched on the deck, hissing and bleeding from his mouth. Bastian fired his rifle. The arachtaur swung a claw, parrying the plasma bolt. It seared a hole into the flooring.

The creature lunged back at Bastian, who swung his rifle like a club. The muzzle hit the arachtaur's head, knocking him down. But the bastard leaped back up. Claws swung at Bastian, denting his armor and raising sparks. The creature kept pressing the attack, forcing Bastian to retreat. He had to keep swinging his rifle, parrying the lashing claws. Another claw made its way through, cracking his breastplate.

"Die now, human," the arachtaur hissed. "Your entrails will feed my spawn."

The bleeding chimera came at him again. Bastian sidestepped, drew his electric knife, and slashed it across the arachtaur's neck.

Blood sprayed. The creature clutched the wound.

Bastian aimed his plasma rifle, flicked the switch to automatic, and let out a stream of flame. The creature ignited, curled up, and died.

Damn. If the young arachtaurs were this tough, Bastian didn't want to think about fighting the adults.

The marines pushed deeper into the hangar, firing, killing. One marine fell. Several arachtaurs ripped off his armored plates and clawed his chest. Webs coiled around another marine, lifted him to the ceiling, and claws flashed. Blood rained.

One arachtaur swung and hit Alice. She fell.

Bastian stared in horror.

The baby.

"Alice!" he cried and ran toward her.

An arachtaur leaped at him. Bastian sprayed it with plasma, knocking it aside. He kept running. A madness possessed him. He barreled through another arachtaur, and another, firing and slashing his blade until he reached his wife.

Alice struggled to her feet, fired her gun, and killed the arachtaur that had knocked her down.

Bastian finally reached her. "Alice! Are you all right?"

She aimed her gun over his head and fired. Bastian spun around to see a plasma bolt hit a swinging arachtaur. The creature hit the deck, bleeding, and clattered forward on razor-like claws. Bastian and Alice opened fire together, burning it down.

"Are you all right?" Alice said, looking at his dented, cracked armor.

"I'm not the one who's pregnant."

"I told you to stop worrying." She fired again, killing another swinging beast. "I can take care of myself. And the baby. And you."

They were talking telepathically. Bastian wasn't quite ready to share the happy news with his troops yet.

He looked at the other soldiers. The company had suffered several casualties but they were making good progress, killing many arachtaurs. They had begun the battle with equal numbers, but the marines were prevailing. Thank goodness these were just kid arachtaurs. Facing an army of fully grown ones? Bastian had a feeling the battle would go very differently.

He shot a few more of the creatures. His marines helped. And no, they had no compunctions about killing kids—not when it came to murderous alien hybrid kids hell-bent on exterminating humanity at least. Finally the marines cleared the deck.

Bastian closed his eyes for a moment, reviewing his brigade on MindWeb. More avatars—grayed out.

Once more, marines give their lives so that others may live on, he thought. Once more, we sacrifice so that humanity can survive.

He knew this was necessary. He knew that somebody had to fight on the front lines. But it never made it easier. Because to Bastian, these soldiers were not just nameless sacrifices. Not just avatars in an operating system. Certainly not just cannon fodder. They were his soldiers, and that made them family.

Maybe that made him a bad leader. Maybe a good commander would see soldiers are mere pawns, could easily sacrifice them to protect the king. Maybe a good commander knew how to be impartial, even emotionless. But Bastian was not that man. Even after all these battles, he knew that he could never be that man.

Someday this war will end, and I'll return to Earth, and I'll raise my family in the fields of Nebraska, he thought. I'll never have to send another boy or girl to death. But I will never forget those who fell here.

"The deck is ours!" he cried, and his voice echoed through the hangar. The soldiers raised their guns and cheered.

Bastian walked through the devastation of battle. The blood made sucking noises under his boots. He approached his prize. The spiderwing. He cursed the day this vessel had come aboard the Freedom, carrying the infestation. Like Pandora's Box, this alien vessel had unleashed plague and pestilence. Maybe inside Bastian would find a way to banish the terrors.

* * * * *

He stepped into the spiderwing, rifle raised.

He expected arachtaurs to leap his way. Or at least for eggs to burst, expelling monstrous little hatchlings at him. Nothing. The spiderwing seemed empty.

Well, empty of arachtaurs at least. All sorts of strange things filled this small vessel. Arachtaurs were half human, but this was nothing like a human starfighter. There was no seat. Instead, a cobweb filled the cockpit. There were no monitors either. Rubies the size of hearts jutted from the walls like crystallized blood. Perhaps they could switch on like crystal balls? Bastian didn't see any controls. No yoke, no joystick, no keys. Several thick strands of braided gossamer hung from above, perhaps used to pilot the ship.

The entire place seemed oddly organic. Roots coiled across the inner hull. When Bastian touched one, the root recoiled and squirmed across the wall.

"What the hell?" Bastian muttered.

Was it another hallucination? No, his MindLink update seemed to be working. He wasn't hallucinating. The root was some kind of living cable, maybe. Weird.

This was clearly a ship of rah design. Nobody with a human brain, not even the arachtaurs, would create such a machine. And yes, the arachtaurs had human brains. At least they had human heads, and the brains looked human enough when Bastian spilled them across the deck. But they were a new species. They knew little more than how to kill. Their rah creators must have designed these starfighters for them.

"It's so strange," Alice said, climbing into the spiderwing with him. "It looks so different now."

"How so?" Bastian poked at another root, watching it recoil again and again. It was kind of fun.

Alice was pale. "I was here when the tugs brought in this spiderwing. I was the first person to approach, to look inside. When I opened the hatch on the spiderwing that day, it …" She shivered. "It was different."

He looked at her, frowning. "Alice? You're trembling."

Her voice was soft, barely more than a whisper. "I didn't go inside that day. But I looked inside. When the creature emerged. I saw mushrooms, butterflies, the faces of fairies. I heard girls giggling."

"That sounds delightful, actually," Bastian said. "Like something from a Disney movie."

She shook her head. "No. It was nothing like Disney. Nothing cute or beautiful. It had a dark beauty, maybe. A dangerous beauty. It seemed like a portal to a world of secrets and decay."

Bastian couldn't help it. He shuddered too.

"Well, all that's gone now." He kicked the inner hull. "This is nothing but a machine. A strange machine, yes, part organic and part mechanical. But a machine nonetheless."

Alice took a deep breath. "I know. I see that now. Telve'rahda must have released her pheromones, causing hallucinations. Her chemicals had turned this spiderwing into a temple from a shadowy realm of faerie. Nothing but a dream …"

"We use neural implants to hallucinate," Bastian said. "The arachtaurs use pheromones. We both augment reality."

"Reality," Alice said, seeming to gaze a great distance away. "I wonder if that even has any meaning. Everything is in our minds. Even sound, vision—just hallucinations created by sound waves and light waves. All of reality is just whatever we hallucinate. Maybe there is no subjective reality."

"Okay, professor. Look here. We found an alien artifact. Wanna help me open it?"

Bastian found it behind the cobweb—a box forged of dark iron. Filigree coiled across the chest, shaped like golden serpents with ruby eyes. A heavy bolt kept the lid closed. Bastian kicked the lock a few times. The chest rattled. He grabbed the lock with his hands and pulled with all his strength. Nothing.

"Goddammit, I'll have to shoot it open," Bastian said.

"Hey, Indiana Jones." Alice tossed him a key. "This was hanging on the web."

He caught it. "Thanks."

He put the key in the lock, then hesitated.

Alice frowned. "What's wrong?"

"What about …" Bastian's voice dropped. "Curses?"

Alice rolled her eyes. "I'm already cursed, being married to you. I'll open it."

She turned the key. It clicked. She began opening the lid.

Bastian drew his sidearm and aimed at the chest, half expecting baby arachtaurs to leap out. But nothing nefarious emerged. Several bulb-shaped bottles filled the chest, lodged into velvety holders. Each bottle contained a different colored liquid.

"They look like magical potions," Alice said.

"They do." Bastian laughed, just to relieve some tension. "Maybe there's a love potion."

Alice whipped her head toward him. "Who are you hoping will fall in love with you, Colonel Bastian King?"

He gulped. "Um … it's so that I … can love you? Even more?"

She grabbed his collar, growling. "You mean you don't already love me as much as possible?"

"Yes, you're absolutely lovable." He pried her hands off his throat. "Now let me take a closer look at these bottles."

He removed one bottle from its velvet holder. Purple liquid swirled inside, marbled with silver strands. He shook the bottle. The silvery coils dissolved, turning the bottle pink, then coalesced into strands again, and the liquid became purple once more. Bastian shook the bottle a few more times. Same result every time.

"Stop playing with it," Alice said.

"I'm not playing. I'm testing it."

"You're like a baby with a rattle." She grabbed the bottle. "Let me see."

She held the bottle up to the light and squinted. She shook the bottle, and the silver strands inside dissolved again, then re-formed.

"Now you're doing it!" Bastian said.

"Yes, but I noticed something. Those silver strands inside the purple liquid? Those are letters."

"What?" He made to grab the bottle again, but she pulled it away.

"No! Your turn is done. Look. Whenever I shake the bottle, the strands dissolve but then re-form into the exact same shape." She demonstrated. "Letters! Rah letters. It's rah cuneiform. The arachtaurs must speak rah."

Bastian frowned. "Why didn't they just slap a sticker onto the bottle?"

Alice shrugged. "I don't know. But I think these bottles are important. Even precious. It's why they're in a nice case with golden decorations and everything. They probably could have just labeled them with a sticker, but that wouldn't seem fancy."

A recent MindLink update had installed a rah language translator. Bastian loaded the translator now and peered at the bottle again. Suddenly he could understand the liquid letters.

"Follow for meat," he read.

Alice tilted her head. "What does that mean?"

"I have the same information you do, Alice."

"Not true. You outrank me, so you have higher MindWeb admin privileges, and higher security clearance, which is completely unfair, by the way. As your wife, I demand to know everything you do."

Bastian sighed. "Alice, please. We've only been married for a year. Do we have to bicker like an old married couple already?"

"Of course we do. I'm pregnant, I'm cranky, and you're the nearest person to me."

Bastian looked at the bottle again. "Follow the meat … it reminds me of how ants and bees communicate. Drop a scrap of food on the ground. One ant will find it and scuttle off. Soon enough he comes back with a thousand friends. Using pheromones." Bastian's eyes widened. "That's what this is. A bottle of pheromones."

He pulled another bottle from the case. The liquid was dark red, and golden strands swirled inside. These strands too spelled out words in the rah language.

"Courage," he said.

"What kind of pheromone is courage?" Alice asked.

"Maybe something the rahs breathe before battle. Like a stim. Gives them extra strength."

Alice examined the bottle more closely. "The red liquid looks like blood. I think the translation algorithm is wrong. Look at the first two characters. The same as in the rah word for blood. This doesn't say 'courage.' It says 'bloodlust.'"

With a shudder, Bastian put the red bottle back. He lifted another vial, this one full of pitch-black liquid like tar. Red strands swirled inside, forming letters.

"Spirituality," Alice said.

Bastian thought for a moment. "Maybe a pheromone to inspire religious fervor. Humans used to do this. Some religions used drugs in their spiritual services. The Rastafarians smoked cannabis when praising God. Indigenous Mexicans ingested peyote for religious purposes. South American shamans took ayahuasca, while the ancient Sumerians—"

"Bastian, you're just checking Wikipedia Galactica on MindWeb, aren't you?"

He felt his cheeks heat up. "How do you know?"

"I'm your wife. I know all."

"Aside from MindWeb content under high security clearance."

She made a fist. "Want to rub it in any more? Because I feel like rubbing your nose across your face."

"Anyway." Bastian looked away quickly. "There's one more vial."

He pulled it from the case. This bottle was strange. The left side of the bottle was full of pink liquid. The right side was full of orange liquid. Bastian could see no barrier between them, but the liquids did not mix. The bottle had two spouts—one on the pink side, one on the orange side, both lidded.

"Ooh, pink, your favorite color!" Alice said.

Bastian shook the bottle. The liquids did not blend, but tarry letters appeared inside briefly, then dissolved.

"Mating," Bastian said.

"Not right now, mister."

"That's what it says. Mating." Bastian smiled. "It's a love potion. I knew we'd find a love potion."

Alice placed her hands on her hips. "You better put that right back."

His smile widened. "Why? Worried I'll use it on other women?" He gasped and covered his mouth. "Are you jealous, Sergeant Allenby?"

"Give me that bottle!" she cried, reaching for it.

Bastian pulled it back. "Hey, hey, careful."

"Give it here!"

She grabbed the bottle and yanked it. Bastian pulled it back. They tugged it back and forth like two dogs fighting over a bone.

"Stop, Alice, stop!"

"It's mine!" she roared and gave a huge tug.

The bottle slipped from Bastian's hands. Triumphant, Alice flew backward and thudded against the bulkhead. The bottle tilted in her grip. One of the two lids fell off. A single pink droplet flew and landed on the deck.

They both stared at it, then at each other.

"Look what you did," Alice whispered.

"Just screw the bottle shut and put it back in the case," Bastian said. "We'll take the whole thing to Dr. Annie. She can run some tests and maybe learn something about arachtaurs."

"All right." She lidded the so-called love potion, put it back into the chest, and locked it. "You can carry the box. We'll—"

A screech sounded in the distance.

Alice paled.

Another shriek. A roar. Then dozens of screeches sounded.

Arachtaurs.

* * * * *

Bastian and Alice leaped out the spiderwing. They landed on the flight deck, cocked their weapons, and swept the guns from side to side. But Bastian just saw dead arachtaurs littering the deck. The Badgers stood across the hangar, looking around, rifles shouldered.

Screeches still echoed across the hangar.

"Where is it coming from?" Alice said.

"Everywhere!" Bastian said. "Above us. Below us. They're everywhere."

The shrieks rose louder and louder. The deck thrummed. And then—silence. At once—utter silence.

Bastian looked around, not even daring to breathe. Alice looked at him. She was pale. The entire company glanced from side to side, fingers twitching on their triggers.

Then Bastian heard it.

A single beat.

"Was that a drum?" Alice whispered.

Silence stretched for another moment. Then another drum beat. And another beat. The beats grew louder, faster, coalescing into a relentless pattern. The sounds came from everywhere.

"What the hell?" Bastian said.

A chant rose in the depths of the ship. Many voices wove together. Guttural voices. It reminded Bastian of Mongolian throat singing. The voices grew louder, louder. They were chanting in a language Bastian didn't recognize. Some dialect of rah, he thought, but not one the translator understood.

The drumming came closer and closer.

Screams sounded from the corridors. Human screams. Gunfire rattled.

Bastian pursed his lips and tightened his grip on his gun.

And there they came.

They burst into the hangar bay—a hundred arachtaurs or more. Big ones too. Teenagers, by the looks of it. The biggest ones Bastian had seen so far. Where the hell had they been hiding?

With their sickly skin and bloodshot eyes, arachtaurs always looked a little unhinged to Bastian, but these ones looked downright deranged. Their eyes were rolling back. Their limbs were trembling, and veins pulsed on their necks. They seemed in a trance, chanting in guttural voices. Bastian finally saw where the drumming sound came from. They were curling up their stingers like scorpion tails and drumming on their own abdomens. The black spheres boomed like bass drums.

"What the hell is wrong with them?" Alice shouted.

The arachtaurs marched closer, moving in unison. Their claws pattered across the deck, adding to the rhythm. It almost looked like a dance.

Bastian's MindLink finally recognized one word in the guttural chanting.

Mate.

"It's a mating dance," he said. "They smelled the drop of mating pheromone you spilled."

Alice gasped. "Me? You spilled it!"

Bastian wanted to argue, but there was no point now. "In any case—it put them in a trance."

The arachtaurs kept marching, drumming, singing. They emerged from doorways across the hangar. One creature, apparently, had been hiding in the crawlspace below the deck. It shoved a deck plate aside and joined the parade.

They were heading toward the charred spiderwing. They could sense that single pink drop inside the vessel.

One marine, a hulking corporal who just recently joined the brigade, stepped in front of the stampede.

"Corporal Jansen, wait!" Bastian said. He wanted to see what the arachtaurs would do.

But Jansen couldn't hear him over the drumming and chanting. Or maybe he purposefully ignored the words. The corporal shouldered his Gideon and let loose, spraying the arachtaurs with bullets.

A few arachtaurs fell, peppered with bullets. The other arachtaurs shrieked and charged at Jansen. They ran right into the bullets. More fell dead, and the living raced across the corpses. They swarmed onto Jansen, claws lashing, and tore him apart. The corporal's gun fell to the deck. A severed hand was still attached.

Then the arachtaurs simply marched over the corpse and kept going toward the spiderwing.

They didn't even acknowledge the other marines. Once more, they were in a trance. Their eyes rolled back, and they sang their strange guttural song. Their stingers kept beating against their abdomens.

"What the hell is going on?" shouted Sergeant Hicks. "They're like zombies."

"They think there's a female arachtaur in the spiderwing," Bastian said. "And it's mating season."

He noticed it then. All the arachtaurs here were male.

"Alice, you must have spilled a female pheromone," Bastian telepathized to her. "Maybe the pink color attracts males, and the orange attracts females."

"I didn't spill anything. You spilled it."

"It doesn't matter who spilled it. Female rahs must use this pheromone to attract mates. It puts the males in a trance."

"Like you when I wear my sexy underwear."

Bastian felt his cheeks flush. He had to double-check they were telepathizing on a private channel.

The arachtaurs marched right past the marines, who watched, dumbfounded. The hybrids reached the spiderwing and began climbing the fuselage. Pretty soon they'd figure out there was no female inside, ready to breed. Bastian guessed the trance would break pretty fast. And he'd have some pissed off arachtaurs on his hands.

He waited until the last arachtaur reached the spiderwing. A hundred now clustered around the vessel like ants around a fallen morsel.

"Badgers!" Bastian shouted. "Send these beasts to hell!"

They opened fire. They all did. Nearly two hundred marines. A storm of plasma and lead slammed into the arachtaurs.

The creatures screamed. The pain snapped them out of their trance. They turned toward the marines. Their shrill voices filled the hangar.

"Where are we?"

"Where are the females?

"Tricked! The humans tricked us!"

"Kill them!"

"Mount their corpses!"

The marines kept firing. More arachtaurs fell. The survivors roared and leaped through the bullets to battle.

Two came right at Bastian. He fired his Mordecai plasma rifle at one, burning the flesh off the bones. He glimpsed a charred rib cage before the creature collapsed. The second arachtaur reached Bastian and slashed his claws.

One claw rang Bastian's helmet like a bell. Another claw hit under his arm where the armor was weak. That claw made it through. Blood trickled down Bastian's side. Gritting his teeth, he clubbed the creature with his rifle. The arachtaur fell back, and Bastian bathed it with plasma. The flesh burned off the bone, revealing a screaming skull. Bastian fired again, and the creature's abdomen burst. Claws clattered onto the deck.

Without missing a beat, Bastian raised his Mordecai and kept firing, melting another arachtaur.

It didn't take long. The aliens were surrounded, their backs pinned to the spiderwing. The Badgers Company cut them down like the vermin that they were. Within minutes, it was over.

Bastian walked through the carnage, kicking dead arachtaurs aside, until he reached the spiderwing. He retrieved the metal chest with the vials inside.

He looked at his fellow marines. They looked back—weary, battered, covered in blood, but still standing strong.

"My dear Badgers," he said. "You've been fighting with me since day one. You make me prouder every day. We killed many arachtaurs today. But a thousand or more remain on this ship." He hefted the chest. The bottles inside chinked. "We just found a way to win this war."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The companions walked through the ruins of Melaina, the Aeolian city on the rocky planet Cleodora. Night had fallen, but three moons shone in the indigo sky, painting the land purple and deep sea blue. The crystal buildings glittered, and the ruins, which had seemed so desolate only hours ago, now seemed beautiful to Emily. Yet it was a bittersweet beauty, tinged with loss and the echoes of bygone splendor.

"Hey, I found it!" Stowy shouted, voice echoing through the ruins. She stood on a pile of rubble ahead. "Come take a look."

Emily winced. Had any enemies heard the girl? Meytal cursed and raised her gun, glancing around for signs of trouble. Thankfully, if there were any more stone wolves around, they thought better of attacking.

"Everyone, I—" Stowy began.

"Stowy, be quiet!" Emily snapped. "You don't have to yell. Our helmets are all connected with comlinks. Just speak normally and I'll hear you."

The stowaway didn't have a MindLink installed. Neither did Arav. So instead of telepathy, they had to rely on old-fashioned comlinks. That wouldn't normally be so bad, but Stowy yelled half the time.

"Oh. Oops." Stowy dropped her voice to an urgent whisper. "I found it, boss. The clawship."

It lay before them like some creature of the ocean depths, beached and black and rotting. A hundred spikes still thrust from this slain behemoth, stretching across the ruins. Once they had been mighty weapons, blades to pierce enemy hulls, but now the iron spikes were rusty, dented. Some had detached and lay strewn across the ruins like the severed claws of dark crabs.

The clawship was enormous, even larger than God's Tomb. Beneath it, this bloated corpse crushed several city blocks. When flying, the clawship must have terrorized the stars. But like a deep-sea monster spewed onto the shore, it now evoked only pity and disgust.

The ruins were in worse shape here. Not much remained but rubble. Here and there, Emily spotted the shells of buildings, their roofs gone, their walls ending with jagged chips like broken teeth. A bridge lay fallen across a road. Huge crystals, perhaps once topping towers and temples, lay in the dust. Emily had once seen photos of cities bombed during World War III. She had grieved to see the husks of buildings, the ashes, the desolation. That's what this city reminded her of.

"Asteroid impacts." Stowy pointed. "Look. Two small ones. And one big one."

The smaller rocks were still as large as houses. The big rock lay atop the ruins, as big as the Tower of London. It was cracked open, revealing an interior full of corridors and dens. It looked a little like an ant farm turned to stone. Dead Aeolians filled the inside like the seeds of a fossilized pomegranate.

"Not asteroids," Emily said. "Aeolian starships."

Stowy's eyes widened. "Whoa. I want to sneak into one."

She began to run off. But Emily caught the stowaway and pulled her back. "Stay near me, Stowy."

"But—"

"Stowy, I need your protection. In case more wolves show up."

Stowy nodded. "Ah. Don't you worry, gallant queen. For I, Stowy of the starship Freedom, shall defend you."

"You're not part of the starship Freedom!" Darjeeling said, stomping toward them. "You're a stowaway."

Stowy pointed at him accusingly. "And you, sir, are an eavesdropper."

Darjeeling's mustache bristled. "Why you good-for-nothing, thieving little—" He could say no more. The rage flooded him. He just sputtered, spraying saliva onto his visor, and shook his fist.

Meytal stomped up to Stowy and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "The girl is under my protection." She raised her chin. "She's autistic."

Stowy blew Darjeeling a raspberry. "Yeah, you gotta be nice to me. Or my very own Israeli commando will knock you out."

Emily stepped between them.

"I want to understand what happened here," she said, interrupting the showdown. "One clawship and three Aeolian ships—let's call them stoneships—fell here. They likely fought a battle. We know the Aeolians won the war. But how? Maybe we'll find answers here."

"What we need is the ship logs," Darjeeling said. "On Earth, we shot down quite a few clawships ourselves. We found logs inside, stored inside crystal hard drives. The rah log will reveal what happened."

They walked among the ruins, moving closer to the clawship. The wind blew, scattering dust, revealing ancient remains. Rah claws lay everywhere, cracked and hollow but still sharp. The spider abdomens had rotted away long ago, leaving only the legs. The sharp limbs spread everywhere like a field of thorns. Aeolian warriors lay here too. Some of the stone shells had survived the war and passage of time, but many were cloven, revealing bones inside. Some Aeolians still gripped crystal daggers in their claws. Emily wondered if they had worn uniforms back in the day, perhaps draped over their stony shells, but if so, they had rotted away to nothing.

Everyone was nervous, sweeping their guns from side to side, seeking trouble. Emily half expected some long-dead rah to rise from the rubble and attack. Or perhaps another one of the stonewolves. But the battlefield remained still. Perhaps they were the first to tread here since the war.

And what a war it must have been. So far, they had been walking here for hours, but they had seen no living Aeolian. No life at all, only the mockery of life that had attacked them. Had the war truly killed everyone? Or had some survived it, only to fall to some later tragedy, perhaps starvation or plague or poison? Emily hoped to find answers here.

Suddenly, as she walked through the battlefield, Emily had a vision of a future Earth. England lay in ruin, all her great monuments fallen. The starship Freedom lay in the rubble. In that vision, some future traveler from another world landed on Earth, walked through the desolation of London, and found only bones. What happened here? that traveler wondered. He saw the ruins and the wreckage and learned about the war, learned the facts, but he did not hear the songs that humans sang. He did not hear the laughter of babies, admire the beauty of swaying fields, did not see the kisses of lovers nor the embraces of loving mothers. He saw the loss. But he did not grieve for he did not see the beauty before the fall.

"I'm sorry, Aeolians," Emily whispered, walking among the ruins. "I wish I could have known you when this world was vibrant and its song was young."

* * * * *

Finally they reached the clawship. It lay across the ruins before them like a huge dead squid. Countless holes gaped open in the hull, some barely large enough to stick your finger through, others you could ride a horse through. The entire ship was rusting.

Rah markings were engraved onto the port hull. Rust, scratches, and soot marred the characters, but Emily was still able to read the cuneiform. It was the name of the ship.

THE DEVOURER

Emily shuddered.

Rocky lumps covered the hull like warts. Emily had never seen anything like this on clawships. She reached toward one stony bump. It was the size of an apple. Before she even touched it, the rocky wart peeled back from the hull like a scab. The lump's inner surface was fleshy, red, and lined with suction cups. A few tentacles squirmed in protest.

A living thing! Hissing, the animal sprayed ink. Emily stumbled back, wiping the sticky liquid off her visor. The bumpy creature slapped back onto the hull, then wriggled a bit, getting comfortable.

Stowy gaped at her for a second, then burst out laughing. "You got slimed!"

"Yes." Emily cringed. "Some sort of alien barnacle. Probably a local animal that survived the war. Good thing I was wearing this helmet."

Stowy peeled one barnacle off the hull. It squirmed, tentacles flailing, and sprayed ink. But Stowy held it away from her. The ink flew onto Niles, who just happened to be floating by.

The drone gasped. "How dare you!"

Stowy cringed. "Oops, sorry. But you did just come out of nowhere."

"I've been besmirched! Look at me. Just look!" He shook like a wet dog, trying to remove the ink. "It's not coming off. I've been tarred for eternity!"

Stowy shook the last drops of ink off her barnacle, then hugged the creature. "Aww, you're adorable. I will name you George, and I will hug you, and squeeze you, and—" The creature leaped onto her visor, wrapped its tentacles around her helmet, and squeezed. "Ah, kill it, kill it!"

Emily pulled the barnacle off and tossed it aside. "Don't disturb the local wildlife, Stowy."

Slime covered the girl's visor. She wiped it off, then shook droplets off her fingers. "Lesson learned." She knelt, lifted the barnacle, and dropped it into her pack.

"Stowy!" Emily rolled her eyes.

"What? I'm not disturbing it." She closed her pack, sealing the barnacle inside.

"Let her keep her pet," Niles said.

"Aww, thank you, Niles," Stowy said.

The drone lifted his nose. "I'm hoping it murders her in her sleep."

"I said be nice to her!" Meytal leaped forward, drawing her katana. Niles squeaked and fled behind Emily.

"Everyone, enough bickering," Emily said. "See that hole up there? In the clawship's hull above the cluster of barnacles? The hole looks big enough to enter. Let's see if we can find the ship logs."

The hole was halfway up the Devourer's hull, perhaps the work of an enemy projectile. To reach it, the companions had to climb, holding the barnacles for support. Most of the barnacles clung to the hull, providing convenient handholds. But a few detached to flail their tentacles and spray ink. By the time Emily reached the hole, she was covered with the stuff.

"Let me in first, ma'am," Darjeeling said, climbing below her.

The aging sergeant was huffing, his face red, his mustache drooping. It was not only his age but his injuries. Back on Baseworld, the arachtaurs had cut his leg, and while the wound was healing nicely, it was still slowing him down. The stonewolves might have hurt him too. If he had suffered injuries in that battle, Darjeeling was keeping them hidden. But Emily saw the sweat on his brow.

"It's all right, Mr. Darjeeling. I'm sure this clawship is safe. If any rahs were in here, they died long ago."

She crawled into the hole, turned on her helmet's flashlight, and swept the beam from side to side. About a meter below, a rickety deck spread toward deeper shadows. Crooked beams supported a rusty deckhead. Holes and cracks revealed levels below and above.

A few rocks lay strewn on the deck, roughly the size of potatoes. As Emily shined her light on them, the rocks opened little white eyes. They hissed and rolled away, vanishing into holes and cracks. Perhaps they were Cleodora's version of rats. So far, Emily had discovered several lifeforms here. These little rocky creatures. The barnacles on the hull. The stonewolves. And finally, there were the Aeolians themselves—though she had only seen dead ones. All of them had something in common. They had stony exteriors. Most likely, they had all evolved from a common ancestor, though the stonewolves seemed to be blended with rah DNA, akin to arachtaurs.

"It seems safe," Emily said. "From what I can see at least."

She helped Darjeeling climb inside, and the others followed, entering the Devourer's shadows.

* * * * *

On the inside, the Devourer was like some rotting whale of metal. Beams rose everywhere, some crooked, others cracked, forming a dilapidated rib cage. Decks spread between them, full of holes and cracks. Gears the size of watermills rusted in the depths like the shattered segments of a spine. Engine components as large as houses still clung to their foundations like ossified organs clinging to a titan's bones. The companions could not see very far. Their flashlights could only reveal glimpses of the ruin. Most of the ship still lay in darkness.

The wildlife of Cleodora had invaded this place. Stony barnacles grew over the beams and machinery like a cancer. Other stones were mobile, rolling from here to there and peering with white eyes from the darkness. Mineral deposits whitened some bulkheads, though Emily wondered if they might be a sort of local fungus. On Cleodora, the line between life and mineral blurred.

"How are we going to find the black box in here?" Darjeeling muttered. "This place is a proper mess."

"It must be killing you, old man," Stowy said. "I know how much you hate any mess on the Freedom."

He shook his fist at her. "Most of those messes are your fault."

"My fault?" Stowy leaned back and placed a hand on her heart. "You wound me." She glanced at Meytal. "Seriously, the man cannot stand any clutter. He once lost his temper just because I dropped a few crumbs onto the galley deck."

Darjeeling's face reddened. "Crumbs? Crumbs? The starship Freedom was hosting the wedding of the Princess of Monaco. And you ate her wedding cake!"

Stowy raised his finger, opened her mouth to argue, then frowned. "Oh. Right. I suppose I did. But in my defense, I only ate a little."

"I found you sitting in the middle of the cake, icing covering you from head to toes."

Stowy blushed. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I like cake."

Emily couldn't help but smile. She had not seen much of the Freedom during her long days as a museum ship. The same day Emily had first visited the Freedom—Christmas of 2199—the rahs had attacked. The Freedom had become a warship again. But for many years before that, she was a tourist attraction. She hosted weddings, galas, ceremonies, and school trips. Darjeeling, back then, had dedicated himself to entertaining, not fighting. The worst he had to face then was the dreaded Stowy. Those had been more innocent times.

My own life was even more innocent, she thought.

It was hard to believe that just a few years ago, she had been a sheltered princess, growing up in a palace. She had never dreamed of an alien invasion. Never dreamed of losing her family and inheriting the throne. Certainly, Emily had never dreamed of joining the Free Alliance Fleet, flying a thousand light-years from home, and exploring a lost civilization. Her life had hardy come out the way she had planned. But perhaps it was always like that. What was the old saying? Man plans and God laughs. Well, that applied to princesses too, it seemed.

"Hey everyone!" Stowy called from ahead. "I found something!"

Emily looked up, waking from her daydream. Stowy was far ahead in shadows.

"Wait for us, Stowy," Emily said. "And remember—don't yell. You have a comlink built into your helmet. Just speak normally and I'll hear you."

"Um … does that mean you've all heard me talking to myself?" Stowy said.

Niles answered, his voice carrying across the comlink network. "I've heard enough about pet axolotls, flea circuses, and mice armies to last a lifetime. Truly they are the ravings of a madwoman."

Meytal growled. "She's not mad, she's autistic!"

Niles glared at the commando. "She could be both." When Meytal drew her handgun, the drone squeaked and fled behind Emily.

"Just come over already!" Stowy yelled at the top of her lungs.

Everyone winced, deafened.

"Sorry," Stowy whispered.

Emily kept walking across the rickety deck. It was slow going. Cracks and holes were everywhere, exposing a steep drop into darkness. But the areas without holes were even more dangerous; half the time, the decks creaked and shifted underfoot, threatening to send Emily falling to her death. Maybe for Stowy, who had spent years crawling through the dark ducts of the Freedom, this was a cakewalk. But Emily had to take step by careful step, shining her flashlight at her feet.

She reached a wide crack on the deck and paused. Emily shined her flashlight down, revealing the dark bowels of the ship, an underworld full of rusting gears, cables, and pistons, all overgrown with stony lumps. Creatures hissed and scurried away from the light. Vertigo swept over Emily. She tilted forward, feeling faint.

Darjeeling grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back.

"Watch your step, ma'am."

She gulped. "Thank you, Mr. Darjeeling."

Sweat dripped into her eyes. Sadly, with her visor, she could not wipe it away.

"Come on!" Stowy cried from the far side. "Just jump. It's not far."

Emily nodded, took a few steps back, then ran and leaped over the crack.

She reached the far edge—but barely. Only her toes reached the other side. Her heels hung over the depths. She tilted backward, arms windmilling. Thankfully, Stowy was there to pull her to safety.

"Thank you." Emily breathed out shakily, her heart racing. "I used to think myself rather athletic. But I suppose riding horses at Windsor Castle isn't much like vaulting over clawship engine rooms."

The others jumped next. Meytal and Arav vaulted over the crack with ease, while Niles simply flew across. Darjeeling had a bit more trouble, what with his wounded leg. He barely made the jump. Both Emily and Stowy had to catch him.

"I'm all right, I'm all right!" Darjeeling said. "Just a bit slower on my feet than I used to be, I suppose." He harrumphed, mustache bristling. "When you're my age, I doubt you'll jump half as far."

But Emily noticed the sweat on his brow, the pallor to his skin.

"Are you injured, Mr. Darjeeling?" she said softly. "You had a nasty brawl with that stonewolf."

"I'm fine, I assure you, ma'am. I am, as ever, your protector."

He's a noble man, but too proud for his own good sometimes, Emily thought.

"How about we all rest for a bit?" Emily said. "We've had a long walk here."

"What?" Stowy exclaimed. The girl placed her hands on her hips. "No way! I'm not tired at all."

"I am," Emily said, glancing at Darjeeling again.

The old man was huffing and swaying on his feet. But he puffed his chest out and raised his chin. "I am prepared to go on! But if her majesty is weary, perhaps we should rest."

* * * * *

They all sat down on the rusty deck. They drank water from retractable straws inside their helmets. They had no food. This was already a long time to be in spacesuits. Their oxygen would not last forever. Darjeeling leaned back, winced, and closed his eyes. Meytal busied herself with sharpening her katana and checking all her guns. Arav sat in a lotus position and meditated.

"Emily?" Stowy scooched up toward her.

"Yes, Stowy?"

Stowy leaned against her. They sat together, overlooking the crack in the deck.

"Are we going to die here?" Stowy asked, her voice perfectly casual. As if she were asking about the weather.

"What? Stowy! No." She slung her arm around the girl. "Of course not."

"But Abraxas said we would. He said he'll kill us all. Not just us. All humans."

Emily held Stowy closer. "We're going to stop him. Don't you worry, Stowy. Don't be scared."

"I'm never scared. That's the problem. I don't get scared. I don't get sad. I don't feel anything." Stowy looked at her, her eyes large and curious. "But sometimes I think I scare people. I know I'm different. I know people think I'm weird."

A warm sadness filled Emily, melting over her heart. "First of all, Stowy, I know that you have feelings. You feel happy all the time. Everyone loves to see your smile."

"Not me," Niles interjected.

"Go away, eavesdropper!" Stowy cried, waving the drone aside. Niles huffed and flew off.

Emily stifled a smile and continued. "And you get sad sometimes. I've seen you sad. And I know that you feel love. You love Mr. Algernon. And you love your friends aboard the Freedom."

"I love you," Stowy said. "I suppose there's that."

Emily laughed. "I suppose there is. As for being weird, well, we're all a bit weird here."

"Not me," said Niles.

"I said beat it!" Stowy shouted and tossed a rock at him. Niles snorted and hovered behind a pillar.

"As I was saying, we're all weird," Emily said. "Being weird is good. I would hate to be ordinary."

Niles flew up to them.

Stowy rolled her eyes. "What do you want now, Niles? Any more insults?"

"No. Not this time." Niles hovered before Stowy. "I just wanted to say … you are a nuisance, you are a thief, and you are positively infested with lice—"

"Niles, you said no insults!" Stowy said.

"I haven't finished." Niles cleared his throat—not that he had an actual throat, but he enjoyed making the sound. "As I was saying, you are a filthy, flea-bitten, ill-mannered—"

"Niles!" Emily said.

"All right, all right!" Niles said. "Anyway, Stowy … sometimes, when you're not causing a mess, you're barely tolerable."

"Awww!" Stowy beamed. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." She hugged the drone. "I love you."

"Let me go! You're getting lice on me." Niles flew back and shook like a bird ruffling its feathers. "I hope you enjoyed that compliment, because I'll never give you one again. Good day."

He flew off.

"He's a sweetheart!" Stowy said.

Darjeeling rose to his feet. "All right, everyone. We've rested enough. Come on, on your feet! We've got a black box to find." He reached down a hand for Emily. "Are you well rested, ma'am?"

She took his hand and stood up. "Quite. I've seen the wreckage of rah ships on Earth. I believe I know where to look for the black box. The rahs might look like mere bugs, but they build sophisticated computers and navigate among the stars. We'll find their computer deep inside the ship." She pointed down into the pit. "Down there. In the shadows."

Everyone looked into the chasm. Their flashlights barely pierced that darkness. The crack seemed to extend across multiple decks, revealing all the circles of hell.

* * * * *

"And how do you suppose we get down there?" Meytal asked. She sheathed her sharpened katana.

"We climb," Emily said.

"How?" Meytal twirled a handgun around her finger, then holstered it in a single fluid movement. "Stowy could probably make it. She can climb anywhere. What about the old man?" She looked into the pit. "Hell, I'm not sure I can climb down there either."

Emily pointed. "Look. We'll use those."

Everyone turned to stare, aiming their flashlights. The beams fell on dangling strands of silk. They hung from a beam above.

"We'll use those as ropes and rappel down," Emily said.

Meytal drew her handgun and aimed at the web. Darjeeling shouldered his rifle. Even Arav awoke from his meditation and drew his crystal blade.

"It's only old webbing," Emily said.

"Old webbing would have decayed by now," Meytal said. "There are live rahs in here."

Emily blinked. "What? No. Impossible. I doubt any rahs survived the crash. Even if they had, that was centuries ago. They'd have all died of old age."

Meytal would not lower her gun. "Webs are organic material. Organic material decays."

"Some organic material decays," Emily admitted. "But we don't know how long rah webs normally last. Maybe they're like plastic. Maybe they can survive forever. Sort of like rah claws or Aeolian shells. But all right, let's be cautious. Just in case."

They approached the cobwebs, guns raised. Indeed, they found no rahs. The strands had lost their stickiness. They were gray instead of white, withered and rubbery but still strong.

Emily grabbed one cobweb and gave it a mighty tug, really leaning into it. The strand did not rip.

"These'll do," she said. "We can—"

A vision flooded over her.

Suddenly Emily was somewhere else. She stood in a cave deep underground. Somehow she knew she was deep. The weight of a world seemed to crush her. This was a secret place. A buried place. A place far from starlight or sunlight.

An ancient, withered web hung in the chamber, sagging and bristling with a million little hairs. A white spider lurked in the center of the web. At first, Emily mistook it for a cocooned corpse. But no, it was a rah. A small rah, not much larger than a cat, wrinkled like a raisin. The legs were translucent like the hollow shafts of feathers.

The rah did not move. Its eyes were sunken into little pits. Perhaps it had no eyes at all. It gave no sign of life. But those legs rested upon the web. Those legs were connected to the strands. And Emily had a terrible sense that the entire web was a living thing, that it spread much farther than this chamber, that its tendrils spanned the darkness of space and engulfed worlds.

"Emily . . .," the spider hissed.

"Emily!" Stowy shook her. "Emily, are you all right?"

Emily blinked. She found herself back inside the Devourer, holding the silk strand.

"Yes, I'm … I'm fine. I think." She looked around. "I …"

"What is it?" Darjeeling said. "What happened? Tell me."

She took a deep breath. "I don't quite know. When I touched the web, I had a brief vision. I think only a few seconds long. I saw …" She shuddered. "A white spider. A rah. But a very small one. Not a hunter. Not an orbweaver. A gazer, I think."

The companions glanced at one another.

Stowy grabbed a strand of cobwebs.

"Careful!" Emily said.

Stowy stood there, holding the strand. Everyone looked at her.

"Nothing," Stowy said.

They all tried it. Nobody had any visions. Emily grabbed a few more strands but nothing happened.

"Maybe I just imagined it," Emily said.

Arav examined the cobweb closely. He passed his hands over it, closed his eyes, and whispered something under his breath. Finally he looked at Emily.

"I don't think you imagined it," he said. "There is a feeling to this web. A pale aura, one I can barely sense. But it's there. I believe you experienced a spark of psychic energy. It must have been building up here for years, undisturbed. By touching it, you set it off. Like static electricity. Now the vision is gone."

Emily bit her lip. "In my vision, I saw a web in a cave. And I had the overpowering sense that the web was somehow larger than I experienced. The center of a great network. Could this web be connected to that one?"

"I don't see how," Darjeeling said. "This ship crashed centuries ago. Nothing connects it to the rest of the rah empire."

"Maybe just psychic residue after all," Emily said. "Just the echo of a ghost."

A ghost who knew my name, she thought, daring not speak of that part. It still chilled her bones.

Meytal gave her a long, hard stare. "Not a ghost, Emily. You saw Elder'rah. The empress of spiders."

Emily gulped. "No human has ever seen her."

"No," Meytal said. "But we've all heard the tales. A pale little spider in a cave. That's how the rahs we captured all describe her. That's who you saw."

Emily felt as if spiders were crawling down her spine.

"In any case, let's climb down there. Our oxygen tanks won't last forever, so let's hurry, find that black box, and get back to the Raven." She drew her crystal dagger and began cutting off cobwebs. "Help me and we'll fashion some ropes."

* * * * *

Soon they were rappelling down into the depths. Emily moved a little too fast for comfort. But the clock was ticking. Her oxygen tank was almost half empty. Very soon now, they'd have to leave this shipwreck, rush across the ruins, and return to the Raven where more oxygen awaited.

Whatever had cracked open the deck had dug deep into the bowels of the ship. Perhaps a mighty blow from an Aeolian vessel had tunneled through the Devourer. Or perhaps over time, the structure of the ship had simply weakened, and sinkholes naturally opened up, plunging through layers of decks. Whatever the case, it gave the companions a shaft downward into the dark.

As they delved deeper, they passed by deck after deck. It was like being a miner, plunging deep into the earth and passing by geological eras. Emily shined her flashlight into the decks they passed. Dilapidated webs hung in these decks too, gray and decaying. Wind moaned through the ship, stirring the webs. They danced like ghosts.

Emily descended another deck, clinging to her makeshift rope. She peered into the shadows, and her flashlight landed on—

"Rahs!" she cried and aimed her handgun.

At once, Meytal and Darjeeling swung on their strands toward her and aimed their guns too. But then Emily relaxed.

"Only more claws," she said. "Dead rahs."

The claws thrust from the rusty deck like brambles. A few claws hung from the webs. Emily swept her beam from side to side. Boulders lay across this deck, some cracked open, revealing bones. Aeolian shells. So a battle had raged inside the Devourer too. Maybe that was what brought the great clawship down.

"Plucky little bastards, the Aeolians," Meytal said. "They must have been great warriors. Balls of solid stone."

As they descended deeper, they reached an underworld of machinery. Gears rose around them like crowns of fossilized dragons. Cables draped everywhere like the shed skins of serpents. Some of this machinery was familiar to Emily. Anywhere in the galaxy, a technological civilization would invent basic machinery like gears and pistons. But other components were alien. She found machines shaped like towering skulls, and cables ran from their eye sockets to dusty pipes. One machine was shaped like a towering metal spider with a hundred legs, each leg ending with a hammer. Other machines looked like metal spines, twisting and coiling everywhere, sprouting claws.

Everything was rusting. Bolts and nails lay fallen on every surface. The stone barnacles clung to the metal bones of the ship. Emily had once visited sick children at the Royal London Hospital, and during her tour of the place, she viewed the skeleton of the Elephant Man. She still remembered all those lumps growing across the poor man's bones. That was what the inside of the Devourer reminded her of. A skeleton covered with tumors.

Her feet touched solid deck. She had reached the bottom of the ship. Gratefully, Emily released the rope and rubbed her hands. Her muscles ached and her heart pounded. It had been a long climb down. The others touched down around her. Darjeeling and Arav leaned over, out of breath, and Meytal shook her limbs to loosen them.

"What took ya so long?" Stowy sat on a nearby gear, chewing bubble gum.

"We can't all be sneaks like you," Darjeeling said, still out of breath.

Stowy gasped. "He called me a sneak. Meytal, sic him! Dracarys, dracarys!"

Meytal sat down with a groan. "Later. I'm resting now. And you are a sneak."

Emily herself was exhausted. But she checked her oxygen tank. It had dropped below the fifty percent level.

"We don't have time to rest," she said. "On your feet, everyone. We must find the rah logs, then haul ass to the Raven."

Everyone stared at her. Stowy's jaw unhinged.

"Queen Emily! Did you actually say haul ass?" Niles demanded. The drone reeled toward Stowy. "This is all your fault, urchin! You're a bad influence."

"Aww, first I'm barely tolerable. Now I'm a bad influence." Stowy smiled and placed a hand on her heart. "You do love me."

"Yes, I said haul ass!" Emily said. "We're low on oxygen. Abraxas is still hunting us. Excuse me if I'm rude. But we don't have time." She softened her voice. "I know we're all tired, but we're almost there. Let's keep going. Mr. Darjeeling, are you ready?"

He rose to his feet and saluted. "Always, ma'am."

"Then come, everyone. Let's find those ship logs."

They kept walking, delving deeper into the mechanical hell of the Devourer.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Emily led her companions among the mechanical bowels of the Devourer. The gears, pistons, and coiling metal spines rose around them, twice or thrice their height. Walking here, Emily could forget that she was on Cleodora, the homeworld of the Aeolians. It felt like walking through a mechanical hell. The world outside disappeared. There was only the rust, the shadows, and the endless landscape of the machine.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Meytal asked. The Israeli commando walked beside Emily, her rifle shouldered. Her eyes were narrowed, scanning the darkness. Covered in war paint, her face was nearly invisible behind her visor.

"A rah computer," Emily said. "Mr. Darjeeling and I have seen one before. Do you remember, Mr. Darjeeling?"

The mustached sergeant nodded. "How could I forget, ma'am?" He turned toward Meytal, who had not been there. "It was at the depths of the underground oceans of Europa. We battled an aquatic rah, a nefarious beast the size of a giant squid, and infiltrated the rahs' underwater lair. There, past corridors full of spiders, we—"

"Boring!" Stowy said. "Get to the end of the story already. I want to hear what happens at the end!"

Darjeeling's mustache bristled. "You were there, urchin! Not that we wanted you tagging along."

"I know I was there." Stowy rolled her eyes. "But I want to hear the story! Well, the end of the story at least. Skip the boring parts."

"The boring parts?" Darjeeling bristled. "In future years, young lady, poets will sing songs of our heroism in that underwater realm."

"Lullabies, maybe," Stowy said.

Emily cleared her throat. "Meytal, ignore them. In short, we've seen a rah computer before. They're not like human computers. They're a lot bigger, clunkier, and less sophisticated. The rahs have incredible genetic technology, powerful starships, and a mastery of spaceflight. But their computers are crude machines. The one we saw looked a little like a tree made of bones, and marbles were rattling around through it. Crystals hung from the computer like Christmas ornaments, containing the data. Rah hard drives. That's what we're looking for."

Meytal nodded. "Got it. A giant Christmas tree made of bones. That'll be hard to miss."

Stowy's eyes lit up. "Can we get a Christmas tree of bones for the starship Freedom? Oh please! We can use Mr. Darjeeling's bones after he passes away."

"Stowy!" Emily said. "Be nice. Apologize to Mr. Darjeeling."

"But—"

"Stowy!"

The girl gulped, placed her hands behind her back, and looked at her feet. "I'm sorry, Mr. Darjeeling. That was terribly rude of me." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Your bones are probably too brittle anyway."

"What was that?" Darjeeling boomed.

Emily interjected quickly. "She said she's a very naughty girl, and she'll go to bed without her supper."

"I—" Stowy began.

"Enough!" Emily snapped. "Hurry up, everyone."

They walked through the forest of machinery, seeking a tree of bones. Emily swept her flashlight from side to side, riling shadows into demonic dances. Stony little creatures narrowed their eyes and rolled away. The beams of light could barely pierce these shadows. These helmets had ultraviolet vision, heat detection, comlinks, and all the bells and whistles—other than night vision. So flashlights it was.

Emily had studied crashed clawships on Earth. She had never been inside one, but she had seen photos, videos, and schematics. This one looked different. The clawships humans had captured had featured smaller, simpler engine rooms. But this place felt like a cathedral to steam age gods. Metal spines rose everywhere, serpentine, forming arches and bridges and mezzanines, sprouting metal claws. Pipes rose all around like organs. Iron vents bloomed open on the ceiling like mouths locked in silent screams, a demonic choir trapped in time.

"This clawship is old," she said. "Much older than the ones that attacked Earth."

She walked deeper, absentmindedly passing her hand through some dangling cobwebs.

Her hand stuck.

Emily tried to pull her hand free. The webs clung on.

"What?" she whispered, staring at the webs. They were pale white and gleamed with sticky glue.

Stowy let out a sudden cry. "I'm stuck!"

Emily whipped her head around. Stowy, for all her sneakiness, had walked right into a cobweb. Perhaps she had done so intentionally as a game. The girl was stuck. She wriggled around, only entangling herself further.

"Everyone—freeze!" Emily cried. "The webs here. They're sticky. They're …"

Her voice faded away, but everyone was thinking the same thing.

They're fresh.

* * * * *

With one hand, Emily raised her assault rifle. It was clumsy to hold with one hand. If not for the strap across her shoulder, she would have dropped it. But her second hand was still stuck in the webs.

Darjeeling and Meytal, still free, raised their own guns. Even Arav, after a moment of reluctance, raised his dagger.

Everyone stood frozen.

Nothing happened.

Maybe these are old webs too, Emily thought. Maybe this deep inside the ship, they didn't dry out. Maybe—

Heavy breathing sounded in the depths.

Emily stiffened. Meytal's upper lip rose to bare her teeth. Darjeeling narrowed his eyes.

It sounded like a bellows. In. Out. In. Out. A deep, raspy flow of rusty air.

Something clattered in the depths.

Something grunted.

Something stirred.

Emily squinted and aimed her flashlight at the sound. The others aimed their beams too.

The breathing stopped. The clattering silenced. They saw nothing.

"Just a machine, maybe?" Emily whispered.

A faint hiss like steel on leather sounded above. Barely audible.

Emily raised her head, aiming her flashlight at the deckhead.

Eight white eyes narrowed. Their pupils shrank to pinpoints. A jaw full of teeth opened in a terrible scream.

"A rah!" Emily cried.

"Aww, it's cute," Stowy said.

It was not a regular rah. She saw that at once. Wrong color. Wrong shape. But she could not get a closer look. She opened fire. An instant later, the others fired their own guns.

The rah scurried away at lightning speed. Emily had never seen a living creature move so fast. Their gunfire hit the deckhead and sprayed back down, nearly hitting the companions. Within a split second, the spider vanished into shadows.

Emily yanked mightily but her hand was still stuck to the web.

"Where is it?" Darjeeling cried, sweeping his gun from side to side.

Meytal laughed. "It ran away. Like a frightened cockroach."

Emily drew her crystal blade and began sawing at the webs trapping her. But the blade only got entangled in the sticky web. Could the creature really be gone?

"I want to find that thing and kill it," Darjeeling said.

Stowy gasped. "Don't! It's cute."

Darjeeling ignored her. "Where are you, you bastard? Come out and play." He gasped and raised his rifle. "There it—"

Cobwebs flew through the darkness and draped across Darjeeling. He struggled in the sticky net, his gun cold.

The spider leaped out a second later. God, it was huge. It could devour a horse. Most rahs were black, gray, or crimson. This creature was bone white, its abdomen lumpy, its legs translucent. It reminded Emily of one of those critters found in Earth's deepest caves, evolved to survive in pitch-blackness.

Some kind of ancient rah? she wondered. Or a creature who had evolved in this shipwreck?

She gave up on trying to free her hand, aimed her assault rifle as best she could, and pulled the trigger. Her plasma bolt hit the spider's abdomen. Flames cascaded, leaving a charred welt. The spider squealed and spun toward her. Its eight eyes were like white marbles, blazing with fury. Its jaws unfolded like a paper fortune-teller, exposing fangs and strings of saliva.

Emily stumbled back. She tried to aim her assault rifle. But it tangled in the webs. She screamed in frustration. The spider advanced, jaws opening wider and wider, revealing a quivering gullet.

With a battle cry, Meytal charged, guns booming. Plasma bolts and bullets slammed into the spider, knocking it back. The pale rah screeched, turned its spinneret toward Meytal, and blasted a cobweb. The sticky strands draped over Meytal, trapping her. She cried out and fell. Arav rushed toward her, only for webs to capture him too. The monk fell, wrapped in the sticky net.

Emily was on her own. But the distraction had given her enough time to free her crystal blade.

The spider lunged at her, ready to feast.

Emily fired the dagger.

A white beam hit the spider. Right in the open jaws.

The creature scuttled back, screeching.

Emily fired another beam. This time she hit a claw, leaving a smoking hole. The spider took a few more steps back, vanishing into the shadows. The clattering feet echoed, moving farther and farther.

* * * * *

Emily sighed in relief. The strange white spider was gone, perhaps to curl up in the shadows and die.

Meanwhile, Emily was still trapped in the web. She aimed her dagger at the gossamer trapping her arm. With a few blasts, she burned through the webbing and freed herself. Quickly she moved toward Stowy and began cutting the girl loose too.

"Hey, what about us?" Meytal demanded.

Emily looked over her shoulder. Meytal, Darjeeling, and Arav were there, trapped in cobwebs. In the dim light, the Israeli commando, English sergeant, and Indian monk looked like pillars of salt.

"I'll cut you loose next," Emily said. "Hang on."

She kept sawing at the cobwebs encasing Stowy. Finally the stowaway came free, covered with sticky glue and chunks of cobwebs.

"That was cool!" Stowy said. "Can I go into the cobwebs again?"

"No," Emily said. "We need to find the computer. We—"

A terrible roar filled the darkness.

Cobwebs lassoed Emily.

Claws grabbed her and lifted her off the deck.

Emily screamed and kicked. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the terrible white spider. Her beam had carved two holes into the beast, but it was still alive and raring for revenge.

The monstrous arachnid raised her overhead, and the jaws widened below, hungry for flesh. Emily could not use her weapons. The cobwebs pinned her arms to her sides.

"Hey you!" Stowy shouted.

The spider swiveled one white eye toward her.

Stowy hurled a stone.

No—not a stone! One of the barnacles! The one she had been carrying in her pack.

The little animal extended its tentacles. It grabbed the nearest thing it could find—the spider's eyeball. And it clung on hard.

The spider roared and dropped Emily. She thumped onto the ground, still covered in cobwebs. She tried to free herself, to fight and finally slay the beast, but she could only wriggle around in the webs.

The rah stumbled a few steps back, the barnacle on its eye. The little critter only enraged the enormous spider, and it still had eyes to spare. Claws raised like a crown of blades, the pale arachnid unhinged its jaw, exposing rings within rings of teeth. Emily could only lie below, wrapped in cobwebs, gazing at the nightmare above.

Stowy ran forward and stood at Emily's side.

"Get away from her!" Stowy said. "You may be cute, but Emily is my best friend. You will not hurt her!"

The rah lunged down to bite.

Stowy fired her dagger.

The beam hit the spider between the eyes. The creature reared, exposing its underbelly. Stowy fired again, piercing the abdomen. Pale liquid oozed.

The pale rah whimpered, stumbled back, and collapsed. Its legs curled inward. Its eyes dimmed.

Stowy gaped at the beast. "I killed it. I actually killed it. Me. Stowy. A spider killer." Tears flowed down her cheeks. "What am I feeling now? Emily." She knelt beside her, whimpering. "What am I feeling?"

Still wrapped in cobwebs, Emily managed to push herself to a sitting position. "Sadness, Stowy. You feel sadness."

Stowy embraced her. They sat in silence for a moment. The stowaway kept hugging her tightly.

"Um, Stowy?" Emily said.

"Yeah?"

"You can let go now."

Stowy blushed. "I want to keep hugging you."

"You're stuck, aren't you?"

Her blush deepened. "Kinda."

After a lot of wriggling, cursing, and wincing, the girls managed to separate and cut off the cobwebs. They freed the others next.

"All right, everyone," Emily said. "It's time to keep going and find that computer."

She took a step, then paused.

"What's wrong?" Meytal asked. "Did you hear something?"

"I feel like I forgot something." Emily gasped. "Where's Niles?"

They looked around and finally found the drone. He was stuck to a pillar, covered with cobwebs, looking like some wriggling hornet's nest. He was yelling something, voice muffled. Emily managed to cut him free.

At once, Niles shot across the room, extending his tweezers, can openers, and corkscrews.

"Have at you, beasts!" he cried. "Have at you then!" Niles spotted the dead rah on the ground. "Ah, there you are, scoundrel! Thought you could hide?"

Niles dived and began poking the dead rah with his retractable butter knife.

"Um, Niles, I think he's dead already," Emily said.

Niles floated upward. "Ah, indeed he is. Yes, perhaps I was a little too savage. I get carried away when tasked with defending my queen." He raised his nose and looked at the others. "Fear not! For I have slain the beast."

Stowy opened her mouth to object. Emily shushed her. "Don't argue, Stowy. We don't have time."

Niles didn't have legs. But as he floated onward, he was practically strutting. "Follow me, humans! I shall protect you from harm. Come now! I know you're all eager to thank me, but there's no time. You can reward me later. Come on, come on now!"

Emily stifled a smile. They all followed, entering the belly of the Devourer.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

"This better work," Alice muttered.

"It'll work." Bastian gulped. "It has to work. Pretty sure it'll work."

"Or we're dead," Alice said.

The Badgers Company mustered in the Courtyard. Just them. Just one company. Just the best soldiers in the galaxy. It was all Bastian needed today.

He approached the marines. They stood in formation, wearing full battlesuits. They would follow him to hell and back. Bastian knew it. He vowed to lead them through the fire to the land beyond.

He addressed the troops.

"You're all armed with heavy Gideon assault rifles. With these guns, you've slain many enemies. But today, you're going to use something much deadlier than guns. Sex."

A few chuckles sounded in the company. Alice glared at them, shutting them up.

"You rehearsed that joke, didn't you?" she telepathized to him.

Bastian had. He ignored her for now and kept speaking to the troops.

"Or more accurately, sex pheromones. The rahs can speak like us, but they also use pheromones as an additional language. The arachtaurs are half rah, and they inherited this language of scents. Some pheromones inspire religious fervor. Others rally fellow warriors to the hunt. And some pheromones summon a mate. The sex pheromone is intoxicating to the arachtaurs. We all saw it at work on the hangar deck. And we're going to use it to our advantage."

Sergeant Hicks raised his hand. "Um, Colonel, you're not going to mate with an arachtaur, are you?"

"I didn't realize your mom was an arachtaur, Hicks," Bastian replied.

Soldiers laughed. Hicks fumed.

"All right, settle down!" Alice snapped at the soldiers. She was the brigade sergeant. It was her job to be mean. But Bastian noticed she was trying to hide a smile.

"We retrieved from the spiderwing a bottle of pheromones. Some pheromones attract female arachtaurs, others attract the males. We're going to apply some perfume, then go strutting around the ship."

The soldiers laughed again.

"Do we get to wear high heels?" somebody asked.

"Hey, sign me up for a miniskirt!" said another. "I want to do this right."

"Watch it, soldiers," Alice warned.

"First Platoon and Second Platoon," Bastian said. "You're going to put on the orange pheromones. Our ship chemist confirms it. The orange pheromones will attract female arachtaurs."

"Hey, finally Hicks might get a date!" somebody said. More laughter filled the Courtyard.

Alice didn't shut them up this time. Bastian understood. The troops needed some levity. After losing friends, after fighting this horrible war for so long, they needed a few laughs before the horror began again.

"Third and Fourth Platoons, you'll wear the pink pheromones. You'll attract the males."

One of the corporals, a New York girl named Jasmine, struck a pose. "I already do, baby. I don't need no pheromones."

"Better give her a double," somebody said.

"All right, jokers," Bastian said. "Alice will distribute to every soldier a vial containing a drop of pheromone. But don't uncork it yet. First you'll spread out across the starship. I've created a starting point for each soldier. We'll move in pairs—one marine with a pink drop, another with orange. No, you don't get to choose your partner. We've already determined everyone's positions. Once you're in position—and no, that's not a pun—you'll uncork the vial and splash some pheromones onto a rag."

"Aww, a rag?" somebody said. "Not behind our ears?"

"You can spill yours down your pants," somebody replied. "Only way you'll get lucky."

Bastian stifled a smile. "A rag will do. You don't have to put the pheromones on your own body. Unless you're really keen to. I'll be using a rag. The important thing is to get the scent out. It'll attract arachtaurs like a bitch in heat attracting hound dogs. They'll be on you in no time, looking to mate."

A few soldiers went pale. Somebody gulped.

A private raised his hand. "Um, sir? What do we do once the arachtaurs show up to, um, mate?"

"You run," Bastian said. "You run like hell."

"With a bunch of horny arachtaurs after you, I don't think you'll need much encouragement," Alice added.

"You run to the hangar deck 1," Bastian said. "We've cleared the entire deck out. You run there while wearing a battlesuit, helmet on, oxygen tank attached. And you grab on to something."

"Hopefully before an arachtaur grabs onto you," Alice said.

Some nervous laughter sounded.

"We'll use these pheromones to draw out every arachtaur on the starship Freedom," Bastian said. "We'll lead them like the Pied Piper leading the mice out of Hamelin. And once every arachtaur is on deck 1, we'll open the airlocks and blast the bastards out to hell."

Looks passed around the company. Then they all looked back at Bastian. They nodded.

"Any questions?" Bastian said.

"Just one," said Sergeant Hicks. "When do we start?"

"Right now. Sergeant Allenby? Bring the vials."

Alice had spent the past two hours in an airtight vacuum chamber—they didn't want the smell getting out—carefully spilling pheromone drops into two hundred vials. They had borrowed the vials from the Nerd Lab's chemists. Each plastic container was barely larger than a thimble.

Now Alice placed a box on a table, opened the top, and gestured inside. The vials glinted.

"Here they are, boys and girls. A hundred vials of orange, a hundred vials of pink. Step right up! Come and get 'em! One vial each. We don't have any spares, so if you break one, I'll break your nose."

Soon enough, they all had their thimble-sized vials. Bastian sent them the telepathic map, showing two hundred locations across the starship, spreading from stern to stem. Even so, they were thinly spaced. The Freedom had miles of cabins and corridors, all twisting and turning throughout the juggernaut. But even a single drop of pheromone had a large range, able to intoxicate arachtaurs through solid steel decks. Two hundred drops, spread out across the dreadnought, would be enough.

"We'll clean you up, Freedom," Bastian said softly. "We're here for you."

It was strange, but after he spoke those words, a soothing warmth flowed over him. It felt like a neural caress. He thought he heard a soft voice deep in his mind.

Thank you.

The Freedom was artificially intelligent. Sometimes it was easy to forget that when you were so small, just a cog in the great machine. But the starship was aware, she was sick, and she was thanking him.

"The arachtaurs are an infection in our beloved starship," Bastian said. "And we're the white blood cells, ready to fight it off. Godspeed, soldiers. Now let's roll!"

They roared and raced out the Courtyard, heading to their positions across the starship.

* * * * *

Bastian had paired himself up with Alice. He held a vial with a pink drop. She held an orange one.

"Ready, my love?" he asked her.

"Always."

"Then let's go."

They left the Courtyard and moved through the starship. They would begin in the stern—just above the Talaria reactor.

The Courtyard was on deck 7 of the midsection. It was a long walk from here to the stern. As the crow flew, it was not even one kilometer. But they had to walk through a labyrinth of corridors, cross bridges, take elevators, and travel several kilometers to their destination. That was the problem with a dreadnought. This was the largest ship humanity operated. It took a while to get anywhere.

Finally Bastian and Alice reached their position. They stood on a bridge overlooking the Talaria drive, which powered the mighty engines of the starship Freedom. The reactor hummed below, a ring so large it could surround a football arena. Particles raced back and forth through the ring, slamming together, and releasing massive amounts of energy. Outflow pipes stretched inward from the ring like spokes, gathering in the center into a thrumming cluster. A metal shaft sprouted there like a tree trunk, soaring toward the deckhead far above. There it split into a hundred smaller pipes like branches. Each pipe delivered energy to a piston. This was the beating heart of the starship.

When Bastian turned around on the narrow footbridge, he saw engines soaring. They were so large Bastian's mind could barely comprehend it. You could place these engines down in New York City, and they wouldn't shame any skyscraper. Indeed, the more Bastian looked, the more the engines seemed like great buildings to him. Pipes flowed into them like buttresses. Pistons rose from their facades like turrets on castles. Cables, rivets, and gears formed elaborate arches and battlements. The engines were cold right now. When they ran hot, they could propel the Freedom at breakneck speed.

He spun in a slow circle, looking at the engines, the networks of pipes and cables, the reactor, and a thousand other components he couldn't name, all filling a cavern larger than most airplane hangars. Bridges, ladders, mezzanines, and walkways connected the towering machinery, forming an elaborate network. This place seemed to him an entire city.

Many engineers worked in here. Bastian could see some far below on a walkway, a few high above on scaffolds, and some walking along a bridge. From his vantage point on the footbridge, the engineers were tiny, just ants in a hive. Somewhere in this vast mechanical city arachtaurs were lurking. This place was so large they could hide for years, emerging to strike when ready.

Bastian would draw them out and cast them into space.

He turned toward Alice. She stood on the bridge, facing him. He held her hand.

"I love you, Alice."

"More than you love cinnamon rolls?"

"Let's not take things so far."

She kissed his cheek. "Love you too, my big round cinnamon roll."

He raised his vial with a single pink drop inside. "Together?"

She raised her vial with the orange drop. "On three. Two. One."

They popped open the lids.

"Cheers," Alice whispered.

They had tested the pheromones in the lab. When sealed inside a bottle, the liquids remained dormant, not releasing any pheromones. Once spilled onto a flat surface, exposed to the air, the pheromones went wild, blasting through the room like an invisible grenade. This was probably an evolutionary advantage. The rahs produced pheromones inside their stingers. Presumably, they spilled the pheromones onto their bodies or simply the ground. Once spilled, the pheromones called out more powerfully than a megaphone.

Bastian and Alice each spilled a drop onto a handkerchief. The liquid spread, staining the fabric. Bastian couldn't smell anything, but then again, he didn't have pheromone receptors.

They waited on the footbridge. The towering Talaria engines were cold and quiet. The rumble of the reactor filled the chamber with mechanical ambiance. As Bastian stood there, listening, he became aware of other, more subtle sounds. Electricity thrumming through pipes. The cooling fans along the power coils. The hiss of steam through pipes. It all joined into a symphony, a song of the starship Freedom.

The ambiance hummed on.

Then a clatter sounded in the depths. A sound like metal striking metal.

Bastian leaned over the bridge, peering into the pit of machinery. The reactor ring reminded Bastian of a corona around a black hole. Between the power supply pipes, the deck dropped away, revealing a trench full of gears, cables, and shafts.

He heard the clatter again. It was coming from that mechanical pit.

Light flashed in the depths, then vanished. Just a spark.

Then came the sound of scuttling legs. Creatures were breathing in the shadows, grunting, whispering. Light flashed on long black legs. Claws beat against steel. Clang. Clang. Thud. Thud. A drumbeat. An alien beat. A mating song.

They bubbled up from the pit like cockroaches from a sink. Eight or nine arachtaurs. Then another and another. Soon thirty, maybe forty of the beasts clawed their way from the depths. They raced along the walls, they climbed pillars and pipes, and a few slung webs and climbed the silky strands.

They were all hurrying toward Bastian and Alice on the footbridge.

Alice made to run. Bastian grabbed her arm.

"Wait."

The arachtaurs scuttled closer. Their eyes were rolling back, and they were singing their guttural mating song.

"Um, Bastian? I don't really feel like becoming the Bride of the Spider. Can we run?"

"Wait!" he repeated.

Another arachtaur crawled out from between enormous gears. One emerged from a pipe. More arachtaurs came out from their hidey-holes. Some began climbing the pillars propping up the slender bridge. Their fangs shone.

"Bastian, can we run now?"

"Yes. Run!"

They ran, holding their pheromone-soaked handkerchiefs. And the arachtaurs followed.

The bridge rattled. As Bastian and Alice ran, the hybrids crawled over the railings, swung from webs, and clattered onto the footbridge. A male arachtaur landed right ahead of them. He leered at Alice, nostrils flaring, eyes rolling back in passion. Bastian fired a plasma bolt, knocking the amorous creature over the railing. It tumbled into the mechanical depths.

More kept emerging from the pit. Bastian couldn't shoot all of them. He didn't need to. He would lead these creatures to their tomb.

He fired again, knocking back another arachtaur, and ran across the footbridge. Finally he reached a hatch.

"Alice, go first."

"Why me?"

"I'll guard the rear."

She gasped. "I'm not some damsel in distress! My rear needs no guarding. I—"

"Fine, I'll go first, just come on!"

He ran through the hatch, and she followed. The arachtaurs kept chanting behind them, racing to follow. Their stingers drummed against their abdomens. The bass notes rippled through the air.

Bastian raced through the ship, heading down the narrow, twisting corridors. A service hatch clanged open. A warty arachtaur emerged, nostrils flaring, and joined the chase. A gravity plate flew from the deck, dented and sparking. An arachtaur with gray skin and burned hands crawled from below, gave a guttural cry, and chanted with his brothers and sisters. More and more kept emerging, and Bastian and Alice ran.

Across the starship, spacers hid in their bunks. Only critical officers still manned their stations, and they watched through bulletproof windows. A few prayed. Everyone knew what was happening. The entire ship had prepared. This was a day of purification. Of rededication. On this day the angels of death passed through the starship Freedom.

Bastian checked in with his troops telepathically. The other Badgers were running through the rest of the ship, luring arachtaurs out from hiding. Hundreds, maybe thousands of arachtaurs were flowing through the corridors now, caught in a trance.

This all began with a single arachtaur we brought aboard, Bastian thought. Within days, she became thousands.

These chimeras were designed to overwhelm humanity. But they were still half animal. Half spider. Their human minds could not resist their alien instincts. Empress Elder'rah had crafted a genetic terror. But Bastian had found the flaw in her design.

He traveled through the Freedom like the Pied Piper, but instead of playing his own song, those who followed him made music. The mating song rolled through the starship, deep and guttural and eerie. The beat was unrelenting, growing faster and faster, louder and louder. It nearly put Bastian himself in a trance.

The creatures grew more desperate. Some paused from singing to cry out.

"We must mate!"

"Where is the female in heat?"

"Where is the male with this musk?"

"We are ready to breed!"

"We will lay a million eggs."

"I see only humans! There are no mates."

"The scent calls! The music plays! The mating must begin."

Perhaps they knew it was a ruse. Perhaps they understood that Bastian was carrying the pheromones. But still they were helpless to resist. The urge was simply too strong, overwhelming their human minds.

And perhaps we humans are no different, Bastian thought. We too are driven by overwhelming instincts. The worship of gods. The loyalty of our tribes and the hatred of our enemies. The desperate need to protect our children. The love of our partners and our own sexual desires. Our greed, and perhaps most of all—our fear. These motivated us to build cities, raise civilizations, fight wars, to explore the stars. We are intelligent beings—humans, rahs, and arachtaurs. But we are still animals with needs we cannot resist.

"Whoa, that was uncharacteristically deep of you, Bas," Alice said.

"Stop reading my mind!"

She shrugged. "I told you a million times. Put your MindLink on private."

"I don't know how," he muttered.

She grinned. "Good. I'm your wife. I should be able to read your mind."

* * * * *

Finally they reached deck 1 and stepped into the hangar bay. They had walked through kilometers of corridors, leading a parade of monsters. Other marines joined Bastian and Alice, leading their own swarms of arachtaurs. Thousands of the creatures crowded into the hangar bay.

Bastian rolled his pheromone-soaked cloth into a ball and tossed it across the deck. Arachtaurs leaped toward it. Other marines began tossing their own stained cloths. The arachtaurs chased them like dogs after tennis balls, unable to resist the chemical lure. Many of them, overwhelmed with desire, began to mate with one another.

Bastian sent a telepathic message to everyone in the company.

"Badgers—fall back!"

"Fall back, fall back!" Alice cried.

Leaving the arachtaurs to their frenetic orgy, the marines retreated toward the hangar doors. A few arachtaurs lunged at them, eyes rolling back, claws flashing madly. Perhaps pheromones still clung to the marines. Perhaps, even in their trance, the arachtaurs were still trying to fight. Perhaps normal soldiers would have fallen before them. But now the arachtaurs faced the Badgers Company of the Freedom Brigade. And the marines mowed through them until they reached the doors.

The marines retreated into the corridors, then slammed the hatches shut. And locked them.

The arachtaurs remained in the hangar bay, trapped. They were all still entranced, drumming their relentless beat, singing their guttural song, mating, fighting, killing one another in their lust.

"Did we get them all?" Bastian said, telepathizing to everyone in the company.

"Everyone in my area, sir," somebody replied.

"Here too."

"We got 'em all, sir. Every last one of the randy bastards."

The drumbeat became irregular. The singing went off-key. A few arachtaurs roared in fury.

"Where are we?" one cried.

"How did we get here?"

"There are no mates!"

"Rags! Just rags of pheromones."

"The humans tricked us!"

Well, apparently the pheromones wear off eventually, Bastian thought.

The arachtaurs bellowed in rage. Bastian was outside in the corridor, but cameras inside the hangar showed him the view. The arachtaurs raced toward the doors. They began slamming against them, trying to break out. The hatches would not hold for long.

"Hey!" A voice sounded behind Bastian. "Did you get them all? Are you ready?"

Bastian turned to see Lee Eun-Yu. As always, the Bay Boss wore her reflective coveralls, a hard hat, and steel-tipped boots. Her tool belt hung from her waist, and she held a bloody chainsaw. Bastian had seen her slay quite a few arachtaurs with that chainsaw.

"We're ready," he said. "Will you do the honors?"

"Gladly." Eun-Yu coned her hand around her mouth and let out a deafening cry. "Airlocks—open!"

Bastian watched the camera feeds.

The airlocks, set up in advance with automatic triggers, slid open.

They were already depressurized. Four airlocks across the hangar deck, each large enough for a starfighter.

The air across the flight deck began fleeing, roaring out into space. The wind lifted arachtaurs into the air. The creatures shrieked, flailed, but the air was too powerful. One arachtaur flew backward, legs kicking, and tumbled out into space. Then another. And a third.

Desperately, the arachtaurs scrabbled for purchase. Claws scraped across the deck. But the wind caught them, dragged them out into the empty maw of the universe. Hundreds of them spilled from the starship. When Bastian switched to a camera on the hull, he watched them careen into the depths. They seemed so small. Just specks. Just droplets expelled as the Freedom sneezed them out.

Bastian switched back to the hangar camera. Many arachtaurs had managed to grab hold of something. Their claws dug into the decks, wrapped around pillars, or simply held on to the airlock doorframe. It didn't help. The entire hangar was now depressurized. The arachtaurs simply suffocated to death.

"Another weakness of their species," Bastian said. "The rahs could survive in vacuum. The arachtaurs have human lungs."

Alice nodded. "They fought like rahs. They bred like rabbits. But at the end of the day, they died like any other humans."

"Not like the marines. We proved ourselves stronger. Maybe Elder'rah will learn her lessons. Maybe she'll design a new creature, something stronger than arachtaurs."

Alice put a hand on his arm. "We'll be ready."

Bastian turned to look at other marines, who were gathering around them. He connected telepathically to everyone in his brigade. Thousands of souls. Half the crew of the starship Freedom. This time Bastian did not sway. He was not overwhelmed. They were his family.

"We won this battle. But the war is not over. Whatever new terrors the enemy sends our way, we will meet them. We will be ready. Because we are the defenders of Earth. We are the shield that guards humanity. We are the Freedom Brigade!"

Across the starship, they cheered for victory.

* * * * *

That night, Bastian returned to his cabin, so exhausted he could barely stand.

What a day.

Rowan sat on the deck, playing with Lego. She leaped up, ran toward him, and hugged him. The girl was only in second grade, but she almost knocked him down.

"Daddy! You're back!" Suddenly she was crying. "You're back."

"Of course I am, Rowan. I'll always come back."

She held him tightly. "I heard them. The monsters. They were marching right outside my door. The kids at school said the marines will fight them, and, and …" She sniffed. "I'm so glad you're back."

Bastian knelt before her. He wiped away her tears. "We won, Rowan. We killed the monsters."

She smiled shakily, tears on her cheeks. "Because you're the best soldier and toughest dad in the world?"

"Absolutely. And I'll always keep you safe, and I'll always come home to you."

A fresh tear rolled down Rowan's cheek. "Mom never came home."

Bastian pulled her into an embrace again. "I know, sweetheart. I know."

Alice stepped into the cabin too, a sad smile on her face. Rowan looked up at her. The girl hesitated, then ran toward Alice and hugged her too.

"I love you," Rowan whispered.

Alice held her tightly, and now she was crying too. "I love you too, Rowan."

She was not Rowan's mother. And she would never replace Stacy. But Alice was now a part of their family. They were the two girls Bastian loved most in the world. Watching them hug and cry, he couldn't help but shed his own tears.

He met Alice's eyes. She smiled sadly.

This is our family, and soon another will join us, he thought. A thought for her alone.

They were not ready to tell Rowan yet. That time will come. For now, Bastian joined the embrace. The three of them stood together. Three who would soon become four. And Bastian knew that they were part of a larger family. The family of the starship Freedom. And the family of all mankind. Here in the darkness, so far from home, that comforted him. That gave him hope.

That night, after he tucked Rowan into bed, Bastian had a long hot shower, then crashed onto his own bed. Alice flopped down at his side and kissed him.

"Bas?" She nuzzled him.

He was already falling asleep. His eyelids fell shut. "Huh?"

"Do you think we got them all? All the arachtaurs?"

He opened his eyes. "What? Yes. Of course we did."

Alice bit her lip. "Maybe some eggs remained somewhere, hidden. Maybe they'll hatch and keep breeding again."

"We know how to fight them now," Bastian said. "Kim is also working on an egg scanner. A sort of beam you can sweep across the ship." He yawned. "Don't worry. It'll find eggs through a solid steel blast door."

Annie reached under the bed, then pulled out something wet and wriggling. "Think it could find this egg?"

Bastian leaped out of bed at once.

Alice bit into the egg.

"What the hell?" Bastian shouted.

She winked. "A peeled tomato. Got ya." She threw the tomato at him.

Bastian groaned. "I hate you."

He flopped back onto the bed and fell asleep at once.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The crashed starship Devourer lay across the rubble, rusting away through another dawn. Light spilled across the ruins, illuminating smashed temples, crumbling cathedrals, fallen columns, and the shattered dreams of a civilization. Yet the clawship itself reflected no light. As it had for centuries, it lay there as a black stain, a beached monster of the depths, so purely a thing of darkness that even under the dawn it remained a shadow.

Deep inside the starship, a group of human explorers did not know that dawn had risen. They were walking through an underworld of dead, rusting machinery, passing through a hellscape of gears, pipes, and broken claws. There was no night or day here in the depths. There was only the cold, moaning wind, the decaying engines, and whatever scavengers lurked in the eternal night.

Finally, they found it deep within the crashed clawship. There it rose before them. The tree of bones.

The companions stood before it, for a moment silenced with awe.

It rose the height of an oak, spanning several decks, spreading out pale branches. The tree was made from the bones of a thousand enslaved races. Some bones were slender and hollow like the beaks of hummingbirds. Others were large, lumpy boughs, their bark like the skin of dead reptiles. There were many finger bones, arranged in row after row, ready to press down on webs like the hammers inside a piano poised over the strings. Thousands of bony legs grew everywhere like tassels, hovering over empty eye sockets, ready to thrust into the holes. Rib cages hung everywhere like morbid fruit. Alien skulls formed the trunk, stacked together in a totem pole of death. Anguished skulls. Screaming skulls. Skulls like horses, skulls like apes, skulls like nothing Emily had seen before.

This was not like other rah computers. Emily had encountered such a machine before, and she had imagined that its tubes looked like bones. But this tree was built of actual bones. It was not just an elaborate computer. It was a trophy display.

"So this is it," Darjeeling said, voice low. "What we came here for. A rah computer. How do we access the data inside?"

Emily bit her lip. "I don't know. The previous rah computer we found contained crystal memory banks. The crystals hung from the branches like ornaments. But I don't see any crystals in this computer."

"Maybe it's not a computer at all," said Darjeeling.

"Look at how the components are arranged," she said. "This is an elaborate machine. Remember that this clawship is old. Very old. Rah technology must have improved since then. This is an ancient rah computer. Analogous, perhaps, to humanity's Antikythera mechanism. The first computer we built was a clockwork machine too."

Stowy stepped closer. She gazed at the towering tree of bones. "It's beautiful in a way. Macabre, yes, but beautiful."

Emily tilted her head. "You know the word macabre?"

"I'm not an idiot. I'm just autistic."

"Touché." Emily returned her focus to the computer. "Okay, so … no crystals that I can see. Does this computer even have storage capacity?" She bit her lip. "Did we come all this way for nothing?"

Stowy raised her chin. "Not for nothing, for along the way, we learned about friendship."

Niles cleared his throat. "Actually, I learned to dislike you even more than usual. Which I had thought impossible."

Stowy pulled the drone into a hug. "Shut up! I heard you say earlier that you love me."

The drone struggled to free himself. "I said that sometimes—exceedingly rarely, I might add—you are not a total and utter nuisance."

"Same thing! You love me."

Emily left the pair to banter. She walked around the ancient rah computer, seeking clues. The skulls in the trunk seemed to stare at her, faces locked in eternal agony. One skull's eyes shone and blinked. Emily started. But it was only some of the living rocks nesting inside, peering out the sockets.

Gingerly, Emily reached toward the computer. A row of bony fingers curved before her, sprouting from a spine like ribs tipped with claws. She touched one of the fingers, then gently pulled it back like a revolver's hammer. The joint still moved smoothly like a freshly oiled machine. When Emily released the bony finger, it hit a strand of webbing. A hum reverberated through the chamber. Deeper inside the macabre tree, more bones moved. The machine creaked and moaned. Dust flew. Then the machine settled into stillness. The trunk and branches, Emily realized, were only the exterior. Many components of bone and web moved deeper inside this computer. It was a great abacus with a million moving parts.

"It looks like a creature," Stowy whispered. "Like the skeleton of the most complex creature that ever lived."

"Can we turn it on?" Darjeeling asked.

Emily looked around her, seeking … what, a big red button? Something caught her eye.

"Look."

A few steps away from the tree, a bone rose from the floor. It looked like a human femur but was as tall as Emily. She kicked aside piles of dust and rotted cobwebs, revealing a gear. Every tooth in the gear was made from an actual tooth—a large molar of some unknown alien.

"The bone is a lever," she said.

She normally would debate whether to push it. But their oxygen was running low. They only had moments before they had to rush back to the Raven. No time for contemplation. Emily grabbed the large bone and pushed hard.

The lever moved.

The gear turned.

Machinery clanged in the depths. Electricity crackled in the air. Dust danced on the deck. Across the chamber, pipes thrummed and metal spines moved like serpents. Fleshy bulbs like egg sacs glowed on the ceiling, casting a sickly red light. A deep, metallic hum vibrated the bulkheads and pillars. When Emily gazed through cracks on the deckhead, she saw red light ooze from the upper decks. More machinery rumbled there.

Emily retreated from the lever. She felt the blood drain from her face.

"Boss?" Stowy whispered. "I think you just turned on the entire clawship."

And then the computer of bones began to move. The thousands of fingers rose and fell like skeletons playing piano. Bones creaked up and down. The skulls in the trunks opened and closed their jaws. The branches of bone spun and danced like skeletons in a graveyard. Strands of webbing tugged the bones like marionettes. Joints swiveled. The entire tree seemed like a great organism with countless fingers, legs, arms, all performing some elaborate task that seemed part mechanical and part organic. The tree was waking up.

Marbles flowed through hollow bones, clanged against joints, and activated more moving parts. Emily squinted, staring closer. Wait. Those were not marbles! The tree of bones at Europa had contained marbles. But here, tiny skulls rolled through the hollow bones. The skulls were no larger than acorns. They fell with a rhythmic clatter. A drumbeat. A chant. A clattering prayer.

Then air moved through the tree. Bellows inflated and deflated. Wind blew through hollow bones. The computer sounded like winter wind through a graveyard. Like the dead awaking from their graves. Like the brass section of a ghostly orchestra.

"It's alive," Stowy whispered. She clutched Emily's hand.

Meytal raised her gun. But Emily waved her down.

The bony fingers, the thousands of them, suddenly pulled back, leaving the strands of cobweb to vibrate until they were still. Bones clattered deep inside the tree. Bellows deflated among the branches, and wind flowed through the trunk. The large skulls that covered the trunk like a totem pole opened their jaws. The wind emerged like ghostly voices.

The tree of bones spoke.

Not with a true voice. It was the voice of wind and bone. An ancient voice of a distant forest. The voice of a lost god finally awoken from slumber, finding the world changed and all his followers nothing but dust.

The tree spoke the tongue of rahs. Emily's MindLink translated. She understood these eerie words.

"The . . . bones … listen."

The companions glanced at one another.

Emily took a step closer to the tree of bones.

"Can you hear me?"

The bones rattled. The bellows inflated and deflated again. Then Emily noticed they were not bellows at all. They were fleshy organs of translucent skin, veined and pulsing. The voice emerged again.

"The . . . bones … listen."

Meytal leaned toward Emily and spoke from the side of her mouth. "I think that's all it can say."

The tree rattled again. The branches moved like a demonic carousel. The wind blew through the skulls' jaws.

"The . . . bones … can … say … many things. The bones … listen."

Emily's eyes widened. "You're not a regular computer, are you? You don't have monitors or hard drives. But you can think. You can provide information."

The wind moaned through the bones. "Yesss …"

"What happened to this ship?" Emily said. "How did it crash?"

The tiny skulls rattled through the hollow bones. "The … stonemen … attacked. They … invaded me. They … killed my children. I fell from the sky."

Stonemen, huh? Emily guessed the computer meant the Aeolians.

"You fell?" she asked. "Do you mean you, as in this tree of bones?"

"I … the Devourer."

Her eyes widened. "You're not just a computer. You're the brain of the ship. You are the ship, aren't you?"

Like Mimori aboard the Freedom, she thought.

"Is that how the Aeolians defeated you?" Emily asked. "By invading your starships?"

"Do not . . . know … Aeolians."

Of course not. Aeolian was the word humans used. She was speaking English, letting her helmet translate the words to the tongue of rahs. The words emerged from her speaker as clicks, clatters, and hisses. Apparently, the software couldn't translate Aeolian yet.

"Is that how the, um, stonemen defeated you?" Emily asked. "They invaded your ships?"

"The stonemen … were everywhere. Their ships … disappeared and reappeared like ghosts."

Emily's eyes widened. "They used portals?"

"No … we saw no portals. Portals can be … foreseen. The stonemen just … skipped through space. We … could not hit them. Could not … predict where they would emerge. We … destroyed their world. We toppled their cities. We slew billions of them. But their ships fought on."

"What happened to those ships?" Emily had found only three Aeolian starships among the ruins. Surely, to defeat the rahs, they had flown thousands.

"They . . . cast me down from the sky," said the tree of bones. "They … destroyed my brothers. Only some of the Great Web survived. They fled."

"If the stonemen won, where are they now?" Emily said. "What happened to those pilots who defeated you? Why didn't they rebuild this world?"

"Too many stonemen died … too many cities … in ruin. They left me here among the dead. They flew away. Only I remain."

Excitement tickled Emily's belly. Some Aeolians were still alive! And they did have a weapon that defeated the rahs!

"Where did they fly to?" she asked, unable to conceal her excitement.

"The stonemen flew to …"

The wind stilled. The computer's voice died.

"What happened?" Stowy demanded. The tree wasn't moving, wasn't speaking.

Emily frowned. She gingerly touched one of the bones.

Suddenly the computer blazed back to life. All the bones moved and spun and danced. The thousands of finger bones spread out. The skulls' jaws unhinged. A few jawbones detached entirely and clattered onto the deck. Wind blew through the computer, emerging as a deep, thunderous voice.

"She comes for us! We are not forgotten!"

The entire starship shook. The lights brightened on this deck and the decks above. Engines rumbled and cables flailed like eels, crackling with electricity.

"What the hell?" Meytal shouted.

The deck shook. Everyone swayed on their feet.

"Who's coming for you?" Emily cried to the tree of bones.

But the strange computer seemed not to hear her. The skulls in the trunk laughed. The branches rattled like a gruesome chandelier.

"I am here! Come to me, sister! I am the Devourer! Come to me, God's Tomb!"

* * * * *

God's Tomb.

The words froze Emily's heart.

"He found us," she whispered. "Abraxas found us."

The computer of bones laughed. "Finally, my kin return! Come to me, God's Tomb! Liberate me! I am awake. I am ready to rise again!"

Emily heard it then. Even above the din of the Devourer's machinery and cackling computer, she heard engines far above. Sonic booms rattled the air.

Emily turned and ran, leaving the computer.

"Come on, everyone!" she cried. "We gotta race back to the Raven!"

"It's five klicks away!" Arav shouted, running after her. "We'll never make it."

The deck creaked below their feet. They were on the lowest level of the Devourer, the pit of its belly. The gears turned all around. Rust rained. The tiny stone animals fled into holes.

"Running to the Raven is the only thing we can do," Emily said. "Abraxas knows where we are. We gotta get off this planet."

And we need more oxygen, she thought. Her tank had dropped to a third. Even without Abraxas here, they'd have to run.

They reached the sinkhole that clove through the ship, dorsal hull down to underbelly, like some mechanical titan's esophagus. The cobweb ropes they had woven still hung there. Emily stared upward through layers and layers of decks.

The sky was dark. The stars shone. It felt like standing in a well. Emily activated her visor's zoom feature. Her vision soared through the shaft and peered into the sky.

There it flew. Still a hundred klicks high but descending fast. It was right above them. A starship shaped like a spider. God's Tomb.

Emily was down here inside the crashed Devourer, and God's Tomb was far above, but she felt connected to that ship by some invisible thread. All the world disappeared. It was just them. Devourer and God's Tomb. Queen and arachtaur. Emily and Abraxas.

God's Tomb was roaring downward, riling the clouds, and she saw a shadow in the porthole. A black figure in a red room. Staring at her.

She could almost see him smile.

Suddenly her ears rang. Static crackled. She let out a cry.

He was forcing his way into her comlink. She groaned, clutched her helmet, and bent over. His voice emerged from the speakers, deafening.

"I will not kill you easily, Emily of Earth. You defied me. I will not bomb you to oblivion from the sky and let you die painlessly. You will be my bride."

Emily screamed, pawing at the controls at the side of her helmet. Finally she manually shut down the comlink.

"Climb!" she shouted. "He wants us alive. He'll be here soon. We must get out and make to the Raven!"

She grabbed a rope and began shimmying up. The others climbed around her. It had taken a long time to rappel this deep. It would take even longer to climb out. And God's Tomb kept flying down—much faster than they could clamber up.

We're not going to make it, Emily thought.

The sound of roaring engines dropped to a rumble. No more sonic booms shook the world.

Emily looked up and zoomed in again. God's Tomb had paused ninety klicks up. The arachnid ship hovered in the upper atmosphere, blasting its thrusters.

It can't descend any lower, she realized. It's too big for this much atmosphere.

Then, like a mother spider releasing her babies, God's Tomb launched her shuttles. Emily watched, frozen in terror. But just for a second. Then she kept climbing.

"We'll never make, dammit!" Meytal shouted, climbing a rope to Emily's right. "We gotta make our stand here in the Devourer."

"We'd die in here!" Emily said, climbing faster.

Everyone kept climbing. But it was still quite a few decks to the exit. And the shuttles were racing down fast.

"Emily," Meytal said, voice softer now. "We won't make it out. We have to hunker down here."

Emily bit her lip and glanced at Darjeeling. The old sergeant clung to a rope nearby. He met her gaze and nodded. "I must be honest, ma'am. Sergeant Koren is right. There's still too much to climb. We won't make it out before those shuttles reach us."

Emily looked up again. Ten shuttles were descending. Maybe more which she couldn't see through the hatch. Each one could probably carry a squad of arachtaurs. What chance did they have?

"The bridge of the Devourer," Emily said. "We must make it to the bridge. We'll fight from the bridge."

The shuttles zoomed down. Their roaring engines shook the Devourer. They were only moments away now.

"Only one little detail," Meytal said. "Where is the bridge?"

Niles cleared his throat. "I believe I can be of assistance." While everyone else was clinging to the gossamer ropes, Niles was hovering in the shaft.

"Niles!" Emily said. "You know where the bridge is?"

"Of course I do. I saw it when you were all rappelling downward. I have night vision." He raised his silver nose. "You don't?"

Emily tightened her grip on the rope. She was slipping. "What deck is the bridge, Niles?"

"I'm not telling you."

"Niles!" everyone cried.

The drone looked away, his silver nose raised high. "Fighting these devils is futile. Surrender is a perfectly acceptable option at times like these. We shall hand over our names and serial numbers, and I'm sure the arachtaurs will treat us with all the dignity dictated by the Oslo Convention."

Meytal fumed and drew her handgun. "I swear I'm going—"

"Niles, the arachtaurs aren't bound by the Oslo Convention," Emily said.

"Of course they are! They're half human."

"Well, then, maybe they'll only cut half of you to pieces," Emily said.

The drone swiveled toward her. "Surely you're not suggesting they will torture us?"

"Pretty sure Abraxas told me just that in my comlink," Emily said.

Niles gasped. "The scoundrel! Very well." He thrust out his myriad of butter knives and corkscrews. "A fight it is then. Follow me, meat sacks! The bridge is only one deck up. I shall lead you to victory! Come now! Climb, my loyal soldiers!"

"I'm still going to shoot him one day," Meytal muttered, climbing the rope.

* * * * *

The shuttles kept roaring downward. Surely they were only seconds away now. Thankfully, the companions only had to climb to the next deck. Niles flew into a dark cavern, leaving the shaft behind.

"Come on, slow humans! Hurry up, hurry up."

Thuds sounded above. The Devourer shook.

Still dangling in the shaft, Emily looked up.

The shuttles were landing on the Devourer's dorsal hull. Emily could no longer see them from the shaft. But she heard the engines dying. Heard the hatches swing open. Heard the arachtaur cries.

"The humans are here."

"We smell the humans!"

"Find them."

"Catch them."

"They will scream for us!"

Stealth commandos the arachtaurs were not. More like a barbarian horde. Emily had managed to hold them back on Baseworld. Would her luck run out now?

She climbed onto the deck and ran after Niles. The others joined her. Their flashlights barely lit this darkness. Red light shone ahead like a fire, casting long shadows. Niles was flying toward the light.

"Why are we going to the bridge, dammit?" Meytal shouted, running with them. "This place is a death trap!"

"I have a plan," Emily said. "You'll have to trust me."

"Here we are," Niles said, halting in midair.

Dilapidated bulkheads rose before them, forged of thick iron. Rah runes were engraved into the metal. Once these bulkheads must have protected the bridge—similar to how armored walls protected the bridge of the Freedom. But over time, the bulkheads had cracked, tilted, and rusted away. Emily saw a few cracks and holes she could squeeze through. The red light shone from beyond.

"You saw all this from the shaft?" Emily said.

Niles nodded. "My cameras see far. I don't know how you humans walk around with those gooey eyeballs of yours. I'd be embarrassed if I were you. You can't even see in a dark! It's pathetic. In pitch darkness, from a thousand miles away, I could count how many fingers you hold up."

"How many am I holding up now?" Meytal asked.

As the two bickered, Emily checked her oxygen. Down to twenty percent. With all the exertion, it was dropping fast. As she watched, it dropped to nineteen.

Claws clattered. The arachtaur cries sounded behind them.

"They're here, they're here!"

"Grab them!"

"Break them!"

"Bite them!"

"Trap them!"

Niles yelped. "They're coming closer! Oh dear, we're all going to die, we're all going to—"

"I thought you were protecting us!" Stowy cried.

"Oh, to hell with you all!" Niles said. "It's every drone for himself now."

He flew through a hole in the armored bulkheads, disappearing into the bridge. Emily squeezed through a crack, nearly ripping her spacesuit. She emerged onto the bridge of the Devourer.

* * * * *

The Devourer's bridge was a strange place.

Fleshy lamps dangled from above like uvulas, glowing red. The bridge seemed in good shape compared to rest of the Devourer. The thick bulkheads must have absorbed most of the damage during the crash, cracking but sparing the bridge itself. An array of levers thrust up from the deck like zombie hands reaching from the grave. Obsidian shards rose in a henge, some of them cracked. A web hung in the center of the configuration, attached to iron bars like some ancient torture device.

Emily ran, leaped into the air, and grabbed onto the cobweb. She hung in the middle like a trapped fly. But her arms were free, and she clutched a strand with each hand.

Stowy gazed with wide eyes. "Whoa. Cool."

"What the hell are you doing?" Meytal cried.

"Meytal, Darjeeling—hold the enemy back," Emily said. "Stowy—grab the strands below my feet. I can't reach those ones."

The arachtaurs slammed into the bulkheads. Claws reached between the cracks.

"Hold the barricades!" Darjeeling cried, firing his gun.

Meytal ran to join them, snarled, and raised an assault rifle in each hand. "The barricades will hold."

An arachtaur stormed over the metal walls. Meytal let out a war cry and opened fire. Bullets streamed from one of her guns, plasma bolts from the other. She tore the arachtaur down.

Another arachtaur, a hideous female with rotten teeth and bulging yellow eyes, shoved herself through a hole in the bulkhead. Arav aimed his dagger. Eyes hard, he fired a beam, searing through her head.

But more arachtaurs were everywhere. They crawled over the bulkheads. One tried burrowing underneath. Another arachtaur scurried across the ceiling. Darjeeling, Meytal, and Arav had their hands full, firing every which way, giving Emily time.

She had her own battle to focus on.

She stared upward. The deckhead was cracked, exposing layer after layer of hell. She could not see the sky from here. The cracks were too thin. But she could still feel her above, a spider goddess in the sky. God's Tomb. She could feel the terrible eyes of the beast blazing down from heaven like a vengeful god. Emily needed no line of vision. She needed no zoom, no sensor, no telescope. She felt the beast as surely as she could feel God's grace.

She tugged on a strand of webbing.

Deep inside the Devourer, ancient engines awoke. Gears churned, shedding rust. Emily could feel them through the web. This was all one big machine, one living being. The tree of bones was the brain. But here was the heart.

She tugged another strand.

Motors rumbled to life.

And the mighty Devourer moved.

Decks creaked. Pillars dented and bent. Rust rained from the ceiling.

Around her, the others swayed on their feet. Darjeeling fell to one knee but kept firing his gun. Meytal and Arav kept fighting too. The commando was firing her assault rifles, while the monk fired his crystal dagger. The arachtaurs swarmed from all around, climbing the barricades, only for the warriors to cast them back. Meytal fired a blast from her powerful Sabra rifle, pulverizing an arachtaur's head. Blood sprayed in a mist.

Emily still hung on the web. She pulled a strand hard.

The ancient Devourer, a hulk that had lain upon the ruins for centuries, rumbled and shifted. Buildings toppled around the ship. An archway collapsed. A temple cracked and tumbled.

The engines rumbled louder.

"Stowy, pull that strand below my foot! No, to the left of it. That one, yes!"

Standing below the web, Stowy grabbed the strand with both hands and gave it a mighty yank.

The Devourer raised its nose off the ruins.

Emily was on the web. But as the deck sloped, everyone else swayed and began sliding. Emily pulled another lever. The cracked deck thrummed below her, generating artificial gravity. Everyone fell down hard. Meytal cursed, and bullets spilled across the sloping deck.

"We're getting the hang of this!" Stowy said, tugging on strands.

Emily had never operated a clawship before. She had seen crashed ones on Earth. She had read white papers on their specs. But that could not explain her confidence in this web. It all felt so natural. The Devourer became a part of her.

This was not her own limited knowledge. She remembered touching the web in the upper decks, then seeing a vision of the empress on Arakavish. These webs were not mere pulleys to tug on machinery. They were a great neural network, spanning the galaxy. The Great Web, the rahs called it. Emily had always assumed it was just a metaphor for their empire. Now she realized it was so much more. The Great Web was a reservoir of ancient knowledge. It was old songs from the shadows of primordial forests. It was the art of war and the wisdom of ancient sailors. Emily did not need to learn how to operate this ship. She was a part of it. She knew.

She and the Devourer were one. The tree of bones was deep in the lower decks, but she felt him. He was sad. He was so sad. Tears flowed down Emily's cheek. She kept pulling the strands, raising the ship higher and higher, aiming her prow toward the sky.

An arachtaur made it through the defenses. It leaped toward the web.

Emily could only stare, tangled among the strands. She lost her connection to the Devourer. The ship pitched forward again, its prow falling toward the ruins.

A blast tore through the arachtaur midjump. It crashed onto the deck, a gaping hole in its chest. Darjeeling stood nearby, holding his smoking rifle. He gave Emily a nod.

Emily closed her eyes, reconnecting with the ancient ship, and yanked the strands again. The Devourer began rising again, faster this time. The decks thrummed and cracked. A beam bent. A chunk of deckhead crumbled. Deep inside the derelict, parts were breaking, shattering. Bones fell from the lonely tree. Little skulls, no larger than acorns, rolled and vanished into crevices.

As the Devourer kept rising, Emily's companions kept fighting around her, protecting her. The deck was still generating artificial gravity, presumably designed for spaceflight. Meanwhile, planet Cleodora's natural gravity was still pulling from the ground below. The companions were caught between two forces, swaying on their feet, tilting and windmilling. Darjeeling rose to unsteady feet, fell to his knees again, but kept firing. Meytal wrapped her arm around a pillar and still managed to fire two guns at once. Only Arav kept perfect balance. The monk simply stood there, firing his crystal blade, tearing the enemies down.

The arachtaurs kept coming.

Emily kept pulling until the Devourer rose on her stern, facing the sky like a steel flower. Around her, her companions still clung to the deck, standing at a ninety-degree angle to the ground. They seemed to Emily like figures trapped in an M. C. Escher painting. Or maybe this was more like the works of Hieronymus Bosch. They still fought, mortals fallen into hell, desperate to hold the demons back. All around spread the monstrous faces, hissing, drooling, calling for blood. Claws reached out, clambering for flesh. Rancid hair like serpents flowed in banners. Abdomens rose like hellish balloons, tipped with dripping stingers. They were creatures of the shadows, agents of chaos and destruction.

But the heroes of Earth held them back. With blades, with guns, with grit. They did not let the demons in.

Emily hung in the center of the tableau, eyes closed, stuck to the cobweb like a victim. To an outside observer, she must seem like some abandoned doll in an attic, hanging from the ceiling, covered in gossamer. But she was no doll. She was the mistress of puppets. She was the puller of these strings.

She grabbed a thick strand with both hands. Like Quasimodo ringing the church bells, she gave the strand a mighty tug.

The prow of the Devourer bloomed. The hundred blades of the ship, each as long as a city block, pulled away from one another. The prow of the Devourer dilated, exposing its churning, rumbling womb. Emily closed her eyes. She no longer saw with her eyes. She felt every part of this relic. The power thrummed through her. The clamoring engines. The rusting core of hardened fuel. The machinery awakening after so long. It was all her. She could no longer separate her frail human body from the leviathan of steel.

The Devourer had become a thing of hell, and deep inside this hell, a fire awoke. Deep in this pit, ancient demons of tar awoke, and their eyes shone red. Machines that had lain rusting for ages moved again. The stores of fuel inside the Devourer had hardened like concrete over the centuries. Now this black, sticky stone cracked. Heated. Softened.

Emily tugged a strand.

A spark ignited.

A great dormant fire woke again.

The Devourer became a volcano. Its fuel melted, churned, and burned. Pistons pumped. Steam roared and rattled through pipes. A core of molten metal spun again like a blazing caldera, like an eye inside a black hole.

Emily's eyes snapped open.

She stared up at the cracked, crumbling deckhead.

Her naked eye could not see through the metal deckhead and the layers of decks above. But Emily gazed through the Great Web now. And she saw her above. She hung from the sky like a spider clinging to a cathedral's ceiling. God's Tomb.

Emily pulled a strand, and the Devourer erupted with rage.

Plasma roared through the ship, racing upward. The launch tube was old and cracked. Spurts of plasma blasted onto several decks. Flames raced toward the bridge, washing over arachtaurs, then crashed against the bulkheads. The companions knelt and covered their heads as sizzling red droplets flew all around.

But most of the plasma shot straight up.

A geyser blazed between the open claws and soared to the sky.

God's Tomb realized what was happening. It saw the fire rising. It tried to flee. It moved in the sky.

Emily reached up and grabbed it.

The web connected them. They were almost a hundred klicks apart. The width of London. But the Great Web spanned the universe. To Emily, it felt as easy as tugging the string of a kite.

Inside God's Tomb far above, a strand in the bridge's web moved.

The clawship jerked back to her previous position.

The Devourer's geyser of plasma washed over her.

Her outer hull heated, cracked, began to melt. The flames engulfed her. Still God's Tomb tried to flee. Emily held on tightly. She hung in the web, eyes closed but seeing clearly. She held on. She kept that ship in the fire.

Her outer hull melted, and like angels of death, the fire entered God's Tomb. The flames moved through the inner halls like glowing red serpents, consuming all in their path. They tore down bulkheads. They devoured arachtaurs like asps eating spiders. They reached the engines and coiled inside. The terrible fire burrowed between the torpedoes and slithered around them.

Nearly a hundred klicks below, the humans all heard the explosion.

The sky seemed to crack.

Sonic thunder rained onto the ruins of the Aeolian city.

Then came a million pieces of shrapnel. All that remained of God's Tomb. A metal hailstorm. It pounded the city.

Hanging in the web, Emily lowered her head, weeping and laughing.

"She's gone," she said. "God's Tomb is gone."

But the arachtaurs inside Devourer were not. With their ship destroyed, they were stranded here. They had nothing to live for but the battle. They roared and kept charging at the bridge.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

"What did you do?" Meytal shouted over the din of roaring engines and blazing fire. "Emily, what did you do?"

Emily still hung on the web in the heart of the Devourer. Flames burned all around. Deep in the lower decks, machinery churned. The shipwreck rumbled. Shipwreck? Perhaps not. The clawship had lain here upon these ruins for centuries, full of holes, rusting away, invaded by stone and dust. A fossil, forgotten. But not dead. Not quite a wreck yet. Like an old museum ship called Freedom—waiting to rise again.

Now Devourer's fire burned anew.

Emily looked down from her web. She had reached to the heavens and torn a starship apart. She had gazed through the cosmic web at a thousand stars. Suddenly the bridge of the Devourer seemed so small. The lives of her companions seemed so short. Just humans. Trivial. Ephemeral. The arachtaurs were still clawing at the barricades. Little terrors. No more than bugs.

And who was she? What was she?

On a distant sagging web, a pale white spider raised her head. Her eight eyes were shriveled like raisins, sunken into her withered head. A toothless mouth opened, and a voice emerged like wind through an abandoned cathedral.

"You are me."

Emily took a deep, shuddering breath. The vision cleared. She looked around her again. And the bridge no longer seemed distant, and the lives here no longer seemed small. These were not just any humans. They were her friends.

"I destroyed her," Emily said, still hanging from the web. "The God's Tomb. She's gone."

She looked up through the cracked deckhead. The explosion spread across the night sky like a red stain.

"Were you on that ship, Abraxas?" Emily whispered.

The broken parts of God's Tomb rained onto the ruins of Melaina, this doomed city of shattered stones. Emily tugged a strand. Black pillars surrounded her web like a henge, engraved with runes. The obsidian surfaces flickered to life, showing video streams of the world outside. She saw the remains of God's Tomb crash down. A chunk of metal the size of a truck plowed into the ruins, pulverizing an ancient wall. An engine coil crashed into a temple, shattering its mosaic-covered dome. God's Tomb had once boasted eight legs, each the length of a city block. One of those legs was still intact. It slammed into the city, tearing down a skyscraper of marble and quartz.

Clouds of dust rose across the city. The storm flowed over the Devourer. Dust even made it down here to the bridge, coating the companions.

For a moment, the battle for the bridge paused. The arachtaurs stopped storming the barricades. They gazed between the cracks and holes in the bulkheads. They watched the scenes on the monitors. Their mothership was gone. For a moment, the creatures merely watched in silence.

Emily studied their faces. Human faces—but pale, diseased. The eyes were sunken, the lips bloodless, the skin veined. They barely seemed alive at all. Elder'rah had created them in a lab, weaving human and rah DNA, forging warriors who could understand, hunt, and destroy humanity. They were bred to kill her, yet as Emily gazed at their faces during this moment of silence, she pitied them.

A boom shook the bridge.

Meytal had fired her Sabra gun.

A bullet plowed through an arachtaur's skull, pulverizing it.

The beasts screeched, startled out of their trance, and attacked anew. Their faces, which seconds ago had seemed so sad, became monstrous again. The lips peeled back, revealing sharp teeth. The eyes bugged out, bloodshot, the pupils like pinpricks.

Emily's comlink rang an alarm. Her HUD flashed a warning across her visor.

OXYGEN AT 11%

Around her, Emily saw the same warning flash across her companions' visors.

"We gotta run to the Raven!" Darjeeling shouted, still firing his gun against the attacking arachtaurs.

"We'll never make it," Meytal said. A trembling smile spread across her face, and her eyes lit with a hidden fire. "This is where we make our final stand. It's been an honor."

Niles flew from side to side, distraught. "Oh, curse you infernal humans with your feeble lungs!"

"Niles, you can escape," Stowy said. "Fly through a hole, make your way to the Raven, and fly off. Don't forget to avenge our deaths someday. If you ever feel bored."

Niles hesitated, but just for a second. Then he flew to Emily's side. "Never. I shall not abandon the Queen of England. Emily, I have served you all my life. And if we're doomed to end our lives together in this wretched place, so be it." He paused, then looked at Stowy. "Can you go die somewhere else? You're ruining the mood."

Emily narrowed her eyes and tightened her grip on the strands. "Nobody is dying today. Not on my watch."

Emily tugged the strands.

Her stern still on the ground, the Devourer tilted forward.

The gravity shifted. The deck plates rumbled to compensate. A few arachtaurs fell off the barricades. Darjeeling hit the deck, but the old man kept firing his gun. Meytal fell to her knees, but she roared and kept blasting the creatures back. The humans had slain quite a few arachtaurs. Their corpses lay across the deck. The last survivors were clawing at the barricades, determined to keep fighting. With no mothership left to escape to, the alien hybrids had nothing else to lose.

The Devourer kept tilting downward until she was nearly horizontal. Soon she would be resting on the ruins again.

Emily's oxygen dropped to ten percent.

She reached forward, grabbed a strand that dangled before her, and pulled it toward her chest.

Deep in the stern, engines awoke like ancient gods from slumber.

Pistons pounded like the hammers of gods.

This time plasma did not spurt from the prow. This time a great flame burned in the stern of the ship. The inferno blazed white and blue from the exhaust ports, melting the stone buildings behind it.

The Devourer began to move forward.

She scraped across the ruins. Slowly. Slowly. Inching forward like a great beast of the sea struggling to drag itself across sand. But she gained speed. Her blades extended before her like the arms of a dark squid.

The streets of Melaina were too narrow for this behemoth. The Devourer plowed into a row of apartment blocks. The buildings, already cracked and crumbling, collapsed. The ship kept going, scraping over the rubble. The fire blazed behind her, melting the stones. A temple rose ahead, its roof still balancing on a few last columns. The ship's blades tore through the pillars. The ancient temple collapsed in a cloud of dust, scattering mosaic tiles. The Devourer steamrolled over broken pillars, archways, and statues. And still she gained speed.

A river flowed ahead, carving through the city. Emily narrowed her eyes and tugged the strands hard.

The engine blazed with afterburner. The nose pitched upward. The mighty Devourer, a shipwreck the size of the Palace of Westminster, leaped over the river and landed hard on the other side, crushing domed houses.

Deep inside the ship, a clattering laughter rose. The tree of bones cried out, his voice echoing through the ship: "I fly again! Blessed be the Glass Spider, I fly again!"

Emily's HUD flashed a new warning.

OXYGEN LEVELS AT 9%

FIND ALTERNATE SOURCE OF OXYGEN

Emily kept pulling the strands, driving the Devourer across the ruins. The ship was too ruined to ever fly again. It was a wonder she could move at all. As she roared forth, her rusty chassis crumbled. Her bulkheads cracked and fell through her collapsing decks. Gears tore loose and rolled through the city, crushing buildings and toppling bridges. A few of her enormous blades detached and slammed onto the ground, crushing entire blocks. The Devourer was losing more and more of herself with every second like a whale shedding its diseased flesh, remaining little more than a skeleton.

There ahead Emily saw it.

The city square.

The place they had hidden the Raven.

Emily released the thruster stands. The engine died. But the Devourer kept bulldozing over the ruins, moving on momentum. Emily winced. They were racing toward the square. Too fast. Too fast! They were going to plow into the theater where the Raven hid!

Hanging in the center of the web, Emily reached downward, trying to grab a low strand. Too far.

"Stowy! Pull that strand."

The stowaway knelt at Emily's feet, entangled in the lower strands of the cobwebs.

"I'll try, boss!" Stowy said. She stretched out, groaning. She could barely reach.

The Devourer plowed through an ancient granary, scattering bricks. The collapsing dreadnought roared toward the square. The archway with the statues on top rose just ahead—the entrance to the city square.

"Pull the strand!" Emily cried.

"I'm trying! My arms are short!"

Finally Stowy freed one leg, stretched out farther, grabbed the strand, and pulled.

The blades around Devourer's prow extended at once like an opening umbrella. They didn't just open enough to expose the plasma port. They thrust out like a collar of steely death.

The blades on the bottom drove into the boulevard, ripping up cobblestones, digging through concrete and gravel and soil, finally embedding themselves into stone. Several blades dented. Some snapped right off. The Devourer slowed down—but did not stop. She kept moving, her blades plowing through the city, uprooting roads and homes.

The prow reached the city square. The Devourer crashed through the mighty archway, toppling the ancient monument. Statues fell. Stones the size of cars slammed onto the dorsal hull, slowing them further. The shipwreck kept skidding forward, digging up the square's cobblestones.

They came to a halt a few meters away from the theater where the Raven hid.

Emily's HUD flashed a warning.

OXYGEN AT 8%.

She leaped off the web, drew her handgun, and shot a leaping arachtaur.

"Come on, everyone!" she cried. "Run!"

* * * * *

Only a handful of arachtaurs remained on the bridge, climbing over the broken bulkheads. Emily and Stowy joined the fight, firing their crystal daggers. That was enough to change the tide. One arachtaur fell. Then a second and a third. The last one turned to flee. Stowy shot it in the back.

Emily looked at her companions.

Darjeeling was bleeding from his leg and arm. His face was pale, his mustache drooped, and sweat dripped into his eyes. Meytal's helmet was cracked. Blood smeared her forehead and nose, but she managed to give a caustic smile. Arav too was wounded, perhaps most seriously. He was clutching a wound on his belly. Blood was dripping from under his hand. But the monk still stood straight, so Emily dared to hope his injury wasn't too grievous.

Everyone's oxygen was low. Emily could see the stats on the HUD. Stowy had the most left at ten percent. Darjeeling and Meytal, who had fought the hardest, were both down to a mere five percent.

"The Raven is just outside," Emily said. "We have medical supplies and air. Let's go."

They ran between the arachtaur corpses, leaving the bridge. The decks were crumbling below them. Beams bent and shattered. Bulkheads collapsed. Heat blazed through the shipwreck. Fire raced through pipes and burned in the depths. Motors and machinery hummed and clanged and detached.

The tree of bones laughed in the depths. Its words rolled through the starship. "My belly is aflame. My engine burns. Now finally I die in fire! Now I rise to join my brothers!"

Emily's HUD flashed heat warnings.

Scratchy voices emerged from hidden speakers, demonic and ancient, speaking the tongue of rahs.

"Engine overheating. Engine overheating. Engine overheating …"

"This ship is going to blow!" Meytal warned.

They kept running as the Devourer burned, as the relic fell apart all around them. The ship seemed endless. They tried racing down one corridor, but burning wreckage collapsed before them. They had to change course, to run onward, dodging falling pillars. All the while the terrible voices continued. Engine overheating, engine overheating …

Emily's oxygen dropped to seven percent.

They ran onward, only for deckheads and pillars to fall, blocking their way. Fire burned. They turned and ran another way, but they were moving deeper now, lost in the depths of the burning wreckage.

"You're going the wrong way, everyone!" Niles said. "Oh, you foolish apes!"

"Somebody shut the drone up or I'll shoot it!" Meytal said. Sweat drenched her, and the blood kept dripping down her cheek.

"We're lost," Arav said, voice low.

"We'll burn to death!" Stowy said. "Cool!"

Emily looked at her drone. "Niles, do you know the way?"

"Of course I know the way," the drone snapped. "I've been trying to tell you all this time. But nobody listens to me. Oh, of course not, why should they? He's just a stuffy little drone, that Niles. Fussy and tedious. Some days, I don't know why I even bother to—"

"Where is the exit?" Emily shouted.

"Follow me," Niles said and flew off.

They ran after him, making their way through the ship. The temperature kept rising. Emily could feel the terrible heat through her spacesuit. There were several tears in the fabric, no wider than the hairs on her head, but wide enough to expose her legs to the toxic atmosphere.

Her oxygen dropped to six percent.

Niles led them into a towering chamber. Machinery thrummed and crackled below. Fire blazed, spurting upward like solar flares. Pistons hammered and pipes rattled. Liquid fuel ran across the deck in rivulets like lava. The companions skidded to a halt on a mezzanine. The heat blazed here, washing over Emily like a living thing. A tattered rope bridge, woven of cobwebs, spanned the sea of machinery and fire. It led to a hatch on the far wall.

It was a long bridge and not in the best condition. Several of its cobweb strands had torn over the years. Emily wasn't sure it would support their weight.

"The engine room," Emily said. "And this engine is going to blow."

"The drone led us to our deaths!" Meytal shouted, aiming her handgun at Niles.

"I most certainly did not," Niles said. "Look across the chamber if your slimy human eyeballs are powerful enough. That hatch leads out the ship."

Fire spurted from below. The companions stepped back on the mezzanine. The rope bridge swayed over the rumbling pit. A spurt of fire rose and licked the bridge. A strand of cobweb wilted. The bridge swayed. The rahs wove silk powerful enough to last for centuries, but this bridge was clearly on its last legs. When this engine blew, nothing would remain. Not cobwebs, not metal, not anyone aboard. Probably not anything for a mile around.

"Come on!" Emily said. "Hurry."

Before her courage could desert her, she ran onto the rope bridge.

It swayed below her feet. The engine rumbled below, and heat bubbled up. Vertigo swept over Emily. She had to pause, hold on to a strand, and take a few deep breaths.

"Oxygen down to five percent," her helmet's comlink announced. The voice was feminine and oddly soothing. "To avoid suffocation, find alternate source of oxygen."

"Thanks for the tip," Emily muttered.

Well, her alternate source of oxygen was on the Raven. Across this bridge. Emily took another deep breath—yes, yes, low on oxygen, she knew—and kept walking across the bridge. She would normally run, but the bridge swayed so violently she had to take slow steps.

She glanced over her shoulder. The others still stood on the mezzanine.

"Come on, everyone, we must hurry," Emily said.

"We'll take turns," Darjeeling said. "The bridge might not support all our weight."

His face was pale, his voice strained. Emily checked his MindLink stats. The old sergeant only had three percent oxygen left.

She nodded. "All right."

Emily just hoped they had enough time to take turns. But if they all ran together, the bridge could break, killing them all. The terrible math kicked in. Better to save a few than risk them all.

She kept walking across the swinging bridge, holding on to strands for support. Fire spurted before her, bathing her with heat. Emily recoiled. The flame grazed the cobwebs, then returned to the pit like a retreating snake. The cobwebs twisted and thinned. A chunk of silk dripped like tallow, sizzling against the hot engines below. The bridge held. Barely.

She glanced down into the pit.

Big mistake.

It was like looking into the jaws of a mechanical dragon. The gears turned and chomped and crushed like molars. The pistons rose and fell like mechanical baby birds, hungry for flesh. Lava leaked everywhere, hiding the deck, while random flames spurted upward. Pipes rattled. Metal tanks expanded like engorged stomachs, shaking madly. This entire ship was about to blow sky-high.

Emily looked away, but the damage was done. Her head spun. She had to pause, hold on to the bridge for a moment, and reorient herself.

She took another step. Another. The bridge held. Soon she was halfway across. The hatch rose on the other side, ajar. Sunlight spilled in from beyond. The Raven awaited there. She must just follow the light to salvation.

He descended from above on a strand of cobwebs. He landed on the bridge before her, half his face a red wound, his eyes blazing white. His eight clawed legs gripped the bridge confidently. Those legs were made for silk.

"Hello, Emily," he said.

Abraxas.

Emily screamed.

* * * * *

For a second, they stood frozen.

Her—the Queen of England.

Him—a lord of beasts.

They faced each other on the bridge as hellfire blazed below.

His ravaged face twisted with amusement. One half of his mouth rose in a smile. The other half was sagging and charred. The tips of his scraggly long hair were burning, and lacerations stretched across his bare chest. One rib was visible. His human half was a ruin, but his lower arachnid body was still strong. The abdomen gleamed, black and round, a red stain like a skull in its center.

"So here you die," Abraxas said. "Trapped in a web. Crushed in the machinery of the spiders. A fitting death for a queen of lies."

Emily didn't bother bandying words. Her shock wore off. She raised her rifle and opened fire.

Plasma bolts flew at Abraxas. He raised his two forelegs, exposing spinnerets below the claws, and shot bundles of cobwebs. The sticky balls intercepted the plasma. Explosions blazed in midair. Emily kept firing. He parried every blow, knocking her plasma aside.

"I'm coming for you, ma'am!" rose a cry from behind Emily. Darjeeling! Bless his soul.

"Wait, old man," rose Meytal's voice.

"Let me go!" Darjeeling protested.

"No!" said Meytal. "The bridge won't carry any more weight."

Emily knew they were right. She was alone here, facing the beast. Her companions could not even shoot Abraxas; she blocked their shots. Standing on the swinging bridge, she kept firing plasma. He kept shooting silk, parrying blow after blow. One bundle of cobweb came flying at Emily's head. She shot it aside.

"I need no bridge!" came a familiar voice from behind. "Have at you, beast!"

Niles shot forward like a bullet, whizzed over Emily's head, and charged at Abraxas. The drone extended all his weapons. Even the butter knife. Even his little pistol, and that's when you knew things were serious. He fired a bullet the size of a caterpillar egg. It bounced off Abraxas with a little ping.

The arachtaur barely spared the drone a glance. He raised his left foreleg and fired a bundle of silk. The cobwebs wrapped around Niles, and down the drone went. He fell into the pit, thumped onto a rattling pipe, and clung there, the cobwebs gluing him in place. The drone wriggled and cried out, voice muffled, but could not free himself. He was down for the count.

But Niles, bless his digital heart, had distracted Abraxas for a split second. That was all Emily needed. She was already firing her gun in a fury.

One plasma bolt hit Abraxas in the foreleg. The same foreleg that had fired the cobwebs at Niles.

Abraxas roared in agony.

Her plasma entered his spinneret, ate through the limb, and lit up the soft inner flesh. The leg wilted.

But he had seven legs to spare. The hybrid screeched, face twisting in fury.

"Enough games, queen of lies. Now you die!"

He raced across the bridge, charging at her.

Emily gave a wordless cry and fired her gun. He blasted a web her way, blocking the plasma. Flames blazed between them, showering onto the bridge. Burnt cobwebs flew everywhere. Some draped across Emily's spacesuit.

"Oxygen down to four percent," her helmet helpfully intoned as Abraxas crashed into her.

A claw drove into her thigh.

Emily screamed and fell to her knees. The bridge swung like a mad amusement park ride. Flames spurted from below and the pistons rose and fell, rose and fell like hungry hatchlings.

"Engine overheating," rumbled a rah voice from speakers high above. "Clawship to detonate. Engine overheating. Clawship to detonate …"

Abraxas lashed his claws. A claw drove into Emily's thigh again—the same spot as before.

She screamed in agony.

Abraxas smiled. "So we die together, Emily. You and me. In fire." He cackled. "We will dance together in the halls of the afterlife."

"That does it. I'm going onto that bridge!" Darjeeling cried from behind. His voice seemed miles away. Emily's eyes were rolling back. Her blood dripped. Abraxas twisted his claw. Pain pulsed through her.

"The bridge will collapse!" came Meytal's voice, calling from another universe.

The bridge rattled madly and sagged. Emily and Abraxas, locked together with blood and silk, dipped low toward the engines. His claw was still in her thigh. The gears churned madly. The engine seemed like a great mouth hungry to feed.

"I'm coming, Your Majesty!" Darjeeling cried. His footsteps shook the bridge. "You get your claws off her, you filth!"

Strands on the bridge began to fray.

They dipped lower. The spurting fire licked Emily's boots. But right now she was more concerned about the claw in her thigh. She gripped it, trying to pull it out, only to cut her fingers. Kneeling on the bridge, she cried out in pain.

A shadow flew overhead.

Darjeeling—sweet old Darjeeling, limping and wounded on low on air—was leaping over her head.

He slammed into Abraxas, knocking the beast back on the bridge.

The claw pulled free from Emily's thigh. She screamed. Blood spurted.

"I'll not let you hurt her again!" Darjeeling shouted, wrestling the beast.

The bridge sagged some more.

Emily tried to rise, but her leg hurt too much. She fell to her knees again.

The bridge dipped lower.

A claw thrust into Darjeeling's arm. He roared.

"Oxygen down to three percent," Emily's helmet intoned.

She tried to fire her gun, to slay Abraxas while he was fighting Darjeeling. But her rifle dinged. Out of ammo.

Flames rose from across the pit, lining the bridge like pillars in a hellish cathedral. Abraxas smiled and Emily knew she was going to die.

A pale light shone.

The pillars of fire parted, bending sideways like the Red Sea. The terrible heat eased.

White light washed over Abraxas. The arachtaur squinted, still gripping Darjeeling in his claws.

Emily looked over her shoulder toward the mezzanine.

At first she thought that Arav had joined them on the bridge. The young monk was walking toward her, face calm. But then she noticed something odd. Something impossible. Arav was walking where the bridge had been. The cobwebs had already sagged two or three meters down, fraying and thinning. Nobody seemed to have told Arav. The monk was walking on air.

The white light was shining from his spacesuit. Perhaps it was shining from the monk himself. He eyes were closed. His palms were pressed together in a gesture of peace. He took another step. And another. He seemed a figure from another world.

Darjeeling, still locking horns with the arachtaur, gazed at the monk with wide eyes. "Impossible."

On the mezzanine, Meytal rubbed her eyes while Stowy gaped in wonder.

"He's a sorcerer!" the stowaway said.

Emily could barely believe what she was seeing. "Arav?" she whispered.

The monk kept walking until he hovered above her, his boots just above her head. He opened his eyes to slits, and a thin smile touched his lips. He gave her a little nod. And kept walking.

His light brightened. Below him on the sagging bridge, Abraxas squinted and squealed. The arachtaur released Darjeeling and covered his eyes.

"What are you?" Abraxas roared.

Arav spoke calmly. "I am a servant of the holy light. I am a son of a world called Earth. I am a man of peace and kindness. But I am also a man of the blade." He drew his crystal dagger. "And I banish you to hell."

He aimed the crystal dagger.

He fired a beam.

But Abraxas was too fast. The arachtaur shot a web to the deckhead. The strand caught the ceiling, and Abraxas rose from the bridge, dodging the laser beam. The creature climbed the cobweb. Two or three meters above the sagging bridge, monk and arachtaur faced each other.

Abraxas slashed his claws.

The monk parried with his blade. Sparks flew.

Hanging from his web, the arachtaur attacked and again and again. Arav parried every blow.

"Come on, Emily!" Darjeeling said, grabbing her hand. "Let's get you to safety."

The sergeant pulled her along the bridge. Emily wanted to stay, to keep fighting, to help Arav. She could barely breathe. Her oxygen dropped to two percent. She was starting to feel light-headed.

What finally got her moving was thinking of Meytal and Stowy. She had to clear the bridge before they too could cross. Holding hands, she and Darjeeling raced across the bridge until they reached the other side. They stepped onto another mezzanine, this one by the exit.

Emily yanked the hatch open, exposing the city square. The temple's portico rose ahead. She could see the Raven beyond the temple columns, just a quick dash away. Her eyes dampened.

"Fire up the engine, Mr. Darjeeling," Emily said. "I'll be right there."

He raised his chin. "I will not leave your side, my queen."

Standing at the hatch, Emily turned back toward the engine room. Arav and Abraxas still battled above the bridge. The arachtaur's claws moved in a fury. Arav swung his dagger from side to side, barely able to parry fast enough.

One claw made its way through. It sliced across Arav's side. Blood dripped down his spacesuit.

Meytal and Stowy were already on the bridge, racing across. Stowy was faster, pulling Meytal behind her. The Israeli commando was still carrying many weapons, which slowed her down.

Fire spurted from below.

A pipe burst.

A geyser of steam washed over the bridge—just behind Meytal.

The cobwebs melted.

The bridge collapsed.

Meytal and Stowy screamed.

* * * * *

Standing by the exit, Emily stared in terror.

"Stowy!" she cried. "No!"

Her best friend went tumbling down toward the flaming engines. Meytal fell with the stowaway. Emily could only watch.

But even as the bridge fell, the two women clung onto the webs.

Fire spurted up around them. Pistons rose like metal snakes to grab at them. But they clung on! They clutched the severed cobwebs, curled their legs upward, and swung over the machinery. They looked like Tarzan and Jane swinging on a vine.

And then the most amazing thing happened. They were swinging over the pipe which Niles was glued too, still cocooned in cobwebs. In midswing, Stowy reached down, plucked Niles off the pipe, and pulled him to her chest.

A second later, Stowy and Meytal slammed into the wall below the mezzanine. Just below where Emily stood.

Both women were still alive. Meytal's leg was singed and bleeding, but she still clung onto the cobwebs. Stowy scurried up with ease, holding Niles under one arm. She almost seemed like an arachtaur herself, so confidently she moved. Meytal climbed behind her, a little slower. Emily reached down and pulled the commando onto the mezzanine.

They were all across now. All aside from Arav.

"Oxygen at one percent," Emily's helmet announced.

She had to run. She had only moments left to live. But she could not leave Arav.

The monk hovered above the burning engine. Abraxas hung before him from a web. His dagger and Abraxas's claws lashed every which way.

Meytal raised her rifle and aimed. "I'm putting an end to this bug."

"No!" Emily pulled her gun aside. "You'll hit Arav."

Meytal cursed. "Arav, get your ass over here!"

The monk was pale. He bled from several cuts. A claw had severed one finger, Emily saw.

He looked at them. Blood was trickling down his cheek, and his visor was cracked.

"Go," he said.

Tears flowed down Emily's cheeks. "Not without you."

Arav gazed at them from above. A soft smile touched his lips. "I will be with you. Always."

He let his blade drop into the pit. The fire consumed it. Still smiling, Arav placed his palms together in a gesture of peace.

Abraxas thrust a claw through the monk's chest.

"Arav!" Emily cried.

Abraxas pulled his claw free. The monk fell into the pit. The machinery grabbed him and the fire washed over him.

Stowy stared with wide eyes. Tears flowed down her cheeks. "Is he dead?" she whispered, voice shaky.

"Come on, we have to go!" Darjeeling boomed. He grabbed Emily. "Now, ma'am. Run!"

"I'll cover you!" Meytal shouted, firing her gun. An energy bolt hit Abraxas. He roared but came swinging on the cobwebs toward them. Meytal tried to fire again. Her gun jammed.

"Oxygen at zero percent," Emily's helmet intoned.

She gasped for air. She found none.

Somehow she found the strength to run. Darjeeling pulled her along. Stowy ran with them, weeping.

Emily could not breathe. She collapsed to her knees. Darjeeling pulled her up. She ran onward, breathless, passing between the theater's columns. The Raven rose ahead.

A few steps away, Emily collapsed again. She hit the cobbled floor. She tried to crawl, choking. Darjeeling fell too. She saw his stats. He was out of oxygen too.

The Raven waited there. So close. Just a few feet away.

Darkness was spreading around Emily. Her lungs screamed for air. Her insides were burning up.

She reached forward, grabbed a cobblestone, and pulled herself forward. She wept, fell, pushed herself up, crawled onward. Darjeeling crawled at her side.

Stowy still had one percent of oxygen. The girl managed to reach the Raven's airlock, pull it open, and gesture to them.

Emily rose to her knees. She grabbed Darjeeling, who lay gasping for air. With the last of her strength, she dragged him into the airlock.

The airlock was still open to Cleodora's toxic atmosphere. Emily needed to close the door, to flood the airlock with oxygen. She needed it now.

But she did not close the airlock door. Not yet.

Meytal was running across the temple.

Emily fell to her knees, eyes drying up, the darkness closing in. She seemed to be gazing down a tunnel. Her vision shrank and shrank. Finally she could see an area no larger than a coin.

But she saw Meytal leap into the airlock.

Emily pulled the hatch shut, then everything went dark.

Her head hit the deck, shattering her visor.

Air washed over her.

Sweet, beautiful oxygen flowed into the airlock. Emily took an enormous breath. The darkness cleared. She coughed, gasped, breathed again and again.

She looked at the others. They too were recovering. Darjeeling pushed himself to his knees, taking deep breaths. Meytal leaned against the bulkhead, wincing, blood on her face. Stowy was weeping, holding Niles to her chest.

"He's gone," the stowaway whispered, tears on her lips. "Arav is gone."

"The entire Devourer will be gone soon," Darjeeling said. "And us with it unless we get out of here!"

The sergeant limped toward the cockpit. Emily joined him, all but crashing into the shotgun seat.

Darjeeling fired up the engine. The Raven raced across the theater floor, tilted, and flew between two crumbling columns. They emerged into the ruins of Melaina City.

Through the Raven's viewport, Emily saw the Devourer. The enormous shipwreck lay on the rubble. Not much remained of her. Little more than a chassis and chunks of peeling hull like skin still draped over the skeleton of a whale. The ship rattled. Smoke rose from inside her. Flames spurted out cracks from the hull. Beams were cracking. Steam blasted through exposed pipes.

"She's gonna blow all right," Darjeeling said, pulling back the yoke. The Raven began soaring. "We got out just in—"

White light flared.

A few seconds later, the massive boom hit them.

The viewport cracked. The Raven tumbled. Darjeeling grabbed the yoke and pulled with all his strength. Cries came from the hull. Smoke washed over the ship, and chunks of metal flew everyone. Shards pounded the Raven. Emily gripped the armrests, digging her fingers into the fabric, teeth rattling, for a moment unable to breathe. It felt like being out of oxygen again.

But the Raven kept soaring, rising from the smoke.

Emily gasped for air.

Her ears rang and rang. Darjeeling was saying something. She could barely hear.

They kept rising and finally leveled off. Emily peered out the porthole. Darjeeling tilted the Raven, letting her see the ruins below.

The Devourer was gone.

Where the rah ship had rested nothing remained. Just a crater. The theater was gone too. The ruins were flattened for blocks around.

Emily felt oddly sad. The Devourer had been unlike any other clawship she had ever seen. She hoped the tree of bones could now find some rest.

And she hoped Abraxas was gone with it.

Darjeeling pitched upward again. They kept soaring, rising from the atmosphere of Cleodora into space. The stars spread all around. Emily shed a tear. She had left a dear friend below.

"Goodbye, Arav," she whispered. "Good—"

A terrible screech rose from the hold.

Stowy screamed.

Emily leaped from her seat and raced out the cockpit.

Abraxas was crawling through the Raven's airlock, claws gleaming. His ruin of a face split in a bloody grin.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

When Emily had been very young, she had once run off with Niles to explore the countryside beyond Windsor Castle. She had been a rough-and-tumble girl, not a typical princess, and her poor drone had begged her to return home at once. Then he resorted to threats, and finally to guilt. Nothing worked. Little Emily was determined to explore the world, to go on an adventure like her favorite fairytale heroes.

So off she ran, racing over grasslands, hopping over a rushing river, and climbing a mountain. In truth, she had not gone very far. The grasslands had been a mere meadow, the river a humble stream, the mountain a hillside thick with roots and boulders. But to Emily it had seemed a wilderness to rival the Amazon. Her security guards remained within eyesight, but if Emily ignored them, she felt like a lone heroine exploring the unknown.

On the hilltop, she found a crumbling concrete structure, roughly the size of a garden shed. An old pillbox from the third world war. Ignoring Niles, Emily had stepped inside, seeking treasure from the war. She hoped to find a chest full of Red Dawn gold, though she would content herself, she decided, with some decorative daggers or even a real Russian helmet.

For a second, she hesitated. What if she found a skeleton inside? Well, she would have to risk it. And skeletons often wore magical rings. Would Emily be brave enough to pluck a ring off the finger of a dead soldier? There was only one way to find out.

"You turn back now, young lady!" Niles was saying. "Or I swear, I shall tell your grandfather the king!"

Emily turned toward Niles and blew him a raspberry. It was an idle threat, of course. Niles would never talk to the king. Nobody ever talked to King Robert. Not since the war. Since then, the king spoke little. He spent hours in his chambers, drowning himself in old books, and often he paced the palace all night, staring at memories in the shadows, a ghost haunting the halls. Emily had never met the young Prince Robert from the paintings, the war hero who had flown a starfighter in space, who had fought for Britain on other worlds. She only knew the broken man.

The war had broken him. And maybe, inside this pillbox, Emily would find a relic of that war. A way to understand her grandfather. Maybe even cure him.

She stepped inside.

She found no golden coins. No daggers or helmets. No skeleton with magic rings. The pillbox was empty. A few old Coca-Cola bottles, cigarette stubs, and candy wrappers littered the concrete floor. Emily knelt to lift a bottle. Just to see if somebody had left a message inside.

Behind the bottle lurked a spider.

A black widow, she later learned. It stung her hand and fled through a crack.

That rest of that day was blurry in her memory. She recalled watching with a mix of curiosity and horror as her hand swelled up. Niles had rushed toward the security guards, wailing in fright. And soon enough, Emily found herself in the Royal London Hospital, treated by the country's best doctors as Niles struggled to keep the media out.

The bite had hurt, and the sight of her swelling hand had concerned her. But thinking back to the event years later, the worst part always seemed to be the first second. The spider revealing itself behind the bottle. The surprise. Emily suffered nightmares for a year afterward, but never of the sting itself nor the gruesome swelling and peeling skin. The nightmare was just a spider leaping out. Sometimes from behind a bottle. Sometimes from the closet or from under her bed. Inevitably, she woke up covered in cold sweat.

As Abraxas leaped into the Raven, charred and bleeding but still raring for a fight, that day returned to her. Standing in the hold, watching the twisted arachnid pounce, Emily felt that terrible shock again. The nightmare had returned.

Meytal reacted faster. She leaped to her feet, drew two handguns, and opened fire.

Bullets pounded Abraxas's human torso, tearing his flesh. But the creature only laughed and shot webs at Meytal. The silk wrapped around her, knocking her down.

Stowy aimed her dagger and fired a beam. Abraxas scuttled aside on his many legs, shot more strands, and trapped Stowy too.

In the cockpit, Darjeeling cried out, rose from his seat, and charged at the door. Abraxas shot another web, slamming the door, then gluing it shut. Darjeeling pounded at the door but the webs held, sealing the Englishman in the cockpit. He was out of the fight.

Drooling like a mad dog, Abraxas turned toward Emily. Blood dripped down his bare chest. More blood stained his scraggly long hair.

"Hello, Emily," he said. "It's just you and me now. As it was meant to be."

She raised her gun. He shot a small strand of silk, grabbed the gun, and yanked it free. A shot rang out, hitting a bulkhead. She drew her crystal dagger. He lassoed it, pulled it away.

Emily faced him alone. Unarmed. Her friends cried out, cocooned. The cobwebs glued them to the bulkheads.

Emily tried to run to the stern. There were more weapons there. Abraxas shot a small bundle of silk. It wrapped around her ankle and foot, gluing Emily to the deck. She yelped, tugging on her foot, unable to free herself. It might as well have been manacles.

Abraxas stepped closer. He raised a claw.

"I will do this slowly," he hissed.

He thrust the claw.

Emily raised her hand.

The claw pierced her palm and emerged from the other side.

She did not cry out. She did not even flinch. Abraxas stared at her. For a moment shock filled his eyes.

"Go to hell, Abraxas," she said.

Through MindLink, Emily connected to the airlock hatches, which Darjeeling had installed with neural sensors. Both the hatches, outer and inner. With a single thought, she unlocked them.

The airlock opened, exposing the Raven to space.

The air began fleeing at once.

Abraxas stared at Emily, then the air grabbed him, pulling him backward. His claw came free from Emily's hand, leaving a hole.

The vacuum of space was pulling everything into its hungry emptiness. Laundry, supplies, weapons. It tugged on Emily and her companions too, but the cobwebs kept them glued to the bulkheads and deck.

Abraxas scrabbled for purchase but found none. His abdomen slipped out into space. He shot a strand of silk and caught the deckhead. For a moment, he hung there, clinging to the rope.

One of the crystal daggers was flying through the cabin, heading out to space. Emily caught it in midair, then swung the blade, severing Abraxas's cobweb.

He stared her in the eyes.

Then he tumbled out into space.

Telepathically, Emily closed the airlock hatches. The cabin began to pressurize at once.

Emily cut her foot free, then stumbled toward a porthole and gazed outside.

Abraxas floated in the distance. He flailed for a few moments, then fell still. After all, arachtaurs could not withstand vacuum any better than humans.

Just for good measure, Emily cut her way into the cockpit, aimed the Raven's rotary cannon at him, and opened fire. Bullets tore the arachtaur apart.

Just to be sure.

The Raven flew onward, leaving Cleodora behind.

Emily slumped back in her seat, holding her wounded hand under her armpit.

Darjeeling looked at her, his eyes damp. "It's over now, my dear. We won. It's over."

He reached out and awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. Emily leaned against him and wept.

* * * * *

Planet Cleodora shrank behind them, becoming a crystalline sphere, then nothing but a glittering marble, and finally just another light among the stars. But Emily would never forget the horrors she had faced there. She would never forget the friend she had left behind.

Darjeeling placed the Raven on autopilot, and they all gathered in the hold. Meytal was sitting on the deck, holding a bandage to a cut on her forehead. Stowy was weeping.

For a while, they worked in silence, treating their wounds. They had passed through hell, and nobody had emerged unscathed. They suffered various injuries.

Emily had a hole in her hand. She needed a hospital. Lacking one, she bandaged her hand as best she could. Hopefully it would tide her over until she could get proper medical attention. Darjeeling had twisted his ankle, suffered cuts and blows, and been exposed to the harsh nitrogen atmosphere. Perhaps he suffered internal injuries too. Meytal would need stitches on her forehead, leg, and arm, and she showed signs of a concussion. Stowy had suffered the least amount of damage—a burn to her arm, a few bruises, and that was about it. The stowaway was unusually quiet, and a haunted look filled her eyes.

Niles too was hurt, his silver shell crumpled in spots, his body covered with cuts and dents. But the little drone would survive. Unable to feel physical pain, he mostly just suffered from a bruised ego. He proved himself a dedicated nurse. Among his retractable tools was a medical needle. He stitched the wounds that needed stitching, mumbling all the while about how none of this would have happened if they had only listened to him. They all swallowed antibiotics and painkillers. They all rested.

Then they took time to grieve.

Emily looked at Arav's folding bunk. He had left few personal items. A number of books—actual paper books like the kind Admiral King collected, their leather covers inlaid with golden letters. A spare robe and a jade lotus. A locket with a photo of another monk inside, a man Emily didn't recognize. That was about it. She would make sure to personally deliver these items to his family.

"He gave his life for us," Emily said softly. "He was a man of faith. A man of kindness and love. But he was also a warrior. May he rest in peace. Goodbye, Arav. Goodbye, friend."

Stowy let out a huge sob, rushed toward Emily, and hugged her. Emily held the girl, stroking her hair.

"So what do we do now?" Meytal said. She sat on the deck, leaning against a bulkhead, one leg pulled to her chin. The other leg was stretched out and wrapped in bandages. "We didn't find any Aeolians. We didn't find any weapons. Not unless you count these daggers, which my bazooka can blow out of the water. Was this all for nothing?"

Everyone was looking at Emily, accepting her as their leader. She looked back at them. Darjeeling, her mentor and loyal protector. Meytal, a woman of valor. Niles, dear old Niles, tutor, nurse, and constant companion. Stowy, her best friend. They were all people Emily loved.

"This was not in vain," Emily said. "The tree of bones gave us a clue. The Aeolians, he said, could jump from here to there. Could vanish and reappear like ghosts. That is how they defeated the rahs. The tree also told us that not all Aeolians died. Their pilots survived. They abandoned the ruins of their world. But they did not die."

"So the quest goes on," said Darjeeling. "We keep searching."

"First we return to the Freedom," Emily said. "We all need time in a medical bay. We need more fuel, more oxygen, more food and water, and our ship needs repairs. Once we're restocked and healed, we will continue the search."

"But we don't know where they are," Meytal said. "For all we know, the Aeolians could have traveled to another star system."

Emily looked out the porthole at the stars. She spoke softly. "No, they're not in another system. The clue has been under our noses for a long time." She looked at her friends and smiled. "I know exactly where they are."

Stowy hugged her tighter, and Emily stroked the girl's hair. The Raven flew onward through the vast darkness, and Emily knew that in these shadows she would find hope.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Admiral James King tossed and turned all night. His blankets felt like cobwebs, tangling around him, cocooning him. A spider rose in the shadows, red mouth drooling. At one point, King woke up, stumbled to his washroom, and did something he had not done in over a decade. He threw up.

Last night returned to him, hazy. The darkness of defeat. The soothing whispers of the bottle. The sickness in his stomach.

Finally he gave up on sleep, brewed a pot of coffee, and downed three cups. Black, strong, and bitter. He had not gotten this drunk since the Academy. But it wasn't only the booze. The terror was what truly sickened him.

The terror of failure.

The terror of losing so many friends.

The terror of these monsters reaching Earth. Of humanity falling to their claws.

King growled and slammed down his coffee mug onto his desk. It cracked. He clenched his metal fist.

"Not on my watch. So long as I live, I will fight you. So long as the Freedom flies, Earth is defended."

He shaved. He pulled on his service uniform. He holstered his sidearm. Finally he stared into the mirror.

He looked old. He was sixty-two, and by God, this morning he looked it. This had been a long war. But his eyes were still hard. His face perhaps was weathered and aged, but his jaw was still square, his brow strong.

"I'm ready for another round, Tyranny," he rasped. "Are you?"

He left his cabin and marched across the starship, heading to the stern. From here in the prow, it was a long walk. The corridors formed a labyrinth. King took elevators, crossed bridges, passed through one department after another. The Freedom was a mile long, but his path was much longer, taking him this way and that. He rarely visited the stern. It was faster to do things by MindWeb. But today King wanted to be there. To see the work progress.

King stepped into the Nerd Lab—the enormous deck that spanned the stern, perched over the engines and exhaust ports. This deck was the creative center of the starship. The place where Freedom's brightest minds imagined, discovered, and built. People often said that the bridge was the brain of the ship. They were wrong. Freedom's brain was right here.

Normally, Freedom's scientists and engineers came here to explore their creativity. One day a week, they spent the whole day here, pursuing whatever interested them. They built robots. They mixed chemicals. They ran whatever experiments caught their fancy. Most of the time, they were busy on specific projects King needed done. But he encouraged playtime too. In fact, King insisted on it. Some of Freedom's best technologies came from scientists just playing around, chasing their own curiosity with no specific goal in mind.

That was during normal days. These were not normal days. Today everyone was working on the same project.

Freedom's very own portal generator.

The device was gargantuan, circular, and ringed with pods. It reminded King of the Ferris Wheel at Nebraska Fair. He used to take Bastian there as a kid. Scaffolds covered the generator. Mechanics were hard at work, wiring cables, installing components, welding pieces together.

King spotted Kim standing on a scaffold, giving orders through a megaphone. She wore a jumpsuit, hard hat, and heavy boots, and a tool belt hung from her waist. God, he loved that woman.

"How are you going to get it outside?" he called out.

Kim turned around, saw him, and scurried down the scaffolds, quick as a monkey. She walked toward him, a smile on her face.

"Don't worry. We're just testing it now. Easier to test it indoors. When we're ready, the components can easily detach. Then we can reassemble the ring on the prow, and—" She paused before him and frowned. "Wow. Jim, you look …" She bit her lip.

"Say it," he rasped. "Look like what?"

"Like shit." She cringed. "Sorry. Are you all right?"

He nodded. "Yes. I'm an old fool who can't drink like he's twenty anymore. But I'm all right."

Speaking those words, King felt ashamed. His ship was hurt. They were abandoned in deep space. The Tyranny was hunting them. The sleepless nights, the grief over the fallen, the rigors of war—it was all getting to him. It was burrowing deep like a cancer and eating him up inside. King must put an end to it. He commanded this ship. Thousands of people depended on him. He vowed to never be weak again. No more getting drunk. No more despair. He would be the leader his crew believed he was.

Kim understood. She saw all that in his eyes, perhaps. She smiled softly, and her voice was kind. "Do you want some coffee?"

"Had three cups already. I didn't come here for coffee. I wanted to see your work. And it's looking good."

They turned together to admire the portal generator. It rose several stories tall, scraping the deckhead.

"Looking good? Maybe." Kim nodded. "Yes, I suppose for such a quick job, it's looking good. It's just a kludge, of course. Meant to be used once, maybe twice. Best I can do without a proper factory. I took the Wandering Sun's white papers on portal generators, and I managed to create something simpler. It will open a portal large enough for the Freedom to fly through. The portal will likely only last a few seconds. We'd have to fly quickly. But it'll bring us home."

"Kim, you're a genius," King said. He added a telepathic message to her mind only. "If we were in my cabin right now, I would kiss you."

"Can we go there?" she telepathized back.

"Soon. Once this war is over. And we'll never leave."

"That sounds amazing. I can't wait."

They switched back to speaking aloud.

"Kim, when can you mount the portal on the prow?" King said.

"A week. Three more days of work here in the Nerd Lab. Then three or four days to install the portal onto the prow. That's assuming we all work like madmen."

King nodded. "Which you will."

"Which we will." Kim heaved a sigh. "But the portal generator is only half the battle. There's an even bigger challenge. How do we power the damn thing?"

"Hard to do without a power plant," King agreed. "The Wandering Sun could power Nebraska without breaking a sweat."

"The Freedom has her own power reactors but not powerful enough," Kim said. "Even if we turned off the shields, life support, cannons, everything—we probably wouldn't have enough power."

"I assume you have a plan?" King said. "I imagine you're not building the portal generator to just look at it."

"I do have a plan." Kim scrunched her lips. "Well, sort of. More a crazy scheme than a plan. But we're all mad here, aren't we?"

"Let me hear it," King said.

"It's experimental technology. Have you ever heard of energy nets?"

If it was anyone else, King would have snapped at them, told them to stop asking questions, stop mincing words, and give him the damn information. But with Kim, he enjoyed these casual discussions. They were less like talking to a soldier under his command. More like talking to a friend. He relished these brief moments he could spend with Kim. If she took her time talking, that was good. That meant more moments with her.

"I've heard of them," King said. "Engineers have been discussing them for years. Big nets woven of energy-absorbent molecules. Drones pull the net through a nebula, collecting energy like a fisherman trawling for the day's catch. As far as I know, nobody's ever tried building one."

"Until me," Kim said. "I built one."

She pointed to the deckhead high above. Sails hung there, stretched over slender frameworks and folded like bat wings. They looked large enough for an old schooner. But these sails were not made of cloth. The material looked like a thermal blanket.

King's eyes widened. "Energy nets!" He looked at her and did something he almost never did. He laughed. "You built energy nets."

She beamed. "Sure did. I hope they work. I haven't tested them yet. Nobody's ever tested this design."

He glanced around, saw that nobody was watching, and held her hand. Just briefly. "Kim, once we get back home, you need to win the Nobel Prize."

"So long as we get home, I'm happy." She glanced up at the sails and tapped her chin. "Of course, there's the matter of charging them. We have to trawl these nets through a nebula. Thankfully, there's a nebula right outside this system. It's what gave me the idea for the energy nets. The problem is: How do I get these nets into the nebula? It's a harsh environment. Heat, radiation, and particles bombard you from all sides. The energy nets will soak it up. But what's the delivery system? I thought of using drones. Attaching them to the nets, then piloting the drones from here."

"The drones won't survive in that nebula," King said. "The energy would melt them. It would be like sending a paper sailboat into a pool of lava."

Kim nodded. "Pretty much. I thought of constructing new drones with thick armor and radiation shields. It might take me a few days to build. But they should be able to survive in there."

King knew what to do.

"We're going to mount these energy nets onto the Freedom's hull," he said. "Like sails. We're going to fly into the nebula ourselves."

Kim's eyes widened. "Our shields. They won't take it. The energy levels in the nebula surpass the shield limits."

"Kim, you and I both know the quoted shield limits are conservative. We can take a little more punishment than the book claims."

"Maybe," she confessed. "If we diverted all available power to the shields, maybe we can survive in there. For a while. But why risk it? Why not use drones?"

King smiled thinly. "Because the Tyranny is damaged. We punched holes in her hull. She will not fare well inside a nebula. We're going to draw her into battle."

* * * * *

It was time for war. Time for another round in the ring.

King stood on the bridge, staring into space. The nebula shone ahead. He narrowed his eyes, seeking his enemy. The Tyranny was out there somewhere. Watching him. She was bleeding, hurting, but still in the fight.

King spoke softly, staring at the nebulous blobs of light. "We fought in the emptiness of space. We fought in orbit around a burning star. We fought among the rolling chunks of a dead world. Now we will fight one more time. Here in this nebula will be our ring. I'm ready. Are you?"

The Firebird Nebula grew ahead. King didn't remember who had first named it. But they had all come to call it the Firebird Nebula. It was indeed shaped like a great eagle of fire, wings spread out. To be honest, it also looked like a butterfly, moth, or bow tie. But King liked the name Firebird. In a realm of fire they would face their enemy one more time.

The nebula floated outside the Aeolia system. In nebula terms, it was small. But it was still larger than the entire Aeolia star system. The wings spread out wider than the orbit of the farthest planets. The luminous gasses seemed to engulf the system within those wings like a mother bird protecting her eggs.

"Fascinating," Mimori said, studying the glowing clouds. "According to my hypothesis, it used to be a star. A third star in this system, larger than the remaining two. I believe it exploded millions of years ago, forming a nebula with two lobes. The gasses are already beginning to coalesce into new, smaller stars. In a few million years, there will be more stars in this system." She smiled wistfully. "An eternal circle of creation. It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"It looks hot, nasty, and full of danger," King said.

"Oh yes," Mimori agreed. "Some parts are scorching. The central area, where the two lobes meet, would eat through our shields and melt us down to individual atoms. But look. See those dark strands like veins in the lobes? Those are cooler areas. We can travel there. Assuming we keep our shields to the max."

Jordan stepped toward King, his eyes dark. He leaned close. "Dammit, Jim, this is crazy. To fly into a nebula?"

"Come on, Larry. We pulled crazier stunts back in the last war."

"We were young and stupid."

King nodded. "Now we're old and stupid. So let's win another war." He looked at Mimori. "Bring us closer and begin to divert all power to our shields. We're going in."

"I just hope Tyranny is stupid too," Jordan muttered, walking back to his station.

They flew closer. The nebula loomed before them, wings of fire spread out. The radiation gauges climbed to red. Alarms flashed across the bridge.

"Shields up," King said. "Radiation and heat mode. Maximum power. Divert all energy from the Fist of Freedom reactor."

Mimori looked up from her console. "Sir? We won't be able to fire the Fist."

"I'm aware, Mimori."

The android tilted her head. "Sir. May I remind you that the starboard cannons are gone?"

"Mimori, I am aware of the state of my ship. We need the Fist's reactor to sustain our shields in there. We'll fight with our port cannons. It's not a lot of firepower against a ship like the Tyranny. But it'll have to do."

Jordan sent him a telepathic message, his mind only. "She'll rip us apart, Jim. You know it. Without the Fist, and with our starboard Angels gone, we're at a quarter of our normal firepower."

"The Tyranny is weakened too," King replied. "We hurt her hull bad. Let's see who can take the heat longer."

"What makes you think she'll even take the bait?" Jordan telepathized.

"She'll see us harvesting energy with our nets. She'll see the portal generator Kim installed on our prow. The Tyranny's primary advantage so far has been her ability to open portals. She does not want us gaining a portal generator of our own. She'll attack us in there. Mark my words."

Jordan pursed his lips and said nothing more.

Both men were thinking the same thing, wisps of their private thoughts floating through their telepathic connection. We were wrong about the Tyranny every time so far. She beat us in every battle. Are we heading for another loss?

But King had to take this chance. He had to put everything on the line. To roll the dice. To come back swinging and win this war between them.

King opened a hailing frequency to the Mahatma. The lotus-shaped starship flew off their starboard bow, a graceful white flower blooming before a wall of flame. The Kuroko, Wandering Sun, even the mighty Caracal had fallen in this cursed star system. The Mahatma was the last ship King still defended.

"Mahatma, how are you doing?" King said.

A MindWeb window materialized before King, streaming a video from the Mahatma's bridge. Well, what passed for a bridge there anyway. The monks had their own way of doing things. Their bridge looked more like a spa, complete with water fountains, ferns, and a Zen garden. Soothing sitar music sounded in the background.

Baba Bakshi, commander of the Mahatma, walked into view. The bald, slender monk smiled and pressed his hands together.

"Namaste. Peace and kindness be upon you, Admiral King." The monk bowed his head. His yellow robes rustled.

"And upon you, Baba. How are your new shields holding up?"

Only that morning, Kim had installed military-grade shield generators on the Mahatma's hull. The Mahatma was shaped like a lotus. The reactor core shone in the center like a ball of pollen. The hull spread out as several white petals. It reminded King a little of the Sydney Opera House—just less like a seashell, more like a flower.

Now heavy, boxy shield generators clung to five petals. The machines thrummed, generating a powerful electromagnetic bubble around the Mahatma. The bubble was normally invisible. But every second or two, the shield flared to life, and the entire sphere shone like a soap bubble. This close to the nebula, stray atoms were bombarding them.

"This shield is holding nicely, Admiral," said Bakshi. "Though I must admit, it does hurt the aesthetic of our hull. We Mahatrists believe that beauty is an integral force in the cosmos. Not the beauty of our faces, or I would never be allowed to be a monk." He chuckled. "But the beauty of our art. Like grace and kindness, beauty protects us from the forces of ugliness, despair, and apathy."

King smiled thinly. "I agree."

"You do?" The monk raised an eyebrow. "I expected some pushback, I must admit. Most military men are creatures of practicality, not art."

"Art is what we fight for," King said. "Beauty, grace, kindness—we fight for them all. Humanity needs old war dogs like me. But we fight to protect the artists. Today, Bakshi, remember that these shield generators might look clunky on your hull, but they exist for the same reason I exist. To protect you."

Bakshi placed his palms together again. "You're a wise man, Admiral. You may see yourself as nothing but an old war dog. But there is great kindness in you. You would make a good monk."

I'd finally get some quiet time, King thought. Right now a mountain meditation retreat sounded nice.

He ended the call and stared at the main viewport. The nebula now covered his field of version. They were flying toward one of the firebird's wings. Strands of pale red spread out like pinion feathers. Blue gasses glowed between them. Gold and white hot spots sparkled like jewels. This firebird was deadly. They weren't even inside yet, and already furious stellar wind washed over their shields. But she was a thing of beauty too. Perhaps both King and Bakshi had gotten it wrong. Perhaps deadliness and beauty were both two wings on the same bird.

The bridge door swished open. Dressed in a service uniform, Spitfire marched onto the bridge.

"Were you lot going to enter the nebula without me here?" she demanded.

"It's not your shift," King said.

"To hell with that. I'm not missing this." Spitfire took position at her station. The ship gave a sudden jolt. Spitfire had to reach out and grab her control panel. Her naval cap fell to the deck.

Proximity alerts blared. Red lights strobed.

"We're sixty seconds away from entering the nebula," Mimori said.

The shields thrummed and flared. Atomic gales roared over them. The lights dimmed as Freedom diverted all available power to the shields. At their side, Mahatma flew within her own shimmering bubble. The nebula wind flared around her.

"Fifty seconds!" Mimori said.

The Freedom shook. The deck rattled. The engines rumbled. Red and blue clouds shone on the viewports, flooding the bridge with new light.

"Forty seconds to entry!"

"Can you adjust our shields?" King said. "They shouldn't shake like this."

"We're encountering some calibration problems, sir," Mimori said. The colors of the nebula reflected off her synthetic face like city lights in the rain. "I'm working on it. Thirty seconds to entry!"

The ship rattled more violently. Crew members had to grab their control panels for support. Monitors shook across the bulkheads and deckhead. A few officers mumbled prayers. They weren't even in the nebula yet, and already it was rocking the ship.

"This better work," Jordan said.

"It'll work," King said.

"Twenty seconds!" Mimori said.

Jordan's eyes widened. "Jim! The rearview monitor! The Tyranny!"

King stared. He saw her there, charging from behind, a dreadnought shaped like a spider.

He barked a laugh. "Ha! There you are, Tyranny. I knew you'd show up. Come on!"

The Freedom shook and rumbled and roared, gaining speed. The Tyranny chased. The flaming nebula wing rose ahead.

"Ten seconds," Mimori said. "Nine. Eight. Seven …"

"Tyranny launching torpedoes!" Jordan said. "They're coming in hot and fast."

"Shield of David?" King said, turning to the missile defense team. "Do your work."

The Caracal had fallen in battle. But several Israeli soldiers, working aboard the Freedom as consultants, had survived. With the Caracal gone, King had integrated the soldiers into his crew. They now operated a new department on the bridge—the missile defense team. The Freedom had built, armed, and installed five Shield of David batteries on her outer hull. One officer commanded each battery.

"Here we go!" cried Motti, one of the Caracal survivors. He commanded the Shield of David battery on the stern.

The battery opened fire, launching ten missiles at once. Each battery came with ten launch tubes—a modification of Caracal's original design, which had included eight.

"Adding mine too!" said Lital, another Caracal alumni.

Ten more interceptors flew.

Tyranny's torpedoes charged closer.

"We're going in!" Mimori cried.

King caught a glimpse of the interceptors hitting the torpedoes. And then the Freedom charged into the nebula, and everything was fire and light and sound and fury.

* * * * *

The fury washed over them.

It felt like flying into a star.

King had plunged in a starfighter into the hellish atmosphere of Venus. He had piloted the Freedom into Earth's stratosphere in a blaze of flame. He had charged through the plasma barrage of the rah fleet. But he had never flown through an inferno like this.

Clouds of hydrogen and nitrogen stormed around him, each cloud larger than planets, larger than suns. They exerted their own gravity, tugging the Freedom to and fro. King felt like a pork chop caught between battling bulldogs. Newborn stars shone like punishing eyes. The hot gasses glowed and swirled all around.

The Freedom shook.

Deck plates cracked.

One deck plate tore right out from under Spitfire's feet. Artificial gravity vanished in that section of the bridge, sending Spitfire hovering toward the ceiling. A monitor shook so violently it fell off its mount. Alarms flowed in from everywhere on the ship. The Freedom creaked. Her very chassis strained.

Mimori groaned and doubled over. "It hurts."

"Dammit, Jim, it's tearing her apart!" Jordan said.

"Kim!" King telepathized to his engineer. She stood back in the stern. "Kim, Mimori is hurting. Can you calibrate our shields?"

Her voice came over MindLink, but he only caught a few snippets. "Calibr—need to adju—in a—tweaking a few para—hold—"

The connection died.

"Kim is calibrating the shields!" King told his bridge crew. He had to shout over the roar of creaking metal and groaning machinery. "Hold on."

"More torpedoes, flying in after us!" Jordan said.

King watched them come in.

The torpedoes carved through the nebula, ripping up clouds of gas. The nebula slowed them down. A few torpedoes curved. One began to spin. The Shield of David operators paused, hands over their controls, just watching.

Far from the Freedom, a torpedo exploded. Then another. The nebula's fury was setting them off. Only one torpedo made it close. The interceptors shot it down.

King stared at his monitors, seeking the Tyranny. He couldn't see her. Had she entered the nebula? Was she hiding among the clouds of gas? She'd have to get close to strike the Freedom in here.

The ship gave a mighty jolt. Furious white gasses blazed around them. The shield glowed, a sphere of light. At their side, the Mahatma was shaking violently. They kept flying deeper.

Suddenly their flight eased.

The storm abated.

No—that was wrong. The storm still raged, but King no longer felt it. The shield thickened, tuning itself to the rhythm of chaos. The nebula's hot gasses flowed around the ship with more ease. The crew visibly relaxed. The floating Spitfire found her way to a working deck plate, cursing all the while. Mimori straightened and smoothed her uniform, her cheeks flushed.

"Sir, shields are calibrated," Kim telepathized from the stern. "I'm streaming the parameters to the Mahatma too. Our shields will hold for now. We probably have several hours in here. I'm ready to deploy the energy nets on your order."

"Hold for now, Colonel Fletcher," King said.

Energy nets could slow them down. Before collecting some hot nebula juice for his portal generator, King needed to see what his foe was doing.

He looked at the PPI monitor. The circular radar display flickered and fizzed, overwhelmed under the nebula. But a dreadnought the size of Tyranny should still show up. "Where are you, Tyranny? Come on. I'm right here. Waiting for you."

Nothing. He couldn't see her.

"The nebula is blinding the ATLAS sensors," Mimori said. "The Tyranny is invisible."

King narrowed his eyes, watching the monitor as if he could see what ATLAS could not.

"She's not coming in," he said. "She's not chasing us. She's outside the nebula."

"We can't be sure of that," Mimori said. "She could behind any one of these clouds."

"No." King shook his head. "She's not."

"How—" Mimori began.

"I can feel it. I can feel her."

"Sir." Mimori tugged her uniform. "If I may be so bold, I've studied human psychology. Human hunches are not to be trusted. Only clear scientific data can tell us if—"

"We don't have data now," King said. "You're right, Mimori. Sometimes our gut feelings are wrong. Something the human mind plays tricks on us. Sometimes hunches are tricky things, misleading if not downright false. But that's all we've got now. We're flying blind. We're fighting in the fog. So my hunches are what I'll rely on. Mimori, bring us to a complete stop, then position our port cannons toward our wake. Let's see what happens."

"Aye, sir," Mimori said. "Freedom slowing now."

"Bakshi, are you with me?" King said.

"Yes, Admiral King." The slender monk appeared on-screen. "I'm streaming your transmission. We're following your lead."

It took a while to slow a dreadnought the size of the Freedom. The prow thrusters roared, venting gasses, stirring up the nebula clouds. From outside, they must look like a bull stumbling through a storm of confetti. The Freedom slowed and slowed. The luminous clouds settled around them.

"Complete halt achieved relative to nebula center," Mimori said. "Yawing now, sir, and bringing our port cannons into battle position."

The Freedom thrummed, yawing around her vertical axis, bringing her port beam toward their wake. Toward the Tyranny.

"In position and maintaining, sir," Mimori said.

They all stared at the monitors. With the Freedom still and the shields calibrated, the nebula settled around them. It now seemed less like a storm, more like a gentle sea. A sea that could strip the flesh off your bones within a split second, yes, but peaceful to look at from here. King realized it was not just red, blue, and white but a million subtler hues. The clouds of glowing gas glided around them. In several areas, the clouds were coalescing into bright white lumps, each lump larger than Earth. In time they would become stars.

This is the exploded corpse of a star, King thought. A place of death and destruction. But also of rebirth.

King nodded. "As I thought. The Tyranny isn't entering the nebula."

"Why would she?" Jordan said. "She doesn't need to. She can let us sit here until our shields run out."

King smiled thinly. "We'll see. Mimori, can you send a hailing frequency through this nebula?"

The android blinked. "Sir? Do you want me to call the Mahatma?"

"I want you to call the Tyranny. Can you call her through the nebula?"

Jordan took a step closer. "I hope you know what you're doing, Jim."

Mimori tapped on some controls and scanned data. She looked back at King. "The nebula is dense, but I can pulse our signal with high-powered, low-frequency radio waves. We'll get through."

"Call them."

King waited. The frequency flowed through the nebula. Everyone on the bridge was silent, just watching the monitors. A minute went by. Two. Then five.

"She's not going to answer," Spitfire said, rubbing a bump on her head.

"She will," King said. "This is part of the game."

Right on cue, the central monitor switched views. Instead of the nebula, it now streamed a video from the Tyranny's bridge.

For the first time, after so many battles, after so much death, King found himself staring at his opposing commander.

She was an arachtaur. Not surprising. A female. Not particularly surprising either. But she was different from the other arachtaurs King had faced. All the others had been demonic creatures, their eyes bloodshot, their skin warty and diseased, their hair scraggly. But this creature, the commander of the Tyranny, was oddly beautiful.

Her human half was young, gracefully curved. Her skin was pale lavender marbled with pale blue like rivers reflecting the sky. Her black hair flowed like shimmering silk, inlaid with jewels. Gold coated her fingernails, tipped her breasts, and sparkled on her eyelids. The irises were deep red. Eyes like rubies. Eyes like jewels of blood.

A diamond shone in her navel. Below the precious stone, her body fused into the abdomen of a spider, round and gleaming. A stain like a horned skull adorned the black carapace. Eight graceful black legs spread out, tipped with claws like polished obsidian. Her stinger swayed from side to side, dripping golden liquid.

She stared at him, and her full red lips parted in a smile. She licked those lips, and her eyes shone with delight.

"So we meet at last, friend." Her voice was like the ashes of the dead scattering over the sea. "For so long we have fought. I feel like we have known each other for years. I am Od'rahda."

"I am—"

"Admiral James 'Bulldog' King. Born in Nebraska, 2139. Master's degree in literature and history. Father to Bastian. Grandfather to Rowan. I know you, Admiral King. I know all my enemies."

"Well, know this," King said. "We just leveled the playing field. You're no longer the only ship with a portal generator. Did you see the ring we mounted on our prow?"

Her eyelids narrowed. "A crude machine."

King nodded. "Yes. It's crude. We kludged it together. We had to duct tape some parts. But it'll work. We just need to charge it. That's why we're here. Take a look, Od'rahda. You're gonna love this." He turned toward his android. "Mimori? Extend our energy nets."

"Yes, sir."

They unfolded from the sides of the ship like bat wings. Four energy sails. Kim had designed them to gently slide through the protective shield. At once, the nets began to glow, soaking up the nebula's energy. Graphics appeared on a side monitor, showing the portal's energy banks climbing.

"You see this, Od'rahda?" King said. "You've lost your only advantage. I'm going to be teleporting too soon. And I'm coming for you. I'm coming to destroy you. You can keep hiding and running like a scared little spider when the lights come on. We can keep playing this cat-and-mouse game until I hunt you down and crush you like the vermin that you are. Or you can come in here and we fight in the fire. Let the nebula be our final stage. Come in here, Od'rahda. Stop hiding and face me in real combat. Here among the flames of a dying star we will do battle. And we will end this."

He ended the call.

The viewport showed the nebula again.

"Diplomatic as always, Jim," Jordan said.

"Leave diplomacy to the monks. I'm not here to be nice. I'm here to crush my enemy."

CHAPTER THIRTY

They waited inside the Firebird Nebula.

King stared at the glowing clouds.

The nets kept soaking up energy. And the Tyranny did not appear.

"Come on," he whispered. "Come on, Od'rahda."

Were her shields too weak? Did she fear the nebula? She had reason to. The Freedom's shields were legendary. In here, King had the advantage. They both knew it. But would Od'rahda truly let him charge his portal generator? Would she not take the chance, risk the nebula to protect her own advantage?

She was still thinking. Calculating. She knew her ship better than King did.

"Come on, Od'rahda. I'm right here."

They kept waiting.

Nothing happened.

She wasn't taking the bait.

"Come on," King growled. "Come on, Od'rahda."

He narrowed his eyes, gazing at the nebula clouds, seeking a disturbance. A glow. A hint of the Tyranny moving through the nebula.

Nothing.

The energy nets kept doing their work. The battery gauge kept climbing and climbing. Very soon now, Freedom would have enough power to activate her portal generator.

"Come on, Od'rahda. Get in here." King snarled. "Come fight."

The clouds stirred.

Monitors lit up.

Alarms flashed.

"Incoming bogeys!" Jordan cried.

King stared, narrowing his eyes. Eleven glowing orbs appeared behind the clouds. The ATLAS sensors couldn't tell them much. Not with all this disturbance. Only that eleven unidentified bogeys were flying at them. And fast. They were charging at breakneck speed through the nebula.

"What the hell are those?" King said. "Torpedoes? Dammit, can't we get a size reading on them?"

"Too much disturbance, sir," Mimori said.

"They can't be torpedoes," Jordan said. "We already saw the torpedoes melt in this nebula. And the Tyranny can only launch eight at once. Correction—seven, since Caracal took out one cannon."

"Clawfighters," King muttered. "The Tyranny is too scared to fly in herself. We've got a good ole starfighter battle on our hands."

Spitfire's eyes widened. "I'll fly out with Freedom's Flock. Two flights a week, remember?"

She made to run to the door.

"Hold your horses," King said. "Your Eagles won't survive in this nebula. The radiation would fry your hull off."

Spitfire paused, one foot in the door. "So how are clawfighters flying out there?"

King frowned. "I don't know. Shield of David team? Get ready. Keep your fingers on the triggers."

"Bogeys thirty seconds away," Mimori said. "Twenty. Ten."

"There they come!" Jordan cried.

They burst through the clouds. Clawfighters indeed. They were shaped like mechanical spiders, roughly the size of Eagle starfighters. King knew then well. He had fought many of them; the rahs operated them too. They were nasty little things.

But these clawfighters were falling apart. The radiation was melting their hulls. Their chassis were bending and twisting. The cockpit canopies had cracked and curled up at the edges. King zoomed in. He could see arachtaur pilots inside. Their skin was burning off. He could see chunks of skull. But still the deformed, dying pilots were charging.

"What the hell are they doing?" Jordan said. The macabre scene reflected in his eyes, mingled with his own horror.

"Kamikaze attack," King said. "Shoot them down! Shield of David, shoot them down!"

Normally, King would activate a hundred machine-gun nests that bulged across Freedom's hull. But they couldn't fire through a shield this thick. Thinner shields only worked one way. They blocked incoming blows but allowed the Freedom to fire outward. During normal battles, that worked well. But in this nebula, the Freedom was wearing a specialized, hardened shield, unusually thick to withstand the punishing radiation. It would not allow one-way firing of bullets.

Thankfully, even this shield could work with torpedoes, railgun projectiles, and missiles. When a cannon aboard the Freedom fired, it triggered an alert in the shield system. A small hole opened in the protective bubble, allowing the missile to fly through, then instantly sealing up again. The system couldn't work with thousands of bullets, but it could handle the larger projectiles just fine.

Twenty-four Shield of David interceptors seamlessly passed through the shields and raced toward the kamikaze charge. The heat began melting the interceptors at once, but they didn't have to fly far.

They hit one clawfighter.

Another.

Then they hit them all.

The spider-shaped ships exploded.

Lights flared. Alarms wailed across the Freedom. The force shield wobbled. The ship trembled. The deck shook so violently several officers fell.

"What the hell?" Jordan shouted over the klaxons.

"They were loaded with explosives," King said. "Suicide bombers."

The explosions faded. But the nebula was storming. The blasts had set the gaseous clouds awhirl. Chemical winds buffeted the Freedom. A storm of agitated atoms slammed into the shields, blazing like a billion bullets.

"Shields down to ninety-one percent," Mimori said. "We're getting hit hard."

"More incoming bogeys!" Jordan said.

"Shield of David, you know what to do," King said.

They fired again. More interceptors flew. They hit the clawfighters dead-on.

Explosions flared, whirling the gaseous clouds, setting space aflame. The nebula was volatile as it was. Now it erupted in a storm. Tidal waves of radiation washed over the Freedom. The ship jolted. Red lights flashed everywhere and warnings sounded from a dozen speakers. It seemed that everyone was shouting at once.

"Shields down to seventy-eight percent," Mimori said.

Bakshi's voice came from the Mahatma. "Admiral King, our shields are down to fifty percent!"

"More incoming bogeys!" Jordan said. "Twenty this time."

"Where the hell are they getting all these clawfighters from?" Spitfire said.

"Shoot them down!" King roared.

The interceptors flew. But with the nebula raging, the little missiles swerved to and fro. Their fuel tanks warped and melted. One interceptor exploded before hitting another. Two interceptors careened into the distance. Most found their targets, and clawfighters exploded like stars. But that wasn't much help. The nebula roared and stormed and buffeted the Freedom and Mahatma.

"Shields down to forty-nine percent!" Mimori warned. "Mahatma's shields are down to twenty!"

"One clawfighter incoming fast!" Jordan shouted.

King saw it coming.

It bolted out of the inferno, only a split second away.

"Prepare for impa—" King began.

The clawfighter slammed into Freedom's shield bubble.

White light flared through every monitor. The bridge shook. The shield cracked and shrapnel pounded the hull.

"More coming!" Jordan shouted.

"Shields are down, shields are down!" Mimori cried.

Alarms flashed. Exposed to space, the Freedom's hull was heating up. Armored plates began to melt.

Kim shouted from engineering, her voice carrying through MindWeb. "I need a minute to get shields back up!"

King knew they wouldn't survive another minute of this bombardment.

"Mimori, get us out of here!" King said. "Mahatma, keep to our starboard port! We'll cut through the nebula and emerge from the far side."

The ships turned to flee.

King swallowed his pride. But he couldn't stop the rage. It flowed through him, as violent as the nebula storm.

She beat me again.

Freedom's hull bent and buckled. Finally Kim got the shields back up—but the bubble was jittery, barely keeping the storm at bay. Mahatma's shield was flickering. Her hull's graceful petals began to wilt.

"Our shields are back up!" Kim cried. "But I can't keep them up for much longer."

And there came the clawfighters.

They charged from behind—melting, curling up like dead caterpillars in a forest fire. They didn't even make it to the Freedom, exploding instead among the clouds. That's all they needed to do. With every explosion, the nebula stormed more violently. The waves of hot gasses and radiation kept slamming into the Freedom and Mahatma.

Their shields dropped lower.

Bakshi's avatar flickered onto the Freedom's bridge. The slender old man had a crease on his brow. For a monk, that was equivalent to panic. "Admiral King, our shield has dropped below ten percent, and it continues to destabilize. We request to evacuate by shuttle onto the Freedom."

"The shuttles won't make it, Bakshi," King said. "Not in this storm."

"We won't make it either, Admiral."

"Let me patch in my engineer." King called her. "Colonel Fletcher, are you hearing this?"

Kim's avatar flickered onto the bridge too. Soot covered her jumpsuit and hardhat. "Mr. Bakshi, I'm reviewing your shield specs. You can last until we exit the nebula. You'll need to divert all power sources aside from your engines to the shield generators. Life support too. You have enough oxygen to survive another hour without life support. Give the shield everything you've got, and you'll make it out."

"Understood," Bakshi said. "I'm shutting down my transmitter now. Its power will go our shield generators too. If we don't make it—it has been an honor, Freedom." He pressed his palms together. "Namaste."

King nodded. "Godspeed, Mr. Bakshi."

The monk vanished off the bridge. Kim flickered away too, returning to her tasks in the stern.

They carved through the raging storm. The ships rose and fell on waves of radiation.

The clawfighters pursued them. Ten of them. One exploded in the heat. Nine kept chasing. Another explosion rocked the nebula. More waves rolled over the Freedom. Eight clawfighters flew closer. The interceptors took out one. And another. Six clawfighters stormed through the nebula, melting, reduced to a ragged chassis. The arachtaurs inside burned away but their ships still flew. Another one exploded, raising another wave of fury. Five remained. The interceptors streaked forward, and four clawfighters kept flying.

Getting closer.

"Mimori, faster!" King said.

The nebula roared before him. Waves rose and fell, larger than planets. Lightning flashed in the depths. Newborn stars collided. Heat and light danced and flashed and atoms sang.

Three clawfighters flew closer, carried on the waves of destruction.

The interceptors took one out.

One hit the Freedom's shields.

The bridge shook. Officers clung onto their workstations, swaying. A monitor exploded. A bulkhead cracked. Damage reports came flooding in. The shields wavered, flickered … and held.

King took a breath of relief.

Then the last clawfighter rose over a rolling cloud of star stuff and slammed into the Mahatma.

The twisted little machine tore through Mahatma's shield like a bullet through paper. The force field burned away.

A split second later, the clawfighter plowed into the Mahatma's hull.

The starship shattered like a glass flower.

Within a second, the graceful white hull was gone. Countless shards flew everywhere, melting in the nebula. Some sizzled against Freedom's shield. Only the reactor core remained, a glowing heart of pollen, floating in a metal fist like the sun in the heart of an astrolabe. The reactor did not explode. It simply went dark, floated away, and crumpled up like a burning piece of paper inside a hearth.

For a moment, silence filled Freedom's bridge.

No klaxons wailed. The speakers blared no warnings. No more clawfighters attacked. The ship kept flying.

Spitfire lowered her head. One or two officers shed tears.

King did not. He kept staring straight ahead, eyes dry. He would grieve later.

First he would destroy the Tyranny.

With the shields down to three percent, the Freedom emerged from the far side of the nebula.

They floated in the darkness, their hull charred, a few armored plates melted, a few sensors gone.

They flew alone. All around them was darkness and silence. They had made it through the gauntlet.

King had flown here leading a fleet. The Wandering Sun. The Kuroko. The Mahatma. All had fallen.

Like the nebula that still flared behind him, his fury erupted. His metal fist creaked. A joint popped.

The door chimed. Kim stepped onto the bridge. Not a MindWeb avatar but Kim Fletcher in the flesh. Normally her presence could soothe King. Today the storm burned too hot.

"Sir?" She approached him. "Our portal generator is fully charged. On your order, we can open a portal. We can fly home to Earth."

Mimori nodded. "I'll work with you, Kim, to make sure we fly through fast enough."

"I'll put a call out to the Raven," Jordan said. "We'll get Emily and the others back aboard, then fly home."

They all turned to look at King.

He looked back at them, one by one.

He looked at Kim, his engineer and secret lover. At Mimori, his confidant. At Spitfire, his surrogate daughter. At Jordan, his oldest and best friend. At all the rest of them, the crew members he had led here. His warriors. His family.

"We're not going home yet," he said.

"Sir?" Kim tilted her head. "You mean—we're going home as soon as the Raven gets here, right?"

The others understood. He saw it in their eyes.

"We came here on a mission," King said. "We've not yet fulfilled this mission. We will stay until we win."

Jordan took a deep breath. "Jim, we never expected the Tyranny. We never expected taking hits like this. The Freedom is hurt. She's hurting bad. We need to fly home, lick our wounds, muster a new fleet, and—"

"I won't run home with my tail between my legs," King said. "And I won't risk other ships. No. This is between us. Between me and Od'rahda. Between Freedom and Tyranny. We will continue this battle. We will win this battle!"

"Hell yeah!" Spitfire said, raising her fist.

The others looked doubtful.

"Jim," Jordan began. "Maybe this foe is too big for us."

"Maybe. But we will face this foe nonetheless. The Tyranny wants to hide? Very well." A caustic smile tugged at King's lips. "Then it's time for us to become the hunters."

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

After weeks in the darkness, hunted and afraid, Emily saw the starship Freedom ahead. Tears filled her eyes.

She sat in the Raven's cockpit. Her left hand was wrapped in bandages. Darjeeling sat at her side, gaunt and pale, but his hands were still steady on the yoke. Meytal and Stowy stood behind them in the cockpit, peering over their seats. The tall commando was wounded, but she kept one arm around the little stowaway, protecting her. The pair had begun as enemies; now they rarely parted. Little Niles floated above them, for once not complaining.

"Look at her," Emily whispered. "She's hurt. She's alone."

The Freedom floated outside the Firebird Nebula. Her starboard hull was covered in crude patches. Her armored plates were molten and hanging loose. Half the Angels of Liberty were gone. The ship looked barely spaceworthy, held together by a thread. But she was still beautiful. The most beautiful sight Emily had ever seen. The nebula painted her gold and purple and silver. She shone like a beacon, and she filled Emily with warmth and comfort.

She's home, Emily thought, eyes damp.

The Freedom flew alone tonight. Emily knew what that meant. The rest of the fleet had fallen.

A hatch opened on the Freedom's hull. After so long away, after a journey of pain and loss, the Raven returned into her mothership.

They landed on the hangar deck among Rhino dropships. The bulky vessels had been stripped of their armored plates; that armor now covered Freedom's battered hull. First responders were waiting on the deck. Firefighters. Medics. A squad of military policemen in black battle armor.

Admiral King stood among them.

Emily opened the airlock, stepped outside, and approached her commander. He stood before her, his face hard, his shoulders squared. His eyes were two chips of stone. That comforted Emily more than any hugs ever could. He was her pillar of stone. He was her anchor. In a burning cosmos of death and chaos, he was stability. He was her commanding officer, her leader, her captain.

She snapped her heels together and raised her bandaged hand in salute.

King stared at her, eyes dark, and returned the salute.

The rest of Emily's crew stepped out behind her. Darjeeling was limping. Meytal walked with her arm wrapped around Stowy, comforting the girl. The stowaway leaned against her, face pale.

"Where's the monk?" King asked.

"He fell." A tear fled Emily's eye. "He gave his life for us."

Darjeeling saluted his admiral too. "Sir! Reporting for duty, sir."

Then he swayed on his feet. King rushed over and caught his old friend.

"Oliver!" King said. "You're hurt."

"Oh, I'm all right." The sergeant gave a wan smile. "I kept the young ones safe for you, sir. I could not help the monk. But I kept the others safe."

Dr. Annie Jordan burst out from between the medics.

"Get me some stretchers!" the doctor called. "What are you all doing here talking? These people need medical attention."

"I'm all right, I'm all right!" Meytal said, shoving medics aside. "I just need to walk it off."

"You need to be quiet and let me treat you," Annie said.

An army of medics swarmed and began fussing around them.

King stepped closer to the crew, worming his way between the medics. "Did you find them? The Aeolians?"

Darjeeling lowered his head. "We did not."

"But our mission did not fail," Emily said. "We learned a lot about the Aeolians. They're real. They defeated the rahs. And some are still alive. I know where they are. And we're going to find them."

King nodded, and something shone through his stony exterior. His face remained hard, his eyes steely, but a new light shone there. The light of hope.

"Very well," the admiral said. "Get to the infirmary. Rest. Recover. Heal. We'll find the Aeolians. But not right now." The soft light left his eyes. Fire replaced it. "First there is one last battle to fight."

* * * * *

The Freedom flew to battle. One more time.

They flew alone.

They were almost out of ammo. Their hull was falling apart. They were weary, scared, haunted.

But they flew onward.

This time was different. This time they had a portal generator. They could go home anytime. This time it was a battle they chose to fight. Because of duty. Because of honor. Because of the vows they had taken to forever defend humanity. To defend freedom.

Out there flew the Tyranny, the toughest ship they had ever battled. Out there flew the single greatest threat to Earth they had ever known. So here, a thousand light-years from home, alone in an alien star system—here they would make their stand. Here they fought their greatest battle for Earth.

This war between the Freedom and the Tyranny had been raging for weeks. The war between freedom and tyranny had been raging since the dawn of mankind. This was one more round in a very old fight.

This was the last round.

King knew his ship was hurt. He knew they wouldn't take many more blows. This was it. Today they lost. Or they slew their foe.

They stood on the bridge, ready. Some stood here in the flesh. Others were hallucinations, here through the MindWeb.

He looked at his family.

Larry "Phantom" Jordan and Oliver Darjeeling stood side by side. Two old war dogs. King's best friends.

Bastian and Alice stood together, both in battle fatigues. A son. A daughter. Two great stars in King's sky.

Emily was here, a queen and leader and moral compass.

Kim stood here with damp eyes, wearing her ashy jumpsuit. She was the blazing torch that lit King's path in the darkness.

Spitfire, who was like a daughter. Mimori, the living soul of his ship.

All the rest of them. The people King loved most. Tonight they would all die with him. Or tonight they would be victorious.

"Tonight," he told them, "we fly to hell."

They looked back, faces hard and determined.

King kept talking.

"I see fear in your eyes. I feel that fear too. I see the wounds on your body, wounds earned in battle. I see the weariness. The longing for home. The pain. But when I look at you, I do not see despair. I see courage that grows from fear. I see strength that is forged in pain. I see the best damn soldiers in the galaxy. And tonight we're going to show the enemy what we're worth."

They were weary, but they all stood a little taller. Stowy, pale and leaning against Meytal, raised her fist.

King continued speaking.

"For a long time, we played a game of cat and mouse with the Tyranny. Sometimes we hurt her. Most of the time she hurt us. We fought around a burning star, in a field of rolling asteroids, and in the heart of a nebula. Now it's time to fight in the open. No more clever moves. Tonight we charge at our enemy. Tonight we face the Tyranny head-on. Only one ship will see tomorrow. Tonight we fly for freedom!"

Now they all raised their fists. Now they all stood tall. Their voices echoed through the bridge.

"For freedom!"

King met Kim's eyes. She stared back and gave him a little nod. She sent a telepathic message for his mind only.

"I know I wanted to fly home. But I'll fly with you to battle. Always."

"Are you ready, Kim?" he telepathized back. "For the plan we discussed?"

Determination shone in Kim's eyes. "Ready. The coordinates are inputted. On your signal—I'm ready."

King nodded. "No matter what happens, Kim. No matter how bad things seem. No matter how many punches the Freedom takes. No matter how hopeless things seem. You wait for my order."

"Understood. I'll wait."

They had come up with the plan that morning. Only the most senior officers knew. King didn't even dare mention the details over MindWeb. Just in case enemy software was spying on his thoughts. He dared not even think about the plan.

But it was ready.

Kim would be ready.

"I love you, Kim," he telepathized.

"I know." She gave him the slightest of smiles, hiding it from the crew, and her eyes sparkled. "I love you too."

King got off MindWeb and looked at his crew.

"Battle stations," he barked.

The crew rushed to their stations. Yellow alerts flashed across the bridge. The engines rumbled and the Freedom began to move.

It began.

* * * * *

They crested the nebula and soared above the mighty firebird. The Freedom was a large starship, but the nebula spanned the orbit of worlds. For a long time, the clouds of glowing dust and cosmic demolition stormed below them. King remembered his first flight in an airplane, chasing the sunset over golden clouds. He had been two years old. It was his earliest memory. Flight. This too felt like flying over a sky, over the atmosphere of a strange enchanted realm whose roots delved into dreams.

The Tyranny awaited on the far side of this realm.

She awaited. Od'rahda.

The Freedom flew onward. The bridge crew stood at their stations, backs straight, eyes alert. The best damn crew in the galaxy. They were ready.

For several shifts, the Freedom flew over this nebulous realm. The engines thrummed at full capacity. They were flying at one percent the speed of light, their top speed. Nobody could sleep, not even on their off shifts. They ate little. They all knew what awaited on the other side.

Finally the Freedom emerged over the nebula and glided toward the ecliptic plane. Darkness spread below. It felt like diving into a bottomless pit.

ATLAS data raced across monitors. Sensors swept the depths.

"Where are you?" King whispered.

Nothing.

The Tyranny was not there.

"Are you hiding again?" King narrowed his eyes. "Will you flee like a frightened bug?"

They flew in silence, gliding toward the Aeolian system. The central star shone below. The planets orbited all around, glinting like jewels in the night.

An alarm flashed.

A klaxon let out a blare.

"There she comes!" Jordan called.

She rose from the light of the star, charging upward. The Tyranny.

King smiled grimly. "Here we go."

They charged toward each other. Two starships. Two beaten, bruised foes. Two boxers in a ring. Two knights in a joust. Two species. Two commanders. The Freedom and Tyranny raced across the night.

Jordan looked up from his station. "We're within cannon range now, Admiral."

King nodded. "Let's give her a volley. Mimori, give me a ten inclination yaw, turning our port bow toward the enemy. Angels of Liberty—wait for my mark."

The Freedom yawed slightly, curving away from the charging Tyranny. Atop the dorsal hull, seven Angels of Liberty overlooked the port beam like gargoyles. Each gun was the length of London's Tower Bridge. They swiveled on their perch, great gears turning. The deck thrummed.

"The Tyranny is now in our sights, sir," Jordan reported. From his position on the bridge, he was communicating with the gunners up in the artillery station. "Guns locked on target."

"Fire!" King said.

Booms shook the Freedom as seven Maccabee torpedoes flew out.

The Tyranny kept charging.

She wasn't trying to dodge the assault.

King zoomed in and frowned at the image. At this distance, the Tyranny was still pixelated, but he could see enough. The alien dreadnought's spinneret was still damaged. King could make out metal shards sticking out her prow—the jagged remains of the spinneret. In past bouts, the Tyranny had fired balls of silk at incoming Maccabees, detonating the dreaded torpedoes in space. In a daring starfighter assault, one that would go down in legend, Spitfire had destroyed the spinneret. It was still a mangled wreck.

Interesting. So the Tyranny didn't have a Kim. Didn't have someone who could fix her. She was far from her homeworld, far from whatever unholy shipyard she had crawled out of. Yet she was still charging.

"Maccabees approaching target," Jordan said. "Impact with enemy in ten, nine, eight …"

The Tyranny charged even closer. The image on the viewport sharpened.

King's eyes widened.

He had been wrong. The spinneret was not damaged. What he had mistaken for a mangled mess of jagged metal was …

"Cannons!" King said. "A cluster of cannons—there below her portholes. Where the spinneret was." He frowned. "They're too narrow to fire torpedoes. What are those?"

Jordan was still counting down. "Five … four … three …"

"Enemy ship firing now!" Mimori said just as warnings flashed across the monitors.

Seven missiles flew from where the spinneret had been. They hit the seven torpedoes. Explosions bloomed across space. The Tyranny charged through the debris.

King stared. "Was that … a Shield of David system?"

Jordan squinted, replaying the video. "It was! The bastards stole our tech!"

The Tyranny stretched out her seven remaining legs, mechanical contraptions that could shatter cities. The eighth leg was missing. The Caracal, may her memory be blessed, had destroyed that leg before falling in battle. But even maimed, the Tyranny was a terror. Those seven enormous metal legs straightened, becoming railguns. They all fired at once. Seven silver spears flew toward Freedom.

Memories flashed through King. He had seen what those silver spears could do. They had torn half his ship open. This volley could end the Freedom. He shoved the panic down.

"Shield of David, you know what to do," King said.

Before the battle, Kim had rearranged the Shield of David batteries. She had removed the Shields, which had once guarded the starboard. The starboard had no more cannons left, and its armor was weak, cobbled together from repurposed Rhino hulls. It was best to keep the starboard away from the fight. So now the port, which would face the enemy, had four Shield of David batteries, each with ten bores. All forty of those launching tubes now fired interceptors.

The silver spears streaked closer. The interceptors raced to meet them. King watched from the bridge.

Suddenly the silver spears' warheads opened like paper fortune-teller games. Hundreds of little projectiles emerged, blasting forth. A cloud of chaff.

The Shield of David interceptors slammed into the decoys and exploded.

The silver spears shut their warheads and kept charging.

"Shield of David, fire again!" King ordered.

Major Motti Kaplan, the chief shield officer, looked up from his monitor. "We're still loading new interceptors, Admiral. We need another minute."

"Silver spears to impact in thirty seconds," Mimori said. "Twenty-nine, twenty-eight …"

"Evasive action!" King said.

A ship the size of Freedom needed more than thirty seconds to turn. But Mimori gave it her all, diverting all available power to their yaw thrusters. The dreadnought rattled, turning away from the silver spears.

And the silver spears turned to follow.

Jordan stared in disbelief. "Silver spears are simple kinetic missiles. Not heat-seeking missiles."

"They're heat-seeking now," King said. "Point defense, shoot them down!"

Machine-gun turrets swiveled across Freedom's hull. Thousands of bullets flew at the incoming missiles. One silver spear exploded. Then another. They were out of chaff. Good. The bullets took out a few more.

Three silver spears remained.

"Three seconds!" Mimori cried.

"Shields to full power, brace for impact!" King shouted.

The bullets took out one silver spear only five thousand klicks away.

A second later, two silver spears slammed into the Freedom.

The shield bubble tore. The spears plowed into the armored hull. The dreadnought shook.

Mimori screamed and clutched her side.

"Two direct hits," the android said, face contorted in pain. "Hull breach on midsection starboard, deck 18. Hull breach on deck 24!" She grimaced, holding her ribs, feeling everything the ship felt.

"She's firing again!" Jordan said.

King saw it on the monitor. As Freedom reeled, the Tyranny wasn't wasting a moment. She was coming in for the kill, charging closer, her seven railguns booming. Freedom didn't even have time to fight back, just to defend.

"Shield of David, fire—but fire only half your batteries," King said.

Motti nodded. "Firing now."

This time only twenty interceptors flew out to meet the seven silver spears. The two ships were closer now. It all happened within seconds. The silver spears opened their hatches again, expelling chaff. The interceptors exploded and the spears kept flying.

"Shield of David, fire again!" King ordered.

The remaining Shield of David batteries fired. More interceptors flew. They hit the silver spears a mere thousand klicks away. Explosions blazed. Shrapnel pattered Freedom's flickering shields.

The Tyranny charged closer. Closer.

King stared, fists clenched. His upper lip peeled back in a snarl. So it was a game of chicken. Was it time for his final plan?

Suddenly the Tyranny yawed hard, veering away, exposing its underbelly.

"Fire the Angels of Liberty!" King shouted.

The cannons clumsily wheeled toward their targets, gears cranking. The Tyranny was faster. She raced overhead, streaking above the Freedom only ten thousand klicks away. Hatches opened on her underbelly, and she spilled out a storm of clawfighters. The little spider-shaped vessels came streaking down.

"Firebirds, launch!" King cried.

* * * * *

Spitfire flew out with her flock.

Yes, she was a lieutenant commander now. A bridge officer. She didn't care. Two flights a week, that's what King had told her. She wouldn't miss this flight for the world.

With over a hundred other Eagles, the battered remains of the Freedom's Flock, she launched into space and charged at the enemy.

Two hundred clawfighters stormed her way.

Each mechanical spider was the size of her Eagle. Their legs stretched forward, exposing cannon bores. The arachnid army surged toward them, a wall of death, a demonic horde.

For a second, fear flowed over Spitfire. She clutched her Magen David amulet, the charm her father had worn to battle. Her father had died with this pendant. Perhaps it was cursed. Perhaps the Star of David had always been a cursed thing, following her people from tragedy to tragedy, from fire to fire, from holocaust to ashes. But throughout these infernos, this star had still shone, had still lit their way. Spitfire prayed that it brought her a miracle today.

The clawships roared closer, hideous baby spiders leaving their mother, hungry mechanical terrors bred to devour eagles.

The other pilots flew behind Spitfire. She saw their vitals on MindWeb. Their heart rates soared. Anxiety flooded them. But not one pilot turned to flee.

"Hear me, Freedom's Flock!" Spitfire cried. "Hear me, warriors of Earth! We fly to war. We fly for glory. Charge with me! Fight with me! The Eagles of freedom soar!"

She unleashed her missiles.

Behind her, the other Eagles spread out in full battle formation. Their pilots cried out for war and launched their own missiles.

Ahead of them, the clawfighter army responded with a blinding, furious barrage of plasma bolts.

An Eagle exploded. A pilot's cry fell silent.

And another Eagle. And another. Fellow pilots. Friends. People she loved.

Spitfire clenched her jaw and kept charging.

"For freedom!" she cried and flew into their lines.

An instant later, the other Eagles joined her.

They stormed through the clawship formations. They were like galaxies colliding. Like a wildfire and avalanche crashing together. The battle exploded into a hundred dogfights. Starfighters zipped around, rising, falling, rolling. Missiles and plasma bolts flew every which way.

Every moment, another Eagle winked out.

The clawfighters were faster, deadlier, more agile. Spitfire didn't know if she would survive the night. She might never see Earth again.

"Spitfire?" The voice came through her comlink. It was Pickles, flying nearby, chasing a clawfighter through the storm.

"Bit busy," she said.

"Spitfire." His voice choked. "You're a good pilot. And a good friend."

"Stop talking like you're doing to die, dumbass, and fight." She shoved the throttle, charged, and destroyed a clawfighter with a storm of her rotary cannons.

"Thanks for the pep talk." Pickles took a hit on his wing and groaned. His starfighter spun madly. He managed to steady his flight, launch a few missiles, and destroy the oncoming clawfighter.

"Pickles?" Spitfire said. "You're a good friend too. If we live, I'm buying you a beer. If we die—I'll buy you one in hell."

"See you there, buddy. We'll show 'em how hell is done."

Another Eagle exploded nearby. The battle raged on.

* * * * *

King stood on the bridge, watching Eagle after Eagle wink out.

For a second, doubt filled him.

Should I have run? he thought. Should I have fled back to Earth, returned with an army? My soldiers are dying out there.

Another explosion flared on the monitor. Another pilot dead.

Damage reports came in from the breached decks. Casualties were climbing. Over a hundred dead in the midsection.

They die for me, King thought. For my battle. For my vendetta.

The Tyranny rose before him, looming over the battling starfighters like a player over a chessboard. A ship larger, faster, deadlier than the Freedom. His greatest nemesis.

Is that all we are, Od'rahda? he thought. Players sacrificing pawns?

He could still flee. He could call his pilots back. He could open that portal to Earth.

Then he saw a vision. The Tyranny looming over Earth, a great spider clutching the planet in her claws. The Tyranny was hurt too. King had landed his own blows. He could still see the holes in her hull. If King fled now, the Tyranny would flee to her homeworld, would repair her hull, and return with an army.

King had to draw a line in the sand. Here and now. He had to end this.

"Fire another broadside!" he said.

The Angels of Liberty boomed across the port bow. The Maccabees flew. After this long battle between them, King only had a handful of torpedoes left. Each one had to count.

The Tyranny blasted her interceptors, taking them out. King's eye twitched.

Maybe if King still had all fourteen cannons, he could have overwhelmed the Tyranny's defense system. Like this, he could not get through.

The Tyranny responded with her own volley.

The Freedom fired her interceptors. She also filled space with a storm of bullets. She cranked up her shields with every drop of juice she could get.

They destroyed six silver spears.

The seventh curved through space, chased the Freedom's flight, and plowed into her underbelly.

White light flared, and for a moment, King could see nothing and hear only ringing in his ears.

* * * * *

The klaxons screamed, cutting through the fog. King must have blacked out for a second or two. He took a deep breath, and his vision cleared. Red damage reports flashed everywhere.

"Dorsal hull breach!" Mimori cried.

"Eagle launching decks 1 and 2 destroyed!" Jordan shouted. "Sealing deck 3!"

A chill flooded King. The launching decks had never been breached—not in all Freedom's battles. Deck 1 was where King had served for years as a starfighter pilot. His Eagles were out in space, but the decks were still full of flight crews.

Had been full of flight crews.

Kim appeared via MindWeb, her avatar flickering. "We lost power cables to the shields. Shields dropping by twenty percent. We're losing air. I'm working on sealing the breach. Our chassis is bent. If it snaps, we're dead in the water." She looked at King. "We won't take much more of this."

"Keep us flying, Kim!"

"I don't know if I can."

"Give me as long as you can."

She nodded and her avatar vanished.

King stared ahead at his foe. For a moment, the Tyranny was not firing any missiles. She just hovered there over the dogfighters. Her eight red portholes shone like eyes. The giant metal spider seemed to be staring. The two ships floated before each other, two weary boxers in the final round.

King knew the Freedom was losing.

"Sir, the Tyranny is sending a message," Mimori said. She was pale, trembling, and clutching her side.

King took a step closer to the central viewport. He narrowed his eyes.

"On-screen."

A view of Tyranny's bridge filled the viewport. It was a strange place, almost like a natural cave. Coiling metal bars rose everywhere like burnt trees. Cobwebs hung between them. Strange animals clung to the strands, cocooned, still alive and wriggling.

Od'rahda stood on a mountain of skulls. Her eight legs spread out around her like the bars of a cage. Each claw impaled several skulls through their jaws, forming macabre jewelry. She had draped her human body with crimson cloth embroidered with gold, and when she smiled, she revealed gilded fangs.

"Hello, Admiral King."

"Did you call to show off your new outfit? It's lovely. I'm still going to kill you."

Her smile widened. "How cocky you are. Your ship is hurt. She is bleeding. She is dying. We both know it. You are wounded prey, limping, unable to escape. I need just lunge forward and feast."

"Nice of you to call first," King said. "But dinner is canceled. You'll have to go hungry tonight."

She licked her lips. "I did not call you to taunt you, Admiral King. I called because I wanted you to know the truth. I wanted to tell you. So you would die knowing."

King wanted to hang up. To hell with whatever she had to say. But curiosity got the better of him.

"If you have something to say, out with it. Otherwise, shut up and get back into the ring."

She stepped off her hill of skulls. Her legs clattered across a deck cobbled with bones. She leaned closer, seeming almost to emerge from the viewport onto Freedom's bridge.

"Do you know what I am, King?"

"All right, you're still playing games. Mimori, cut her—"

"I am an arachtaur," she continued. "Half rah. Half human. I am woven of two strands of DNA, coiling together, feeding off each other. Spider and ape. We are both monsters, King. That is what you don't realize. Both the rahs and humans are killers. My humanity is no nobler than my arachnid appetite."

"You're rambling," King said. "Is that a human or spider quality?"

"Very well. You're impatient … Father." Her smile widened. "Yes, it's true. I'm your daughter, Admiral King."

King rolled his eyes. "And next you'll tell me we can rule the galaxy together. I'm not buying it. Goodbye."

"Wait." Her smile vanished. Her eyes blazed. "Listen to me, King. I was not conceived through carnal acts. I did not grow in a belly or egg. I was brewed in a pit in the heart of Arakavish. My creator, Elder'rah, grew my arachnid body with a strand of her own genetics. My human half, King … that came from your DNA." She passed her hands over her human body. "I am you."

He nodded. "Oh sure. I remember Elder'rah, the empress of Arakavish, coming into my cabin last month. She took a DNA swab, I signed some forms, and here you are." He snickered "I'm still not buying it."

Her eyes narrowed. A thin smile returned to her lips. "You were our prisoner once." Her voice slithered like a serpent over bones. "Do you remember? Long ago. In a dungeon on the moon. We strapped you to a rack."

King couldn't help it. He flashed back to Darkland, the amusement park on the dark side of the moon. To the rahs stretching him on the rack. Dislocating his shoulder. Torturing him for their pleasure. King still woke up with nightmares some nights.

"Ah, you do remember," Od'rahda said. "It still hurts, doesn't it? We took your blood then. You won that battle. But we took enough of your blood. The little spiders brought it to my empress. She called you the greatest warrior of Earth. The famous commander who thwarted her invasion. What better blood to use? Who better to send against Admiral King than his own flesh and blood?" She tossed back her head and laughed. "You've been fighting yourself, Admiral King. A younger, stronger version of yourself. You've already lost. Now that you know the truth, I will finally let you die."

The video vanished.

The Tyranny charged.

King's fury exploded through him. He clenched his fists and raised his voice. "Mimori—fire the Fist of Freedom!"

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

King's words echoed through the bridge.

"Fire the Fist of Freedom!"

Only a second of silence followed. But that silence sliced through the battle like a scimitar through flesh. Everyone stared at King. The Fist of Freedom was their ace in the hole. The gargantuan railgun thrust out from the prow, its twin prongs like the fabled Twin Towers of Earth's golden age. Requiring a full day to charge, it was a once-in-a-battle weapon. They all knew it. This had to be their knockout blow.

The second of silence ended.

Mimori turned toward Jordan. "Sir? I need your approval."

Jordan was still staring at King. He nodded. "Approved."

"Confirmed, sirs. Preparing the Fist of Freedom for—" Mimori frowned. "The Tyranny is moving!"

King saw it on the screen. Tyranny was rising fast, soaring above Freedom.

"She knows what's up. Mimori, keep her in our sights. Pitch up hard!"

"Aye, pitching at full speed."

Motors rumbled across the dreadnought. Freedom raised her prow. A ship this big took a while to maneuver. The Tyranny was far away, had to cross more distance, but she kept ahead of their scope.

"Mimori?" King said.

"I'm trying, sir." A frown creased her brow. "The Tyranny is quick. Quicker than she should be."

Jordan looked up from a monitor, eyes wide. "She's using graviton engines! I'm reading graviton waves. Jim, we can't catch her like this."

"What the hell?" King growled. "Since when does she have a graviton drive?"

Jordan's eyes were dark. "We haven't seen her use it before."

King grounded his teeth. Until now, the Tyranny had been using standard propulsion. It was big, bulky, and powerful, useful for propelling a gargantuan dreadnought between worlds. Only the smaller clawfighters had been using graviton drives—they needed the agility.

Now the Tyranny, a dreadnought the size of downtown Omaha, displayed the agility of a tiny starfighter. Clearly she had been saving this ability as a surprise.

Mimori tried to aim the railgun again.

It was no use. The Tyranny was too fast. She blazed over them, streaking through space. Mimori had to roll, then pitch downward, trying to bring Tyranny back into their sights. The arachnid-shaped starship charged below them, vanishing again, then rose from behind Freedom's starboard bow.

"Fire more Maccabees!" King ordered. "Keep the Tyranny on the defensive."

Mimori looked at him. "We only have seven Maccabees left, si—"

"Fire them all! Now!"

The last of the Maccabees flew. The Tyranny yawed aside, trying to dodge them. The Maccabees swerved to follow. The Tyranny fired her interceptors. Six Maccabees exploded in deep space.

The seventh got close. It almost hit. It exploded right off Tyranny's bow. Not close enough.

"Dammit!" King snapped.

Those had been his last torpedoes. The Tyranny suffered a few cracks, nothing more. The arachnid ship aimed her mechanical legs, exposing the railguns on the tips.

Those railguns boomed.

Silver spears streaked through space, heading toward Freedom's starboard bow.

And Freedom had moved all the Shield of David batteries to her port beam.

"Brace for impact!" Jordan shouted.

The silver spears slammed into them.

The weapons plowed through the cobbled Rhino armor and drove into Freedom's gut.

Fires blazed through the Freedom.

The dreadnought reeled through space.

Everyone on the bridge fell. The lights died. The ATLAS monitors flickered and rebooted in text mode only. Smoke rolled over King, and his ears rang. Casualty counts skyrocketed. Over two hundred dead. Then three hundred. And the counters kept rising.

"She's coming in again!" Jordan said.

King barely heard his XO over the roaring klaxons and the din of creaking, breaking metal.

"Full power to starboard shields!" King roared, voice raspy. He tasted blood. More blood dripped down his head.

"Brace for—" Jordan began.

The bridge jolted.

King's head hit a bulkhead.

He blacked out.

He opened his eyes, found himself lying on the deck. A fire crackled over a workstation like an altar to a demonic god. An officer lay dead, eyes staring blankly. King shoved himself to his feet. His ears rang.

He saw the Tyranny swoop overhead, moving from one monitor to another. She was still dodging Freedom's railgun.

King grabbed a comlink. "Eagles! All Eagle starfighters! Attack the Tyranny. Shove her into the path of our railgun."

Spitfire's voice came over the com. "I'll try, sir, but there are a lot of clawfighters here. I'm not sure we can get by them."

The Tyranny swooped again. More silver spears flashed. This time Mimori managed to roll the dorsal hull toward the assault. The Shield of David batteries destroyed the spears only a few klicks above. Shrapnel pattered them, reverberating through the ship. King didn't know if they'd survive another assault.

He checked on the Eagles. They were still far, bogged down in a cloud of dogfighting.

"Rhinos!" King said, transmitting his words to decks 5 and 6, the dropship hangar bays. "All Rhinos—launch and assault the Tyranny! Only one pilot per Rhino. No crew. Launch and attack!"

"Jim, there's no armor on those Rhinos," Jordan said. "They'll never make it home."

"I know," King said grimly. "Rhinos—launch!"

Forty Rhino-class heavy dropships, stripped of their armor, launched into space. They were troop carriers, but today their holds were empty. They looked so thin without their armored plates. So fragile. But they charged to war like true wild rhinos, furious and brave.

"Hit the Tyranny's port bow," King told them. "Shove her into the path of our railgun."

He saw the brave pilots on MindWeb. He saw the fear and courage in their eyes. Heard their calls for freedom. They all cried out together, flying together, dying together.

The Rhinos' holds were empty. The Tyranny didn't know that. Od'rahda probably thought they were full of explosives. Or maybe full of marines prepared to board her. She turned to fire on them. Plasma bolts hit Rhino after Rhino. Without their armor, the dropships exploded at once. More cries fell silent.

But the surviving pilots shouted louder.

"Charge!" they cried.

"For freedom!"

"For Earth!"

"Charge!"

Thirty Rhinos remained. Then only twenty. And the plasma bolts still flew. A silver spear plowed through one Rhino. Then another. Soon only ten Rhinos remained, then only seven.

"Charge!"

Thirty-four Rhinos fell during the mad charge that night. Six remained and bombarded the Tyranny with missiles, bullets, and grenades. Two brave pilots flew their Rhinos directly into the Tyranny, blasting holes into her hull, giving their lives in a kamikaze attack.

They shoved the Tyranny sideways in space.

They brought her into the sight of Freedom's railgun.

For a perfect second, the Tyranny was right in the center of their scope.

"Fire!" King and Jordan cried together.

* * * * *

The twin rails lit up with brilliant electricity. White light flooded the bridge. All sounds faded. For a second, it felt like being inside a star.

The legendary railgun fired a Goliath projectile, a massive tube of solid steel. It shot forth at hypersonic speed, carrying enough kinetic energy to destroy cities. It should eat through the Tyranny like a bullet pulverizing an apple.

But within the same split second, the Tyranny fired her own railguns. All seven of them. Seven silver spears, missiles the size of oak trees, blazed toward one target.

Halfway between the ships, the silver spears hit the Goliath missile.

An explosion like a supernova lit up space.

A sphere of shimmering white light expanded in a circular shock wave. The force plowed into the Freedom, denting her legendary railgun, knocking the dreadnought back in space. Shrapnel plowed through the shields, the armored hull, and thrust deep into the prow, carving through decks.

King lay on his back. The bridge deckhead collapsed. Shards of steelglass spilled everywhere. The floor tore open, revealing the deck below. Electricity sparked and smoke filled the air. A comms officer lay dead beside him, her skull caved in. Mimori sat slumped in the corner. Half her face was gone. The synthetic skin had burned off, revealing a gleaming chrome skull. Her mechanical eye moved back and forth, making little buzzing sounds. Her arm had torn off, and cables spilled from the stump. Jordan lay on the deck, moaning. His leg was bent. Broken. He was out of the fight for now. Darjeeling was patting out a fire on his arm. Cuts and burns covered him.

King pushed himself to his knees.

His head swayed. The deck creaked. A workstation crumbled and fell through a hole to the deck below.

"Kim," he rasped, sending a telepathic message to the stern.

An image of her materialized in his mind. She stood down in engineering. Scattered fires blazed around her. A pipe was venting steam. Deckhands were rushing back and forth with fire extinguishers and tools. One man lay in the corner, burnt and moaning. Kim was sooty, and blood coated her cheek.

"I'm here, Jim. I'm fine."

"How's my ship?"

"Falling apart."

"Keep her together, Kim."

"I don't know if I can. Jim, this is bad. The Freedom is barely flying."

"I need just one more round in the ring, Kim. Can you give me that? One more round."

She hesitated for just a second, seemed ready to argue, then nodded. A tear rolled down her cheek, painting a white line through the soot.

"Remember what we planned, Kim?" he said.

She nodded. "Yes. It's all set up."

"It's time," King said. "We're doing it. Now."

Another tear fled her eye. "I love you, Jim."

"I know." He smiled at her. "I'll see you soon. In this world or the next."

He ended the call and rose to his feet.

The deck swayed below him. He trudged through the ruins of the bridge, over holes and around debris, heading toward the central command station. The main viewport still hung on its fortified bulkhead—cracked, sparking, but still broadcasting a stream from space.

King watched the debris scatter. His enormous Goliath projectile, a chunk of solid metal the size of a sperm whale, had been pulverized. Nothing but chunks of metal remained.

The Tyranny hovered before him. She was thousands of klicks away, farther than Earth was wide, but the viewport magnified the image. She seemed to be hovering just outside. The explosion had ravaged her. Three of her mechanical legs were missing. Two hung at odd angles. Chunks of her hull had torn off, revealing a honeycomb of cabins. A few dead arachtaurs floated through space. So did a few dead humans.

Both ships were dying.

But neither was knocked out just yet.

King wrapped his fists around his control station.

"Mimori!" he said.

The android struggled to her feet, her stump of an arm sparking. Her head creaked as she turned toward him.

"Sir?" Her voice was still high and feminine, but it carried a jarring mechanical timber.

"Charge at that goddamn ship," King growled. "Charge right at her! Full speed ahead!"

"Sir, I would advise—" Mimori began.

"I said charge. That's an order. Now fly straight at that ship until we ram her!"

Jordan looked up from the deck, his face contorted with pain. He nodded. He understood.

"Do it, Mimori," the XO said.

"Yes, sirs," said the android, a tremble to her voice.

The dreadnought's engines roared. Punched full of holes, bleeding air, barely holding together, the Freedom flew to battle. One more time.

* * * * *

At first they flew slowly.

Their engine was hurt. Their stern was ablaze. Their hull was shattered, and their very chassis creaked and bent.

The dreadnought limped forward, leaving a trail of smoke and debris through space. Watching from afar, the Eagle pilots could barely believe Freedom was flying at all.

But somehow she kept flying. Somehow she gained speed.

Her engine roared. Fire blazed from her exhaust ports. Her machine-gun turrets swiveled toward the enemy, creaking and shedding scrap metal but ready to fire.

And she flew faster still.

On the bridge, King stood before the viewport, staring at his enemy.

At his side, Jordan managed to pull himself into a chair. His leg was broken. But Commander Larry "Phantom" Jordan, XO of the starship Freedom, returned to his post. Oliver Darjeeling was covered with smoke, and he cradled his arm, but he too manned his post, his chin proudly raised. Mimori was missing an arm and half her face. But she came to stand at King's side.

Across the starship, they were wounded. Grieving. Some were dying. But they stood at their posts. Not one man or woman lost heart. Not one spacer called out to flee. They were all with him. All at his side.

The Freedom was still limping, but she gained speed. She flew toward her foe.

A cry rose over MindWeb.

"Fly with her!" Spitfire called. "Fly with the Freedom!"

Dozens of Eagle starfighters raced forward. The clawfighters scattered, fleeing toward their mothership. The Eagles gathered. They flew at Freedom's sides, tiny lights in the darkness.

Jordan began to sing. His face was flushed with pain, but his baritone was still strong. He sang the "Song of Freedom." The song they had sung in the old wars. The song they sang again. Across the ship, they joined him.

Let all free souls salute her flight

Let her engines bathe the dark with light

Let her cannons sing the song of freedom

The fleet will gather; she will lead them

Our flagship sails into the flame

As poets weep and sing her name

For liberty's light! For glory's hymn!

Praise the Freedom, she will win!

The Freedom flew faster still.

King raised his metal fist.

"Charge!" he shouted.

"Charge!" shouted his bridge crew.

"Charge!" shouted the Eagle pilots.

Darjeeling and Jordan both drew their ceremonial sabers. They raised the blades overhead. "Charge!"

King shouted louder, raspy voice filling the bridge. "Charge for Freedom and the light of Earth!"

And the Freedom was now charging. Her engines blazed with full fury. Her machine guns roared. Her fire lit the night. She blazed forth through the darkness, and the courage of her crew shone the brightest.

Ahead of them, the Tyranny flew too.

She too was hurt. Chunks of her hull were gone. Her legs were severed or bent. But this time she did not turn to flee. This time the Tyranny flew right at them.

She too gained speed.

The two dreadnoughts charged at each other like jousting knights.

They flew closer. Closer still. Their starfighters flew around them.

King bared his teeth, staring at his enemy.

"Charge!" his crew was crying. "For freedom!"

A transmission from the Tyranny washed over his ship. King took the call. Od'rahda appeared on-screen. Her bridge was burning. The fire had stripped off half her skin. She bared her teeth at him.

"You cannot win!" she screeched, voice demonic. Her eyes no longer seemed human. "Your ship is falling apart. Your railgun is bent. Your missiles are spent. And you think to ram me? You'll die!"

"Then I'll see you in hell!" King said and cut the call.

The two ships charged closer. Closer. Two lights in the darkness. The Freedom—blazing white with heat and fury. The Tyranny—burning red like hellfire. They each left a luminous trail behind them. They flew closer. Closer. Somebody watching from a distance would see blazing comets racing closer in the night.

"Ten seconds to impact," Mimori said.

King kept staring ahead.

"Nine seconds."

King tightened his fists on his control panel.

"Eight seconds."

Jordan managed to stand up, leaning against his seat. He saluted.

"Seven seconds."

Darjeeling saluted too, tears in his eyes.

"Six seconds."

Bastian sent a message over MindWeb. I love you, Dad.

"Five seconds."

The Tyranny filled their viewport, a burning demon, a spider from the underworld. She wasn't backing down. She was in this to the bitter end.

"Four seconds."

"Kim!" King said. "Now!"

"Three seconds."

"Got it!" Kim cried. The portal generator roared to life, spinning across Freedom's prow.

"Two seconds."

A portal began to materialize between the two starships.

"One second."

"Mimori, yaw left hard!" King shouted.

She yawed left.

The Freedom banked hard.

The Tyranny kept charging in a straight line.

The Freedom grazed the edge of the portal, just missing it, and flew onward into the distance.

The Tyranny never stood a chance. With only a split-second warning, Od'rahda didn't have time to react. She probably barely registered the portal before she flew through it.

The Tyranny shot through the portal with a flash of light—and disappeared. She left only a cloud of fire and floating debris behind her.

King took a shuddering breath.

Was this real?

Had this really happened?

Had it really worked?

"Mimori, turn our ATLAS sensors toward the local star and zoom in."

Freedom didn't have many sensors left. But they still had one good telescope on their dorsal hull. Mimori pointed it at Aeolia A, the local sun.

They didn't really see anything. As it turned out, even a starship the size of Tyranny didn't make much of a splash when flying into a star. But there was a trace of radiation. A slight disturbance on the surface. Just enough to confirm it.

Kim had programmed the portal generator perfectly. It had opened a portal straight into the star.

Most likely, Od'rahda never knew what hit her.

King took a deep breath and nodded.

"Checkmate."

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The battle was over. The battle was won. And the victors gathered to mourn.

They mustered in the Rhino flight deck. The Rhinos had all fallen in the battle, along with their pilots. The deck seemed vast and hollow. A few Eagles docked here, pushed against the bulkhead. The silver spears had destroyed their hangar bays.

The coffins covered most of the deck now. Seven hundred and fifteen. Row by row.

The Freedom was an old, battle-hardened ship. She had faced Red Dawn dreadnoughts. She had charged into alien fleets, all guns blazing. She had fought many battles. Had suffered losses. Had celebrated victories. But she had never lost so many soldiers, not in all her battles. This was a victory. But it was also Freedom's greatest tragedy.

Hundreds of soldiers came for the funerals. They lined the bulkheads, dressed in their navy-blue service uniforms. They came from across the starship. Science officers. Command and tactical officers. Engineers. Marines. Pilots. Thousands more watched from across the starship. They all mourned.

King approached a podium. He looked at his crew, and his chest constricted.

Once more, he had to bury soldiers. Once more, he had to speak when no words seemed adequate. What could he say? That they gave their lives for freedom? That he would forever honor their sacrifice? It was true, yet today it seemed trite. It seemed that no words could alleviate this pain.

They were all staring at him, waiting for him to speak. Somebody had prepared him a speech. King reached for his reading glasses, then put them back in his shirt pocket. He didn't need to read anyone else's words.

He looked at his crew. His gravelly voice filled the deck.

"Pyrrhus of Epirus was a Greek king of the Hellenistic period. A renowned general, he was a great enemy to Rome. A real thorn in the Romans' side. Even today, many regard Pyrrhus as the greatest general in antiquity. But Rome was a mighty foe. Pyrrhus won many victories against his enemy. But each victory took a terrible toll. He won battle after battle. And lost more and more soldiers. He finally won too many victories. And he remained a king of corpses.

"Today military academies warn of Pyrrhic victories. Victories that are so costly they might as well be losses. Today I look at our fallen comrades. And I wonder: Was this a Pyrrhic victory?"

King paused and looked at his crew. They stared back. Jordan, his leg in a cast. Mimori, her skin peeled away, revealing her chrome interior. Spitfire, chin raised and eyes damp. Emily, a queen of hope and blood. Bastian, ghosts in his eyes. Kim, his anchor, his lighthouse in the dark.

King continued speaking.

"And I know the answer. The answer is no. This was not a Pyrrhic victory. This is a difficult victory. This is a victory that feels like a loss. This is a victory with a cost that feels too great to bear. But this is the cost of freedom. This is the cost of survival against an enemy that would see us exterminated. This is the cost we bear so that humanity may live on." His voice softened. "These are truths I know in my core. But knowing this doesn't make the loss any easier. And today I grieve. We all do."

Somebody let out a huge sob in the crowd. It was Stowy. Meytal wrapped an arm around her and held her close. Emily embraced them both, tears in her eyes.

"I have no words that can ease this pain," King said. "I cannot bring back the dead. I cannot promise that more will not die in future battles. But I can promise you this. I still fight for you. And I know that you, the survivors of this war, are as brave, determined, and strong as ever. Mourn today. Grieve and shed tears for the fallen. And remember why they died. Remember why we fight. We are far from home. But even here, we fight for the freedom of Earth. Even here, we fight for those we love. May God bless Earth and may God bless you all."

Darjeeling limped forward, leaning on a cane. He looked thinner than usual. Paler. Older. But his mustache was still neatly trimmed, and he wore his finest dress uniform. He was still the consummate soldier. Always had been. Always would be. The aging sergeant snapped his heels together.

"'Ten . . . shun!" he boomed.

Everyone stood at attention. The group MindWeb activated, causing everyone to hallucinate the same thing. The port bulkhead seemed to vanish. They could now gaze directly into space. In actuality, the video feed was coming from cameras mounted on the external hull. But MindWeb made it appear as if the hull had vanished, replaced with glass.

The seven remaining Angels of Liberty stretched over the port beam. The enormous guns were scarred and burnt, but they would still fire. They pointed at the stars.

"All guns—load!" Darjeeling cried. His voice echoed across the deck.

Up in the artillery station, the gunners were on MindWeb too. They could see the deck below, could hear their sergeant. They loaded missiles with blank warheads into the great guns. Each missile was black and painted with golden wings. Funerary missiles.

"Fire!" Darjeeling shouted.

The seven cannons boomed.

The sound was deafening. The deck shook. Emily started. Stowy cried fresh tears. Many eyes were damp.

"Fire!" Darjeeling shouted again, and again the guns of Freedom boomed.

"Fire!" he cried. And the cannons shot a third time. And now nearly everyone on the deck had tears in their eyes.

Darjeeling spun on his heel, marched toward King, and saluted. King returned the salute.

We've done this too many times, King thought. This is all too horribly familiar.

They opened the airlock. One by one, they sent the coffins floating into space. Normally, they brought their dead home to Earth for burial. Today there were too many dead. Ten thousand brave spacers had flown to Aeolia aboard the starship Freedom. Over a thousand had fallen in battle against the Tyranny, joining another thousand dead aboard the other ships of the fleet. There was no place to store them, to preserve their bodies for the long journey home. So out here among the stars they would forever rest.

King looked back at his crew.

"They will never grow old. But we will never forget them. You are the survivors. You are those who will carry on the torch of freedom. You will always carry the memory of the fallen. And I will always be proud of you. Dismissed."

* * * * *

King's Library, his oasis aboard the ship, had not emerged unscathed. The bookshelves had fallen, spilling precious leather-bound books across the wooden floor. Some of those books were centuries old. Broken model ships, antique naval instruments, and Rowan's framed crayon artwork lay among the books, shattered. The suit of armor, which had guarded the fireplace, now lay facedown. The helmet had detached and rolled across the deck, coming to rest by a fallen globe.

His heavy oak desk had slid across the room, turned on its side, and slammed into a bulkhead. Chairs lay in pieces around it. Several mementos had fallen off the desk and broken. A framed photograph of his father. A clay sculpture Bastian had made as a child. A model of the Freedom, signed by three previous commanders. The desk drawer had slid open, spilling medals, an antique pistol, and a bottle of Martian ale.

Amazingly, the bottle had survived the fall. The amber liquid still swirled inside. Martian glass could take a bullet. King lifted the bottle, gave it a shake, and barked a laugh. At least one thing survived.

He tapped the comlink on his lapel. Begrudgingly, he had accepted MindWeb's advantages during battle. But he'd be damned if he telepathize now.

"Larry? Oliver? I know you're both busy. But I hope you're not too busy to share a drink with an old man."

They were his two oldest friends. Larry "Phantom" Jordan and Oliver Darjeeling. They were never too busy for him. Within moments, Darjeeling showed up. The sergeant major was limping and leaning on a cane.

"Good afternoon, sir." He saluted. "My, isn't this place a proper mess?"

A baritone voice boomed down the hall. "The man lives in a pigsty. I've told him that a thousand times."

Jordan entered the cabin next. With one leg in a cast, he was using crutches.

"Look at you two," King said. "Two old geezers who can barely walk."

"Hey, I'm not old," Jordan said. "I'm two years younger than you two. The baby of the group."

King snorted. "You're in your sixties now, Larry. Welcome to old age."

Jordan raised his chin. "Nonsense. I'm a middle-aged man."

King nodded. "Assuming you live to a hundred and twenty, yes, you're right."

"I'm in my prime," Jordan insisted.

"Dear Lord, if this is your prime, I hate to see the next few years," King said.

Darjeeling knelt and began lifting old books. "I'll help you tidy up, sir."

"Put those down, man!" King said. "First of all, you need to rest. Second, I can clean my own mess."

"He can't," Jordan said. "But it's best to let him wallow in it."

"But Admiral!" Darjeeling looked up, holding a book. "These are rare books. This is a vintage edition of Moby-Dick, it is."

King took the book, dusted it off, and caressed the leather cover. "From hell's heart, I stab at thee …" He looked up at his friends. "And we did, didn't we? We flew into hell's heart. And we stabbed our foe with everything we had." King lowered his head. "Captain Ahab died to defeat his whale. I should have died too. I should have died with my troops."

"Sir!" Darjeeling said, rising from the floor.

"Jim." Jordan put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't say that."

King clenched his jaw. He stared at the deck. "Look at us. Three old war dogs. Why do we linger on while the young die? We took them here to this hell. We sent them into the fire. We sent them to die." King's hands suddenly shook. He threw the book against the wall. "I should have died with them!"

"Jim." Jordan hugged him. "It's okay, my friend. It's okay."

King shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to cry. He would never shed a tear before his troops. But these were his friends. And a tear fell.

Finally King took a step back and composed himself. He lifted the bottle of Martian ale from the deck. "This drink survived a trip to hell. Will you drink it with me?"

Darjeeling nodded. "I normally just enjoy a cuppa, but tonight I do feel like something a bit stronger."

Jordan rummaged through the debris on the deck. "I found your mugs. They're cracked."

"We'll pass around the bottle," King said. "I'll go first."

He drank. The liquid flowed down his throat, stinging. The old wound flared. King smacked his lips and passed the bottle.

Soon enough, the three of them sat among the fallen books and broken artifacts, passing the bottle back and forth.

Cheeks flushed, Darjeeling raised the bottle. "Gentlemen, to us. To the old war dogs." He drank.

"And to the fallen," King said, taking another sip.

Jordan raised the bottle next. "And to our beloved starship Freedom. May she always fly among the stars."

King patted the deck. "She took a beating, our girl. And she's still flying. What a grand old ship she is."

"She most certainly is," Stowy said.

The three men spun around. King dropped the bottle. It rolled across the deck.

"What are you doing here?" Darjeeling roared.

Stowy lifted the bottle. "Drinking for the Freedom, of course." She took a sip, then wrinkled her nose. "Eww. You guys actually like this stuff?"

King noticed the open vent on the ceiling. He sighed.

They emptied the bottle, then sat for a while in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

Finally Jordan broke the silence. "Gentlemen, it's been a difficult battle. I think we've all deserved this little celebration. And now it's time to fly home."

"We're not going home just yet," King said.

Jordan frowned and sat upright. "The Freedom can barely fly. She needs a few months, maybe even a year or two, in a shipyard."

King patted the deck. "She'll get her time in a shipyard. But I need her to fly a little bit longer first. We did not come here to fight the Tyranny. We came here to find the Aeolians. To find out how they defeated the rahs. When she returned in the Raven, Emily told me that she found something. That she knew where the Aeolians were. Oliver—what's all this about? You found something out there?"

Darjeeling's cheeks were still pink from the booze. He cleared his throat. "It was Emily who put it together. Perhaps it's best if the queen tells you herself."

King cleared his throat. "Yes, well, since Stowy has already sneaked in, I suppose it won't hurt adding another youngster to the Old Farts Club."

He called Emily's comlink. The young queen soon entered the cabin. Her eyes widened, taking in the toppled shelves and piles of books and broken things.

"Oh dear," she said. "Your books."

Niles flew in after her, looked around, and raised his nose. "What a miserable mess! Why, this would never be tolerated in one of our palaces. Who is the maid in charge of this chamber? I demand that she be promptly sacked."

Stowy pointed at the drone. "Nobody invited you, Niles."

"Nobody invited you either!" Niles said.

Stowy raised her finger, opened her mouth, and seemed ready to object. But then she tapped her chin. "Touché."

"Stowy, why don't you show Niles to the uppermost deck?" Emily said. "That's where the ship maids are."

"Ah, capital idea!" Niles turned toward Stowy. "Lead the way, urchin."

Stowy frowned and looked at Emily. "But boss, there aren't any ship mai—"

Emily cleared her throat loudly. "Stowy? Please."

"Ah." Stowy gave her a huge wink. "Got ya."

Niles didn't notice. He was too busy prattling on about how he planned to sack the entire cleaning staff. Stowy crawled through the vent, and Niles floated in after her. Their voices faded, disappearing into the ductwork.

Emily remained in the room, standing in front of the three old men. All three started to rise, groaning and creaking. Emily waved them down.

"Don't get up on my behalf. I'll join you down there on the deck." She moved a few books aside and sat down.

"She knows you're too old to stand up, Jim," Jordan said.

King snorted. "I heard your joints creaking, old man."

"I might creak, but you positively snapped, crackled, and popped."

Emily smiled. "Is there anything left in the bottle?"

"Just a few drops," King said. "They're yours."

Emily drank, then winced. "Whoa. Bit stronger than tea."

"Emily." King leaned toward her. "Tell me what you learned about the Aeolians. Tell me about your quest."

She put the bottle down. "It wasn't easy. We had an entire system to search. Two stars. Dozens of planets. Hundreds of moons. The rah scroll told us what system to look at. But not where in the system to look. We followed a trail of clues. And we found the first clue quite accidentally."

Darjeeling nodded. "Abraxas chased us to a frozen white world, which we named Baseworld. Well, Stowy named it." The sergeant flushed. "She said it looked like a baseball."

"We were only trying to hide from Abraxas, but on Baseworld, we found our first clue," Emily said. "An Aeolian tomb. And inside—a mosaic map leading to the Aeolian homeworld. We named their planet Cleodora."

"That's a good name." King nodded. "Cleodora was a nymph of Greek mythology. She could divine the future by tossing stones."

"He's checking Wikipedia Galactica on his MindLink," Jordan said. "The old man just likes showing off."

King growled. "My MindLink is turned off, and if I never turn the damn thing on again, I'll die a happy man."

Emily smiled. "You're right about Cleodora. That's why we chose the name. The Aeolians have a stone shell. When they retract their limbs and heads inside, they look like a boulder."

King's eyes widened. "You met one? On their homeworld?"

"No." Emily lowered her head. "Their homeworld was destroyed. It lay in ruin. We found only stone shells with skeletons inside. And some statues and artwork."

King's mind raced. An alien homeworld! Ruins to explore! He wanted to fly over there right away. His imagination already lit up with visions of hidden treasures and ancient tombs. He forced himself to focus on the more urgent matter.

"You said you know how to find Aeolians," King said. "I assumed you meant living ones."

"Oh, I do. I know where they are." Emily took a deep breath. "They're hiding over a world of volcanoes and lava oceans. We named the planet Pele."

"After the Hawaiian goddess of volcanoes and fire," King said.

"Show-off," Jordan interjected.

King ignored his XO. "Emily, the Aeolians are there?"

The young queen nodded. "Yes. Five thousand klicks over the planet's atmosphere."

King's eyes widened. "A low-orbiting moon? A space station? You saw them?"

"It's what I didn't see," Emily said. "At first I barely registered it. God's Tomb was chasing us. We tried to lose the ship among the volcanoes of Pele. We flew by the largest volcano, which we named Lalahon."

"After the Filipino goddess of volcanoes," King said. He glared at Jordan. "Hush!"

"I didn't say a word," Jordan said.

Emily kept speaking. "As we were flying by, Lalahon erupted, blasting a geyser of lava right through the atmosphere. The volcanoes of Pele are enormous. They can spew lava thousands of kilometers into space. They make the volcanoes of Io look like nothing. When the great Lalahon erupted, it looked like a sun flare. Except the eruption seemed to … skip."

"To skip," King said.

"Like a broken record. The lava shot into space, seemed to vanish, then kept blasting upward."

"A camera bleep," King said.

"That's what I thought," Emily said. "Or maybe just my eyes playing tricks on me. So I put it out of my mind. We kept flying until we reached Cleodora, the Aeolian homeworld. And on that crystal planet, we encountered a rah computer. An artificial intelligence. It told us that some Aeolian pilots had survived, that they had flown off in their starships. I know where they flew to. To Pele. They live in the volcanic eruption."

For a moment silence filled the cabin. Everyone just looked at her.

King broke the silence. "A hidden world. A moon cloaked in stealth technology."

Emily nodded. "Yes. Similar to the Raven's stealth technology. We coat the Raven with material that does not emit or reflect light. It's pure black. In space, it's invisible. The Aeolians probably invented similar technology—and covered an entire moon with it."

"A Pyrrhic victory," King said softly. "They won the war against the rahs. But the cost was the destruction of their homeworld. So they decided to hide. They were a species that once reached toward the starlight. Now they hide in the dark." He frowned. "But why hide inside the eruption of a volcano?"

"That's what I wondered too," Emily said. "Until I remembered how the Raven works. Every starship uses energy. Most starships just vent the residue—light and heat—into space. Well, the Raven can't. Not without being detected by enemy sensors. So the Raven collects all residue energy in heat sinks. But eventually the heat sinks need to be emptied. The Raven can only do this where it's safe—near an energy source large enough to drown the emission."

King scratched his chin. "Like a volcano."

"Exactly," Emily said. "As it turns out, I had a video of Lalahon erupting. The Raven logged it. I rewatched it many times in slow motion. You can clearly see the volcano's eruption disrupted. Some lava splashes what seems to be an invisible sphere. Then, a split second later, the eruption reappears—a bit higher up this time. That's the hidden world venting its energy. A little moon, I would guess. Or maybe a large round space station. The Aeolians are using the volcano to hide their energy signature. A casual observer would never notice. We got lucky."

"Not luck, my queen," said Darjeeling. "It was your intellect and intuition that found them."

She blushed. "Well, I'm not sure we've found them quite yet. There might be other explanations for the phenomena we observed. But I think it's a good clue. And it's worth investigating further."

"Agreed." King pushed himself to his feet. "We fly there now." He got on the comlink. "Mimori? I'm heading to the bridge. Start priming our engines."

He left his cabin. As he walked through his starship, spacers snapped to attention. King nodded at them. He kept marching until he reached the bridge.

"Commander on deck!" cried the door sentry.

The deck was still a mess. Half the monitors were gone. The bulkheads were cracked. Holes gaped everywhere, revealing decks below and above. But Mimori still stood at her station. Half her synthetic skin was gone, but she still stood at her post, God bless her. Spitfire was there, wearing her service uniform, her hands clasped behind her back. She had been commanding the bridge. The rest of the crew were busy at their tasks.

King paused for a moment and looked at them.

God bless you all, he thought.

Then he nodded and stepped to his station. "Spitfire, I'm here to relieve you."

"If it's all right with you, sir, I'd like to stay for another shift." Spitfire took a deep breath. "I need to be here right now."

King knew she had lost many pilots in the battle. Many friends. He knew that many ghosts haunted her. He put a hand on her shoulder, and he sent her a telepathic message.

I'm here for you, Gal. Always. And I'm so proud of you.

Spitfire smiled, tears in her eyes. I know.

King squeezed her shoulder, then turned toward his android.

"Mimori, I want you to chart a course to Pele, a volcanic world in this system. You can find the coordinates in Raven's memory banks."

Mimori looked up at him. One of her eyes still looked completely lifelike. The other eyeball moved on a metal stalk inside a chrome socket. "Yes, sir. Coordinates retrieved. Setting a course now. We're slower than usual. But we should get there within five days."

"Very good. Let's get moving."

The Freedom's engines rumbled, and she blasted into the distance.

* * * * *

King spent the next sixteen hours on the bridge, dealing with countless things. Reports kept coming in from other departments. The engineers were struggling to keep the ship together, fixing this after that. They were practically down to duct tape and Band-Aids. The medical team worked just as hard, treating hundreds of wounded spacers. The ship's three counselors did their best to treat the emotional trauma, but they were overwhelmed.

Finally King took a shift off.

So did Kim.

They met in his cabin. The books still covered the floor. When King entered his bedroom, he found the bed overturned, the dresser cracked and spilling out its uniforms. Who cared? The mattress was still good.

He lay down with Kim, and they dimmed the lights. They were both exhausted. Neither had slept in days. But they made mad, desperate love as if their lives depended on it.

"I love you," he whispered, holding her in his arms.

"I …," she mumbled, then fell asleep, her head against his chest.

Not a moment later, King was asleep too.

He woke up six hours later, his arm trapped under Kim and so numb he couldn't feel it. But he felt better than he had in days.

She kissed his cheek. "Good morning. I love you. I meant to say that last night."

Four more days went by. Days full of repairs, emergencies, and little catastrophes. They could not use their portal generator to reach Pele. They didn't have much energy left. They needed to conserve that energy for the portal home to Earth. And they would be flying home soon enough.

As soon as their mission was complete.

Finally, on the fifth day, they saw it ahead.

Pele, a goddess of volcanoes. A world of lava and destruction.

Creaking, patched together, but still the best damn ship in the galaxy, Freedom entered orbit around Pele. If there was anywhere in this cosmos like hell, it was this place. The planet's surface kept cracking, sinking, and re-forming. Landmasses rose like bubbles only to fall back into pits of magma. Volcanoes erupted every moment, filling the atmosphere with ash. Basalt mountains climbed skyward only to crumple in on themselves. It was a world like a dying star, like a pulsing wound, a tortured bundle of stone and fire.

The tallest volcano rose along the equator, reaching into space. Mount Lalahon. Standing on the bridge of the Freedom, King watched it erupt. He filmed it, then replayed the video. And they all saw it happen.

The lava soared thousands of kilometers into space. Indeed, the tip of the eruption seemed to hit an invisible barrier, scattering drops of lava into space. Nearly instantly, a second gush of energy shot upward. It looked like the crest of a volcanic eruption. But it was not lava that tipped that fountain of destruction.

Emily was right. It was a thermal vent.

It came from an invisible moon, perhaps even a space station.

"Mimori, send out a transmission," King said. "I want you to translate my words into the tongue of rahs."

The android frowned. "Sir? Did I hear you right?"

"You did. The Aeolians, if they do indeed live here, don't speak English. They don't speak any human language. But they've fought the rahs. They'll understand their language. So please translate and transmit."

Mimori tapped at her control panel. "Opening hailing frequency … now."

King faced the viewport, gazing at the missing sphere in space. He noticed that he could see little stars there, not just a black splotch. Clever disguise. Fake stars.

"Greetings. My name is Admiral James King of the starship Freedom. I come in peace. I come from a planet called Earth. I am a human, and my people are at war with the rahs. I seek allies. I seek knowledge. I seek friendship. Can you hear me?"

He paused and waited.

Everyone on the bridge stared.

It didn't take long. A transmission came back.

"Their reply is in rah too, sir," Mimori said.

Something deep inside King awoke and tickled him. The thrill of discovery. The sense of wonder. He had lost some of that along the way.

"Translate into English and let's hear it," he said.

A voice emerged from the speakers, filling the bridge. "Hello, humans. We are the Aeolians. We can hear you."

King couldn't help it. He laughed.

He looked at his crew. They looked back, beaming. Emily had tears in her eyes. A few officers cheered.

"We found a new civilization," King said. "I don't know what the coming days will bring. I don't know what we'll learn. But I know some things already. Not all alien life is cruel. Humans are not alone in the struggle for freedom and civilization against the chaos and destruction of evil. We found new life. Civilized life. Our mission succeeded. Our war is not over. But we found hope."

The story continues in …

STARSHIP FREEDOM VI

In Pursuit of Freedom

DanielArenson.com/StarshipFreedomVI

AFTERWORD

Thank you for reading Starship Freedom V.

Starship Freedom VI continues the tale.

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Thank you again, dear reader, and I hope we meet again between the pages of another book.

Daniel

NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

STARSHIP FREEDOM

Starship Freedom

Starship Freedom II: The Cost of Freedom

Starship Freedom III: We Fight for Freedom

Starship Freedom IV: For Death or Freedom

Starship Freedom V: Let Freedom Ring

Starship Freedom VI: In Pursuit of Freedom

EARTHRISE

Earth Alone

Earth Lost

Earth Rising

Earth Fire

Earth Shadows

Earth Valor

Earth Reborn

Earth Honor

Earth Eternal

Earth Machines

Earth Aflame

Earth Unleashed

Earth Remembers

Earth in Darkness

Earth, Our Home

SOLDIERS OF EARTHRISE

The Earthling

Earthlings

Earthling's War

I, Earthling

The Earthling's Daughter

We Are Earthlings

CHILDREN OF EARTHRISE

The Heirs of Earth

A Memory of Earth

An Echo of Earth

The War for Earth

The Song of Earth

The Legacy of Earth

KINGDOMS OF SAND

Kings of Ruin

Crowns of Rust

Thrones of Ash

Temples of Dust

Halls of Shadows

Echoes of Light

THE MOTH SAGA

Moth

Empires of Moth

Secrets of Moth

Daughter of Moth

Shadows of Moth

Legacy of Moth

REQUIEM

Dawn of Dragons

Requiem's Song

Requiem's Hope

Requiem's Prayer

The Complete Trilogy

Song of Dragons

Blood of Requiem

Tears of Requiem

Light of Requiem

The Complete Trilogy

Dragonlore

A Dawn of Dragonfire

A Day of Dragon Blood

A Night of Dragon Wings

The Complete Trilogy

The Dragon War

A Legacy of Light

A Birthright of Blood

A Memory of Fire

The Complete Trilogy

Requiem for Dragons

Dragons Lost

Dragons Reborn

Dragons Rising

The Complete Trilogy

Flame of Requiem

Forged in Dragonfire

Crown of Dragonfire

Pillars of Dragonfire

The Complete Trilogy

ALIEN HUNTERS

Alien Hunters

Alien Sky

Alien Shadows

OTHER WORLDS

Utopia 58

Eye of the Wizard

Wand of the Witch

Firefly Island

The Gods of Dream

Flaming Dove

KEEP IN TOUCH

www.DanielArenson.com

Daniel@DanielArenson.com

Facebook.com/DanielArenson

Twitter.com/DanielArenson