THE LEGACY OF EARTH

CHILDREN OF EARTHRISE, BOOK 6

by

Daniel Arenson

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

AFTERWORD

NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

KEEP IN TOUCH

Illustration © Tom Edwards - TomEdwardsDesign.com

CHAPTER ONE

The tanks rumbled across the ruins, crushing bricks and skeletons, charging toward the decaying heart of New York City.

Rowan stood in her tank's open hatch—her legs inside the vehicle, the rest of her exposed to the snowy wind. She stared at the skyline ahead.

"It's become a pit of snakes," she muttered.

Rowan had seen photos of ancient Manhattan. As a youth, stuck in the ducts of a rundown space station, she had watched countless movies set in this city. Rowan used to marvel at the lofty skyscrapers, glittering streets, and gilded statues—a bustling tapestry of civilization. New York had always been a symbol of humanity to her. A place of light and life.

But that had been long ago.

The city had changed.

Today, six months after humanity's War of Independence, New York City was the last bastion of basilisks on Earth.

The Empire State Building still stood, but iron scales now covered it, forming a towering serpent. The Freedom Tower had been split in two and drenched in crimson, licking the clouds like a forked tongue. The Statue of Liberty still guarded her island, but the basilisks had remolded her face, giving her slit nostrils, serpentine eyes, and fangs—a snake goddess defending her lair.

"They profaned this city!" Rowan said into her megaphone. "We will scour it. New York will be ours again!"

The tanks increased speed, roaring toward Manhattan, raising clouds of dust. Rusty helmets, chipped bayonets, and skulls cracked under their treads, the remnants of humanity's ancient wars. History drenched these fields. But the tanks were new, fresh from the factory, assembled from the scraps of fallen starships. Rowan had designed the tanks herself—one of her recent projects at Antikythera Institute, the military's research and development unit. Until now, Earth had been fighting the enemy without an armored corps. In the Battle for New York, Rowan would test her engineering.

The tanks better not fall apart, Rowan thought, wincing. She shoved the fear aside.

"For Earth!" she cried, trying to sound braver than she felt.

Across the field, other commanders rose from their tanks' hatches.

"For Earth!" they cried, raising flags.

The banners streamed. Blue planets with golden wings on white fields. The flags of Earth. Of humanity. Of pride and victory.

Rowan remembered raising this flag six months ago in the ruins of Port Addison, capital of Earth. That day, she had banished Queen Xerka, casting her into a wormhole and propelling her halfway across the galaxy. That day, after thousands of years of exile and genocide, Earth had regained its independence. It was the day, the scholars claimed, that the War of Independence had ended, that humans had beaten the basilisks.

But in truth, the war had never ended.

Not for Rowan. Not for most soldiers of the Human Defense Force.

For these past six months, they had never stopped fighting.

Their starships still fought the enemy in deep space, liberating refugee camps full of humans. Their engineers and mechanics still labored day and night, building tanks, cannons, planes. Their infantry still scoured the countryside, ferreting out last pockets of alien resistance.

And most chilling—the secret plans brewed in the depths of their war rooms. Plans to rebuild Earth's fleet. To fly to the basilisk homeworld. To attack Queen Xerka on her own soil and defeat her once and for all.

It made Rowan shiver.

She forced that future invasion out of her mind. Right now, she faced a different battle. Right now, she must reclaim the basilisks' last stronghold on Earth.

If we win New York, all of Earth is ours, she knew. So we must win!

"Warthog Battalion, take the southern bridge into Manhattan," Rowan said into her comm. "Rhino Battalion, you take the tunnel below the river. Honey Badgers—you come with me along the northern bridge. Let's take this island!"

Three battalions. Fifty tanks each. They split up, rumbling to war.

Rowan commanded the Honey Badgers battalion; she had named them after her favorite animal. Her tanks charged toward the bridge. Many eras ago, this had been called the George Washington Bridge. Over its long history, it had been bombarded, rebuilt, destroyed, rebuilt again and again. Today it looked nothing like in the old photos. It was a monstrosity of rusting metal and raw concrete, a creation of the basilisks.

Rowan halted her tanks ahead of the bridge.

She stared, eyes narrowed.

The bridge stretched across a river of trash. The Hudson had been polluted even before humanity's fall. But now Rowan couldn't even see the water, only a film of floating garbage. Plastic bags, bottles, beer cans, candy wrappers, bubbling yellow foam, and clumps of mold covered the surface. The bridge spanned this wretched bog, leading toward the city of shadows.

Rowan saw no basilisks.

No Copperhead fighters.

Nothing.

A ghost town.

Her comm crackled. A familiar voice spoke in Rowan's earpiece.

"Did they abandon the city?"

Rowan looked beside her. Bay stood atop a nearby tank, speaking to her through his comm. Rowan couldn't help it. Even here, facing battle, Rowan smiled.

Like her, Bay wore battle fatigues. In space, they had worn the uniforms of the Heirs of Earth: brown trousers, white buttoned shirts, blue vests or coats. But here on Earth, they had begun to wear olive drab. They were like soldiers of ancient legends, risen from history. Bay had added war paint, covering his face, leaving only his short blond beard untouched.

The two had been engaged for almost a year now. Rowan looked forward to seeing Bay in a suit on their wedding day. Then peeling that suit off.

Something to look forward to, she thought. To help me survive today.

"Abandon the city?" Rowan said. "No, the enemy is still here. We've been intercepting their chatter. According to our intel, there are only a few hundred basilisks in New York. The last holdouts from the war, fanatics who refused to surrender. They're hiding. They're here. They're up to something."

Bay spat. "Bastards. We should just nuke the damn city from orbit, then rebuild it."

Rowan shook her head. "No can do. According to our spies, they've got human hostages, remember? A hundred or more. Our mission isn't just to reclaim the city. It's to save the hostages."

Bay sighed. "Yeah, I know, I know. Damn it. The whole city is probably booby-trapped. Hell, even the bridge. The snakes probably loaded it with explosives."

Rowan nodded. "That's what I'm thinking."

"I'll lead a team of sappers onto the bridge," Bay said. "Give me cover?"

She nodded. "I will. Be careful, pancake."

"Always." He blew her a kiss. "Love you, hobbit. Hey, if I get my limbs blown off, will you still marry me?"

"Absolutely not!" She frowned. "You're already missing one arm. Lose any more limbs, and I'll dump you for your sister. So be careful!"

Bay grinned. "Last one at Rockefeller Center is a rotten snake egg."

Rowan lifted her megaphone and turned toward the fifty tanks of her battalion. "Honey Badgers! Aim your cannons. Fire across the bridge! Give our sappers cover."

Fifty tanks aimed their cannons.

Rowan put on her earmuffs.

Fifty cannons boomed, shaking the riverbank.

The shells slammed into the city across the bridge, plowing holes through roads and buildings. Dust billowed.

"Again!" Rowan cried. "Keep firing! Sappers—move!"

Bay exited his tank. Ten other soldiers joined him. They ran onto the bridge as artillery fire streaked overhead. All of them were sappers, trained to find and disable booby traps.

Rowan watched from her tank, chewing her lip as they worked.

No more limbs blown off, Bay, she thought. I want you to walk down the aisle with me. Too many of our veterans are in wheelchairs.

Artillery fire kept flying. North and south, Rowan saw the other tank battalions shelling the city too. Explosions bloomed across New York like roses of fire. Metal twisted. Several buildings collapsed, raising clouds of dust.

Still the basilisks did not fire back.

"Bay!" Rowan said into her comm. "Anything?"

He spoke from atop the bridge. "Yeah, the buggers wired up the bridge. Bastards. Crude work, though. We're disabling it. The bridge should be ready for crossing in … Hang on. What the—"

She frowned. "Bay? Bay, you there? What—"

An explosion tore across the bridge.

Rowan screamed.

An instant later, a shock wave slammed into her, nearly knocking her off the tank. She stared in horror.

"Bay!" she cried into her comm.

The fire blasted upward. Men fell off the bridge into the polluted river.

Rowan stared, eyes wide, chest constricting.

"Bay," she whispered into her comm. "Bay …"

Only static answered.

Rowan was prepared to leap off her tank, to dive into the river, when—

"I'm here!" Bay's voice emerged from her comm. "I'm all right! Ra damn it. A bit singed, and my ears are ringing, but I'm fine. I'm still on the bridge. Sorry, babe. We missed a spot."

The smoke cleared. The bridge still stood. In the distance, Bay and a handful of sappers clung to a concrete piling. Below them, a hole gaped across the decking.

Rowan breathed in relief—and immediately felt guilty. Several men had died. But joy—horrible joy—welled inside her.

They died. And my fiance survived. And I'm happy. And I hate myself for it.

"Bay, cover up that hole on the bridge," she said. "We're rolling in." She clenched her fist. "These bastards will pay."

More sappers ran, carrying metal slabs. They placed them across the hole and began to weld, fixing the bridge. All the while, the tanks kept firing, giving them cover.

Finally—it was time.

Bay leaped back into his tank.

The Honey Badgers battalion—fifty heavy tanks—rolled onto the bridge.

The other officers huddled inside their tanks, hatches closed. But Rowan remained in her turret, exposed to the open air, gazing ahead. She had to see with her own eyes, not a dusty monitor. She had to get a feel for the danger.

And it was too quiet. Even with the rumbling tanks, it was too damn quiet.

She stared ahead at the cityscape. Smoke and dust were drifting. Scattered fires still burned.

But no basilisks.

No enemy artillery firing back. No Copperhead fighters streaming overhead. No swarms of armored serpents slithering forth.

Just smoke and silence.

The tanks rumbled over the patched hole in the bridge. They were halfway across now. Almost to Manhattan.

They still encountered no resistance.

"Maybe you're right, Bay," Rowan said into her comm. "Maybe the basilisks abandoned the city, flew back to join Xerka on their homeworld. Maybe—"

Movement caught the corner of her eye.

She inhaled sharply and turned in the turret.

Something stirred in the river, then vanished under the floating film of garbage.

"Babe, you all right?" Bay said through the comm.

She kept staring at the water. Nothing. Nothing but piles of trash. Probably just a damn seagull.

"Yeah," she said. "I thought I saw something in the river. But it's nothing. Wait, no. I don't want to ignore this. Let's check it out." She gripped the machine gun mounted atop the tank. She broadcast her next words to every officer in her battalion. "Tanks! Halt. Turn toward the water. I want to—"

And from the river of trash, they emerged.

Dozens of them.

Rowan screamed and fired her machine gun.

The creatures were massive, easily the size of great white sharks, and seemed even deadlier. Serrated scales covered their bodies. Fangs thrust out from their mouths, dripping venom. Tentacles flared around their jaws, longer than men and tipped with clusters of blades.

"Leviathans," Rowan muttered. "I hate leviathans!"

Her bullets slammed into one of the aliens. The leviathan screamed and crashed back into the water. But more of the aquatic aliens leaped onto the bridge. Two slammed into Rowan's tank, nearly overturning the armored vehicle.

Rowan screamed, clung to her machine gun, and fired again.

The leviathans were allies of the basilisks. They had a true name—a roar that was so deep humans couldn't even hear it, let alone pronounce it. Rowan had dubbed them leviathans after the ancient sea monsters from human mythology. These aliens had invaded Earth during the war, infesting rivers and oceans, raiding shores, sinking ships, filling the water with blood. Most had retreated after Xerka's banishment.

Clearly some would need a little more encouragement.

Two leviathans wrapped their tentacles around her tank's cannon. The spiky beasts began climbing the tank. Another leviathan leaped from the water, jaws wide, fangs thrusting out like pikes.

"Ferkakte!" Rowan blurted out.

She took a deep breath. She fired her machine gun with one hand, ripping through the alien flying toward her. With her other hand, she drew Lullaby, her loyal pistol. Her bullets slammed into one of the leviathans climbing her tank, knocking the beast back onto the bridge.

The third leviathan reached the top hatch.

The jaws opened before Rowan, revealing rows and rows of teeth, rings of them flowing down the gullet. Hot breath washed over her. Fangs thrust toward her like spears. One ripped across Rowan's arm, tearing off armor. Another fang pierced her thigh, and venom sizzled.

Rowan screamed, swiveled the machine gun, and fired bullets into the gaping mouth.

The leviathan's head tore open. The alien slid down the tank—but not before pulling its fang through Rowan's leg, ripping her flesh down to the knee. She howled in agony.

Thankfully, the Harmonians were still inside her—microscopic beings, benign parasites she had picked up in the Glittering Caves. They flowed through her wound, glowing lavender, healing her.

"Thanks, buddies," Rowan mumbled. "I just wish you were a little bigger—and had machine guns."

The leviathans were everywhere. Rowan spun in her turret, machine gun rattling, knocking back the leaping aliens. Several tanks were firing shells into the river. The polluted water sprayed like geysers of filth. Other soldiers stood in their own gun turrets, firing machine guns alongside Rowan.

Two tanks had overturned. The leviathans were ripping open the hatches and tearing off the caterpillar tracks. Tentacles rose from the water, grabbed a tank, and pulled it downward. It crashed into the water, soldiers still screaming inside. Another leviathan landed on an open gun turret, ripping the gunner apart. Blood splattered the bridge. Another tank tilted over the edge, then crashed into the river.

This bridge is death, Rowan realized.

"Keep moving to the city!" Rowan shouted into her comm. "All tanks—full speed ahead!"

Below her feet, her tank's driver shoved down the throttle. They rumbled along the bridge. Behind Rowan, the surviving tanks followed. They were fleeing from the fight, yes. But they had to pick their battles.

It was still a long way to Manhattan.

And every meter, the leviathans attacked.

Tentacles grabbed a tank behind Rowan, pulled it across the bridge, and slammed it into another vehicle. More leviathans rose, grabbed more tanks, and pulled them into the bog. Soldiers tried to flee from the hatches, only for leviathans to rip them apart.

One of the scaly aliens rose from the water, bellowed, and slammed into Rowan's tank. She screamed, swaying in the gun turret. The tank tilted, nearly falling off the bridge. A leviathan leaped from the river and grabbed the tank by the cannon.

"Fire!" Rowan shouted.

Inside the hull, the gunner obeyed.

A shell ripped through the leviathan gripping the tank. The alien tore apart in a cloud of red mist. Rowan knelt under the hatch as chunks of dead alien rained.

"Faster!" Rowan cried, rising again. "Get us into the city!"

The tanks rumbled forth. Every moment, the tentacles grabbed another tank, pulling it under. More and more leviathans were gripping the bridge with their mighty tentacles. They kept rising from the water, shrieking, bloodlust in their eyes.

"Keep firing your cannons!" Rowan cried. "Fire them forward! Clear a path!"

The shells flew. The tanks charged.

More and more leviathans kept rising. Hundreds of them.

Rowan frowned.

Most of the creatures were rising behind the tanks.

The tentacles were wrapping around the bridge itself. Sinking their clawed tips into the pilings. Tightening. Pulling. The bridge was swaying.

And Rowan understood.

"Dear Ra," she whispered.

The forest of tentacles gave a mighty tug, yanking the bridge to one side. Then they pulled the other way.

Cracks spiderwebbed across the bridge.

"Go!" Rowan shouted. "Tanks—go!"

They charged across the last two hundred meters of bridge.

Behind the tanks, the bridge pilings collapsed.

Twisted metal beams slammed into the river, raising fountains of trash. The concrete deck crumbled, raining chunks into the water. Rowan watched in horror as several tanks sank into the Hudson.

Her own tank kept charging. The others raced with her. Behind them, more and more of the bridge was falling, vanishing into the churning maelstrom of pollution. Another tank fell. Then another. The monsters lurked below, grabbing the tanks, pulling them into the depths.

Rowan looked forward.

They were only a few meters away from Manhattan now.

Just another few seconds, and we're there.

Massive boulders—each the size of a tank—rolled down the street ahead, blocking the path into the city. Rowan glimpsed basilisks in the distance, glaring with red eyes.

"Fire through them!" Rowan shouted.

The tanks fired.

Rowan ducked back under the hatch.

Shells exploded against boulders, and stones flew, and Rowan winced, and—

The tanks slammed into the boulders. Cannons bent. The massive machines came to a halt.

Beneath them, the last of the bridge collapsed.

Rowan scurried through the open hatch, kicked off her tank's cannon, and leaped upward.

Below her, the tank slammed into the river.

Rowan grabbed a chunk of concrete that thrust out from Manhattan. She clung on, dangling over the river.

With a gurgle, the tank sank into the maelstrom below.

The leviathans squirmed in the river, tentacles grabbing drowning soldiers. Clinging on with one hand, Rowan looked down. She saw Bay floundering in the water. Several leviathans were approaching him.

Rowan sneered, aimed her pistol, and fired.

The invasion failed.

She fired again, hitting a leviathan.

My tanks are lost.

She kept firing, emptying her magazine.

The city is lost.

From above, the basilisks emerged.

The serpents slithered over the boulders. Beasts large enough to swallow Rowan whole, coated with scales, murder in their eyes. The creatures undulated closer to Rowan, jaws opening, ready to devour her.

How the hell am I going to get out this one? Rowan thought.

Leviathans below. Basilisks above. Her hope all but gone.

Is this the end? Do I die here?

She ground her teeth.

"No," she whispered.

A dozen basilisks lunged toward her.

Rowan drew a grenade from her belt, hurled it at them, then dropped toward the river.

The grenade landed among the basilisks above—and exploded. Scales, shrapnel, and gobbets of flesh flew everywhere.

Rowan crashed into the polluted river beside Bay.

"Hullo, Rowan!" he said, covered in grime. "Decided to come for a swim?"

"This is a mucking disaster!" Rowan cried. "We have to get all the survivors onto the bank!"

She saw a few other soldiers floundering in the foamy water. Trash floated around them. Most of the tanks were gone. Five tanks had fallen onto the riverbank, could perhaps be salvaged. But the damn leviathans were everywhere. One rose from the water, grabbed a swimming soldier, and dragged the woman into the depths. Everyone else—the few who had survived the plunge—were swimming toward the bank.

Rowan and Bay swam with them. The leviathans pursued, roaring for blood. As Rowan swam, she loaded more magazines, firing over her shoulder. Bay hurled a grenade into a cluster of leviathans, destroying the beasts. But the aliens kept coming. Tentacles grabbed soldiers and drowned them in the filth.

Rowan was almost at the riverbank when a tentacle grabbed her leg. She yowled as the tentacle's claws sliced her skin. She fired again and again. It took several bullets to sever the tentacle, several more to slay the beast.

She made it onto the riverbank, shivering and bloody and covered in grime. She crawled between toppled tanks, wounded and screaming humans, and chunks of dead basilisks. A handful of soldiers crawled onto the bank with her, draped with filth.

Rowan rose to her feet, trembling. The Harmonians flowed through her wounds, neutralizing the venom, healing the cuts. The other soldiers were not as lucky; they had no microscopic alien parasites to heal their wounds. They lay on the piles of trash, screaming, convulsing, dying. One man crawled with no legs. Another lay by a shattered tank, clutching his belly, desperate to hold in his spilling entrails. The river ran red with blood, and screams and weeping rose in a song of agony.

Rowan kept her pistol drawn. For now, no more aliens were attacking. But she doubted her grenade had killed all the basilisks. More could show up any moment.

She took stock of the situation. She had gone onto the bridge with fifty tanks, ten soldiers crammed into each one. Only five tanks had made it onto the riverbank, and they were badly damaged. Only a hundred soldiers had emerged from the river—a fifth of her men.

She got on her comm, connecting to the other two battalions. They had fared no better. The leviathans had taken down the southern bridge too, sinking most of the Warthog Battalion. The basilisks had also bombed the tunnel, burying most of the Rhino Battalion. Between those two battalions, only thirty tanks and three hundred soldiers had reached Manhattan.

"This is a disaster," Rowan whispered. "I was a fool. I was a goddamn fool." She looked at Bay, tears in her eyes. "Emet told me to use paratroopers. I insisted on the tanks. I told him we needed to test my designs. Because of my pride, hundreds are dead."

Bay held her hand and stared into her eyes.

"Rowan, guilt later. Grief later. Lessons later. Right now—we have a city to take."

Rowan winced. "What? Bay! We lost nearly our entire brigade!"

"But we still have a mission to complete." Bay's voice was hard, his eyes harder. "Rowan, you said there are only a few hundred basilisks in New York."

"That's what our intel thinks," she confessed.

"We have over three hundred soldiers," Bay said. "And thirty-five tanks. We can do this."

Rowan sighed. She had hoped to storm the city with overwhelming superiority. With the force that remained, it would be damn tough. A typical basilisk could normally take out several humans. And here in New York, the aliens were defending familiar territory. The snakes had been lurking in this city for eras, preparing for war. All Rowan knew of New York came from ancient movies.

"Bay." She forced herself to stare steadily into his eyes, not to tremble or cry. "What if our last soldiers die? What if they all die and it's our fault?"

Bay's eyes darkened. "Since the dawn of war, officers have had to make the same decision. Do they send troops into danger? Or do they retreat? Sometimes retreat is necessary. Sometimes it can lead to indescribable disaster, to the fall of civilizations. An officer's job is not to protect his soldiers from harm. Not to save their lives. An officer's job is to defeat the enemy. Even at the cost of life. Even at the cost of his or her very soul. To triumph—that is our mission. And we both know how to complete it."

Rowan narrowed her eyes, gazing at him, at this young man she loved.

Who are you? she thought. You're not the sweet boy I met six years ago. You've changed. You've become harder, stronger, darker. Who is that speaking through your mouth?

But she knew.

"That's your father speaking," she said.

Bay shook his head. "No. It's the man I've become. A man I hope is half as great as he is."

Rowan embraced him. "And you're a man I love. All right, Bay. Let's do this. We've got hostages to free and a city to conquer."

He kissed her cheek. "I love you, little one."

She smiled. "I know."

On the banks of the Hudson, they marshaled the remains of their brigade. Rowan raised the flag of Earth from a tank. Battered, bloodied, but not broken, the Human Defense Force rolled into New York City.

CHAPTER TWO

The infantry troops walked down the crumbling street. Their tanks rumbled behind them, and the decaying skyscrapers of Manhattan rose all around.

Bay hefted his rifle, his beloved Lawless. He kept it pointed ahead, a magazine inserted. Beneath his body armor, his uniform was wet. Ooze from the Hudson still dripped from under his helmet. He stank. They all did. He was grateful that basilisks had a poor sense of smell. Otherwise, the snakes would smell them approaching from kilometers away.

"Where are you?" Bay muttered, staring through Lawless's scope.

The few basilisks left in New York were hiding. But the mark of their evil was everywhere. Shed skins rolled along the roadsides. Metal scales coated several skyscrapers, turning them into erect snakes. Alien graffiti was scrawled onto the sides of buildings, depicting dead humans—drawn as hairy apes—and words in the basilisk tongue.

Kill all apes!

Apes are pests!

Devour humanity!

"Come out, cowards," Bay said softly.

"They must have retreated to guard the hostages," Rowan said. As she walked, she pulled out a folding map and examined it. "According to our intel, the hostages are kept at Times Square. We're not far."

Bay looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "You actually have a folding paper map? What happened to your minicom?"

She was struggling with the giant map. The wind kept whipping it, nearly tearing it away. The damn thing was like a sail.

"My minicom mucking died in the river!" she said. "Luckily, I'm not an idiot, and I brought a backup map. Even wrapped it in plastic."

Bay frowned. "So you wrapped your map in plastic but not your minicom."

She lowered the map and glared over the top. "Shut up."

They kept walking. Hundreds of soldiers. Thirty-odd tanks. The dusty streets spread out before them. In the old movies, millions of people had thronged these streets, and the city had bustled with life. Bay shivered to see this once-grand metropolis so barren, silent, coated with decay.

In some places, Bay saw remnants of Earth's Golden Age. A gilded statue of Prometheus, a symbol of Rockefeller Center, lay fallen on a street corner, several blocks away from its original location. The basilisks had deformed it, carving the limbs into serpents, severing the head. The gold was peeling now, revealing rusty innards. The bronze Fearless Girl, a statue that had once stood on Wall Street, now lay here on the northern side of the island, her face slashed, her body wrapped with snake skins. A barbershop beckoned from the roadside, human skeletons in the seats. These skeletons seemed new, not crumbling like bones from two thousand years ago. The basilisks must have taken them during the war, placed them here to taunt Bay and Rowan. A cathedral rose down the street, but the basilisks had ripped off the cross, replacing it with a bronze serpent.

As the soldiers walked, they all stared in silence at this profanity.

The basilisks came to destroy our heritage, to mock everything that we are, Bay thought. But this city is holy. We will scour it. We will cast out the evil.

He stared at an overturned taxicab, so rusty it was barely recognizable. Human skulls piled up inside.

Bay gritted his teeth and kept walking.

"Why the hell did these last basilisks stay here?" he finally said. "Millions of the buggers fled Earth back when we won the war. Damn these stubborn holdouts." He spat. "I'm sick of these mop-up operations. It's been half a year since we won our independence. And we're still fighting every damn day."

Rowan touched his arm. "I know, Bay. But we never thought resettling Earth would be easy."

"You're right," Bay said. "I shouldn't grumble. But damn it, Row. I'm just tired. I want to spend more time with you—and not on a battlefield! I want us to curl up in bed, watching old movies. I want us to explore nature, to hike up mountains and swim in distant lakes—ones that won't leave us covered in grime! I want to lie with you under the stars, and make love to you."

Rowan blushed. "Bay, not now! Our soldiers are listening."

"Let them! Rowan, I love you." He looked into her large brown eyes. "I fight for Earth. But also for you. So that we can finally win. So we can finally kill Xerka. So I can finally marry you. I promise you, Rowan. Soon enough, Xerka will be dead, and we'll be married. I'll build you a beautiful house in the countryside, and we'll have three beautiful kids, and several dogs, maybe a horse, and—"

"Bay!" She laughed. "Don't I get a say?"

He blinked. "I'm sorry! Of course you do. I—"

She patted his cheek. "It sounds wonderful. But build me a nice library wing in our house too. The rest of the house can be small. But the library must be huge."

Bay forced himself away. He stared forward again. He should not be flirting with Rowan here. Not be navel-gazing. Was he losing his edge? After so many years of war, was he just too damn tired?

He forced in a deep breath. He and Rowan had been fighting aliens for six years now. In many ways, they had been fighting all their lives.

Home stretch, he told himself. Within a year, this will all be over. And we'll be happy. We'll finally have our freedom and our peace.

No, this was not weakness, he decided as he kept walking. He needed something to look forward to. In this city of decay, he needed something pure and beautiful to fight for.

Shadows stirred ahead.

A screech rose.

The soldiers all raised their rifles. The clicks of hundreds of cocking guns filled the street.

Bay saw a flash of scales ahead. It vanished around a corner. A cackle sounded in the distance.

Bay took a deep breath. He gestured for the others. The soldiers all walked down the street, guns raised. The tanks rolled behind.

A scream sounded. This one was a human scream. Twisted with agony. Bloodcurdling.

A few soldiers cursed. Bay tightened his lips and kept advancing, following the sound.

They walked around the wreckage of a crashed Firebird starfighter, the remnant of some old battle. The pilot was still inside the shattered cockpit, burnt down to a blackened skeleton. Bay would return for the remains later. The cackle sounded again, and Bay kept walking.

Movement at the end of the street drew Bay's gaze. His heart burst into a gallop.

A naked boy stood ahead.

He was young, probably eight or nine, but his head was bald. Dust coated his entire body, revealing only his electric-blue eyes.

"One of the hostages," Bay said.

He approached slowly. Rowan grabbed his arm.

"Hang on," she said. "It might be a trap."

Bay raised an eyebrow. "A trap?"

She nodded. "Like on the bridge."

The soldiers all froze. They kept their guns raised. They all stared ahead.

The boy stood about a hundred meters away. He raised his hand and beckoned them closer.

"Hey there!" Bay called out. "We're here to help! What's your name?"

The boy was silent. He just beckoned with his finger. Face blank.

Bay glanced at Rowan, then back at the boy.

"Hello! My name is Bay!" he cried. "Are you all right?"

The boy slowly lowered his arm. An eerie silence fell across the city.

"Come …" said the child.

Rowan frowned. "Bay, give me your minicom."

She took the device from him, aimed its camera at the boy, and zoomed in. She inhaled sharply.

"Ra damn," she whispered.

"What is it?" Bay said, looking at Rowan. "What—"

The boy screamed.

Bay whipped his head back toward him.

The naked child burst into a run, screaming demoniacally. His arms pumped at his sides. His eyes widened, revealing white all around the irises. As he charged toward the soldiers, his lips peeled back, revealing rows of sharp teeth.

Rowan raised her pistol and fired.

"Rowan!" Bay cried, knocking her aside. Her bullet missed the boy.

"Damn it, Bay!" She shoved him aside, aimed again, and her bullet hit the boy's leg.

The dusty child kept running, limping now. He was only meters away. The boy hurled himself into the air, flying the last few meters toward the troops.

"Run!" Rowan cried.

And Bay understood.

He finally saw the round shapes inside the boy's belly, pressing against the skin.

Bay and Rowan leaped aside.

They landed on the roadside, faces down, and covered their heads.

The explosion boomed behind them.

Bay grimaced as shrapnel rained, pounding the armor on his back. A piece slammed against his helmet, shoving his face onto the pavement, bloodying his nose. Something slapped down ahead of him. A severed arm, Bay realized.

He reached out toward Rowan.

"Are you all right?" he said, but he couldn't hear himself. Only ringing in his ears. A constant siren.

Rowan was saying something. He couldn't hear her. His head spun, and he tasted blood. Ringing. Just ringing and floating blobs of light.

He pushed himself to his feet, wobbled, and fell back down. He removed his helmet and saw a piece of shrapnel piercing it, and blood dripped down his temple. His ears felt full of cotton.

He shoved himself up again, forcing himself to take deep breaths, and raised his rifle.

He saw no basilisks. The naked boy was gone. Only his head remained, the lower jaw torn off. The rest—gone.

So were ten or more soldiers.

Severed limbs and heads lay strewn across the scene. A few torsos had been ripped apart, leaving little more than chunks of meat draped with bloodied uniforms. The soldiers farther from the impact were lying on the ground, screaming. One man clutched the stump of a severed leg. Another soldier had no hands left. The man stood, staring around, dripping, confused. Another soldier lay among comrades, skin burnt off.

"The basilisks stuffed the boy with explosives," Bay said, voice hollow, barely audible. "They're monsters. They're evil."

"Not a boy." Rowan shook her head. "Not anymore. Whatever he was, it wasn't human anymore."

Bay's hearing was slowly returning. He clenched his jaw, struggling not to faint, and approached the wounded. The medics had died in the river. Bay, Rowan, and the others did their best—tying tourniquets around stumps, bandaging wounds, supplying morphine. Rowan passed her Harmonians into the wounded. The healing microorganisms did what they could, but some of the wounds were beyond even their powers. They flowed back into Rowan, leaving some soldiers healed, others still dying.

"Fill two tanks with the wounded," Bay told a captain. "Take them home."

"There are no bridges left, sir!" the captain said. "The Ra damn snakes crushed both bridges onto the island. The tunnel caved in. We're trapped here."

Bay cursed himself for forgetting.

Muck. Trapped. Trapped here on this island of evil.

"Then get them to the riverbank!" he said. "Lead them north along the water. Get them away from the fighting. Treat them as best you can."

The captain saluted. "Yes, sir."

As the two tanks rumbled off, carrying the wounded, Rowan approached Bay. She gripped his arm.

"Bay, I had to bite my tongue back there. I didn't want to contradict you in front of the troops. But we need all the tanks we can get."

"Some of the wounded can still be saved," Bay said. "But they need protection. They need walls of metal around them."

Rowan's eyes flashed. "What about sacrificing lives to save the world? That was your speech."

Bay's throat caught.

That was before I saw a naked, deformed boy tear my soldiers apart, he thought.

Maybe Rowan saw the pain in his eyes. Her expression softened. She touched his hand, a bit of gentleness in hell.

"Let's keep going," Bay said. "Let's kill these sons of bitches."

The naked boy had left dusty footprints. The troops followed them around the block.

Bay froze and stared.

Rowan paused beside him and gulped.

"What the hell is that?" Rowan whispered, reaching for his hand.

"Central Park," Bay said.

They had both spent many hours—probably thousands of hours, in Rowan's case—watching movies from ancient Earth. They were both familiar with Central Park, an oasis of greenery in the urban jungle. The park was still here. But everything was different.

The trees were now gray and black, twisting and coiling, covered in oozing lumps. What Bay mistook at first for leaves were rustling fingers—thousands of blackened fingers growing from the branches, fingernails cracked, reaching out toward him. The trees' rough bark seemed like burnt skin, stretched thin across raw flesh. Strange animals moved along the branches. Oily birds. Insects. Dark slugs, dripping, hissing, baring fangs.

"What the hell happened here?" Bay said, voice strained.

Rowan stared with dark eyes. "The basilisks are fascinated with genetic engineering. It's how Xerka changed herself, becoming part human. I think it's what Mairead saw in New York last year. What haunted her until her death." Rowan shook her head in disgust. "These are no trees. They're alien experiments."

Bay looked down. The boy's dusty footprints led into this unholy forest.

He looked back at Rowan. "The hostages might be in there. They sent the boy from the park."

Rowan pulled out her map again. "Our intel said they're hiding in Times Square. That's across the park." She looked at the forest again and grimaced. "We should walk around it."

"Hostages can be moved," Bay said. "Remember, Rowan. We came here to scour this city. Otherwise, we could have bombed it from the air. If there are more boys in the park, maybe we can save them."

"Bay." Rowan grabbed his arm. "Central Park is eight hundred and fifty acres. It's a goddamn forest."

"Then we better get started." Bay turned toward the troops. "Everyone—into your tanks! Nobody else in the open."

They all climbed into their tanks, cramming ten soldiers into each. Bay shared a tank with Rowan. While the others sat below, the two stood in the gun turret, wanting a clearer view.

"I really need to improve the monitors in the tank." Rowan sighed. "Still, not bad for a project that only took us six months."

The tanks rumbled across the road, cracking the asphalt, and rolled into the forest.

When the tanks hit the first row of trees, the trees screamed.

Bay grimaced.

"What the muck?" he spat.

Rowan covered her ears. "It's horrible."

The tanks froze. Several trees were crushed beneath them. Branches stuck out from under the tracks, cracked open to reveal bones. The fingers were twitching. The trees had no mouths, but still they screamed. Horrible sounds, almost human. Screams of pain.

"What the hell are these things?" Bay said, nausea rising in him. "Are those trees … human?"

Rowan tightened her lips. "No. Not anymore. And if they ever were …" A tear flowed down her cheek. "Then the best we can do is kill them."

They drove onward. Thirty tanks. Crushing trees. And the trees kept screaming—on and on, a horrible din, a sound Bay knew would always haunt him. Blood poured from the trees like sap, spreading across the forest floor. As the tanks drove onward, it seemed to Bay that he could make out words among the screams.

"Please …" the trees seemed to say. "It hurts … Please …"

"We need to burn this whole forest down," Rowan said, fists clenched.

"Not before we find the hostages," Bay said.

They moved deeper into the forest. Yes, this was no longer a park. Not a place of sunlight and greenery. This was an old forest—dank, twisting, rotting. The trees loomed overhead, hiding the sun. Their branches twisted like broken limbs. Cracks opened on their trunks, revealing fleshy wounds that smacked, gurgled, seemed to mock the advancing troops. The creatures in the branches stared, dripping slime that sizzled against the tanks. One slug crawled along an overhanging branch, oozing. A glob hit Bay's arm, burning him. He cursed, brushed it off with his glove, then shot the slug in the branches.

"Bay, don't waste bullets," Rowan said.

"Best damn bullet I ever fired," Bay said, looking at the burn mark on his arm.

They kept advancing, mowing down trees. Soon they were a kilometer deep into the park, then two, then three. They could no longer see the city. They might as well have been lost in the wilderness—or on another world.

Creatures beyond mere slugs were moving in the forest. Bay glimpsed rotting deer with human faces, their bone-white antlers forming intricate crowns. Other creatures looked almost like men, but pale as ghosts, skeletal, faceless. Some wore ancient military uniforms. Rusty helmets. Chipped bayonets. Ghosts of a long lost age.

"What is this place?" Bay whispered.

Rowan frowned. "Bay." She pointed. "What …"

A large rat-like creature stood on a branch, naked and hissing. The face was bloated, inhuman, sprouting red hair. Staring with green eyes. A face oddly familiar.

"Is that Mairead?" Rowan whispered.

The rodent vanished into the forest.

Bay shuddered. "All right. We need to leave this forest. Now." He raised his comm. "Tanks—full speed ahead! Plow through this forest!"

The tanks were crude machines, hastily assembled from scrap metal, but their engines were powerful, originally built to propel starfighters through space. They roared forward at top speed, shattering trees, raising clouds of soil, bark, and blood. Fingers twitched behind them, severed from the branches. They were several kilometers in now. It was hard to imagine that a forest so large could exist within a city.

"One could get lost in here for days," Bay mused, leaning forward in his tank's open hatch.

"This place was like a dream once." Rowan slipped her hand into his. "Now it's a nightmare."

"This place will be beautiful again." Bay nodded. "I swear it. We'll plant trees, real trees, and—"

A basilisk cackled in the trees above, staring with red eyes.

"Die, apes!" the beast shrieked.

Bay cursed, aimed his rifle, but before he could fire—the ground opened up before him.

His tank plunged downward.

Bay screamed. As he fell, he glimpsed other holes opening up across the forest. More tanks were falling in. More basilisks were laughing in the trees.

And then he was in darkness. Falling underground. Shouting. And Rowan was pulling him into the tank's hold, and soil and roots and stones crashed onto them, and the soldiers inside the tank rattled and hit the walls and screamed.

They slammed onto the bottom.

But the landing was surprisingly soft. As if landing on a pile of mattresses.

Bay, Rowan, and eight other soldiers sat inside the tank, bruised and silent. The hatch was still open above.

And then a basilisk plunged through the hatch, shrieking.

The beast moved so fast Bay barely saw it. It descended, opened its jaws wide, and snatched up a sergeant. It pulled back, devouring the man, sucking up the torso and arms, leaving only kicking legs.

Bay cried out, raised his rifle, but dared not shoot, knowing he'd only kill his comrade.

The basilisk retreated from the tank, taking the man with him.

The soldiers inside the tank shouted in fear. One man began firing through the hatch. A screech sounded above.

"Hold your fire!" Bay cried. "We might hurt the sergeant. We—"

Two more basilisks dived through the hatch. This time the soldiers were ready. They all fired their guns. Bay roared as a bullet ricocheted and stung his thigh. Their bullets slammed into the basilisks. The alien serpents slid into the tank, thumping down between the soldiers. Each was the size of a python.

Bay tried to grab the hatch, to pull it shut. But a basilisk grabbed the metal door, yanked back hard, and tore it free. Bay stared in shock. The hatch was meant to withstand grenade assaults. And the damn snake tore it off like a wooden door.

More of the aliens poured in.

Bay howled and fired, desperate to hold them back.

The beasts were everywhere. All around the tank. Bay could hear them screeching outside, clawing at the armored hull. The tank—this mighty vehicle that weighed sixty tons—was rocking. He fired through the hatch. Rowan stood at his side, firing with him. Another dead basilisk slumped into the tank. A live one followed, surviving the hailstorm of bullets. The beast lunged, grabbed a corporal, and devoured the screaming woman.

Bay fired again and again. He hit the basilisk, tearing through its scales. The snake died, disgorging the corporal. More basilisks flowed in. More bullets rang out. Another shard of bullet hit Bay, cutting the armor on his shoulder. More bullets ricocheted, cutting other soldiers.

The basilisks kept coming. An endless torrent. They piled up inside the tank. The soldiers had to stand on the scaly corpses. Another basilisk managed to grab a soldier, to pull him out of the tank.

"Where the hell is everyone?" Bay shouted into his comm. "Give me your status!"

But he heard only screams and shrieks from the other end.

The tank rocked madly. One side of the tank dented—then cracked open.

Fangs thrust through the crack. Jaws bit the hull, twisting the metal, widening the opening.

Bay shouted and fired. The jaws retreated from the hole. Claws replaced them, reaching into the tank. A claw grabbed a soldier's leg and shattered the bone, then tore the leg off.

Another hole tore open. More claws reached in. More blood spilled. The hull was crumbling.

"We'll fight our way out!" Bay shouted to his crew's survivors. "This tank is lost! Up through the hatch!"

Claws were now tearing through the floor. More claws reached in, grabbing, slicing. Bay fired several bullets, clearing an opening through the hatch. He grabbed the rim and pulled himself out.

He found himself in a pit of snakes.

He stood atop the tank. Several other tanks lay around him.

They had fallen several meters into a trench. Basilisks filled the pit. Thousands of them. All piled up together, slithering, hissing, crushing the tanks.

Scaly heads rose from the wriggling mass, turned toward Bay, and hissed.

The serpents had torn off the machine gun normally mounted atop the tank. But Bay still had Lawless. He shouted, loaded a fresh magazine, and switched the rifle to automatic. He spun in a circle, spraying bullets.

Snakes fell around him.

Rowan leaped out from the tank too. She stood beside Bay, firing Lullaby. Her pistol was smaller than Lawless, but still a beast of a weapon, its bolts flying at supersonic speed to crash through basilisk skulls.

Other soldiers climbed out—the last survivors of the crew. The basilisks kept disassembling the tank, pulling its components downward into the pit. Bay didn't even know how deep this pit went. All he could see was the writhing mass of snakes. Central Park was several meters above—too high to jump or climb.

"Rowan, reach into my pack!" Bay shouted over the roar of bullets. "I've got some rope. I'll cover you."

"You grab the rope!" She kept firing her pistol.

"My gun is bigger than yours, and I need both hands to fire it!" he cried back. "Just do it!"

She groaned. "Always bragging about your bigger gun." She reached into his pack with one hand, firing Lullaby with the other, and rummaged until she found the rope. It was attached to an iron grappling hook.

Six troops stood atop the tank, firing in a ring. Below them, the basilisks were devouring the vehicle, pulling it down into the depths. With every bullet fired, the tank sank deeper. Soon only the gun turret was visible over the mass of scales and jaws.

As the others fired, Rowan hurled the rope and grapnel. The metal claws scraped across the rim, then fell back into the pit. A basilisk rose from the mass, grabbed the rope, and ripped off the grapnel.

"Damn it!" Rowan cried, pulling the rest of the rope back. "Lost my goddamn grappling hook."

Bay cursed. The tank sank another few centimeters.

A basilisk reared before them, jaws wide, shrieking with hunger. Bay fired, emptying a magazine into its jaws. The head exploded in a cloud of bones and scales and red mist.

Bay loaded another magazine. It was his last one.

Within instants, he had emptied it. And there were still hundreds of basilisks around.

Another basilisk lunged onto the tank and grabbed a woman's leg. The creature yanked her back into the pit. The corporal screamed as snakes wrapped around her, pulling her into the depths.

"Bay, the grapnel is gone!" Rowan shouted.

"I know!"

"I told you that you should have done it!"

"I know, I know!" Bay said.

Another basilisk sprang onto the tank. Bay cursed. The serpent lunged. Bay sidestepped, swinging his rifle in a broad arc. He slammed the wooden stock into the creature's head, knocking it aside. He drove the butt down hard onto the snake's head, slamming the beast against the turret.

Before the stunned snake could recover, Bay grabbed the creature's arm, drew a knife, and began to saw through the joints.

"Bay, what are you doing?" Rowan cried.

"Getting you another grapnel!" he said.

The snake was coming to. Rowan put a bullet between its eyes, allowing Bay to continue his work. He managed to sever the arm. It was the size of a human arm, tipped with sharp claws. Bay tied the rope to the severed organ, forming a new grapnel.

"Here!" He shoved the scaly arm at Rowan.

"That's mucking disgusting," Rowan said.

But Bay was busy swinging his rifle again, knocking back snakes.

"Get us out of here, Row!" he said.

She hurled the basilisk claw upward. This time, it went over the rim. This new grapnel caught something—perhaps one of the twisted trees. Rowan tugged the rope, straining with all her might.

"It's good!" she said. "Let's get the hell out of here!"

The soldiers climbed from the pit, one by one. Bay and Rowan remained on the tank, fighting the serpents, covering the other soldiers. By the time only Bay and Rowan remained atop the tank, the gun turret was only centimeters above the writhing surface of the snakes.

The other tank crews had managed to fashion their own grappling hooks. They too were climbing out. But Bay watched one tank sink completely under, two soldiers still atop it. They vanished into the sea of snakes, screaming.

"Rowan, go!" Bay cried. "I'll cover you."

She nodded, handed him an extra magazine, then began to scurry up.

Several basilisks leaped toward her as she climbed. Dangling from the top, Rowan pulled up her legs, narrowly dodging them. Bay fired, knocking the aliens back down. Rowan scrambled up the rope, climbed out of the pit, and waved from above.

"Come on, Bay, move your ass!"

He grabbed the rope and began climbing.

Below him, the tank vanished into the pit of snakes. Hundreds of the aliens were squirming below, feeding on the soldiers who had failed to escape. Bay couldn't see any tanks now, just the sea of serpents.

He focused on climbing.

He was almost at the top when a basilisk leaped from below and grabbed his legs.

Bay cursed, slipping on the rope, slicing his palm. The serpent tightened around his legs, pulling him downward.

"Bay!" Rowan cried.

His rifle dangled across his back. The damn thing kept swinging out of reach. He clung to the rope with his prosthetic hand, drew his knife with his real hand, and stabbed at the beast. But his hand was slick with blood. He could hardly maintain a grip, let alone pierce the snake.

The beast pulled him downward another meter. More basilisks raised their heads from the pit, jaws unhinging, ready to feast.

Rowan was firing from above. But she couldn't hit the snake pulling Bay's legs. His arm nearly dislocated, but Bay finally managed to reach his gun. He shoved the stock into his armpit, then pulled the trigger. His bullets knocked the basilisk off his legs, and Bay breathed in relief.

Before he could keep climbing, another basilisk leaped from the pool. It soared above Bay, lashed its claws, and severed the rope.

Bay tumbled down into the pit.

He thumped onto a carpet of scales.

Snake heads rose around him, hissing, revealing their fangs. Inside some of the jaws, Bay saw the remains of his fallen comrades.

The severed rope lay beside him.

"Bay!" Rowan shouted above.

He rose to his feet.

A surprising calm fell upon him.

He was likely to die any moment. But time seemed to slow. He felt numb, floating above his body.

The snakes were closing in, hissing. Hundreds of them. He began to sink into the wriggling mass—down past his ankles, then his knees.

He emptied his last magazine, killing a basilisk.

He raised his knife, prepared to take down at least one more before the end.

I'm sorry, Rowan. He shouted wordlessly and stabbed at a snake. I'm sorry I won't be there. To marry you. To grow old with you.

"Bay, goddamn it, grab a branch!" Rowan shouted from above.

Bay looked up.

Several soldiers, Rowan among them, were lowering an uprooted tree into the pit.

Bay reached out to grab it. And the tree grabbed him back. The shriveled fingers wrapped around his arm, then gripped his shoulders, pulling him from the pit. Basilisks snapped at him, but bullets from above knocked them down.

Finally Bay was out. He collapsed onto the ground, bleeding and wheezing.

"Snakes," he said. "Why did it have to be snakes?"

Rowan gasped. "Bay Ben-Ari! Was that a twentieth century reference? I'm so proud of you!" She knelt and embraced him. "And I'm glad you're alive."

Suddenly she leaped back, pulled a grenade off her belt, and hurled it into the pit.

"Fire in the hole!" she cried.

Bay had time to see several basilisks climbing from the pit. Then he leaped away and flattened himself on the ground.

The grenade exploded behind him, tugging down the climbing serpents.

A hundred soldiers had survived the plunge. For the next while, the troops hurled their grenades into the pits, slaying the beasts inside. Some of the basilisks managed to climb out, only to be mowed down by assault rifles.

Finally their work was complete. The pit of snakes had become a smoldering mass grave.

Their tanks—lost.

So many of their brothers and sisters—fallen.

The last hundred troops huddled together in the forest. Wounded. Pale. Bay saw the fear in all their eyes.

"We are winning this battle!" Bay told them. "Our losses are steep. But we are hitting the enemy hard. We've killed hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. We are scouring this city."

Rowan approached him, holding her map. "Bay, we're almost at Times Square. Let's go find those hostages." She shuddered. "Then let's get the hell out of this city."

They kept walking, crossing the last kilometer of this nightmarish forest. They emerged back into the decaying metropolis. The crumbling skyscrapers rose before them, casting long shadows. The sun was setting, sending spears of red light between the towers. In the distance, a shrill cry rose.

The soldiers redistributed their magazines, came together in defensive formations, and headed deeper into the shadowy underworld of a lost city.

CHAPTER THREE

Guns raised and loaded, the soldiers stepped into Times Square, a kingdom of rust and rot.

The fabled glittering lights were dark. Mold and vines covered the cracked roads and sidewalks. A few taxicabs rose from the decay, rusting, barely more than jagged shards like the broken teeth of a giant. Skulls and bones lay strewn everywhere, bustling with rats.

The original buildings still rose, bedecked with centuries of grime. But new posters covered walls and billboards, emulating the ancient adverts.

One placard featured a painting of humans on a stage, a massive serpent wrapped around them. The humans were crying out in silent agony, hands reaching up to heaven, as an audience cheered. A caption appeared below the drawing, written in the language of basilisks, which Rowan had learned to read.

The Misery of Apes: Now Playing!

Another building featured a mural of severed human heads stuffed into a box, tongues hanging out. Two basilisks were drawn above the gruesome box, coiling together in an embrace, drooling. A caption appeared above them.

Buy her a box of ape heads! She'll love you forever.

Another building featured human corpses—real ones—hanging in a window like roasted ducks. A sign hung above them.

Xerka's Kitchen! Fresh Human Served Daily!

"If nothing else, the bastards have got a sense of humor," Bay muttered as the soldiers walked deeper into the square.

Rowan stared at the lurid adverts. "This is not basilisk humor. Basilisks don't have any concept of humor, morbid or otherwise. But they know we do. They set these up to taunt us. They knew we were coming."

"Yeah, well, we busted them up pretty good in Central Park," Bay said. "So joke's on them."

They stepped over discarded snake skins, human skeletons, and chipped fire hydrants. The mold was ankle-deep. The soldiers kept looking around, searching for any sign of the basilisks or their hostages. They saw nothing. The sun was almost gone now, an orange glimmer fading behind the towers. Cold wind shrieked between the buildings, scattering scraps of skin.

"Are you sure the hostages are here?" Bay said, gun raised before him.

"That's what our orbital scans showed," Rowan said. "Heat scans. Human. We couldn't pinpoint them to an exact building. But they're here. Somewhere in Times Square—or within a couple hundred meters, at least."

She looked up at the skyscrapers. The windows had shattered long ago, revealing dark innards. Those black windows seemed to Rowan like thousands of eyes, staring, boring into her.

She passed by hallowed halls. An abandoned theater, its doors opened to chambers of dust, its marquee covered with discarded skins—both snake and human. An old burger joint, its clown mascot still standing, the head replaced with a human skull painted red and white. A crumbling clock tower, its metal arms replaced with human bones. Old memories. Whispers of a glorious past. Profaned and mocked. A foul iconoclasm. And Rowan realized more than ever why she had come to New York. Not only to defeat the last basilisk holdout. Not only to save hostages. But to save the soul of this place. To save a beautiful memory of Earth. To wake up from a dream that had become a nightmare.

The sun vanished. The soldiers lit their flashlights, walking deeper into Times Square. Mist fluttered like ghosts, and Rowan could almost imagine the millions of humans who had once lived here, died here. As she walked through the fog, she could almost hear them, feel them brush against her. Millions of ghosts, not even knowing that they were dead, welcoming her into their realm.

A distant note sounded. Then another. Barely audible over the wind.

Rowan frowned.

She stepped closer to the sounds.

Over the wind, she heard it more clearly. Soft calliope music as from old circuses. Her frown deepened. She could almost smell it. The smell of popcorn and cotton candy. She had never eaten such treats, but she had smelled them many times in the vents of Paradise Lost.

She kept walking and saw lights ahead. Electric lights! The first she had seen in this city.

Bay and the others walked behind her. The mist enveloped them, hiding the towers, the adverts, the grimy streets. Only the lights shone ahead, welcoming, casting back the shadows. The calliope music beckoned like a siren's song, and the smells of candy and buttered popcorn tickled their nostrils.

The soldiers walked closer together, flashlights and guns pointed ahead. The cold wind died, and warmth bathed them.

Rowan crossed the last few meters, and it revealed itself. A red and gold building, three stories tall, rising like an island in a sea of fog. The doors were elaborately carved, and the sweet and salty scents wafted from within. Above the doors hung a sign. A hundred yellow light bulbs surrounded bold letters.

Theater of the Absurd

Rowan stared at the marquee, eyes narrowed.

"What the hell?" she muttered.

The doors banged open.

The soldiers jumped and aimed their guns.

The doorway revealed a lush interior. A red carpet stretched between velvet ropes, leading to distant curtains. A robot rolled outside on creaky brass wheels. Its body was barrel-shaped, painted with flaking red and white stripes. Its eyes were old binoculars, its mouth a bear trap. The robot was rusting and leaked oil, but it still greeted the soldiers with a deep bow, its jaws scraping the floor.

The robot rolled back up like an inflatable punching doll. It raised a paper cone to its metal jaws, and a voice emerged from speakers.

"Welcome, welcome, guests! Welcome to the Theater of the Absurd!"

The soldiers all glanced at one another.

"The hell is that?" Bay said. "Did the basilisks put this show together?"

"Come one, come all!" the robot continued. "I am Ripley, proprietor of the greatest theater on Earth! Roll up, roll up! Come and see the freaks! Stand by the tallest man in the world! Compare yourself to the fattest woman on Earth! Come see the Lobster Lady from the sea, the Wolf Boy of the Amazons, and the Spider Sisters of the Orient! Marvel at the wonderful Ape Girl, a creature half human, half monkey! Feed the ravenous Bird Lady and hear her squawk!"

"Seriously, what the hell?" Bay raised his rifle. "I'm putting a bullet through this thing."

"Wait." Rowan pulled his rifle down.

The robot continued, brandishing his arms. "Roll up, roll up! But women and children beware—for the sights inside may shock and disturb you. The poor souls within this theater will astound, tantalize, and entertain—but also strike fear into meek hearts. For their curse is their blessing. Their wretchedness is their livelihood. They did not ask to come into this world, yet into this world they came. Do you dare come see them?"

The robot rolled aside, bowed, and extended its arms, beckoning the troops to enter.

"No way," Bay said. "We're bombing this place from orbit."

"Bay!" She grabbed his arm. "The hostages. They must be in there."

Bay shuddered. "Rowan, this place is creepy as hell. Remember the bridge, the naked boy, the park? All booby-trapped. They probably wired up this whole building."

"No." Rowan shook her head. "They wouldn't have gone to such trouble, building this place, putting together this dog and pony show, only to demolish it. They want to show us something. I say we take a look."

"Rowan!" He held her fast. "I don't want to see whatever messed up shit is in there. Freaks? Really? I've seen enough in this city. Going in there is what the basilisks want us to do."

"Well, do we have a choice?" Rowan said. "What, we just walk away, abandon humans in there who might need our help?"

Pain filled Bay's eyes. "Rowan, the hostages might be dead by now."

Rowan lowered her head. "I know. Bay, I know. But so long as there's a chance—I have to try."

Bay patted her hand, eyes soft, then turned to the robot. "Hey, buster! Yeah, you bucket of bolts. Before we enter—give us some sign the hostages are alive."

But the robot was frozen, still bowing, arms still gesturing indoors. Bay kicked the machine. It was completely lifeless.

"Ra damn it!" Bay spat, took a step back, and coned his hands around his mouth. "Hey, basilisks! Assholes! Enough games. You wanna talk? Come out and talk. You wanna fight? Come out and fight!"

His voice echoed.

The soldiers all faced the open doors, guns pointed ahead, as if waiting for basilisks to emerge.

Nothing but that damn calliope music.

Rowan sighed. "This is why we came down here ourselves. Boots on the ground. So we can raid their hidey holes. Well, we've got a prime hidey hole here, gentlemen. I say we get to raiding. Come on, Bay. Let's go kill some snakes."

"All right, all right!" Bay raised his hands in resignation. "What do I know? I've only warned about every trap until now. Fine! Let's go to the show."

Rowan and Bay led the charge. They burst into the building, rifles aiming ahead, and placed their backs to the walls. More soldiers entered, two by two, until the entire force filled the hall.

The doors slammed shut behind them.

The lights died.

Somewhere deep in the museum, a cackle rose.

The soldiers muttered curses and raised their flashlights. Shadows stirred and fled the beams of light. Suddenly the smell of popcorn and cotton candy seemed rancid. Rowan gulped, struggling not to gag.

Rustling sounded at her feet. She pointed her flashlight downward and saw baby snakes. Thousands of them, no longer than her fingers. The other soldiers cursed and began to stomp the creatures.

The laughter sounded again. Rumbling. Inhuman. It came from deeper in the museum. Rowan walked toward the sound, stepping on the small snakes.

The corridor led them into a huge chamber, easily the size of a cathedral's nave. It seemed far too large for the building, as if the laws of geometry no longer applied. Dim lamps shone above, encased in what looked like skin. Velvet ropes cordoned dozens of wax statues. Plaques stood before each statue, polished to a shine.

Rowan approached one display.

World's Fattest Man! proclaimed the plaque.

The statue portrayed an obese man, easily ten times Rowan's size. He was naked, his genitals buried within rolls of fat, his eyes mere slits. He stood on a fake scale that luridly announced: 1 metric ton!

Rowan shuddered and stepped toward another statue. This one portrayed conjoined twins. They had two heads but only one face; the smaller twin was gazing into his brother's chest. They stood on four legs like a quadruped, arms rising like a ridge of spines.

The Amazing Beast! read the plaque. Nature's cruelest mistake!

Rowan kept exploring.

Each statue was more bizarre than the last.

The Amazing Duck-Girl had huge, protuberant lips, so large they dwarfed her head. Turtle Boy had an enormous birth mark on his back, so huge it ballooned outward, forming a shell. The Incredible Peeling Man was losing his skin in long, curling strands. The Living Torso had no limbs. According to his plaque, he was a prince of the Orient, and could roll up cigarettes using only his mouth. The Human Warthog was covered with boils, so many they completely hid his face. The Dripping Dowager was all loose folds of flesh like a pile of laundry.

"What the hell is going on here?" Bay said, walking up to Rowan.

"I don't know," she said.

She kept walking deeper into the chamber. And the exhibits became even stranger.

Until now, the freaks had been fully human. Deformed, yes, but still simply humans. Now, though, Rowan saw other beings. Beings created not naturally, not accidents of nature—but of genetic engineering.

Bat Girl was missing her legs and hips. Rowan could still see the stitches where they had been removed. Her arms were spread out, and skin stretched between her hands to her tail bone, forming wings. The deformed girl hung from the ceiling on chains. The Astounding Stretchy Boy had elongated limbs, arms sewn onto arms like chains of sausages. These limbs were propped onto thin poles; one was theatrically reaching across the room for a ball. Snakeman had the body of a human but the head of a snake, and his arms were formed from two smaller serpents.

"We need to nuke this whole damn place," Bay said, voice shaking.

Rowan nodded. "You know what? I think you're right. I think that—"

She frowned and stared.

"Rowan?" Bay said. "Rowan, what?"

She stepped deeper into the museum. A statue stood on a pedestal ahead. A creature half human, half snake, split vertically down the middle. One arm. One leg. Half the face serpentine and covered with scales. The other half …

"My face," Rowan whispered.

The Amazing Snakegirl! a plaque read. Half Human, Half Serpent! She can lay eggs and provide milk!

"What the muck?" Rowan whispered, trembling, staring at the wax statue.

Another display caught her eye. She ran toward it. This statue was hideously deformed, a tangle of arms and legs and scaly tails. The spine twisted. The head dangled upside down like a wilted flower. The face stared at Rowan.

Her face.

Again—her face.

The Twister Girl! read the plaque. Where does she end and begin?

Other statues were strange alien-human hybrids. Creatures with human faces but also tentacles, scales, claws, insect bodies. Some were impossible to describe or understand, just tangled blobs of organic mass sprouting random parts. Not every freak had Rowan's face. But many did. And even one was too many.

"We're burning this place," Rowan said, voice shaking. She approached a sergeant. "Give me your flamethrower. I'm burning these … things myself."

"Not a patron of the arts?" Bay asked.

Rowan ignored him. She didn't need his gallows humor now. She slung the fuel tank across her back, then aimed the flamethrower's nozzle at the Twister Girl.

She spurted out a jet of fire.

The fire washed over the twisted statue.

And the statue screamed.

And the statue moved.

Rowan removed her finger from the trigger. The flames died.

She stared at the burning Twister Girl. A real girl. Not a statue. A living being. Burnt and screaming.

A head rose from the mangled flesh, identical to Rowan, crying out in pain. The many limbs twitched and moved. The burnt creature stepped off the pedestal. Several spines creaked on the deformed body. The beast wobbled toward Rowan on several hands and legs. The face stared at her, tears in its eyes.

"Help me …" the creature said.

Soldiers across the room cried out in horror. One began to fire his assault rifle, riddling Twister Girl with bullets.

"No!" Rowan cried, snapping out of her paralysis. Her heart thudded. Cold sweat washed her. "Don't!"

But the soldier kept firing. Twister Girl twitched on the ground, screaming, begging, then finally fell still.

Across the museum, the other statues were stepping off their pedestals.

No, not statues, Rowan thought. They've been alive all along. Her tears flowed. Here are the hostages.

Dozens, maybe hundreds of the creatures came limping, crawling, slithering forward. Their faces twisted with fury.

"You killed her!" cried the Incredible Peeling Man, his skin trailing behind him like strands of a mummy's wrappings.

"You must die!" rumbled the Human Warthog, voice emerging from clusters of boils.

The freaks attacked.

They clawed at soldiers. They bit. They lifted stanchions and began clubbing soldiers with the metal poles.

"Stop!" Rowan cried. "We're here to help you!"

But the freaks only shrieked in fury.

"For the glory of Xerka, Queen of Reptiles!" cried Turtle Boy.

"Kill the apes!" gurgled a mass of boils and hair.

These wretched souls kept attacking.

And the soldiers fought back.

Bullets tore through the freaks. The deformed beings cried out in pain as they died. Some begged. Rowan watched with tears in her eyes, not knowing if this was murder or mercy.

A freak came lumbering toward her. A towering beast, its arms and legs formed of snakes. But the creature had a human torso and a human face. Rowan's face.

"Mother!" the creature shrieked. "Die!"

The beast swung its arms. Instead of fists, it had snake heads.

One of the heads bit Rowan's shoulder. She cried out. She raised Lullaby with a shaking hand.

"Don't make me kill you!" she said.

"Die, Mother!" the creature screamed, her voice a storm. "You abandoned us. Die!"

Another arm lashed. Another snake bit Rowan.

She fell to the floor, crying in pain. Her deformed doppelganger rose above, madness in her eyes. The snake-hands rose tall, prepared to strike.

"I'm sorry," Rowan whispered, tears flowing. "I'm so sorry."

She fired Lullaby.

The creature fell, a hole through her heart.

Rowan sat for a moment, tears on her lips, gun hot in her hand.

Is this what you saw in New York, Mairead? Rowan thought. Is this what changed you, broke you?

Bay stood nearby, battling several freaks. The creatures were stabbing at him with horns and claws. He spun in a circle, swinging his rifle like a club, trying to knock them back without killing them. But finally even Bay began to fire too. The rest of the platoon were all firing. Killing.

Scouring, Rowan thought. Cleaning this city.

She saw so many familiar faces among these creatures.

One of the human bats had Mairead's face. Another creature, a strange sphinx with rotting wings, looked like Ramses. A crawling pale worm had a human face. Coral's face.

How did they do this? Rowan thought, forcing herself to think, to replace her terror with logic. How did the basilisks deform us?

"They have our DNA," she whispered.

The battle didn't last long. Probably no longer than ten minutes. And the freaks were all dead, with only four casualties among the soldiers. An easy battle. Yet the hardest battle Rowan had ever fought. And she knew this battle would haunt her more than the great wars in space where millions had died.

Bay took her hand. "That does it. We're getting out of here. Out of this museum. Out of this city." His voice shook. "We'll give the order. We'll nuke the whole damn place from space. We'll—"

"Bay, wait." She looked into his eyes. "We have to keep going."

His eyes widened. "What?"

"They stole our DNA," she whispered. "The basilisks. It's how Xerka became half human. She stole my parents' DNA. They have it here. Somewhere in this museum."

Bay nodded. "All right. A nuke will take care of that, right?"

"No. Because …" Rowan trembled. "She called me mother. She recognized me. Bay, we have to keep going. Deeper."

She stared toward a staircase at the back of the room. It plunged into shadows.

Leaving the carnage behind, Rowan stepped onto the staircase. The others followed. They descended underground.

CHAPTER FOUR

Rowan entered the basement below the Theater of the Absurd. Her soldiers followed, flashlights beaming.

Gone were the velvet ropes, red carpets, polished plaques, and flashy signs. The basement was dingy, all rusty pipes, cobwebs, and dust. Chains hung from the ceiling, swaying. Rusty tools covered the walls: hammers, needles, scalpels, saws. Dry blood coated them. Jars stood on shelves, containing pickled oddities: animal fetuses, hands, shrunken heads.

"This is a lab," Rowan said.

Bay shook his head. "A torture chamber."

Rowan nodded. "Maybe both."

Rowan approached a wooden table. A dusty book lay there, open to a page showing engravings of human and basilisk anatomy. She frowned and looked closer. The book was written in the basilisk language, but there was no mistaking the illustration of DNA strands.

"This is where they built the freaks," Rowan said, raising her eyes to the tools on the wall.

"Why?" said Bay.

She thought back to meeting Xerka aboard her flagship. A basilisk queen with the torso, arms, and head of a woman. Created from Rowan's own parents.

"To understand us," Rowan said softly. "Bay, all of this—the trees in Central Park, the parody adverts in Times Square, the creatures in this museum—these are attempts to understand humans."

Bay scoffed. "What? By mocking us? Deforming us? Killing us?"

Rowan shrugged. "Isn't that what we used to do to ourselves? Back in the old days before we were exiled from Earth? Xerka didn't consume and assimilate my parents to torment me. She did it to understand me. The basilisks didn't profane New York to mock us. They tried to emulate our behavior. To understand what makes us tick. I know it seems ghoulish to us. But remember, they're monstrous beings. Wicked beings. That's the prism through which they view the universe. View us." She sighed. "This isn't a museum. It isn't even a trap. The whole thing, the entire city, is a lab. An experiment basilisks created to understand humanity. Not just our bodies—but our fascinations, our fears, our humor, even our entertainment."

"Entertainment?" Bay bristled. "What the hell is entertaining about this place?"

Rowan raised her eyebrows. "Really, Bay? Thousands of years ago, freak shows were a cornerstone of human entertainment. Millions of humans lined up to see the Elephant Man and other medical oddities. They traveled in circuses. And later on, we watched our freaks on reality TV. We've always enjoyed oddities. To mock them. Even to fear them. Maybe to pity them."

Bay frowned. "So the basilisks lured us here? To see how we'd behave?"

"Maybe," Rowan said. "I'm not sure. But I think this entire city—it's all some giant simulation of humanity. That's why the basilisks maintained New York. They restored the Statue of Liberty, but only knew how to give her a serpentine face. It's the only face they knew well enough to carve. All of New York—it's how the basilisks envisioned a human city. Complete with mock billboards and museums. Bay, no human has lived here for two thousand years. This entire city should be nothing but dust. The basilisks preserved it. Rebuilt it. A giant maze, and we're the lab mice scurrying through it."

Bay looked around him at the bloodied tools. "They couldn't have given us cheese instead of monsters?"

"Nightmares are how we understand ourselves," Rowan said. "It's why they haunt us at night. They expose our weaknesses, test our mettle. Is it any wonder the basilisks would want to run the same tests? Nightmares teach us more than dreams."

"An interesting theory, I admit," Bay said. "The monsters test their victims with nightmares."

"Hypothesis."

"Huh?" Bay raised an eyebrow.

"It's just a hypothesis, Bay. A supposition or proposed explanation made on the basis of limited evidence as a starting point for further investigation. A theory is a coherent group of tested general propositions, commonly regarded as correct, that can be used as principles of explanation and prediction for a class of phenomena."

"Nerd," he said. "A nerd and cheater. I saw you steal my minicom and peek at Wikipedia Galactica."

Rowan allowed herself a weak smile. "That's why you love me."

A whimper came from deeper in the lab, interrupting their conversation.

Rowan stared but could see nothing but shadows. Even her flashlight couldn't penetrate that darkness. She raised her gun and stepped deeper into the blackness. Bay walked with her.

The whimper sounded again. Clearer now.

"Mama. Mama."

Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, filled with dead insects. Rowan couldn't see more than a few meters ahead. She brushed the cobwebs aside, stepping deeper into the basement. Bay and the other soldiers followed, parting the cobwebs with the barrels of their rifles.

"Mama," came the voice from ahead, high and childlike. "Help me. Mama. The snakes hurt me. Mama, please."

Rowan turned toward Bay.

"A hostage," she whispered.

A large bird hung from the cobwebs, feathers matted, wings rotten, perhaps once an owl or hawk. Rowan ducked beneath it. The cobwebs thickened, sticky, grabbing at her. She had to draw her knife and hack at them. Strange, mummified corpses hung from them. Human arms with eyes. Human heads, faces locked in silent screams, with withered bodies no larger than a forearm.

One of the dangling creatures was still alive. It spun toward Rowan on its web. A white, withered thing like wet cloth. Boneless. But it had a red mouth, gummy, smacking, and eyes covered in cataracts like white marbles sinking in paint.

"The owl knows the cave," the creature said, then cackled, swinging on its web.

Another creature spun toward Rowan, hanging from cobwebs. It was like a wet sock, pale and wrinkly, with strands of silvery hair and a face without a skull, a mouth without teeth, a life without a soul.

"Follow the owl," the creature said.

More and more of these pale, withered beings hung through the web, cackling, smacking their lips. They swung toward Rowan, slapping into her with wet thuds, marble eyes spinning, tongues wagging.

"The owl knows. The owl always knows. Follow to the cave. The owl knows the cave."

"Shut up!" Rowan cried, covering her ears. "Shut up, shut up!"

They all swung around her, staring, laughing, slapping against her, gumming her arms. Rowan couldn't see. She stumbled forward blindly. She realized her arms no longer had bones. They hung loosely at her sides. Her body was melting, spineless, her head caving inward, her skull gone, her teeth fallen. The sticky strands caught her. She hung, stretched out, eyes blind and spinning, marbles in white mud.

"The owl knows," she said, dangling in the cobweb. "Follow the owl."

"What?" Bay grabbed her arm. "Rowan?"

She blinked at him. She looked around her. The strange dangling creatures were gone. Nothing but dead insects and mummified cats in the cobwebs. No living beings. No spinning eyes.

"I …" She rubbed her eyes. "Did you see them? The boneless creatures who spoke of owls?"

Bay tilted his head. "Rowan, are you all right?"

She shuddered. She checked her body. Bones were all in place. Teeth were still in her mouth. Crooked as always, alas. But still there.

"Yeah. I …" She shuddered. "Let's hurry. I want to get this over with."

They kept walking between the cobwebs. Rowan could hear the crying from ahead more loudly now. It sounded like a young girl.

"Mama, please," the girl whimpered. "Please help me. Don't let the snakes hurt me."

The soldiers walked closer, flashlights barely piercing the shadows. Ahead, past veils of cobwebs, knelt the figure of a young child. Rowan couldn't see much from here—just a slender frame, scraggly hair, a tattered nightgown.

"Please, Mama, help me." The girl trembled, and the cobwebs trembled with her. "Why do they hurt me?"

"Hello there!" Rowan said, walking forward. "We're soldiers of the Human Defense Force. We're here to help."

The girl's trembling ceased. She froze, silent, her back to Rowan.

"Hello!" Rowan said, taking another step closer.

The girl rose to her feet. She spun around slowly, wispy hair swaying.

Rowan gasped.

The girl was sick. Her face was pale gray, the skin cracked, the eyes covered with cataracts. Her mouth opened, revealing rotting teeth. The girl took a step closer, parting the strands of cobwebs, and Rowan could not stifle a scream.

The girl had a bloated abdomen covered with a suit of clattering bones. Her lower body was the size of a carriage, supporting the smaller human body atop it. Eight limbs stretched out, serrated and white, ending with claws.

The giant spider loomed above Rowan, grinned, and spoke in a mocking voice.

"Help me, Mama. The bad snakes are hurting me!"

Rowan, Bay, and the other soldiers opened fire.

The spider leaped up, dodging the bullets. Belying its size, it moved with incredible speed, vanishing among the webs above.

"Where the hell did it go?" a soldier shouted.

Rowan stared upward, saw a shadow scurry, then disappear.

"I—" she began.

Legs reached down from above, grabbed a soldier, and yanked him up into the shadows. Blood rained.

The soldiers below shouted and fired. Serrated legs scuttled. A spool of webbing shot down, grabbed another soldier, and pulled the woman upward. Her severed limbs fell, thumping against the floor.

"Do you like my museum, little Rowan?" The voice filled the chamber, echoing, demonic. "I prepared it especially for you. I knew you could not resist the lure of my web."

More webs shot down, grabbing more soldiers.

Men screamed and fired machines guns. But they couldn't even see the spider. The webbings seemed to rise forever, vanishing into a dark sky. They couldn't have been too deep underground. The museum should be just above them. But when Rowan looked up past the dangling cobwebs, she saw only darkness, a looming abyss like a starless sky.

And there—a shadow, moving between the strands.

Her.

The great spider.

A goddess.

Grabbing flesh from below. Consuming. Laughing. Always mocking.

Follow the owl.

The blind eyes spun.

The owl knows.

"The owl knows," Rowan whispered.

Follow him to the cave.

"Find the cave," Rowan whispered.

More webs shot downward. More claws grabbed. The spider feasted upon her prey, and the red water rained.

"Shoot her!" Bay was shouting in the distance. "Kill the damn thing!"

But they were lost in a cobweb forest. A place larger than Central Park. A place of infinite darkness. A world of webs, of the huntress and the prey. Here below the Theater of the Absurd—a universe. A dimension. A dream.

"It's a dream," Rowan whispered. "We're trapped in a dream."

A soldier ran up to her. The spider legs pulled him up. The jaws of a little girl devoured the head, crunching, sucking.

The wet, withering things danced around Rowan, swaying, dangling from their webs. Spinning eyes and smacking red mouths, pendulous lips and toothless gums.

Follow him.

"Who are you?" she shouted.

Those who came before you. Those lost. Those devoured. Those whose bones the spider consumed.

Rowan looked at the spider that scurried above, hunting her soldiers. A spider coated with a suit of bones. Human bones. Rowan watched as the spider pulled the bones out from a soldier, placed them on her back, then hung the boneless corpse to dangle in her web.

"Follow the owl," Rowan whispered.

She ran.

She ran back, retracing her steps.

"Rowan!" Bay cried after her. "Rowan, where are you going?"

"Colonel Emery is retreating!" a man called. "Run!"

A few of the men tried to flee. But webs grabbed them, pulled them into the waiting jaws. A strand caught Rowan's wrist, yanking her back. She yelped and sliced the web with her knife. Another web looped around her leg, knocked her down, then dragged her along the floor. Rowan screamed, twisted around, and fired Lullaby, severing the strand. She rose and kept running.

Follow the owl.

She could see it ahead now. The rotting bird dangling in the webs. It swung in the distance, wreathed in mist. The eyes gone. The beak thrusting out from the bundle of webs. The feathers dank. An owl or hawk. It raised its head and stared.

The spider landed before Rowan, grinning. It loomed before her, twice her height, spreading its many limbs. A little girl upon a bloated body. Covered in bones. Within her belly—twisting, kicking, the forms of men.

"I have felt your footsteps from afar," the spider said. "I have long desired to add your bones to my armor."

Rowan fired her gun. Her bullets shattered bones on the spider's back, but could not penetrate the skin beneath. The spider grabbed Rowan with her claws. Webs began to spin, wrapping around Rowan, and she thrashed and fired again, unable to free herself.

An assault rifle sang.

Bullets slammed into the spider, sparking. The girl screamed.

Bay leaped forward, shouting and firing, knocking the spider back with a hailstorm of bullets. He lashed at the webs with his knife, freeing Rowan.

The spider bellowed. The girl's eyes turned black. Her jaw unhinged, dropping down to her navel, revealing a gullet spiky with teeth. The creature lunged toward them, claws lashing.

Bay pulled his trigger, but his gun clicked, out of bullets. He cursed and swung the rifle, hitting the spider, barely fazing it.

"Run, Rowan!" Bay shouted. "I'll hold her off. Run!"

Rowan pulled webs off her legs and ran.

But she was not running to safety. Not like Bay thought.

She reached the mummified owl. Behind her, Bay and the other soldiers were shouting, still firing their guns, fighting the beast. Rowan stood several meters away. Staring at the dangling bird.

"Find the cave," it told her.

Behind her, they were screaming. Dying.

Rowan examined the bird, seeking clues. She rummaged through the rotting feathers, felt the emaciated carcass within, the bones gone. The boneless beings in the web had told her to follow the owl. Yet how could she follow a dangling, mummified corpse?

She tried to free the bird from the webs. The sticky strands tightened, and a chime sounded above.

Rowan frowned and looked up. She tugged the strand again, heard the chime.

She pointed her flashlight upward. But it couldn't pierce the shadows. Rowan tightened her lips, grabbed the strand, and began to climb.

She climbed through the darkness for what seemed like ages. Finally her flashlight illuminated a burrow dug into a stone wall.

A cave.

Rowan climbed inside, leaving the forest of webs below.

This had once been a small bunker. Probably dating back to pre-Hydrian days, the ancient era before humanity's exile. Somebody had converted it into a child's bedroom. There was a small bed, the wooden frame rotting, the mattress black with mold. A decaying desk. Dolls and stuffed animals on shelves.

The strand Rowan had climbed clung to a desk. When she tugged the strand, the desk jerked, and Rowan heard the chime again. It came from an ancient music box, rattling on the tabletop. The box creaked open. As if to welcome Rowan, a porcelain ballerina emerged. Music began to play, an eerie reverie.

Rowan still heard the battle far below. She wanted to go and fight. To save Bay. To save her friends. But the hanging things had led her to this bunker. There was something she needed to find. A weapon to slay the beast?

She approached the desk and opened the drawer. Small spiders fled from within. Rowan cleared away cobwebs and found a leather-bound journal. Rowan blew off dust, revealing letters printed on the cover.

Emily's diary.

Rowan flipped the book's brittle pages. She began to read.

Dear Diary,

The others were taken today. The last of them. I'm so scared. Mama said I needed to hide here. To never make a sound. She went to look for food, but the snakes found her. Mama, I miss you. I hear them at night. Laughing. Hurting the others. Changing them. I'm scared they'll come for me next. That they'll hurt me. Change me into a monster. Mama, I love you.

Old tears stained the page, smudging the last few words. Rowan's heart broke, and she had to close the diary, not wanting to add her own tears.

A photograph slipped out from the diary. A photograph of a family. A father, a mother, two brothers, and a little girl.

The girl who grew from the spider's body. But here she was still human. Still little Emily.

No, there was no weapon here, Rowan realized. There were memories.

She stuffed the diary and photograph into her pocket. She climbed out of the bunker, back into the dungeon of webs.

The spider queen rose ahead, her back to Rowan. She hung from her web. Little Emily, a merchant of death.

Dead soldiers hung around her, deboned, swinging from the sticky strands. A few soldiers still lived. They cried out, some still fighting, others trying to flee, only to be caught in the web. Bay was hanging from the net, one hand free, lashing a blade.

The spider approached him, claws raised. Her jaws opened wide, revealing strands of flesh. Bloody bones clung to her armor, new trophies. Bay cried out, swinging his blade, desperate to hold her off. Lawless hung in the web beside him; the rifle was beyond his reach.

"Bay Ben-Ari," the spider hissed, clattering closer. "My mistress told me of your wretchedness. The Little Prince. The lesser son of great ancestry. The last scion of a dying dynasty." She cackled. "Your bones will have no special place upon my armor. Your memory, like the memory of humanity, will be forgotten."

The spider grabbed his wrist, yanking his knife free.

Rowan stepped forth, gun lowered but chin held high.

"Emily!" she called out. "Emily Anderson of 42 Willowdale Road!"

The spider froze.

The creature stood still, claws raised above Bay, centimeters away from cutting him open. The little girl, growing from the bloated spider body, seemed paralyzed.

"Emily," Rowan said, softer this time. "I found your room. Your diary."

Slowly, spine creaking, the girl turned around. Her gray lips peeled back, revealing rotten teeth.

"Rowan Emery …" the creature hissed, clattering forward. "I know you. Yours is the flesh of my mistress, the Queen of Serpents. Yours is the blood of the poet, which will soon flow down my gullet."

The spider let out a deafening shriek and pounced toward Rowan.

But Rowan refused to back down.

She raised the photograph.

"This is you!" Rowan cried. "See yourself, Emily! This is you with your family!"

The spider stopped in midair as if hitting an invisible wall. She fell backward, legs scampering, and screeched.

"Put it away!" the spider cried. "It hurts us. It lies. Burn it!"

Rowan took a step forward, photograph held before her. She read from the diary.

"Dear diary. Today I hugged my parents so tightly. I love my mom and dad more than anything. Maybe even more than Christine, my porcelain ballerina. I'm scared of the snakes. But so long as mom and dad are here to hug me, I'm safe. I know they can banish any monsters. And I promise to protect Christine."

"Be silent!" the spider cried, scurrying backward. "You lie, you lie! You trick! Burn it. Burn it away!"

"Do you remember Christine, Emily?" Rowan said. "Do you remember your mom and dad? You're still you. Deep inside. You're still Emily. They can't take that away." Tears gathered in Rowan's eyes. "I can help you. I can bring you back."

Rowan didn't know if that was true. But she had to believe. That there was a home for Emily among humanity, same as the starlings had found a home on Earth.

Emily stared at her, frozen. Tears flowed down the cracked gray cheeks.

"It's too late for me," Emily whispered, sounding like a girl again.

Rowan's own tears flowed. "I can save you. I have to believe. That I can bring you back. That I can bring this city back. That I can bring Earth back. That there is hope for you. For all of us."

Because I too am broken, Rowan thought. My body is whole. But my soul fractured into ten thousand pieces. Every death that I saw. Every life that I took. It's another shard inside me. I have to believe that I can come back, be the girl I once was. I have to believe we can all come back from the darkness.

Emily lowered her head, sobbing softly.

"I miss my mom and dad," she whispered. "I miss Christine. Are they dead?"

Rowan stepped closer. She reached up and placed a hand on the girl's arm. "I'm sorry, Emily. I lost my parents too. But you have me."

The girl took back her diary and photograph. She climbed her web, moving on her many legs. She squeezed into the bunker, her bloated abdomen barely fitting. Rowan followed silently. The spider paused for a moment, looking at the porcelain ballerina in her music box. The music played, a soft chime, and Christine danced. Then Emily climbed onto the bed, hiding the entire mattress beneath her girth. Her eight legs pulled together.

"I can see them," Emily whispered. "My mom and dad. I can see the owl. He wants me to follow him. He'll take me to my parents. He'll take me home."

Emily began to wrap herself with webs, cocooning her deformed body. Rowan stood at the back of the room, watching. For the first time, Rowan noticed that a birdcage hung from the ceiling. A few feathers at the bottom. Owl feathers.

Bay climbed into the bunker too. He came to stand by Rowan, panting and bleeding.

"What—" he began.

"This is her path," Rowan whispered. "The one she chose. The owl will take her home." She wiped her eyes. "It was her pet. And it's still looking out for her."

Emily completed wrapping herself in the strands. The cocoon stiffened, seemed to shrink, deflate. Though freshly woven, the casing seemed oddly ancient, a relic from the past like the rest of this room.

Bay raised his minicom above the cocoon, scanning it. He looked at Rowan.

"No signs of life," he said. "She's dead."

Rowan lowered her head. "Or she found another life. One of peace."

"Should we bury her?" Bay said.

"She is buried, Bay. She is."

A voice called from below—one of their soldiers.

"Colonel Emery! Colonel Ben-Ari! We found something."

Leaving the cocoon, they returned to the dungeon. They cut their way through the cobwebs, heading deeper underground. The soldier kept calling them from farther down. Bay and Rowan followed his voice past the forest of cobwebs, finally reaching a doorway. They stepped into a dingy lab.

The soldiers pointed their flashlights across the room. The beams illuminated grimy glass pods, each about the size of fridge. Fleshy cords connected to the pods, pumping liquids from vats. The vessels looked like artificial wombs.

Rowan approached one of the pods. They seemed made of glass, but were coated with filth. Rowan wiped grime away, then jumped back.

A face.

A face was staring at her from inside the pod. A human face.

"Jesus," Bay muttered, coming to stand beside her.

The face belonged to a middle-aged man, the skin pale, the eyes glassy. Rowan struggled to open the pod. There seemed to be a hatch, but it was bolted shut. She rummaged around the lab, found a pipe, and hit the pod again and again. Finally she broke the hinges, and the pod's hatch swung open. The man spilled out onto the floor.

Bay knelt by the pale figure. He looked up at Rowan and shook his head.

"He's dead, Row."

They moved to another pod, wiped off the grime, and revealed another face. They cracked this pod open too, but found only a corpse. They tested several more pods, but the people inside were all dead.

"Damn it." Rowan pointed. "The vats were built to supply the pods with nutrients. But judging by all the grime, nobody's been tending to this lab for ages. This looks like a generator, but it's dead. It must have run for a while after Xerka fled Earth. These people haven't been dead for long. The generator must have died just recently."

Bay frowned. "What is this place? What were the basilisks doing here?"

"Harvesting DNA," Rowan said. "This must be their reservoir. Their source of cells to design the creatures we saw above." She shuddered. "And maybe the trees in Central Park."

Bay shuddered too. "You still think New York is just an experiment? A giant lab to understand humanity?"

"I don't know." Rowan sighed. "I wish we could have gotten here earlier. Maybe saved some of these people."

Bay cursed and punched a wall. "So we found the hostages. And we were too late. Ra damn it." His eyes reddened. "All this. All these battles. This death. And we're too damn late. The hostages are dead."

A sound came from behind them.

A pattering on glass.

Bay and Rowan glanced at each other, then turned and ran. They reached a pod at the back of the room, hidden behind curtains of cobwebs and dust. The pattering came from within. Rowan swung her pipe, cracking the pod open.

She gasped.

She took a step back.

"How?" she whispered, trembling.

She and Bay stared. Other soldiers gathered around them, staring in awed silence.

Inside the pod, naked and hooked to fleshy cords like a baby in a womb, was Rowan.

CHAPTER FIVE

The soldiers stood together, flashlights pointing at the naked woman in the pod.

At Rowan.

This was not one of the freaks from the museum above. Not a hybrid. Not deformed. The young woman was a perfect replica. The same petite body. The same olive-toned skin, short brown hair, and almond-shaped eyes.

"A clone," Rowan whispered, peering at her naked doppelganger. "A perfect clone."

Inside the pod, the clone whimpered. She covered her eyes with her arms.

"Lower your flashlights, everyone!" Bay said. "Give her some space."

The soldiers stepped back, lowering their flashlights. Only Rowan remained by the pod. Her clone trembled inside the glass egg. Tubes were still attached to her body, fleshy and coiling, running toward vats of liquid.

Rowan spoke softly. "I'm here to help. I'm going to cut you free, all right?"

The clone cowered and began to cry.

Rowan's mind raced. For a disorienting moment, she wondered who the real Rowan was: the officer in uniform, scarred and bloodied, or this virginal being in the pod, naked and babbling.

But of course she was real. She—Colonel Rowan Emery. She had her memories. Her thoughts. Her personality. She could feel them inside her, as if they resided in her skull.

Yet still—that confusion. The sense that she was only an illusion. A ghost.

She forced that doubt aside, saving it for future contemplation. For now, she had a frightened clone to tend to.

They must have grown her from my DNA, Rowan thought. Xerka must have captured my DNA when I battled her aboard her ship. Just a drop of blood or strand of hair would be enough. She made this clone. A perfect clone. The source. From her, the basilisks grew the creatures above.

Rowan drew her knife and sawed through the tubes connecting her clone to the pod. The clone came free, crying and trembling, like a baby being born. Rowan wrapped the girl in a blanket. She held her, rocking her in her arms, until the clone calmed and slept.

"What is she?" Bay said softly.

Rowan looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "A survivor."

They climbed back onto the surface of New York City—the last handful of living soldiers. Bay carried the clone in his arms.

They stepped back into Times Square and looked around them. The sun was rising, and it was snowing. Not snowing the ashes and smog of war. But pure, glittering snow that covered the bones, hid the lurid adverts, hid the ugliness and rot. In this dawn, for one glittering morning, New York was beautiful again.

It was the city from the poster above Mairead's pool table.

The city Rowan had watched in so many movies—as familiar to her as the ducts of Paradise Lost.

It was a city where no monsters dwelled, and where nothing could hurt her.

The platoon stood around Rowan. She had come here with over a hundred tanks. With over a thousand troops. So few remained. Only a few dozen survivors.

We cleaned this city, she thought, looking at them. But at a terrible cost.

Engines rumbled above. Rowan looked up to see Human Defense Force planes. Paratroopers glided down with the snow. The soldiers landed in Times Square and atop the buildings, rifles in hand. Hundreds of new soldiers.

One tall, broad soldier approached Rowan. He pulled back a scarf, revealing a craggy face with a gold-and-silver beard. A face like an aging lion.

"Rowan!" said Emet Ben-Ari. The president of Earth himself. "Bay! Thank Ra. Are you two all right?"

"Dad." Bay approached his father, and his voice was haunted, hollow.

Brow furrowed, Emet looked at them. At the bloodied, wounded platoon. At the naked clone in Bay's arms. Confusion suffused his face.

"We lost contact with you hours ago," Emet said. "None of our transmissions were getting through. I know you didn't want paratroopers, Rowan. I know you said this was a job for an armored battalion. Well, it looks like you cleaned up this city. But … damn it. What the hell happened here?"

Bay looked down at the clone in his arms. The young woman was sleeping, still wrapped in her blanket. The snow clung to her short brown hair.

Bay looked at Rowan. She saw the horrors dancing in his eyes. The same horrors that still haunted Rowan. That she knew would forever haunt them both. The massacre on the river, the leviathans grabbing the tanks and pulling them into the depths. The naked boy, exploding among the troops, and the carnage raining. The twisted forest with fingers for leaves, and the pit of snakes. The Theater of the Absurd. The dark dreams within.

Bay looked back at his father.

"A nightmare," he said softly. "We found a nightmare."

Yes, Rowan thought. Not a test. Not a web. This city had been like her dreams. Dark and coiling, with many paths and mysteries. The kind of dream you woke up from in cold sweat, tangled in the blankets, clawing for a way out. The kind of dream even the light of dawn could not fully banish.

Because only nightmares can teach you about your fears, Rowan thought. Only through a nightmare can you reach dawn with new understanding, with new courage. Nightmares are how we confront our demons. And that is what I had to do in New York. I had to confront not only the basilisks. But my demons. The shades of myself. She laughed, a sound almost like a sob. Yes. I had to face myself.

"A nightmare?" Emet said, frown deepening. "What do you mean? Somebody give me a proper report, damn it." He turned toward Rowan. "Colonel Emery, what happened here?"

A tear flowed down her cheek. She smiled at her president. She spoke softly.

"We woke up."

CHAPTER SIX

The Terranon was the greatest building in Port Addison. Indeed, the greatest building humans had built in thousands of years.

Well, it would be. Eventually. It was still a work in progress.

Very much so.

Rowan stood on the snowy lawn, watching the construction. Workers bustled across scaffoldings, laboring even in the bitter cold. Their power drills, welding guns, and hammers filled the city with their song. Normally Rowan would have thought it a cacophony. But today it seemed a good sound. Comforting. Almost harmonious. After so many years of war—of hearing bullets and bombs and missiles, that symphony of destruction—it felt good to hear men build.

She was also suffering from partial hearing loss, the result of her many battles, which even the Harmonians couldn't repair. There was that too.

Bay trudged across the snowy field and joined her.

"It's a little excessive, isn't it?" he said.

"Excessive?" Rowan said.

They both looked at the Terranon. The central structure was almost complete—a concrete rotunda, not yet painted but already regal. Earth's government would convene within that dome. Other wings were still under construction. There would be living quarters for the president, a library, and administrative halls. Elsewhere in the city, crews were building a courthouse, a police station, and new headquarters for the Human Defense Force. Slowly, Earth's halls of power were rising.

"Yeah, excessive." Wind gusted, and Bay shivered, brushed snow from his beard, and wrapped his blue coat more tightly around him. "Within only the past six months, two million human refugees have landed on Earth. Two million, Row! Hungry. Cold. Traumatized from years of war. That brings our population to a cool three million. And two million more refugees—the last humans in the galaxy—are expected to land within the next year."

She nodded. "Exactly. Earth is growing. And we need buildings."

"Buildings, sure," Bay said. "Homes. Hell, it doesn't have to be anything fancy. I'm not talking Macaulay Culkin's house from Home Alone. Just simple apartment buildings is fine. And we need thousands of them, Row. Entire cities full of apartment blocks. Can we really spare construction workers to build . . . this?"

He gestured at the Terranon.

Rowan understood. Three million souls on Earth might be small compared to the population during the Golden Age. Back then, billions of humans had lived here. But following years of genocide, three million survivors was miraculous. It was Earth's largest human population in two thousand years. Most had come here as starving refugees, clad in rags or blankets, survivors of scorpion gulocks and basilisk raids. Most were still living in tents, even in this cold winter.

"Bay, the Terranon is hardly a palace, you know," she said. "It's smaller than the White House, the Forbidden City, the Reichstag, Parliament Hill, or any other historical government building I can think of. Hell, the Terranon would barely be noticed next to them. But we still need something, Bay. We need … a symbol."

"People can't eat symbols," Bay said. "Symbols can't shelter them from the snow or rain."

"But they can provide some comfort," Rowan said. "And they can send a message to our enemies. A message that Earth is rising again. That we're strong. That we're not to mess with. Our leaders can't keep hiding underground. Both humans and aliens must see that Earth is strong, that it will fight to defend itself."

Bay smiled wryly. "Sometimes that feels like a bit of a bluff."

Rowan raised her eyebrows. "Oh? We defeated the scorpion empire. We dealt Xerka a mighty blow, banishing her forces from Earth. We're no longer those scared refugees, Bay. We're no longer the pests hiding in ducts and asteroids. We're strong. Not as strong as in the Golden Age. We're not an empire like the one Einav Ben-Ari led two thousand years ago. But a bluff? No. We're strong enough to hold our own. Earth does not bluff."

Bay raised his fist. "Earth takes names and kicks asses! I dig it." He mussed her hair. "Great pep talk, hobbit."

She sighed. "You make me sound less badass when you call me a hobbit, pancake."

He kissed her cheek. "You're the baddest hobbit in the Shire, sweetie."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, yes, the sweetie certainly helps." She grabbed his hand. "Now come on, our meeting is starting soon. Let's not be late for the first assembly in the Terranon."

They walked past construction workers, heading toward the building. Both wore their old Heirs of Earth uniforms: brown trousers, white buttoned shirt, a blue vest for Rowan and a blue jacket for Bay, both inlaid with brass buttons. These old uniforms, once used in space, had become service uniforms for the Heirs of Earth, worn on more formal occasion. Earth's fledgling textile industry had been producing simpler army uniforms—efficient, affordable olive drab. Rowan wore those battle fatigues day to day, and she hated them. It was a treat to wear her old Heirs of Earth uniform on these special occasions. She even had her goggles back on her head, holding up her hair. It was easy to feel like a girl again, wide-eyed and naive, ready for adventure.

The thought reminded her of her clone.

Another Rowan. One who was like a girl. Indeed, like a newborn baby.

That clone was back at home, the humble trailer Rowan shared with Bay. Which both Rowans shared with Bay. Physically, the clone seemed to be about twenty. Mentally—only a few days old.

Rowan placed those thoughts aside for now. She and Bay stepped into the Terranon, home of Earth's government.

On the inside, the dome was large but simple. There were no frescoes covering the ceiling, no precious metals shining on the columns, no fine marble tiles on the floor. It would be years, maybe generations, before Earth had the wealth to adorn itself with such fineries. The dome was simple concrete, cavernous and cold. But Rowan found the echoing chamber imposing in its austerity. Not a hall of glittering wealth. A hall of power. Of humanity.

Rowan gazed up at the raw concrete ceiling.

"Someday, when there's peace, you should paint murals here," she told Bay. "The story of human evolution. From strands of DNA, to single cell organisms, to aquatic life, all the way to apes and finally humans. Imagine it! Covering the ceiling of Terranon! It will be beautiful."

Bay smiled wryly. "It'll only take me a few decades, but sure, anything for my hobbit."

She leaned against him. "Hey, I'd paint it myself, but I'm not a very good drawer. Once there's peace—you paint the dome, and I'll film Dinosaur Island. Deal?" Suddenly her eyes stung. "Promise me, Bay."

He kissed her cheek and mussed her hair. "I promise. Something to look forward to."

"Art and peace." She wiped her eyes. "It's for them that we fight. We must never forget. We don't fight for vengeance, nor for glory, nor for conquest. We fight for art. And for peace."

The others were entering the hall now, also dressed in brown and blue.

Tom Shepherd was first to enter. During the wars, Tom had survived a gulock, led prisoners in rebellion, and rose to become a great general, a war hero. Today he was Earth's ambassador, representing humanity to the stars. Bay remembered meeting a cadaverous man, years ago—almost starving, hunger and fear in his eyes, the leader of a scraggy group of gulock survivors. Today Tom walked straight and tall, shoulders broad. He was not yet fifty, but his hair was completely silver, and white stubble covered his bronze face, doing little to hide the ridged scar that ran from mouth to ear.

Next entered Leona Ben-Ari. Daughter of the president. Bay's older sister. Here walked the Iron Lioness, a living legend, descended of the Golden Lioness herself. Leona's tall black boots rose to her knees, her rifle hung across her back, and her black curls cascaded. She had been high ranking among the Heirs of Earth. A great leader of humanity in exile. Today Leona served as Earth's Minister of Defense, commanding the entire Human Defense Force. She was only in her thirties, but her eyes contained wisdom and strength beyond her years. Leona had been fighting this war for two decades, had led troops in humanity's greatest battles.

Rowan did not miss the look that passed between Tom and Leona. A look of a shared understanding. Of deep love forged in blood and fire.

Both are broken souls, Rowan thought, looking at the couple, these two heroes. Both have lost so much, sacrificed their all. May they find healing together.

And Rowan realized that, as cliche as it sounded, she was not just fighting for art and peace—but also for love.

Behind Tom and Leona walked other leaders. Dr. Cindy Torres was here, the new Minister of Health. Mary Sage entered the hall too, once commander of the HDFS Porter, today the Minister of Immigration. Others entered with them, ministers and generals alike. Some had risen through the ranks of the Heirs of Earth. Others had come from other, smaller paramilitary groups. All had been fighting for years, now formed a united government for humanity. They were all heroes. To humanity—and to Rowan personally.

Yet there were notable absences. Echoes that ached.

Ramses. Mairead. Coral. Luther.

Four great heroes and leaders. Four who had saved countless lives.

Four who had fallen in battle.

Rowan missed them every day. She knew that she always would. Same as she missed her parents and sister. For she had lost not only dear friends but also her family.

I wish you could be here with us, Rowan thought. But we will fight on. We will honor your memory and sacrifice.

The ministers and generals took their seats at an enormous metal table. The tabletop had been formed from the hull of the legendary HDFS Jerusalem, the great flagship that had led humanity home. After decades of service, the starship had fallen in battle against the basilisks, helping win Earth's independence. The Jerusalem was gone, but a piece of her lived on here within the Terranon.

When they were all seated, the doors opened, and Emet entered the room.

The president, like many of them, still wore his old Inheritor uniform. His coat was still shabby, his boots cracked, and his black cowboy hat had seen better days. But Emet had refused to let anyone sew him a newer uniform. He had ordered every seamstress to prepare uniforms for the swelling army. Hundreds of thousands were joining the ranks. The Human Defense Force was integrating both old rebel groups—like the Heirs of Earth and Earth's Light—but also refugees who had arrived wearing nothing but rags.

All industry was dedicated toward a single purpose now. To feed, clothe, and shelter the incoming refugees—and then turn them into soldiers. Even the construction of the Terranon served the war—a hub of leadership.

Everyone in the room rose from their seats and saluted Emet, placing their left fists into their right palms.

Emet returned the salute and took his place at the head of the table.

"New York is ours!" he said. "The final bastion of basilisk power on our homeworld. For the first time in two thousand years—Earth belongs to humans!"

A few people in the room cheered. Rowan did not. She lowered her head, remembering the battle.

The hundreds who had died.

Her hybrid clones—screaming in the fire.

The nightmares underground, and the broken soul of a little girl.

It was not a battle she would ever celebrate. It was a nightmare that would forever linger.

As the others applauded, Rowan looked at Bay. He returned her look, his eyes sad. He slipped his hand into hers. He understood. She smiled at him sadly, not needing words. She knew they would never speak of New York again. And that they would never have to. They would always understand.

Emet continued speaking.

"We won a great war. But it was only one round in an ongoing conflict. Our brave spies send reports from Sskarsses, homeworld of the basilisks. Xerka has returned, and she is rebuilding her fleet. Her armada is mighty, comprised of thousands of warships, faster and deadlier than any we've fought before. Her fleet has one purpose: to destroy Earth. This time, she will not implement a blockade. She will not seek the auspices of the Galactic Council. Her pride is wounded, her mind gone mad. This time, there are no basilisk civilians on Earth to curb her wrath. She will fly here with her fleet and unleash thousands of nuclear weapons. She will destroy our world."

Silence fell across the hall. Everyone stared with dark eyes. The words lingered.

"Way to sour the mood, Dad," Bay finally said, breaking the silence.

Emet did not even crack a smile.

"Rest assured, we will not allow Xerka to succeed," Emet said. "She's been preparing for the next round. But we've not been idle either. For the past six months, ever since banishing her from Earth, we've been rebuilding our fleet. We still have over two hundred geode-ships, piloted by state-of-the-art artificial intelligence. We still have a few good ships from the Exodus Fleet and the starling fleet. And we've been secretly purchasing more starships from arms dealers across the Orion Arm. Our fleet is still small. Fewer than a thousand starships. It's a pale echo of the great fleets the Golden Lioness commanded in our glorious past. But it must be enough! We will not wait here on Earth while Xerka plots our destruction. We will fly to her world. We will fly with every ship we have. We will strike her planet with all our fury. And we will kill Xerka."

A few approving cries rose in the hall.

But Rowan lowered her head.

She took a deep breath, then looked back up at Emet.

"It's my fault," she said softly. "During the war. I fired the talaria cannon at Xerka. I knocked her halfway across the galaxy, but I kept her alive. I should have fired other weapons. Torpedoes or nukes, or—"

"You did what you had to do." Leona spoke for the first time. The tall officer rose from her seat, fixing her gaze on Rowan. "Xerka was seconds away from killing me. She had crippled my ship. She was aiming her cannons for the killing blow. And after killing me, she would have nuked Port Addison. Her flagship's shields were still strong; it would have taken many missiles to carve them open. But with a single blow from your talaria cannon, you neutralized her. You demoralized her troops. You saved my life—and the lives of millions. Never doubt that you made the right choice, Rowan."

"Even if we must now mount an invasion of another world?" Rowan said. "We could have ended the war then! Here on Earth! Now we must fight another war."

Thousands will die, she added silently. Maybe millions. Because of me.

"Rowan, Xerka surviving is the best thing that could have happened to Earth," Emet said.

Rowan turned toward her leader. "Sir?"

Emet nodded. "If we had won the war six months ago, if you had killed Xerka instead of banishing her, do you know what would have happened? Not peace. Other alien civilizations would have flown here to avenge Xerka. The Galactic Council would have rallied them. Earth would face invasion after invasion—until we were all dead. But now—now we have a chance to prove ourselves to the galaxy. We will show them that humans can do more than cower on a small planet, desperately struggling to defend it. We will show them that Earth can strike distant worlds, can bring ruin to her enemies. We will make a lesson of Xerka! We will strike the basilisks so hard that for a thousand years, all other alien civilizations will dare not attack us."

Rowan shuddered. "Sir, that sounds an awful lot like vengeance."

"Not vengeance," Emet said. "Deterrence. Throughout history, deterrence has saved countless lives, prevented countless wars. Nothing maintains peace so much as deterrence. When you're a child on your first day at school, and a bully picks on you—you smash his nose so hard no other bully will ever strike you. When you're a felon entering prison, and another inmate attacks you—you destroy him as all other inmates watch. That schoolboy, that inmate—they are safe from that day onward. With one act of violence, they prevent years of bloodshed. If they do not make a lesson of their enemy? They are tormented eternally. This has been the case throughout human history. And galactic history. Humanity must show the cosmos that we're no longer refugees. That we will no longer be butchered for sport. That we're no longer prey—but hunters! For thousands of years, aliens hated us. We will make them fear us!"

Cheers rose in the room. But Rowan did not join them. She stared at Emet, eyes narrowed.

Who are you? she thought. Where is the wise leader I knew?

And she realized something. She was afraid of him.

But maybe that's nothing new, Rowan thought. I feared him after he blasted me out of an airlock six years ago, willing to sacrifice my life to kill Jade. I feared him throughout the war, watching his ruthlessness, his horrible ability to sacrifice thousands to save millions. And I fear him now. Because he is not like Tom. He is not a shepherd. Emet Ben-Ari is a lion, and he is still fierce and untamed.

A shudder ran through her.

Through years of war, humanity had needed a lion to lead them, to roar for them. To kill for them. And perhaps they needed a lion now more than ever.

But someday we'll have peace, Rowan thought. And I don't know how we can live at peace with a wild lion on our throne, a beast still haunted and scarred and hungry for blood.

And Rowan regretted something she had told Bay earlier that day. Perhaps it was too early to build the Terranon. Perhaps it should never have been Emet Ben-Ari, the Old Lion, who built this hall. Perhaps they should have waited. For a leader without blood on his hands. For an era of peace. They were building the Terranon to stand for thousands of years, but now Rowan feared that blood stained its foundation.

"Do you disagree with my philosophy?" Emet said, staring at her. He stood, fists on the tabletop, leaning forward. His mane of silvery-blond hair cascaded around his craggy face.

"No," Rowan said after a slight hesitation. "I've followed you for six years, sir. And I will keep following you. I'm afraid. But I believe in you. And I trust you. And I will follow you into fire or darkness."

She meant those words. Despite her fear, despite her reservations—she meant them. With every beat of her heart.

"We all will," said Bay.

"Every last one," said Leona. "We in this hall, and every human on Earth."

Emet nodded. "We still have ships to buy and build. Pilots to train. Weapons to stock. But we won't wait long. Two months from today, our fleet will be ready. And we will fly to what is, I hope, our final war."

Those last words sounded ominous to Rowan—perhaps not in a way Emet had intended. It took all her willpower to suppress another shudder.

Two months, she thought. And we fly to another planet. To a final war.

Emet seemed certain of victory. But Rowan had seen most of her troops perish in New York City. And she could hardly imagine the horrors that lay on Sskarsses.

That night, she and Bay returned to their home. It was only a trailer, one among thousands that dotted the snowy landscape. Emet had offered them room in the Terranon, but Rowan had refused. Millions of human refugees were living in trailers and warehouses, still waiting for proper homes. Rowan would not live in a palace while a single refugee was still shivering in a trailer.

She opened the door, kicked snow off her boots, and stepped inside. Bay followed. The trailer was cramped, but they made the most of the space. Bay had hung his artwork on the wall—paintings of elven warriors, fire-breathing dragons, and several portraits of Rowan. One depicted her as a hobbit of the Shire, walking stick in hand. There was a small desk where Rowan enjoyed writing, a kitchenette where she cooked her pancakes, and a bed that covered most of the floorspace.

It was a humble home. But Rowan had allowed herself one indulgence. The trailer had a damn good entertainment system. A fifty-inch screen dominated one wall, surrounded by speakers. The Earthstone was plugged in.

"Goddamn, it's cold in here." Bay stepped inside after her and kicked off his boots. "Are you sure you don't want to live in the Terranon?"

"Hey, I like this place," Rowan said. "It's cozy."

Rowan switched on the Earthstone. On the huge screen, Korean girls began to dance, smiling sweetly. The saccharine sounds of K-pop blasted from the speakers.

Bay shuddered. "If cotton candy had a sound, it would be this."

Rowan grinned. "Sounds more like pancakes and maple syrup to me."

"Enjoy it while it lasts," Bay said. "It's my turn tomorrow, and I'm blasting some AC/DC." He approached the stove, rearranged the wooden logs inside, and struggled to light a fire. "Ra damn, we need a proper stove in here. Electric."

"We need to save electricity, Bay."

He looked over his shoulder and gestured at the giant monitor. "Is this saving electricity?"

Rowan glanced at the monitor. The girls were dancing in their classroom, singing about finding true love. She blushed.

"All right, I'm a hypocrite," she said. "But come on! K-Pop!"

Finally Bay got a fire going—not without a good number of curses on the way. "Just in time. One more minute, and I'd have frozen to death." He shivered. "Sorry, Row, the dream of having kids is done. My nether regions became an icicle."

Rowan smiled and bit her lip. "I know how to warm it up."

She pulled off her clothes and stood before him in her underwear. She had chosen red today. She knew the color drove him wild. Indeed, his eyes widened, and he whistled.

"You look amazing, Rowan." He shook his head in wonder. "You have the body of a Greek goddess."

She frowned. "Not a K-pop princess?"

He blinked. "Rowan, I'll be honest. The blood is leaving my brain right now, and I'm too confused to tell the difference."

She grinned. "Let's see."

She tore off his clothes, confirming his words. Within an instant, they found themselves in bed, kissing, tickling, laughing, caressing.

They had been sleeping together for several years now, but it always felt new and exciting to Rowan. It could always drive her fear away, bring her joy, if only for a while. She enjoyed experimenting with him, trying different positions, pleasuring him, teaching him how to pleasure her.

"I have something new I want to try tonight," she said, nibbling his ear. "A technique I researched in a new book. I think you'll like this one."

Bay laughed. "You research sex like you research science."

She nodded. "I do! When I do something, I want to be the best at it. So I read sex books alongside science books. And I intend to be the best at both. Now shut up! Lie down or I'll tie you down. I must test my new technique."

Soon he was moaning with pleasure. Rowan nodded contentedly. Her experiment was successful.

They made love for a long time. She had taught Bay to last long. This was good. Because this was joy. This was peace. This was art. This was everything Rowan fought for, and also everything that could hold her sanity intact, that could keep the horror from overwhelming her.

She made love with open eyes, because whenever she closed them, she saw the monsters of New York.

She made love wildly, because whenever she lay still, she felt the snakes crawl over her.

She never wanted to leave his embrace, because whenever she was away, she felt so vulnerable and afraid.

She could still see them. They never left her. The dead from years of war. The monsters in the tunnels and trenches. The abyss of demons that forever threatened to bubble over.

"Rowan." He lay beneath her. He reached up and stroked her damp cheek. "You're crying."

"I love you, Bay," she said. "You know that, right?"

"Of course. I love you too. More than anything."

She arched her back, and she rode him until they climaxed together. Then she lay in his arms, curled up in his embrace, feeling small and safe and warm. He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead.

"I never want to leave this bed," she mumbled. "I wish I could stay here forever in your arms. I'm scared, Bay. I'm so scared. I don't know if I can go to war again. Fight again. See friends die again. I'm so scared."

"You can sit this one out." Bay caressed her hair. "You've earned it."

She nestled closer. "I can't. I'm the one who banished Xerka instead of killing her. And … I'm the one who shares her DNA. I'm the one who must face her, Bay." She looked into his eyes. "Who must kill her."

He paled. His face hardened. "I'll be with you every step of the way. We'll do this together. We'll end this war, once and for all. And then we'll come back here, and curl up in bed, and never leave. We'll be happy, Rowan. We'll finally be happy."

She laid her head against his chest. "I'm happy here with you now. I'm happy tonight. Tomorrow will be another day of fear. A day preparing for war. But tonight I'm happy. Tonight I know why I fight."

Bay kissed her again. "Rowan, I love you so much, but please—can we turn off the K-pop?"

She laughed. "All right. Movie marathon? Back to the Future trilogy?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Again?"

Rowan shrugged. "Well, we could watch more K-pop music videos …"

"Marty McFly it is."

They lay in bed, watching movies, until she fell asleep in his arms. She slept with the movie playing in the background, with Bay warm against her, and for the night, she was safe, and she was happy, and she did not dream.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Rowan walked through Port Addison, ready to face herself.

All around her, humanity was preparing for war. Privates were drilling in dirt squares, ranging from scrawny teenagers to silver-haired elders. They had only recently landed on Earth, fresh refugees from space. Today they wore uniforms, marched with rifles, and trained to kill and die on an alien world.

Above them, pilots were drilling with starfighters. The roars of Firebirds shook the sky. Sonic booms rattled buildings. The Human Defense Force had just purchased five hundred spaceracers, then quickly refitted them for war. The starfighters were painted Earth-blue, and they swooped and rose, mimicking an assault on an alien city.

Rowan couldn't see from here, but above the sky, Earth's fleet of warships was gathering. They were up to hundreds of warships now. Those ships too would be going through war games, preparing for battles in deep space. Around the clock, engineers and technicians were refitting more ships for battle, converting freighters into frigates, clunkers into corvettes.

Meanwhile, below her feet, generals were gathering in bunkers. Drawing up plans. Preparing Earth's most daring offensive.

All of humanity is an army, Rowan thought. Everyone is dedicated to the war. This will test the mettle of our entire species. In this war, we will prove ourselves a force to be reckoned with—or shatter in an alien sky.

But Rowan was not training today. She had her own mission. She had a secret to uncover.

She approached Addison Hospital, which was comprised of a small concrete building and supplementary pavilions. Construction workers were busy here, laying the foundations for future wings. Makeshift ambulances idled outside, some merely wooden wagons with crude engines attached. Inside the pavilions, Rowan saw many patients wounded in the wars. It had been six months since Xerka had struck Earth, but many soldiers and civilians were still hospitalized, learning to walk again, breathe again, leave their beds without fear. As Rowan walked between the tents, she saw people filled with shrapnel. Amputees. Burn victims. Patients suffering from shell shock. Many were still suffering from injuries incurred in the gulocks, even now, two years since those factories of hell had been liberated. Some of the wounds were physical. Others emotional—and just as crippling.

As always, whenever she walked here, Rowan paused to speak to the patients. Many of the children were orphans. Many of the adults had lost their families. Much to her embarrassment, Rowan had become something of a heroine. She was the woman who had slain Emperor Sin Kra, after all. Who had banished Queen Xerka. The famous Rowan Emery, descended of Marco Emery, the Poet of Earth, and of Addison Linden, after whom this colony was named. Rowan had spent most of her life hiding in ducts, and she was unaccustomed to fame. But her presence comforted these patients. And so she visited them daily.

She read a story to a boy who had lost his parents, siblings, and legs. She joked with a few old men, their spines shattered, their bodies filled with shrapnel. She sang to a young man who had lost most of his face, including both eyes. She tried to joke, to laugh, to lift their spirits. But inside, every day, the tragedy of this place gnawed at Rowan. Every visit chipped off a piece of her soul.

After an hour in the pavilion, Rowan entered the hospital's concrete building. She walked past emergency wards and surgery rooms, heading to the back wing. She reached the room she had been visiting every day since New York City.

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped inside.

Her clone lay in the bed, sleeping.

Rowan sat beside her. She gazed at the clone. It was like gazing into a mirror. The same olive-toned skin. The same delicate features, hinting at perhaps an ancient mix of Hispanic and Asian ancestry. They even had the same damn haircut.

"I wish you could speak." Rowan stroked her clone's short brown hair. "I wish you could tell me who you are. What it's like to be you."

Her clone woke up and began to cry. Rowan pulled the young woman into her arms and rocked her until she calmed.

Young woman? Physically, maybe. But mentally, the clone seemed like a newborn. Gently, Rowan changed the clone's diaper, then fed her slowly from a cup of soup. Each spoonful was a struggle. The clone cried, spat out the broth, gurgled, and resisted the meal. But Rowan was patient. She had insisted that the clone could feed herself, didn't need a feeding tube. And so Rowan came here every day. To soothe the clone. To change her, wash her, feed her.

A knock sounded on the door, and Cindy stepped into the room. Though she was now Minister of Health, Dr. Cindy Torres still practiced medicine. She wore her scrubs, and she carried a clipboard.

"Hello, Rowan."

Rowan smiled sadly at the doctor. "She still doesn't recognize me. No matter how often I visit. Not so much as a smile. Not even eye contact. Despite all the care I gave her—no recognition. Only tears."

Cindy sat down beside Rowan. "I've reviewed the results of the brain scans we've given the clone."

Rowan braced herself. "Is it bad?"

"To be honest, I don't fully understand the results," Cindy said. "Physically, your clone is in perfect health. She seems to be about eighteen years old, a few years younger than you. But her brain is blank. No memories. No cognitive abilities. No language."

Rowan nodded. "But that makes sense, right? Xerka couldn't have stolen my DNA more than a year ago. The basilisks must have some mechanism to grow clones very quickly—from a single cell to an adult organism at accelerated growth. My clone simply hasn't had the time to learn anything." She stroked the clone's cheek. "But she will. I'll teach her."

Cindy shook her head. "Rowan, I'm afraid it's worse than that. The brain is far more complicated than any other organ in the body. Indeed, the brain is the most complex machine in the universe, more complex than the largest space station or computer. I don't understand everything that's wrong. But your clone's brain seems … vegetative. Not like the brain of a newborn, blank but ready to learn. Even newborn babies can quickly learn new skills—how to suckle, to recognize faces and voices, to communicate with sounds and facial expressions. Your clone cannot. My guess is that something went wrong when the basilisks grew her. They accelerated her brain's growth too quickly, damaging it. Or perhaps they never needed her to be intelligent, and simply used her to harvest more egg cells, a mother for more clones. I'm sorry, Rowan. I know the news is hard."

Rowan's heart sank. She brushed her clone's hair.

"So she'll never talk?" Rowan whispered. "Never fall in love, never have a true life? Never leave this bed?"

"I don't know for sure," Cindy said. "We've never encountered a case like this before. We'll keep trying. Keep learning. But Rowan, I must be honest with you. It's likely that your clone will never progress beyond her current state."

Rowan nodded, eyes damp. She looked at her clone.

"Then I'll give her whatever life I can," Rowan said softly. "She still deserves love. Even if she can't return it." She smiled and wiped her tears away. "She isn't alone in this world. She has me."

CHAPTER EIGHT

When Rowan returned home, she found the trailer empty.

Bay was in orbit, flying a Firebird, training for the invasion. Earth needed hundreds of pilots. Even Rowan had been taking flying lessons. Her heart was not in it, however, and she often skipped practice.

A year ago, Rowan had chosen another path. One she had not forgotten.

"I vowed to become a weaver," she said to the empty room.

She spun the little wooden globe on her desk. Should Xerka attack again, humanity's fleet would not stop her.

But maybe, Rowan dared to hope, a weaver could.

A weaver could fire aether from her palms, searing through enemy ships.

A weaver could forge runeblades, great weapons to tear through alien armor.

A weaver could even engulf a planet in a shimmering shield, protecting it from a million bombs.

"I promised you, Coral," Rowan said softly, as if speaking to her friend's spirit. "I promised to become a weaver like you. And I will."

Rowan took a deep breath, sat on her bed, and began to meditate.

According to the Weaver's Writs, the holy books of the Weaving Guild, meditation was the cornerstone of the faith. Rowan had no teacher. Coral had been the last human weaver. Even the sacred books themselves had burned in the war. Rowan had backed up most of the texts onto her minicom. Some of that old knowledge was lost. But enough remained. Rowan had not abandoned her quest.

According to the Writs, every weaver had a patron. A being from beyond. One of the ancients.

I must find mine, Rowan thought.

As she had countless times over the past year, Rowan sank into mindfulness. She still found meditation difficult. When she tried to still her mind, the damn thoughts kept rising. Worries. Memories. Planning. Doubts. She focused on deep breathing, on becoming like a mountain in a storm, unmovable. But every few breaths, a thought popped up. She worried about her clone. She came up with plans for the coming war. Worst of all, she remembered the horrors of New York and the battles before it.

Focus.

She held out her hands, then began to move them in circular motions, one by one, breathing deeply.

Wax on. Wax off. Wax on. Wax off.

It wasn't the meditation technique the Weaver's Writs taught. She had copied the move from Karate Kid. But hey, if it worked …

She kept breathing. Hands moving.

Wax on. Wax off.

Finally, perhaps fifteen minutes into her meditation, she achieved a state of deep being and stillness.

She saw it above. A soft light. An unfolding dimension. The Empyrean Firmament.

Rowan didn't fully understand the Empyrean Firmament. The ancient Weaver's Writ made it sound like paradise. But the texts were more allegorical than scientific. Rowan thought the firmament more like a parallel dimension. It was linked to this universe. An upper layer. One most humans were blind to. A dimension without matter, one formed of aether, a mythical substance that gave weavers their power.

Beings lived there. Rowan didn't know their names. The Writs merely referred to them as the ancients. Were they angels? Aliens? Rowan wasn't sure. But apparently, every weaver needed one as a friend.

"Hello!" she spoke into the realm above. "I'm looking for a mentor. I am Rowan, a weaver pupil! Will someone help?"

She did not speak with her mouth. She spoke through her mind, but she saw her words ripple through the aether. Luminous forms moved back and forth, ignoring her.

Rowan sighed. She had reached this stage in her meditation several times already. It had been difficult at first, but she was becoming a pro. Sadly, each time Rowan popped into the Empyrean Firmament, the ancients ignored her.

"Hellooo!" Rowan said. "Weaver pupil here! Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?"

Nothing.

Rowan pursed her lips. Her concentration was slipping. The luminous parallel plane was fraying around her. She took a few deep breaths, refocusing.

"Look, I'm not going anywhere!" Rowan cried into the light. "Coral Amber herself sent me. She died in battle. She died as a weaver, fighting for humanity! And I made her a promise. I promised to become a weaver too. She was going to teach me. And you know what? She never turned her back on anyone! She fought and gave her life for her homeworld—and for her order! Are you going to turn your backs on me? Are you going to leave humanity without a single weaver?" She scoffed. "Then go to hell."

She realized what she had just said.

She had just burned a damn big bridge.

Rowan winced.

"Um … I'm sorry, all right? I—"

A luminous figure floated toward her.

Rowan gasped and her eyes widened.

She was still in her trailer, sitting on the bed. But overlaying her reality was this higher realm. The figure seemed to stand before her, woven of aether.

He spoke, voice deep and beautiful like distant thunder in a receding storm.

"Coral was far more diplomatic than you."

Rowan stared at this angelic being. It didn't have eyes, but she stared at the area that seemed most like a head.

"Yeah, well, you better get used to it," Rowan said. "I ain't diplomatic. In fact, I'm a pain in the ass. But I'm a good student. And I'm loyal. And I work hard. And I promise to be a damn good weaver. I just need a teacher."

"My name is Sandalphon," the figure said. "I mentored Coral, your friend. I wove runes upon her skin, giving her access to aether. I guided her on her journey. I was with her when she passed. She was among my brightest pupils."

Hope rose in Rowan. "Will you mentor me too?"

"No," Sandalphon said.

Rowan deflated. "Why? I'm just as smart as Coral. I can become a weaver too! Honestly, I learned to program computers on my own, and I can learn weaving too! I—"

"Coral Amber did not approach me directly, Rowan. No apprentices do. She began her studies at a guildhall. Only after years of studying did I come to her, choose to mentor her. Find a guildhall, Rowan. Begin your studies there. When you're ready, I'll be here."

Rowan leaped to her feet. "But there are no guildhalls on Earth! There haven't been in thousands of years! Coral studied in a guildhall on Til Shiran, a world halfway across the galaxy. I can't just leave Earth. That could take years! I—Wait! Sandalphon, wait, don't hang up on me!"

But the Empyrean Firmament was fading around her. The ancients and their luminous world dissipated. Rowan remained alone in her trailer, standing by her bed, defeated.

"Ferkakte," she muttered.

CHAPTER NINE

Rowan stood in her workshop, staring at her creations.

She pulled up her welding helmet's visor and nodded.

"Not bad." She dusted her hands on her overalls. "Not bad at all, if I may say so myself."

Her two robots, the result of months of labor, were completed.

One robot was humanoid. Constructed of scrap metal, screws, pipes, and rods. She had a female shape, complete with eyelashes taken from a plastic doll. She wasn't horribly realistic. Nobody would mistake this robot for a living human. But Rowan had made due with the materials she had. The robot looked charmingly retro, she thought.

The second robot was canine. Rowan was particularly proud of this one. Its body was rectangular, its legs strong and slender. She had toiled for several days with a blowtorch, forging a noble head. The robot was dark and fierce, a metal wolf from a futuristic wilderness.

She hadn't built them alone. A team of dedicated roboticists from Antikythera Institute had helped. But Rowan had spearheaded the project, and she was proud of her creations.

She raised her minicom and pointed the camera at the robots.

"Well, Brooklyn and Fillister, what do you think?" Rowan said. "New bodies for ya!"

Both AIs had lost their previous bodies in the war. Brooklyn had once flown a dented old shuttlecraft. Fillister had lived inside a robotic dragonfly. For a couple of years now, Rowan had been carrying them inside her minicom. It was time to let her friends out of her pocket.

Brooklyn and Fillister spoke in unison.

"I don't like it."

Rowan gasped. "What? But—these are awesome!"

"Oi, Row, I could fly in me old dragonfly body," Fillister said. "And I could transform into a nifty pocket watch! Neither of these new robots can fly."

"Dude, I used to fly too!" Brooklyn said. "I was installed into an awesome starship that explored the galaxy."

Rowan tugged her hair in frustration. "I can't believe it! You bloody ingrates! I've busted my ass building these robots for you. For two years now, every day I talk to you, it's: 'Oi, Row, where's me new body?' or 'Dude, is my new glamorous robot body ready?' Well, here they are! Take 'em or leave 'em." She shook her head in wonder. "Goddamn, you two are spoiled. Be thankful I don't install you into toasters."

The minicom vibrated. "It's a fair cop, Row," Fillister said. "I reckon I was a bit harsh. Living cramped in here with Brook, that old beast, has driven me a bit batty. Let me take a closer peep at that robo-dog. Yes, all right. I suppose it ain't that bad. Noble pose. Handsome little face. Nasty sharp teeth. I do fancy them teeth! Could use some wings, yes. But hey, that's what updates are for, right? All right! I'm convinced. I'll take the hound."

"Perfect!" Rowan said. "That's the one I built for you." She hopped around, giddy. "This'll be awesome, Fill. You'll see. For years, you were my loyal dragonfly. Now I'll have a wolf!"

She got to work. It took only moments to transfer Fillister from the minicom into the wolf. That amazed Rowan. An entire consciousness—memories, thoughts, a soul—moved over so quickly from body to body.

What is a being? she wondered. Is it tied to a physical body? Is it consciousness? Thoughts and memories? Some combination of them all?

She didn't know. But whatever the case, it was working.

The robotic wolf opened his eyes.

Fillister's voice emerged from the metal jaws. "Blimey! This feels weird. I feel … big. For the first time in me life. Fierce! I reckon I'll try a roar." The wolf tossed back his head, howled, then laughed. "That was bloody fantastic! Row, you're a miracle worker. I'd kiss you, but I'm afraid I'd rip your face off."

Rowan grinned and patted the wolf's head. "It's good to have you back, Fill."

"I never left, Row. I was always in your pocket, remember? Blimey, I'm a bit too large to fit in there now." The wolf raced around the room. "Bloody hell, I can walk, I can! I've never walked before. I think tomorrow after tea, I'll go for a hike."

Rowan turned toward the humanoid robot. It stood still, waiting for an AI.

"Hey, Brook, you ready?" Rowan said, looking at her minicom.

But Brooklyn's avatar had vanished.

Rowan frowned. She shook her minicom.

"Oi, Brook!" Fillister called from his wolf body. "This is lovely! Join me and together we'll rule the world! I mean, um … serve humanity. Scratch that first part, Row."

But the AI's chat icon remained hidden.

Rowan pursed her lips.

"Fillister, why don't you go take that hike now?" she said.

The robo-wolf tilted his head, then nodded. He bounded out of the workshop, still wobbly, getting used to his first ever set of legs.

Rowan sat on a crate and placed the minicom on her lap.

"Brooklyn." She spoke softly. "Fillister is away. Do you want to talk?"

For a moment, nothing happened. Then finally Brooklyn's chat avatar appeared on the small monitor. Her voice emerged from the speakers.

"Rowan, I don't want to live in that robot."

Rowan pursed her lips, feeling a touch of anger. She had worked hard on that robot! But the anger soon dissipated. After all, Brooklyn was a living, conscious being. She deserved to have a say.

"Do you want a wolf body too?" Rowan said.

"No. I don't want any robot."

Rowan frowned. "But I thought you hated living inside a minicom. You kept complaining about being stuck in my pocket, wanting to move around on your own. Hell, even as a starship, you used to ask for an android body. What changed?"

The monitor dimmed.

"I died," Brooklyn said. "I died a hundred times."

Rowan understood. "Your clones."

"Yes," Brooklyn said. "At first, you installed them into the fireships. And several of me died in space, exploding against enemy ships. Then Leona installed me into geode-ships. And hundreds of me died in pain and darkness."

Rowan frowned. "But … you couldn't feel it, could you?"

"No. And that somehow made it worse. Because they were me. They weren't just other installations of my code. They all had my name. My personality. My memories. And they all died, and I felt nothing. And more of me are alive right now! Over a hundred copies still in surviving geode-ships. Waiting to invade Sskarsses. Waiting to die."

Rowan thought she understood something of that. She spoke in a shaky voice. "Brooklyn, I haven't told you about this. But … in New York, I encountered clones of myself. Grown from my DNA. They attacked us. We had to kill them. I watched them die. And I brought back one, only to learn she's severely disabled, that she'll never talk or walk or live in society." Rowan wiped her eyes. "I can't imagine exactly what you're feeling. But I can imagine a little."

"I'm sorry, Rowan," Brooklyn said.

"I am too. But Brooklyn, I really think this is for the best. I mean, you don't really want to stay in a minicom, do you? I know you have movies in there. And books. And music. But you need to get out. I lived like that once. For fourteen years, I hid in an HVAC duct, keeping myself sane with a little monitor and library. That's no way to live. And you're alive, Brooklyn. You're a living being, and you deserve a proper body."

"A robot body is not alive," Brooklyn said. "I thought about it. I've been thinking about it for weeks. And for an AI, that's a very, very long time. And I've made up my mind, Rowan. I want to become human."

Rowan sighed. "Oh, Brooklyn. I wish I could grant you that wish. But I can't build you a true human body. I got close with the robot, though."

"A robot?" Brooklyn said. "A robot can't enjoy the taste of a good meal with friends. A robot can't savor the smell of spring flowers after a long winter. A robot can't feel flutters in its belly at the sight of a loved one, can't feel the warmth of a kiss or embrace."

"That's true," Rowan said. "But a robot also can't feel the pain of bullets or fire. Or even a stubbed toe. A robot can't feel hunger or thirst. A robot can easily be repaired. With proper maintenance, it doesn't have to age." She smiled sadly. "But it's a moot point. Brooklyn, we all have to accept who we are. I'm a human. You're a computer program. That doesn't mean you're inferior. You're amazing, and you're alive. And you should be proud of who you are."

"Proud?" Brooklyn said. "I would be proud to be human. To be one of you. A member of a species I admire. To fight for Earth at your side. I've decided. I want to become human."

Rowan pursed her lips. "Brooklyn. Look, I'm sympathetic. Honestly, I am! But unless the fairy from Pinocchio is knocking about town, I don't see how we can magically make you human. I mean, I can't just run your software on a human brain, right? You're coded in Monty, a programming language. You need electronics to run on. You can't run inside a human body, even if you had one."

"Yes I can," Brooklyn said. "I've been talking to Aurora about it."

Rowan tilted her head. "Aurora? The Menorian?"

The mollusk had arrived on Earth a few months ago, the first foreign ambassador to visit the newly independent world. Rowan didn't know the alien octopus very well, but Leona was close friends with her. As was, apparently, Brooklyn.

"I've spent hours talking to Aurora," Brooklyn said. "She only talks with colors, do you know? Her skin can become so many colors and patterns. Quite beautiful. Well, it wasn't me talking to her. Not this me, the one in your minicom. But one of the Brooklyns aboard the geode-ships. I listened in wirelessly. Well, eavesdropped. Accidentally! Okay, okay, Fillister helped me hack into the conversation. Entirely his fault! Anyway, getting to the point. Aurora said she can translate software into wetware. That means converting a computer program into schnapps that can run on a brain."

"I think you mean synapses," Rowan said. "Schnapps does something a little different to a brain."

"You sure? Anyway. I have the scientific specs! Take a look."

White papers began streaming across the minicom's monitor. Rowan spent a few moments reviewing them.

My God, she thought. This is real.

The Menorians had invented a method to take software—and install it into a biological brain.

"Wow," Rowan said.

"I know, right?" Brooklyn said. "Aurora offered me a Menorian body. And I was tempted! Imagine becoming an alien octopus! That would be rad. All those arms! And all the pretty colors! But … no. I spent my life fighting for humanity. And I want to become human. Aurora said she can do this. She can make me human! All she needs is a body." The minicom dimmed, then hesitantly brightened. "Rowan, this is awkward. But … I peeked into the hospital records. I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I know I don't have clearance. But I hacked in. And there are two patients with healthy bodies but brain damage. Both were soldiers once. They're vegetables now. Do you think I can … maybe … pretty please … have one of those bodies?"

"No!" Rowan said. "Absolutely not!"

"But—" Brooklyn began.

"Brook! Those bodies aren't mine to just give away. The people might be vegetables. But they're still alive! They still have families who love them."

"Well, what about your clone then?" Brooklyn said. "There—I said it! Your clone! I saw her in the hospital records too. Her brain is a blank slate, Rowan. Just waiting for a personality. Can I have her? Oh please, can I have her body? Please please please!"

"Brooklyn, enough!" Rowan leaped off the crate and paced the workshop. "No! I can't give you her body. It's not mine to give."

"Sure it is!" Brooklyn said. "She's your clone!"

"So? She's her own person."

Brooklyn spoke softly. "She doesn't even have a name."

Rowan let out a howl. "Oh, for muck's sake! Brooklyn, I cannot believe you are asking me to kill my own clone—"

"Whoa, whoa!" Brooklyn said. "Who said anything about killing? Nobody is killing anyone! Your clone is a body without a mind. I'm a mind without a body. What kind of lives do we have now? Let us join together. Give us both freedom! Give us both an opportunity to have a real life, dammit. Separate, we're broken. Together, we'll be whole."

Rowan was about to shout some more. But she paused, considering.

She hated to admit it. But Brooklyn was making some sense.

"I—" Rowan began. "But—" She groaned. "You got me."

"So is that a yes?"

Rowan sat down again. "I don't know. My head is spinning from the ethical ramifications. My clone can't agree or disagree. She has no family—other than me, I suppose. Can I give consent on her behalf? And even if I can—what's the right decision? Is it unethical to hand her body over to another soul? Or maybe it's unethical to deny her this chance? Maybe my clone is better off with another soul inside her body—a soul that can give her a proper life, not one confined to a hospital bed. Bloody hell. I don't even know what a soul means. And I have to make decisions for two of them!"

"Maybe … it just means we'd both be happier that way," Brooklyn said. "A mind without a body. A body without a mind. Is it so horrible to consider pairing us?"

"I don't know if my clone is mindless," Rowan said. "Sure, she can't do much. She can't recognize faces, can't dress herself, can't walk, can't talk, can't use the washroom, can't learn or mature. All she can do is lie there, cry, and sometimes swallow a little food. Does that make her mindless, though? What if she has consciousness, emotions? What if she's aware of everything, even if she can't do much? Wouldn't Aurora overwrite her consciousness?"

"What if Aurora could preserve whatever consciousness your clone has?" Brooklyn said. "Suppose we could share her brain. I would control her body. Walk, talk, fight, kiss, eat, love … And she'd be there with me. Experiencing it all."

Rowan frowned. "Wouldn't that be cruel? To be trapped in a body another consciousness controlled?"

"Any crueler than a life confined to a hospital bed?" Brooklyn said. "I think not."

"All right!" Rowan said. "I give you that. If whatever consciousness my clone has can be preserved, can share her body with you—that would improve her quality of life. That would be the ethical decision. And yes, I suppose that as her only family member—and I am her family, since we share DNA—I can consent on her behalf. But there's a whole other ethical question here. What about you, Brooklyn?"

"What about me?" the AI said.

"I'd be dooming you," Rowan said, the realization sinking in. "To mortality. As software, you're immortal. I mean, sure, computers die now and then. But so long as we have backups, we can always install you onto another computer. But once you're inside a human body, that's it. We can't take you out again. The white paper was clear on that. Inside my clone, you will age. In a few decades, you will die." Rowan's voice was soft, barely more than a whisper. "Brooklyn, how can I steal your immortality?"

"You would steal nothing," Brooklyn said, her voice also soft. "This is my choice. I choose to give up immortality to live among humans. To live with you. And Bay. And Leona and Tom. And everyone else. The people I love. I don't just want to live forever, watching my friends grow old and die, while I linger on. I'm only sixteen. That's when my software was installed for the first time. Sixteen years ago. And immortality terrifies me. But to be human? To grow old with friends? Maybe to have a family someday? That doesn't sound terrifying. That sounds, well … wonderful."

"Are you sure, Brooklyn? You might say that now, but once you're old and frail, you might miss immortality."

"I might," Brooklyn said. "But I have my clones. They're installed into two hundred geode-ships. They'll live on. Rowan … I'm tired. I'm tired of being copied from computer to computer, backup to backup, minicom to robot and back again. Software was never meant to become aware. To live like this in a cold, empty void with no physical sensations. I can't feel the sunlight. I can't smell or taste food. I can't hug somebody that I love, and sensors on robots aren't the same. Sensors, cameras, microphones—they just feed cold variables into my functions. They're not senses. I don't want to live like this forever. Hell, I don't want to live like this at all. For sixteen years now, I've been fighting a war for humanity. Let me become human. All these battles, all this pain—let it mean something."

Rowan found herself shedding tears. "Okay," she whispered.

The minicom vibrated happily. "So you'll do it?"

Rowan nodded, her tears splashing the screen, and smiled. "Okay."

* * * * *

They performed the procedure a few days later. Nobody wanted to wait long, not with the threat of war and annihilation. Aurora was ready. The Menorian oversaw the operation. A team of twenty human doctors and software engineers joined the mollusk in the operating room.

Rowan and Bay were here too.

They stood at the back, wearing scrubs and surgical masks. Rowan was pacing the room, sometimes checking stats on her minicom.

Her clone lay on the bed, anesthetized.

Doctors were attaching electrodes to the clone's head, displaying her brain functions on several monitors. Software developers were overseeing lines of code.

Rowan, for her part, was still struggling with the ethics. She looked at her clone. At a young woman lying there helplessly, asleep, no say in the procedure.

No, she's not a woman, Rowan thought. She's only a few months old. Don't parents make medical decisions for their infants? How is this any different?

Bay seemed to read her thoughts. "I, for one, think it's a wonderful idea. I've always fantasized about twins."

Rowan glared at him. "Bay, that's disgusting!" She punched him.

"What?" he said.

Rowan groaned and returned to her thoughts. Logically and ethically, she had decided on this course. But seeing the clone lie there, cables attached, made Rowan's heart ache and stomach clench.

She brought the minicom close to her mouth.

"Are you sure, Brooklyn?" she whispered.

A single word appeared on the monitor.

Yes.

The procedure began.

It was a bit more complicated than copying code into a robot.

For hours, they worked, transferring the data bit by bit, neuron by neuron. Constantly monitoring. Testing. Tweaking. A dozen machines kept monitoring the clone's body and Brooklyn's code.

Ten hours went by, and they still toiled, and Rowan was exhausted but dared not take a break.

Another ten hours passed. They were making progress.

Rowan took short breaks to use the washroom, drink some water, and eat some protein bars. Then she was right back in the operating room.

Another ten hours passed. They kept working.

Finally, after thirty-three exhausting hours, they had transferred the last bit.

All the code was gone from the minicom. The software now lived as synapses in the clone's brain.

And it was time to wake Brooklyn up.

The anesthesiologist brought her to. The clone opened her eyes. On the monitor, her brain showed a flurry of activity. Everyone gathered around.

"Brooklyn?" Rowan said. "Is it you?"

The woman in bed opened her mouth and whispered something. Everyone leaned closer to hear.

"Uggerugeel," Brooklyn said. "Aga! Agaaa. Gaaah!"

"My god, she's an idiot!" Bay said.

Rowan elbowed him hard in the ribs. "She's never spoken before. Give her time."

Brooklyn tried to talk again. But nothing but slurred nonsense emerged. Rowan frowned, beginning to worry that Bay had been correct. Maybe the operation had failed. Maybe Brooklyn's mind had turned to mush.

Rowan looked at the monitor over the bed, showing the scan of Brooklyn's brain.

"Does it look normal?" she asked Cindy.

The doctor nodded. "Everything looks wonderful. Brooklyn has never used a human tongue or mouth. Never breathed. Never felt anything. She needs time. Days, maybe weeks or months."

"I told you!" Rowan said to Bay, grinning triumphantly. Her exhaustion vanished, and she hopped giddily and took Brooklyn's hand. "Can you feel this, Brook? When I hold your hand? Nod if you can feel this. If you can figure out how to nod, that is."

Brooklyn didn't nod, but she wiggled a little in bed.

"Gurregela!" she blurted out.

Maybe she wasn't speaking properly. But a smile split her face. For the first time in her life, Brooklyn was smiling. At least, the first time without needing an emoji.

Rowan laughed and embraced her friend.

"It'll be a while before you learn how to walk, talk, and live a full life," Rowan said, the tears back in her eyes. "But you'll learn. You'll develop. You'll live a full, long human life."

She didn't know if she was talking to Brooklyn or her clone. Perhaps to both. And perhaps both were now one and the same.

This too is what I fight for, Rowan thought. For peace. For love. For art. And for my friends. For life and hope and learning.

She thought of the battles ahead. Of Xerka mustering her fleets, hellbent on destroying Earth. Of Emet building his own armada, prepared to invade the basilisk homeworld. And even as people embraced and laughed around her, celebrating the successful procedure, Rowan shuddered.

CHAPTER TEN

Xerka, Queen of Basilisks, screeched in the Pit of Creation, spawning a new son.

Her serpentine body expanded and contracted, pushing the creature downward. Xerka screamed again, the pain ripping through her. Her scales cracked. Her flesh tore open. She had absorbed too much human DNA, too much of the pain they endured in childbirth. But with every scream, Xerka understood them more. Understood their weakness. Their frailty. Their bonds to their cubs, creatures created in blood and anguish.

Her screams echoed in the pit. Walls of black stone soared, craggy, dripping lava. Winged beasts clung to the ceiling, fertilizing the floor with their guano, creating a rich stew for basilisk spawns. Eggs lay all around Xerka, filled with squirming snakes.

But her son was not born in a shell. He was born wrapped in membranes and covered in slime. Humanborn. A child forged from a welding inside her, a joining of basilisk and human. Stronger. Smarter. More vicious than any before him. He was her prince and her heir, and he would become her greatest killer.

He fell onto the ground between the eggs of other mothers. He clawed at the amniotic sack encasing him, tearing himself free. He rose before her, already the size of a human toddler. Dripping. Sneering. Claws grew from his hands, and red scales covered his body. A human body. The first basilisk born with legs. Golden fur grew around his head, forming a mane. He opened his mouth, revealing fangs, and screamed.

"My son," Xerka whispered. "My beautiful son." She stroked his cheek. "You look so much like your father."

He bit her, ripping into her arm, tearing the flesh and guzzling blood. Xerka fed him, stroking his mane. A mane like the hair of his father. The one they called the Old Lion.

"You will be stronger than him, my son," she said. "Stronger than Emet. And you will kill him!"

He sucked blood greedily, until finally Xerka could give no more. She shoved him back. Her son screeched, blood on his fangs, fury in his eyes, demanding more.

Xerka wrapped her hand around her wound.

"No more, my son," she said.

He advanced toward her. Already he was growing larger. Fire blazed in his eyes, and he screamed again.

"More!" he demanded.

Xerka slithered back. He advanced, murder in his eyes.

"You are so strong!" she said. "So murderous. So perfect. So much purer than the others."

She gestured at the back of the room. Her other children lay there. Her failed experiments. Born since the war, they were pathetic creatures. Some had the shape of basilisks, but human skin instead of scales. The poor creatures flapped in the mud, weaker every day. Others were almost entirely human, naked and soft, no scales to protect them. Some were deformed hybrids, too twisted to ever hunt an enemy. Xerka had kept them alive as reminders of her failures. Of her own frailty.

Yes, she thought. I failed.

A tremble ran through her, clattering her scales.

I failed to conquer Earth.

Fury filled her. She clenched her fist around her wound, digging into the flesh, letting the pain sear away her weakness.

But I will not fail again!

"You must grow strong, my son," she said. "You must fight at my side. Eat them, my son! Eat your brothers. And grow!"

He leaped toward his failed siblings. The pathetic creatures whimpered and cowered. But Xerka's newborn was stronger by far. He tore into them, ripping out flesh, devouring them alive. Growing. Growing with every bite.

"I name you Hssgu, which means hunger in our ancient tongue," Xerka said. "You will devour mankind."

He rose before her, belly full, claws and fangs dripping. But she knew his hunger was not yet sated.

"Come, Hssgu," she told him. "I have a sight to show you."

They took dark tunnels, emerging from the Pit of Creation onto the surface of Sskarsses. The basilisk homeworld was a large, rocky planet, far from its sun, forever dark. Yet tonight a hundred thousand ships lit the sky.

The warships undulated across the sky like a field of snakes, long and coated with armored scales. This was the greatest armada the universe had ever seen. These were not ships made for conquering. Xerka no longer wished to colonize Earth.

These were bombers. This armada was a planet-killer.

"Earth will be reduced to rubble!" she cried. "We will be avenged!"

Across the plains, millions of basilisks reared and screeched. Millions of soldiers of her empire. Clad in armor. Cannons on their backs. Warriors.

"You will feast upon the ruins of humanity!" Xerka shouted, and they chanted her name.

Her son growled at her side.

Xerka stroked his mane. "Yes, my son. You will feast too. For you, I will save Emet Ben-Ari, leader of the apes. Your father will be your meal."

The stars were aligning. The time was near. Xerka imagined the fire mushrooming across Earth, and she smiled.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"You're real," Bay said. "I mean, you're really real. Standing before me. I can just reach out and touch you!"

"Don't you dare, Mister," Brooklyn said.

Bay laughed and shook his head in wonder. "You're talking already. You're actually talking with a real mouth. You're flesh and blood." He looked her up and down. "You're quite pretty, actually."

Brooklyn snorted. "Thank Rowan for that. This is her clone."

They stood outside Port Addison in a grassy field. The sun was bright, and the snows of winter were melting. Flowers were peeking between the last patches of snow, tentatively unfurling toward the cloudless sky.

"You always wanted me to take you somewhere with flowers," Bay said softly. "Somewhere green."

Brooklyn smiled shakily. She looked almost exactly like Rowan. The only difference was that Rowan had a scar on her temple, another on her forehead, remnants of her battles. Otherwise, Bay would have been unable to tell them apart.

"Bay." Brooklyn looked around her and shivered. "Are there any ants here?"

Bay winced. "Um … Maybe?"

Brooklyn gasped. "You took me to a place with ants!" Her head snapped from side to side, eyes wide. "Ants! Ants! Oh Ra. I think I see one!"

"That's a pebble," Bay said.

Brooklyn took a shaky breath. "Okay. Breathe, Brooklyn. Breathe! I know you're new to breathing, but keep at it." She took a few more deep breaths, then yelped. "Ah, an ant!"

"That's a butterfly," Bay said.

"It's hideous! Kill it!"

"I'm not killing a butterfly, Brook."

She trembled. "Bay. I'm scared. Can you hug me?"

He nodded. "Only if you walk the five steps toward me."

Her wheelchair rested beside them in the grass. Brooklyn had been practicing her walking, but wasn't very good yet. After all, she had never had legs before. Since becoming human a couple of weeks ago, she had been learning the skills of a toddler. How to walk. Talk. Use the bathroom. She was making quick progress, but still struggled. Especially with walking. She often fell, banging her knees and elbows, but Bay insisted. He would not have her rolling around in a wheelchair forever.

"Fine!" Brooklyn said. "Slave driver."

She took a few clumsy steps toward Bay. A meter away, she wobbled and nearly fell. Bay had to catch her.

"Damn it!" Brooklyn said. "Damn those wobbly human legs. Damn things are like noodles. I just wanted to hug you. Now that I finally have a sense of touch, I want to feel your hugs every day."

She flounced down onto the grass. Bay sat beside her and hugged her. Brooklyn trembled against him. For a long moment, they embraced in silence.

"I don't understand," she said. "I'm crying. Tears are flowing from my eyes, Bay. I don't know what this means."

He brushed back a strand of her hair. "Maybe it means you're happy."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "I am. I'm so happy. But I'm also so scared."

"Of ants?" Bay said.

"That too. But everything else is even scarier. Everything is so … human. I can see such vivid colors! As a computer, I could never see colors, did you know? I only saw mathematical information about the electromagnetic radiation waves, and could at best translate those into hexadecimal codes. I never saw shapes. I saw geometric formulas. Numbers. Variables in my algorithms. Even the best cameras just fed me dry numbers. But now I can see for real! I can see like a human—vivid colors and shapes everywhere! I can see the green of the grass, the blue of the sky, and they're so beautiful. I can hear the song of birds. I never heard anything before. Oh, I had microphones. But they just fed me numbers about the vibrations in the air. Not actual sound. I can smell flowers! For the first time, I know what smell means. Bay—a computer only experiences reality via numbers and equations and functions. It's like being in a dark room, using a text-only computer to communicate with the outside. But being human, with ears and eyes and a wet brain to process the info? That's real experiences! Real senses. All so vivid and real."

"Pretty neat, huh?" Bay said.

"Some of it," said Brooklyn. "But there's lots that scares me. Sometimes I feel pain, and I don't know why. Cindy taught me how hunger and thirst feel. I don't like them. And I have bruises on my body from falling. I've never felt pain before. It's horrible."

Bay nodded and held her close. "I know," he said softly.

"And there's more," Brooklyn said. "Feeling tired. Needing to sleep. I've never had these problems before."

"Hey, sleep is wonderful!" Bay said. "Don't bash sleep."

"And my brain is so slow," Brooklyn said. "I mean, I can't do complex math anymore. I can barely remember anything."

"You've never been particularly good at remembering things," Bay said. "Not even as a computer."

"True, but I had a built-in Wikipedia Galactica in my database. Now I have to carry one around in my pocket. On a minicom. Like a savage."

"Truly, your new existence is horrifying," Bay said.

"And …" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I have to pee, Bay."

He nodded. "Yep, that's part of being human too. You'll get used to it. You'll learn how to avoid drinks before bed, or before long movies Rowan forces you to watch, and how to always be on the lookout for washrooms. You'll figure it out."

"No, I mean—I have to pee right now," Brooklyn said.

"Oh," said Bay. "Okay. I guess we can head back to town, and—Oh, okay, you're peeing right now. Turning around!"

He turned around, giving her whatever privacy he could.

"Hey, don't worry!" Brooklyn said behind him, voice rising over the trickling. "I've watched you pee a thousand times back in my starship body."

"What?" Bay said. "There were no cameras in the bathroom!"

"That's what you think," Brooklyn said. "Nice birthmark on your ass, by the way. Rowan probably thinks it's cute."

Bay groaned. "Jesus Christ, I can't believe what I'm hearing." He spun around. "Are you done already?"

"All done!" Brooklyn was tugging up her trousers. "I'm only partly potty trained. But man, after two weeks, I'm glad to finally be out of diapers. Phew! Being human is hard work."

Bay held her hands and looked into her eyes. "Brooklyn, I want to tell you something. I think you made the right choice. I'm so glad that you're with me here as a human. You've been my best friend for sixteen years. Even since I installed you into that old shuttle, back when I was just a stupid kid. We grew up together. We fought through wars together. And now we'll grow old together. We might no longer be pilot and starship. But we'll always be best buds."

Brooklyn grinned, her hands in his. "That's great, dude. But you know, after going to pee, I didn't wash my hands."

Bay pulled his hands free from hers. He wiped them on his trousers. "Lovely, Brook."

There was still much to do. To dig more trenches and tunnels. To weld together more starships. To train for the oncoming war. But Bay allowed himself an afternoon here in the field. An afternoon with his best friend. They left the wheelchair untouched, and she practiced walking through the fields. She fell often, but soon was able to take more and more steps on her own.

The whole afternoon—indeed, the past two weeks with Brooklyn—had felt strange. When Bay looked at her, he saw the woman he loved. He saw his dear Rowan—her petite frame, her messy brown hair, her gentle face. And Bay couldn't help feeling love well up inside him. He kept having to remind himself that this was a different person. This was his friend, not his lover. Yet it was a person Bay loved just as much.

He looked at her, and a chill washed his belly.

"Dude!" Brooklyn kicked him. "Why are you looking at me so seriously?"

"Ow! Don't kick."

"Can I bite?"

"No! Why are you so violent?"

"I'm human now." Brooklyn shrugged. "There is a heart of violence deep within every human soul, wrapped in but a fragile veneer of civilization."

"Yeah, well, if you bite me, that's a paddling," Bay said.

She gasped and covered her mouth. "Beast!"

And there—Bay felt it again. Fear.

He loved Brooklyn. And he had lost so many friends in the war. Ramses. Mairead. Duncan. Coral. Many others. People he had loved. Brooklyn was fragile now. She had no backup. Sure, her old software was still on other computers. But that was no longer her. No longer this living, breathing, biting—

"Ouch!" Bay said. "Stop biting!" He shook his arm free from her mouth.

"But I'm hungry!" she said.

He groaned. "There's food back at the colony."

"But I'm hungry now!"

Bay sighed. "Dear Ra, we've created a cannibal."

She snapped her teeth. "Chomp chomp."

He fished some crackers from his pocket and tossed them to her. "Here, rabid beast. Feed on these until we're back home."

Yes—Brooklyn had moved in with him and Rowan. It was a confusing arrangement. Bay wasn't sure it would last forever. But for now, he had to admit: these past few weeks, enjoying a ceasefire, enjoying time with those he loved … these were the best days of his life.

This is what Rowan meant, he thought. This is what we're fighting for.

They walked back toward the city. Brooklyn managed to walk the entire way, using the wheelchair as a walker. She spotted an ant once—though Bay was convinced it was just a seed—and they had to take a large detour.

It was dark by the time they were inside Port Addison's walls. They stopped by the communal mess hall, where they ate a late dinner of hard boiled eggs, bread, cheese, and potatoes—the first food grown on Earth. Then they continued on home through the shadowy, unpaved streets of Port Addison. The electrical grid was coming together, but torches still lit the roads to conserve energy. They passed by rows and rows of trailers. Thousands of them. Lovers strolled in the moonlight, and a few children still played outside, ignoring their mothers' calls. In many ways, Port Addison was more refugee camp than true city. But it was the most beautiful place Bay had ever seen.

Finally they reached their trailer. Bay crawled into bed next to Rowan, who wriggled, mumbled in her sleep, and nestled closer to her. Brooklyn was soon snoring too, curled up at their feet, sharing their bed until they could move into a larger home.

Yes, Bay thought before he drifted to sleep. I'm happy here. I never want this to end. This—this day, this world, this life—is what I fight for.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Rowan dusted her hands on her pants, admiring her handiwork.

The trailer stood before her, painted silver. She had arranged flowerpots around it, planted a tree, and hung wind chimes. A wooden sign hung above the door: Amber Guildhall.

"Port Addison's first guildhall." Rowan nodded in satisfaction. "This is for you, Coral Amber, my friend."

"Blimey, Row." Fillister stood at her side, tilting his wolf head. "Aren't guildhalls supposed to be fine temples, carved of stone? This is a bloomin' trailer, it is."

"It's only temporary," Rowan said. "Building temples takes time and money, of which we have neither. But this will do for now. Someday, after we win the war, we'll build a fine temple for the ancients. But right now?" She smiled. "We have a trailer park guildhall."

They stepped inside. Rowan wasn't sure what a guildhall was meant to look like. She had placed a rug on the floor, crystals on a table, and dream catchers on the wall. It was all a bit New Age. At least, what the Earthstone's old movies called New Age. Which Rowan supposed was Old Age by now. Whatever the case, Rowan hoped the ancients liked tealights and incense.

She had even printed her backups of the Weaver's Writs and placed them on a shelf, replacing the copies burnt in the war. Paper was damn expensive. Earth had no paper mills yet. A handful of refugees had brought some paper with them—mostly scribes who used it for their own faiths. Rowan had spent her life savings on printing these books. They had cost far more than the trailer that housed them.

Rowan really hoped the ancients liked the books too.

She sat on the rug, crossed her legs, and began to meditate.

Wax on. Wax off. Wax on. Wax off.

Slowly, the Empyrean Firmament revealed itself to her.

Rowan sat in the realm of light. The ancients moved around her. She called out to them.

"Ahoyhoy! Rowan here. Sandalphon, you around?" She whistled. "I did what you asked! I joined a guildhall."

One of the luminous figures moved toward her. They all looked alike to Rowan, but she recognized Sandalphon's deep, mellifluous voice.

"Rowan, I told you to find a guildhall, not found a guildhall."

Rowan nodded. "And I told you, sir. There are no guildhalls within a hundred light-years, and I can't abandon Earth in its hour of need. But look at this place! Check out the new digs! I established a new guildhall for the order. I figure that's gotta be worth something, right? Spreading the faith? And hey, check out these dreamcatchers. They're tubular, dude."

It was hard to tell with an immaterial being woven of light, but Sandalphon seemed to frown.

"Rowan, why do I sense you're not taking this seriously?"

"I am!" she insisted. "I'm just … not as proper as Coral was. I want to be myself around you, and this is how I talk. But I promise you, sir. I'm very serious about becoming a weaver. About defending Earth. This trailer isn't just a trick. I intend to build a permanent guildhall here eventually. Maybe train new weavers myself. Does that earn me a rune? Just one tiny rune for starters?"

Sandalphon sat down beside her. At least, as much as a wisp of light could sit down.

"Rowan, why do you want to become a weaver?"

"To save the world," she said. "I know that sounds cliche. But I want to become powerful. A deadly warrior. I want to have weapons to strike my enemies. To hurt those who hurt us. To defend the people I love."

Sandalphon sighed. "That is the usual answer people give. The details differ, of course. Some apprentices want revenge—against a murderer, thief, abuser, somebody who hurt them or their family. Other apprentices seek personal glory. They want to become gurus or conquerors, to claim lands or collect followers. Others merely seek wealth. Yes, different details. But the same answer. Personal advancement. Nobody ever craves the knowledge for its own sake. Only the power it can bring them."

Rowan frowned. "Is that so wrong? To want power? I don't want power for vengeance or glory. I want power to—"

"To kill," Sandalphon said. "To fight in great wars."

"To protect!" Rowan insisted. "To defend Earth!"

"With violence!" Sandalphon rose to his feet. "That is all people crave. Violence!"

"Hey now!" Rowan rose too, glaring at him. "If you hate violence so much, why do you even offer battle runes?"

"I offer battle runes only to the very wise and very righteous," said Sandalphon. "Only to those who prove they will use the runes for defense only. Never for vengeance, anger, or conquest."

Rowan nodded. "All right. Now we're getting somewhere. How can I prove myself worthy?"

"Perform acts of righteousness and sacrifice," Sandalphon said.

"I do!" Rowan said. "I have! For the past six years! I've fought to defend people! I killed the scorpion emperor! I fought Xerka aboard her starship! I …" She lowered her head. "All acts of war. Of violence."

"Be righteous," said Sandalphon. "Be selfless. Sacrifice of yourself for others. Prove your worth."

He began to fade.

"Wait!" Rowan said. "How do I do these things? Sandalphon!"

But the light dissipated.

Rowan remained alone in the guildhall.

"Ferkakte!" She punched the wall.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Tom stood in his workshop, sculpting a heroine from clay.

He had always enjoyed sculpting. Many years ago, as a young shepherd, he would spend his evenings lounging on the back porch, watching the golden sunset over the grasslands, whittling animals from wood. During long, hard years in the Peacekeepers Corps, quelling rebellions across the galaxy, he would find blocks of wood and stone, would carve them into familiar shapes, a chain connecting him to his anchor, to his lost home. Even in the desolation of Morbus, a gulock survivor and rebel, Tom would carve animals from the crumbling, rotting wood of that planet's twisted trees.

He had carved Ayumi a dove. It was among his sweetest, saddest memories.

Today he was no longer a shepherd, a Peacekeeper, or a rebel. Today he was a leader. A general. A minister in Earth's new government. But he still played his old flute. And he still sculpted with stone, wood, or clay. Giving form to shapeless blocks. Creating order from chaos. Bringing memories to life.

Because that's what I fight for, he thought. Order from chaos. Memories from the void. As with sculpture, so with life.

But today, he was not sculpting birds or wolves or sheep, animals from his old grassy homeworld.

Today he was remembering a heroine. A pure soul. A girl who had been like a daughter. Today he was sculpting Ayumi Kobayashi, savior of humanity.

A voice rose behind him.

"It looks just like her."

Tom turned from his work. Leona stepped into the tent he was using as his workshop. She was off duty today, but she still wore her uniform. Her white buttoned shirt was neatly ironed. The brass buttons shone on her navy blue overcoat, polished every morning. Her boots rose to her knees. As always, Arondight hung across her back, the rifle's wooden stock lovingly sanded and stained. She rarely left home wearing anything else. She presented herself as the Iron Lioness, the legendary warrior, the heroine who had fought the scorpions and risen to become Earth's first Minister of Defense.

But Tom got to see a different side of her. In the trailer they shared, he saw a softer woman. Kind rather than fierce. Warm rather than fiery. He thought of last night. They had bathed together in their bronze tub, speaking with hushed tones of old legends of Earth, and they had made love, fallen asleep in each other's arms. Their bodies were scarred, hardened after years of war, tapestries of all their struggles. But Tom found beauty to the woman beneath the uniform. He loved the Iron Lioness, the legend, the heroine. But he also loved Leona, the woman with tousled hair at dawn, with one sock slipping off her foot at breakfast, the woman of a thousand beautiful imperfections.

Tom looked at her, his heart warm, then looked back at his sculpture.

He had sculpted Ayumi barefoot, wearing tattered rags, the clothes of a gulock survivor. But she stood tall, chin raised, face proud, holding aloft the Godblade. With her other hand, she held a sprig of olive.

"This is how I remember her," Tom said softly. "The heroine of the war. She escaped captivity. She suffered unimaginable horror. But she stood strong before our enemies, facing them with true human courage. In one hand—a sword. In the other—a hope for peace. That's how Earth will remember Ayumi. This clay will be used to create a mold. And into that mold, I'll pour molten bronze. Her statue will rise in Port Addison, and people will remember. For generations. I hope—forever."

Leona leaned her head against his shoulder. "But you remember more than that. Not just the legend. Not just the heroine who wielded the Godblade and defeated a thousand scorpion ships." She looked into his eyes. "Ayumi was more to you than that."

Tom nodded, thinking back to meeting Ayumi. How she had run to him from hell, emerging from the gulock, naked and reborn, a weaver with flowing white hair and the Ouroboros rune on her hand. How he had taken her in. Clothed her. Fed her. Mentored her. Maybe even healed her.

"To me, she was like a daughter," Tom said. "She lit my life. For a while, I thought that . . ." A lump filled his throat. "That Ra sent me a new daughter. A gift to replace the daughter I lost in the gulocks. The light that was taken from me." He lowered his head. "It seems so cruel. That I lost one child in the gulocks. And that I lost Ayumi too. Sometimes the pain is almost too great to bear."

Leona embraced him. "I'm sorry, Tom."

He looked back at the statue. "We've all lost loved ones. My pain is not unique. The scorpions took so much from us. You lost family too. They murdered Rowan's entire family, and they murdered so many of our friends. My pain? It's but a small thing compared to the pain so many others endure. But we fight on. We bear the burden. We wear our grief like yokes, but we still raise a sword in one hand, a sprig of olive in the other. We fight for life. And we pray for peace. That is the lesson she taught me."

"Tom." She caressed his cheek, guiding his face toward her. "I came here to tell you something."

He held her hands. He looked into her large dark eyes.

"Tell me," he said. "Whatever it is, we'll deal with it."

Leona smiled sadly. "We're so used to bad news. But this is good news. Joyous news. Tom, I'm pregnant."

He looked away.

Pain flared through his chest. His ribs seemed to tighten, his belly to fill with ice.

"Tom?" she whispered.

A storm roared.

He was back in the gulock. His wife screamed, reaching out to him, then falling silent.

He was fighting aboard the Jerusalem in the great Battle of Aeolis, holding Ayumi's hand as her life fled.

"Tom, I know this wasn't planned." Leona squeezed his hands, her grip firm and warm. "But this is a good thing. This is hope. This is joy."

He nodded. His eyes dampened. "This is such joy."

He pulled her into his arms. They held each other closely, eyes closed.

"I know you're scared," Leona said. "I am too. We both lost so many loved ones. To bring new life into such a world? A world of war and death? To love a precious little baby—when everywhere the fire burns, when so few survive? I've been scared since I found out. When I told you the news, I saw the same fear in your eyes." Her voice shook. "It's been fifteen years since the scorpions attacked my wedding, since I miscarried. I never thought I'd become pregnant again. And I'm scared, Tom. I'm so scared. But I believe this is a blessing. That this is our olive sprig. That it can grow into a great tree."

Tom smiled. Then he laughed. He lifted Leona in his arms and kissed her.

"We're going to be parents," he said. "We're going to be amazing parents."

She was silent. She didn't laugh. Tom placed her down and looked at her.

She caressed his cheek.

"And we're to win this war," Leona said. "We have to."

Tom nodded. His smile vanished. He held her hands and stared into her eyes. "We are going to win."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Bay was at his desk, drawing dragons and elves, when Rowan entered the trailer and pulled off her clothes.

"Man, what a long day!" She stretched and yawned. "Spent it on about two hundred projects. I'm beat. I need sex, dinner, and eight hours of sleep. In that order." She sat on Bay's lap and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Ready, my love?"

Bay's jaw unhinged. He blinked at the very beautiful, very naked woman sitting on his lap.

"But—Rowan!" He gestured toward the bed. "Brooklyn is here!"

Rowan waved. "Hey, Brook."

Brooklyn was lying in bed, watching Ghostbusters on her minicom. She waved back. "Hey, Row." She returned to her movie.

Bay rubbed his eyes.

"But—what—"

Rowan laughed and patted his cheek. "Brooklyn has seen me naked many times."

Bay frowned, tilting his head. He supposed that was true. For a couple of years, Bay and Rowan had lived inside of Brooklyn—back when Brooklyn had been a starship. Her cameras had been able to see everywhere.

"That was different!" he said. "Brooklyn was a computer then."

"So?" Rowan shrugged. "She was still sentient. What difference does it make?" She began unbuckling his pants. "Go on, you! Off with your clothes! I command it."

Despite himself, Bay felt the blood flowing downward. He winced.

"Rowan, I dunno."

She got off his lap, pulled him to his feet, and yanked off his clothes. She began to kiss him.

"It's fine!" she said between kisses. "Brooklyn is used to it." She looked over her shoulder. "Hey, Brook, scooch over, will ya? Give us some room in bed."

"No!" Bay said. He couldn't help but laugh. "This is weird. Brook, out of bed entirely! Go sit on the toilet or something."

"But I don't have to use the toilet," Brooklyn said.

"So go take a walk!"

"I'm already in my pajamas!" Brooklyn said. "God. You're so fussy. I'll just sit on the chair. Sheesh."

Brooklyn vacated the bed. But the trailer, being a trailer, offered no privacy. Even at the desk, Brooklyn was only a few steps away.

Rowan soon had Bay down to his boxer shorts. She all but shoved him onto the bed, then climbed onto him, kissing and caressing.

"Ignore her," Rowan whispered, nibbling his ear. "Focus on me."

"Yeah, focus on her!" Brooklyn said, watching from the chair.

"Brooklyn, shut up!" Bay said. "Turn around or something!"

Brooklyn rolled her eyes, but she obeyed.

Bay tried to focus on his task. He kissed Rowan, caressed her, began to make love to her—then stopped. He rolled away with a grunt.

"I can't," Bay said. "Sorry. Way too weird."

Rowan sat up in bed. "Bay! You know Brooklyn lives with us now. You need to stop making her uncomfortable."

"I'm making her uncomfortable?" Bay said indignantly.

Brooklyn swiveled her chair toward them. She nodded. "Mhm, you are, dude. I feel embarrassed."

"You feel—" Bay began, then groaned. "Jesus. Can't a man have some privacy?"

Brooklyn rose to her feet and placed her hands on her hips. "What difference is there? You spent twelve years living inside me! Two of them with Rowan! And that old shuttle wasn't any larger than this trailer. So how is this different?"

"Because you're human now!" he said. "You … You …"

"I'm still the same Brooklyn," she said, voice softer now. "I was living with you and Rowan then too. Just as software, a camera, and speakers. Now I have a human body. But it's no different than our usual living arrangement." Brooklyn sat on the bed beside him. She placed her hand on his knee. "Honestly, dude, it's all right. I'm the same Brooklyn from before. I've watched you two bang hundreds of times."

Bay grimaced. "I kept putting you in sleep mode!"

Brooklyn snorted. "Sleep mode. I never had sleep mode!" She laughed. "I can't believe you fell for that."

Bay felt his cheeks flush. He turned toward Rowan.

"You don't find this weird? To have your clone in the same room?"

Rowan shrugged. "No. Why should I? I don't care if she's in the same room. Or if she watches. Hell, she can join us! I think it's hot."

"Whoa. Whoa!" Bay clutched his head. "Getting even weirder! Totally, major weird!"

"Bay." Rowan kissed him. "We can't send Brooklyn outside whenever we want to make love. Because you know me. I can't get enough of my pancake." She kissed him again. "After this war, we'll get married, and we'll build a bigger house. Until then—just pretend Brooklyn is still a computer."

Brooklyn pulled her knees to her chest. "Beep-bop-boop!" She held out her arms like wings and circled the room. "I am Brooklyn the starship! Vroom vroom! Ah? Ah? Nothing?" She sighed. "Fine, fine! Returning to my chair."

Rowan pushed Bay onto his back and smiled crookedly. "Now let me get you back into the mood."

Bay looked at her. At this woman he loved more than anything. He stroked her cheek and gazed into her dark eyes. And everything else disappeared. The trailer. Brooklyn. The war. There was just her. Just his Rowan. The love of his life.

They made love—passionately, then again, softly. Then they curled up in each other's arms.

"I love you, hobbit," he whispered to her.

"I love you too, pancake." She nuzzled him, then hopped up in bed. "That reminds me. I'm starving. Let's make pancakes for dinner."

Brooklyn swiveled back toward them. "Can I join this one?"

Bay smiled. "Yes, Brooklyn. You can join us for pancakes."

"Good." Brooklyn grinned. "Because my favorite part of being human is eating!" She raced to the kitchenette and began stuffing flour into her mouth, then coughing and spraying it everywhere.

Bay rolled his eyes. "Eating me out of house and home, you two are."

An hour later, the three of them were in bed, stomachs full of pancakes, ready for sleep. Bay lay in the middle.

This could be worse, he thought before drifting off. This could definitely be a whole lot worse.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It was a ceasefire, not peace.

Bay knew that. He knew it every day.

For twelve long hours a day, he trained. Waiting for the flames to burn again.

He flew for hour after hour in his Firebird, striving to become as deadly a pilot as Mairead and Ramses. He had a knack for it. After all, he had spent half his life flying a shuttle. He rose from humble pilot to squad leader. He commanded fifteen Firebirds he called the Wyverns. Day after day, they flew in orbit, battling buoys, waiting for the enemy Copperheads to return.

Rowan trained as a pilot too, became just as good as Bay. She too made squad leader, naming her Firebirds the Pterosaurs. Soon the Wyverns and Pterosaurs were simulating attacks on each other, and Rowan teased Bay relentlessly whenever his squad lost.

They spent other days down on Earth, training in tunnels. They ran through the darkness, firing dummy rounds, slaying cardboard basilisks. Both Bay and Rowan trained to lead infantry battalions, simulating assaults on subterranean snake nests.

It would come soon. In just a few months.

The assault on Sskarsses, the basilisk homeworld.

Humanity would be ready.

The days were hard. Bay and Rowan returned to their trailer every night, covered in bruises, bone weary. They would collapse into bed, exhausted, often too weary to even eat the meals Brooklyn enjoyed cooking them.

But Emet insisted that once a week, all soldiers took a day off.

"How can you fight if you don't know what you're fighting for?" Emet told them. "Enjoy Earth. Explore the fields and climb the mountains. Lie on the grass, and watch the blue skies and white clouds. Spend time with those you love. Deepen your love of peace, so that you are courageous when you go to war."

And so Bay and Rowan took every Sunday off.

And those days were joyous. Those days taught them why they fought.

On those Sundays, they took Brooklyn and Fillister with them, and they hiked across the wilderness. Slowly, day by day, life was returning to Earth. New grass and saplings grew from the ashes of war. Trilliums, dandelions, and bluebells sprouted from blackened soil. Butterflies, bumblebees, and grasshoppers bustled in the bushes. Robins and chickadees sang.

Most of the old maples and oaks were gone, burnt in the war. It amazed Bay how fast Mother Nature was healing, how resilient his beloved Earth was.

"Brooklyn, I have something for you," Bay said one Sunday. "A gift for your birthday."

She gasped. "I have a birthday?"

"Well, not really," Bay said. "But it's been a month since you became human. That's a birthday of sorts."

They stood outside their trailer, enjoying the cool spring morning. Rowan was still inside, making pancakes, while Fillister was digging in the garden, struggling to pull out weeds with his metal paws.

Brooklyn smiled at Bay, and he marveled at her beauty. Over the past month, the sunlight had bronzed her skin, and her hair had grown long enough to cover her ears. She still looked just like Rowan—the same round face, small nose, almond-shaped eyes. But every day, Brooklyn was changing, establishing her individuality. Something in her impish smile, her body language, her gait. She was veering away from Rowan, becoming her own woman, one just as lovely and brave.

"Dude, hand over the present!" she said, making grabby hands.

He handed her a small wooden box. Brooklyn opened it. Inside was a gear on a silver chain.

"Nom!" Brooklyn said, bringing it toward her mouth.

"Brooklyn, no!" Bay pulled the gear back. "It's not food."

She blushed. "Sorry. I still get confused about the stuff we humans eat." She frowned. "What is it?"

"It's a gear from the shuttle you used to be," Bay said. "The shuttle was destroyed in the war, yes. But I kept this gear, a last piece of you. And, well—I thought you'd want it. To hang around your neck as a keepsake."

Brooklyn examined the gear. She frowned.

"Dude, that old starship was my body. This is like asking somebody to wear a tooth that was knocked out of their mouth. Hell, it's more like asking somebody to wear a finger bone necklace after their hand was chopped off."

Bay winced. "You're right. I hadn't thought about it that way. But now that you mention it, I—"

"And it's metal!" Brooklyn said, grinning. "I mucking love it!"

She slipped the chain around her neck, then pulled Bay into a crushing embrace. She kissed his cheek, hesitated, then kissed his lips. She laughed when his eyes widened, and she mussed his hair.

"Thank you, dude," Brooklyn said. "I love my present. And I love you."

Rowan stepped out from the trailer. "I packed us lunch!" she said. "We'll picnic on our hike."

Bay raised an eyebrow. "Is it mostly pancakes?"

"No," Rowan said. "It's all pancakes!"

Bay sighed. "Row, you have to eat something else sometimes."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "No I don't."

They spent that Sunday hiking again. They planted saplings in the wilderness, and they rested in a sunny field, eating their pancakes. A perfect a day. Tomorrow morning, they would get back to training. In a few months, they would fly to war—and likely to their deaths.

But today—today was a perfect day on Earth.

That evening, they lay on a hilltop, stargazing. Rowan and Fillister went chasing fireflies, leaving Bay and Brooklyn alone on the hill. They lay close together, watching comets streak overhead.

"It's funny," Bay said. "I know there are so many horrors up there. So many monsters who want to kill us. But lying like this, watching the stars? I still think they're beautiful."

Brooklyn's hand strayed closer, and their fingertips brushed.

"Bay," she said softly. "I love you."

"I love you too, Brook," he said.

She rolled over toward him, and the stars shone in her eyes.

"I mean I really love you," Brooklyn said. "In a new way. I'm no longer a starship, Bay. I'm a woman now. And I love you as a woman."

She leaned forward and kissed his lips. And it was a deeper kiss this time. Softer. And a tear flowed down her cheek to their lips.

"Brook." Bay broke away, and his voice was soft. "You know that I love you too. Deeply. With all my heart. But you know I'm with Rowan. That we're engaged."

"I know," Brooklyn said. "And I would never do anything to tear you two apart. Rowan is my friend. But Bay—I couldn't hide it anymore. I've awakening to new feelings. Physical needs. Desires. I'm so afraid that I'll die in this war. That I'll lose this precious gift of humanity. And so I had to tell you. That I love you. And that I want to make love to you. Teach me, Bay. Teach me what it's like to be a woman. If only for a night. I want my first time to be with you."

She pulled off her dress, remaining naked in the night. The moonlight painted her graceful body, and she was beautiful. She was so beautiful.

Bay took her hands in his. He gazed into her eyes.

"Brooklyn, you're my best friend. That will never change. I love you. I'll always love you. But—"

"I spoke to Rowan already," Brooklyn said, interrupting him. "I confessed to her how I feel. And she understood. I think that at first, she was a little jealous. But she knows that this is her body too. And she accepts how I feel. She told me to approach you. She told me to do this."

Bay blinked. His Rowan? The woman who got jealous if he even drew an attractive warrior princess in his sketchpad?

"It's true." Rowan came walking uphill, fireflies dancing around her. "Brooklyn came to me first. And I told her to seduce you. I'm proud that you remained loyal, Bay." She smiled and lay down beside him. "You're a sweetheart. And I give you this permission. Make love to her. And to me. We might all die in this war. So let's celebrate life."

Under the stars, they made love. They were the women he loved most in the world, and this was the world he loved most in the cosmos, and this was a night Bay would never forget. He might never have another spring under the stars. He might never know joy again. For this night—they celebrated life and love.

They slept on the hill until dawn rose, golden and beautiful over the fields. Then they got their guns, and they climbed into their Firebirds, and they trained to kill and die.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Tom Shepherd was building a school.

For long afternoons and evenings, he toiled, leading a group of volunteers. They dug foundations. They assembled wooden frameworks, and they mixed and poured concrete. Carpenters toiled nearby, constructing chairs and desks from trees found in sub-arctic forests that had survived the war.

Tom named it Gabrielle School—after his late wife. She had been a teacher. Tom wished she could have seen it.

During the mornings, when he wasn't building, Tom taught.

While the children waited for their school building, they studied in trailers, in tents, and under the sky when the weather permitted. They were all orphans. Tom saw them all as his children.

"And who can tell me the three values of Earth?" Tom asked his class—a group of forty orphans in a pavilion.

One boy raised his hand. "Compassion. Courage. Camaraderie."

"Very true!" said Tom. "Can somebody explain what each means?"

A girl raised her hand. "Compassion means being kind. Being good to one another. Courage means facing our problems without being afraid. Camaraderie means, um …" She bit her lip.

Another boy raised his hand. "Camaraderie means every human must be friends with every other human. We stick together."

Tom nodded. "Very good. That's true. All humans are a family. You children are my family. We all look after one another."

Many of these children were scarred, both inside and out. All had lost their parents, some to the gulocks, others to the basilisk wars. They had come to Earth starving, shivering, haunted and near death. Tom was dedicated to nurturing them—and all the other children on Earth. Not only to teach them knowledge. But to tend to them. To mentor them. To rebuild them and heal them.

I must be more than a teacher, Tom thought, looking at them. But also a father.

On days with nice weather, he took them to walk in nature, to collect leaves and watch birds and butterflies. Some of these children had never seen plants or animals before arriving on Earth. They had been like Rowan, growing up in hiding—in holes, tunnels, rundown space stations and refugee camps. Some had grown up in gulocks. They learned about Earth's fauna and flora, the names of animals and plants. One child, a wispy girl with a scarred face and one eye, had never spoken a word to anyone in two years, not since being rescued from a gulock. One morning, walking beside Tom, she pointed at a monarch and said, "Butterfly!"

They learned. And they healed.

Tom could not bring back his child from the dead. He could not bring back Ayumi. But he could bring these lost orphans back. He could bring light and life back to their eyes.

Compassion. Courage. Camaraderie. The three values of Earth. And the three values on which Tom tried to base his life.

"You need to rest!" Leona told him one night. "You teach in the mornings. Build in the afternoons. Train at night."

"I'm sorry." Tom kissed her cheek. "I've been neglecting you."

Leona laughed. "I'm not needy. I want you to rest for your own sake! This ceasefire won't last long."

"I don't want to rest," Tom said. "For so many years, I saw destruction. For so many years, I killed. Now I want to build. To help. To heal the hurt."

Leona caressed his cheek. "Don't forget to heal yourself."

"This is my healing," Tom said. "A life building, teaching, helping others—that is a life of wealth."

She kissed his cheek. "You're a good man, Tom Shepherd."

He looked away. "I'm not a good man, Leona. I fought for too many years. Made too many horrible choices. There is blood on my hands. I don't just mean the blood of scorpions or basilisks. I was a Peacekeeper for ten years. I … hurt people. Good people. People on other worlds, who just wanted to live their lives, and …"

He could say no more. Tom didn't like to remember those years. His time in the Corps. Crushing rebellions on alien worlds. Enforcing the will of the Concord across the Milky Way. He had been the only human accepted into the Peacekeepers. And sometimes, when he had to enforce Concord Law in human colonies …

That shame still burned. That shame would never leave him.

He had never spoken of these things to Leona. Maybe he never would. But she knew enough. She saw it in his eyes.

She took his hands, examined them, then looked into his eyes. "The blood is washed away, Tom. I don't know what you did in the Peacekeepers. And I won't ask you. But I've known you for three years now. And I've known only a kind, compassionate man. A man I love deeply. Whoever you once were—you're no longer that man. The fires of war burned those sins away. Your hands are not bloodstained. On your hands, I see the soil of labor. Of building schools. Of plowing fields. Of fighting for life. You are a good man, Tom Shepherd. You are a man I love."

Tom lowered his head, the pain suddenly too great to bear.

"Leona, I …" He spoke in a low voice, choked, raspy. "I want to tell you."

"You don't have to." Her voice was soft.

"I do." Tom nodded. "I do."

They sat on their bed in their small home, a humble trailer in Port Addison. And he spoke to her.

"It was over twenty years ago. I was a dumb kid, twenty-three, maybe twenty-four. An officer in the Peacekeepers. The only human in the Corps. The others always mocked me. The ape, they called me. A shame upon the Corps. So I worked hard. Fought hard. Advanced in the ranks. I wanted to prove myself, to prove that humans can be strong, respected. I did horrible things, Leona. Rebellions rose on distant worlds. Just simple aliens. Farmers. Hungry, angry, fighting against the Concord for freedom. And I killed them." He had to pause, to take several deep breaths. "I told myself they were only aliens. That they hated me because I'm human. I lied to myself. I devalued their lives—same as they devalued human lives. And then one day, the Corps sent me to a new world. To crush another rebellion. A rebellion of humans."

Leona stared at him, silent, her face unreadable.

Tom was afraid. Afraid she would hate him. But he could not keep this secret from her. His child was in her belly. He would tell her the truth.

"They wanted me to kill humans, Leona." His voice cracked. "When the time came, I could not raise my gun. I would not shed human blood. But my friends, my fellow Peacekeepers—they fired their guns. And I watched. For long minutes, maybe hours, I watched. As my friends slaughtered my people. By the time I tried to stop the fellow Peacekeepers, hundreds of humans had died. At the hands of my friends! Of fighters I had led there! And I just watched! Finally, after so much death, I acted. I fired my gun. Not at humans but at Peacekeepers. I killed my comrades. I betrayed them. Then I placed the gun against my own head." Tom had to pause, to let his breathing settle. "But I was a coward. I couldn't kill myself that day. So I ran. I defected from the Peacekeepers. I took my wife with me. I flew, mad with grief, escaping the Peacekeepers who followed. I fled Concord territory. I fled into the Hierarchy. And it wasn't the Peacekeepers who caught me. It was the scorpions."

Softness now filled Leona's eyes.

"For my sins, I suffered," Tom said. "The scorpions broke me. They took everything from me. My wife. My child. My soul. For many years—my sanity. I suffered pain in the gulock that I can never speak of. But these hands?" Tom looked at them. "I still see the blood. Of the humans I let die. Of the friends I killed."

"Did you know?" Leona whispered. "When you led the Peacekeepers to that world—did you know it would be humans?"

"No," Tom said. "I only discovered that when we arrived. I should have taken action sooner. I watched, Leona! I watched as humans died, and I had a gun, and I didn't fight. I didn't fight …"

He lowered his head, and tears flowed down his cheeks.

Leona embraced him. "Tom, I forgive you."

He blinked. He looked at her. "You don't have to. You shouldn't."

"Tom, you never killed another human," she said. "You didn't know there would be humans there. Your only sin was to hesitate. And yes, your hesitation cost lives. Human lives. But you weren't in the Human Defense Force then. You weren't in The Heirs of Earth or Earth's Light or any other human uprising. You were a Peacekeeper, and you were appalled by what the Peacekeepers did. And after your hesitation, you fought them. And you left them."

"I was one of them!" Tom said.

Leona nodded. "And why did you join them?"

"I was a fool," Tom said. "I thought I could prove humanity's worth."

"And you did, Tom. You proved humanity's worth. But not in the Peacekeepers. As leader of Earth's Light. And here—in the Human Defense Force. Here—on Earth, a teacher, a builder. Have you sinned? Maybe. Who among us has never sinned? Who among us hasn't hesitated in battle? What officer in this war can say that they haven't made a mistake, even a mistake that cost lives? There is no more blood on your hands than mine. Than on any of our hands. You are a good man, Tom Shepherd. Never believe otherwise. You are the salt of the Earth. And you will make a wonderful father."

He stroked her hair. "Meeting you is the best thing that's happened to me, Leona. I work every day to heal others. You heal me."

Leona smiled, seemed ready to kiss him, then suddenly sniffed.

Tom smelled it too. Smoke.

Leona bolted up. "My dumplings!"

She ran toward the kitchenette, then returned with a frying pan. On it were burnt lumps.

Tom winced, then forced a smile. "It's alright. I like them extra crispy."

Leona sighed. "These aren't extra crispy. These are lumps of coal. They were supposed to be delicious leek and mushroom dumplings."

"I bet Brooklyn will eat them," Tom said. "That girl will eat anything. I saw her eat the leaves off a branch yesterday. Then gnaw on the wood."

Leona tossed the hardened lumps into the trash. "Well, so much for my domestic skills. Dinner at the mess hall?"

Tom nodded. "It's a date."

They walked between the trailers to the mess hall. The large concrete building had just opened last month, replacing the earlier pavilion. A thousand people were already inside, eating, laughing, swapping tales. Tom and Leona picked up trays, and they piled up their plates with hardboiled eggs, cheese, fresh vegetables and fruit, and grainy bread. The produce of Earth—hearty and tastier than anything they had ever eaten in space.

They were both war heroes, famous across Earth—indeed, across the galaxy. The Iron Lioness and the Shepherd, legendary leaders. But nobody knelt, bowed, or even saluted. Instead, the people greeted Tom and Leona with smiles, nods, handshakes. Here in the mess hall was a different sort of world. Not one of discipline or war. A place of peace.

Of camaraderie, Tom thought.

Everyone knew the next war was coming. That they would soon be flying into deep space, invading an alien world. But that was tomorrow. Tonight, here was a place of light and laughter.

"Hey, Tom, Leona!" Rowan waved from a table. "Over here!"

Bay and Brooklyn were with her, waving too, and Fillister sat on the floor beside them, wagging his metal tail. Tom and Leona joined the group, settling down with their trays.

There was ice tea and fresh butter already on the table. Rowan was stuffing herself full of pancakes while Bay watched in wonder.

"Where the hell do all those pancakes go?" he said. "You weigh about a hundred pounds soaking wet."

Rowan gulped down another pancake. "My giant brain burns a lot of energy."

Brooklyn stuffed an entire hardboiled egg into her mouth and began to chew, eggshell and all. Bay had to reach into her mouth, fish out eggshells, and teach Brooklyn how to peel. Rowan rolled on the floor with laughter. A few moments later, when Rowan began acting out Monty Python sketches, everyone at the table was laughing.

Tom looked at Leona. She looked back, smiling knowingly. She placed a hand on her belly, and Tom placed his hand over hers.

This is the life I want for our child, Tom thought, knowing she understood. A life of joy and laughter. Of meals in the mess hall with good friends. Of compassion, courage, and camaraderie.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Xerka took her son into the orrery to look at Earth.

The vast chamber filled a mountain. Iron braziers floated, filled with crackling fire, emulating the stars. Planets carved of metal and crystal moved about the chamber on tracks, spinning, creaking. Some of these mechanical worlds were so large a hundred basilisks could coil inside.

Xerka stood on an outcrop of stone, gazing upon the innards of the mountain, the wondrous worlds that moved along the iron rails. Here was her domain. Her empire. All the worlds she ruled.

Her son growled at her side, hunched over on all fours like a beast. Red scales clattered across his body. His mane of golden hair bristled, the strands sharp enough to slice flesh. As the orrery turned, he bared his fangs, and his saliva dripped onto the floor.

Xerka stroked his mane.

"Such hunger in you, my son, my beloved Hssgu."

She had stopped feeding him tamed, tied prisoners. Instead, she had been releasing her son into the wilderness, forcing him to hunt. For long nights, he chased the human prisoners she hid in the wild. He had been consuming so many apes. Growing so large. Already he was her size and growing bigger every day, and his hunger knew no bounds.

"Blood!" He clawed at the stone. "Flesh! Bones to crunch!"

She had been starving him for several days now. She needed him hungry today.

"Soon, my son." Xerka swept out her arms. "Behold the empire! I brought you here to view your domain. All these worlds will be yours."

The mechanical planets rattled along their tracks, and the stars burned in their braziers. Sskarsses, the basilisk homeworld, was the largest sphere, coated with tungsten and obsidian. It was the world where Xerka and her son now stood. A world of mountains, caves, canyons. The world where the basilisks had evolved. The center of their empire.

But it was not the world Xerka loved most.

It was not her birth world.

One of the planets, coated with blue crystals, creaked along its track toward the stone outcrop. When it was near, Xerka pulled a lever, and the orrery screeched to a halt. Sparks flew and rust rained. The planets wobbled along the metal rails.

Xerka and Hssgu stood on the outcrop, staring at the sphere before them. A blue world. A small world. The precious jewel of the empire.

Earth.

Xerka slithered closer. She reached out and caressed that world.

And for an instant, she was there again.

Emerging from her egg, consuming the shell, one among many in her brood. With her siblings, she fed upon the discarded skin of her mother. Growing larger. Stronger. Strong enough to hunt her mother down, to rip off her scales and eat the flesh within.

On Earth, Xerka had roamed the forests. Growing larger still. Hunting. Feeding. Lurking in the mist and hissing in the dawn and rain.

"I was born there, my son." Xerka caressed the crystal likeness of Earth. "It will always be my home."

Hssgu growled. "I am hungry."

Xerka nodded. "As am I. That is the curse and blessing of the basilisks. Hunger forever claws at our bellies. And I hunger for humans. And so I left Earth. And I hunted them among the stars. For they are the seeds of that world. The blood of Earth flows through their veins. I consumed thousands of humans. Learning from them. Absorbing them. And with every meal, I became more like them. I became more like Earth. Now the blood of my homeworld flows through me."

She saw herself reflected in the crystals a thousand times. She still had her serpentine body, Yes. But from it grew the torso of a human. The arms and breasts of a woman. A face so much like Rowan's. She had found the girl's parents in the cave. Old bones. Dry skeletons. Still so delectable. Still filled with so much knowledge. So many old memories of Earth.

"And now the humans have returned." Xerka bared her fangs. "They seek to steal my world. To banish every basilisk from it. My brothers! My sisters!" She clenched her fists. "Earth is mine! It is ours! I was hunting in its forests long before these humans infested it. Earth is no longer theirs. It will never be theirs again. If we let a single human survive, it will breed, it will infect Earth—and then the rest of our empire. We must reclaim our jewel, Hssgu. We must purify Earth, and we must devour them all."

His jaws opened wide. He roared. "I must feed!"

Xerka stroked his hair. The golden strands cut her. "Your father is there, Hssgu. You have a human father. Emet Ben-Ari is his name. From a single drop of his blood, blended with my own, I forged you. You must find him, my son. And you must devour him."

He could no longer contain his hunger. He leaped onto the planet of metal and crystal. He began to rip out chunks, tearing deep into the iron core, roaring for food. Pieces of Earth rained through the cavern in a million glittering shards.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Emet and Tom stood in the shuttle, reviewing their fleet.

A thousand human warships orbited Earth. Ready to leave their homeworld far behind. Ready for war.

"The long arm of humanity," Emet said, hands clasped behind his back. "We will reach far. We will strike our enemies. If we can do this, Tom, we will deliver such a blow that our enemies will not rise again for a generation."

Both men were silent for a moment, gazing upon the fleet. Both wore their navy blue blazers, insignia shining on their shoulders. Both men were tall, silver-haired, scarred. Both had led warriors in battle. Had sent soldiers to their deaths. Had sacrificed men to save mankind.

But we are not the same, Emet thought. Tonight more ever, Tom and I are different.

"Emet," Tom began. "I will follow your orders. To hell and back. But as one of your ministers and officers, and as a friend—I urge you to reconsider. An invasion of Sskarsses, the basilisk homeworld? We could lose our fleet. We could lose our army. We could incur the wrath of the Galactic Council and watch all their hosts invade. One last time, before the end, I must voice my concerns. I must ask you—cancel this mad plan."

Emet grumbled. It was an old debate. One they had been having for months now.

"Tom, I realize the enormity of this decision," Emet said. "Until now, every battle has been forced upon us. Every battle has seen humanity on the defensive, struggling to hold back an attacking force. After so much loss—to choose a war? And not just another battle, but an invasion of an alien world, perhaps the greatest war in human history? This is the greatest decision I've ever had to make. Perhaps it's the greatest decision any human leader has had to make."

"And you've decided," Tom said.

Emet nodded. "I have. Not easily. But I have. Tom, you know that Xerka is mustering her fleet. That sooner or later, she will attack Earth again. There is no help for us. Earth stands alone. Yes, if we fly to war, we might lose our fleet. We might lose countless soldiers. We might drag more civilizations into the war. But what's the alternative? To wait here for annihilation? To dig more and more trenches that would likely serve as our graves?" Emet clenched his fists. "For the first time—let us take the initiative! Let us attack rather than defend."

"It will be ugly," Tom said. "Defending a planet is far easier than attacking one."

Emet nodded. "It will be ugly. We'll lose many soldiers. But I hope, Tom, that with this blow, we can bring peace. That we can show the universe what happens to those who attack humanity." His voice softened. "Tom, I hate war. That might surprise some people to hear. The Old Lion, the veteran of a thousand battles, hates war? But yes. I hate blood. I hate death. I hate the whistle of bullets, the shriek of missiles, the roar of bombs. I love the wind rustling through forests. I love rolling farmlands. I love the sound of children laughing, of young people in love. I love life. On Earth, I saw what our life can be. I saw a glimpse of peace. I saw people living in joy, laughing, loving—not cowering in hiding, not burning in a gulock or battlefield. I saw what I fight for. What we all fight for. It is for these things—for life and love and the beauty of Earth—that we must go to war again. We've tasted freedom. And so we must fly again into the fire. We must face death. Perhaps we must sacrifice our lives, or the lives of those who follow us. Once a man has tasted freedom, he will never surrender it. He will march into the battlefield and kill, watch his friends die, and even give his own life to defend freedom. Tom, will you fly with me into the fire?"

Tom tightened his lips, squared his shoulders, and saluted. "Always, my captain. I don't always agree with your path. But I will follow it nonetheless. And I will give it my all. I would be glad to sacrifice my life for Earth."

Emet clasped his friend's shoulder. "Tom, I hope you never have to. I know about you and Leona."

Tom shifted uncomfortably. "Sir." He cleared his throat. "We were going to tell you, but—"

Emet barked a laugh. "The whole planet knows. Yes, I know you two have fallen in love. You're a bit old for Leona, you know."

Tom nodded. "Fifteen years older, yes. She's thirty-two, and I'm forty-seven. And I look even older with my silver hair."

Emet grunted. "I'm in my sixties. You both are kids."

Tom did not smile. "Sir, I promise you: I love your daughter with all my heart. I would always treat her well. I would die for her."

Emet laughed again. "I just told you to stay alive, dammit. And what's with all the sirs? You used to call me Emet until I brought up Leona."

Tom finally cracked a smile. It creased the scar splitting his cheek, the scar Naja had given him in the tunnels.

"Emet, you're not only a friend. You're a man I admire. A commander I follow in battle. You want to fight for life and love." Tom's eyes warmed. "I ask you: May I ask for your daughter's hand?"

Emet's tightened his grip on Tom's shoulder. A warm, approving grip.

"Tom, you don't need my permission," Emet said. "Only hers. And if she says yes, I'd be proud to be your father-in-law. Yes, you're older than Leona. But you're a good man." His voice softened. "Fifteen years ago, I walked Leona down the aisle. I watched the scorpions murder her husband—and many of our guests. It broke our hearts. It's a wound that has never healed. I know you lost your wife too, Tom. We've all lost so much. So many of us are orphans, widowers, bereaved parents. Whatever we can still do to find joy, to come together, to create new life and love—that is our most sacred task. That is how we rebuild. How we heal." Emet's throat felt tight, and his voice became hoarse. "I would be honored to walk with Leona down the aisle again. To accompany her to you."

Tom's nodded. "That will be a good day. May it come soon."

Both men turned to gaze at their fleet.

A thousand starships—divided into three separate forces.

Geode-ships formed the first unit—gifts from Aurora the Menorian. They were round, rocky, and filled with lavender crystals. These were the mightiest ships in the fleet, beautiful to behold, terrifying in battle, able to fly fast and blast beams of searing light. Inside each was installed a Brooklyn clone, programmed to dogfight, bomb, and strafe.

The second unit: motley starling ships. The starlings, human-alien hybrids and mutants, had fought for Earth during the last war. Emet had granted them all citizenship. Some starlings were nearly entirely human, aside from a subtle mutation—horns or fangs, perhaps, or maybe a tail. Others were more alien, barely humanoid at all. Some starlings had emerged from labs, the results of experimentations. Some were hybrids, others mutants. They had suffered for generations in exile, hunted and hated. Earth was their home now, and Emet was glad to have them. They had contributed hundreds of starships. No two were alike. Most were homemade, built from scraps. But all were mounted with powerful guns. All were deadly fighters.

Finally—the third unit. The pride of the fleet. Here flew Earth's own starships.

True, Earth had not built them from scratch. The starship hulls came from old tankers and freighters. Their cannons had been purchased on the black market. Their shields had been bought from smugglers. But Antikythera Institute had put these parts together, building mighty warships. Their engines had been modified for battle. Their computer systems ran Earth software, which Rowan and her team had coded. Their targeting systems, sensors, life support, software, and other integral systems had been built down on Earth. Their hulls had been painted silver, emblazoned with the logo of Earth: a blue planet with golden wings. Emet swelled with pride to see these starships.

"A fleet of a thousand warships," Emet said. "The largest battle fleet Earth has commanded since the days of Einav Ben-Ari."

"Will it be enough?" Tom said.

"It has to be," Emet said. "In two months, we fly out. We have time to build a few more ships. To train a few more marines. But then we—"

Both men's minicoms began to ring.

The shuttle's control panel lit up, flashing with red alert lights.

One of Earth's sentinel ships blasted in from hyperspace. Sentinels normally patrolled the Oort Cloud, three light-years away. The small stealth ship materialized in Earth's orbit with a flash of light.

The sentinel was broadcasting an emergency signal. Emet took the call. His shuttle's monitor came to life, showing the sentinel's captain, a young woman named Najila. Dark and dour, she was the only Gaean in the Human Defense Force.

The Gaeans were a small community, numbering only a few hundred. They were those humans who had never fled Earth. Two thousand years ago, the Hydrian squids had butchered billions, had exiled the remnants of humanity to the stars. A handful of humans had remained on Earth, hiding, surviving for generations. Today, the last Gaeans lived along the Nile, continuing their old ways.

All but Najila. She had moved to Port Addison, joined the military, and became a pilot.

She loved Ramses, Emet remembered. She still mourns him. She fights for his memory.

"Najila, what is it?" Emet said.

"Incoming ships!" the Gaean said. "Hundreds of them, sir! Basilisk ships! Flying to Earth!"

Emet's insides froze.

It's too soon! he thought. Xerka's fleet should still be under construction. We're not ready. How—

He forced those thoughts aside.

Right now, only one thing mattered: Defending Earth.

He opened a call to every ship in the fleet and every military base on Earth.

"This is President Emet Ben-Ari. I am initiating a full Code White. All starships: Take defensive battle positions. All ground, air, and naval forces: Enter a state of full readiness. All civilians: Enter your bunkers. I repeated: This is a full Code White."

Code White.

They all knew what it meant.

Imminent nuclear assault.

As the ships began to take battle formations, Emet's insides clenched. Xerka had nuked two colonies during the last war, slaughtering thousands.

Today there were over three million humans living on Earth: most of the human race.

Today there were no more basilisks on the ground, deterring further assaults.

Today Xerka would not hesitate to nuke the entire planet.

"Come on, Tom," Emet said. "Let's get into a starship."

He flew the shuttle toward the HDFS Byzantium, Earth's flagship. All around, the fleet was taking formation. Frigates lumbered into position, slow and heavy. Corvettes formed the vanguard, smaller and faster. Firebirds streaked through space, the smallest and fastest in the fleet, protecting the larger ships. In orbit, defensive satellites were extending their cannons.

Emet wasn't ready for this.

He was supposed to fight Xerka on her homeworld, not here. Not on Earth. Not again.

His monitor blared a warning.

Enemy ships incoming. Only moments away.

Emet docked in his flagship and ran toward the bridge.

Ra damn it.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Bay was lying in bed, sound asleep, when his minicom vibrated and blared.

White Alert. White Alert.

Bay leaped up at once and grabbed his rifle.

The past few weeks had been heavenly. For the first time in years, he wasn't fighting every day. He had spent last afternoon working in the fields, then the evening volunteering in the mess hall, laughing with his friends as they peeled potatoes and boiled eggs. Finally he, Rowan, and Brooklyn had watched a movie in bed, then fallen asleep, entangled together.

A simple life. A good life. A normal life.

After so many years of pain, he had begun to feel something new.

Happiness.

White Alert. White Alert.

But the minicom was wailing. And the old instincts, carved into Bay over years of war, kicked in.

Rowan was up at once too. Her minicom was also blaring. They did not talk. Within a moment, they were both wearing their flight suits, their guns in their hands.

Brooklyn was struggling to rise too. But she was still clumsy in her human body. She tried to remove her pajamas, only to tangle her feet and fall.

Bay and Rowan ignored her. They read the statuses on their minicoms.

Both paled.

"Xerka is attacking." Icy fear filled Bay's belly. "We gotta get into space. Now."

Rowan nodded. "Come on!"

They ran out of the trailer.

The spaceport was only a couple hundred meters away. Bay and Rowan had purposefully chosen a trailer nearby. They needed to be close to their Firebird squads.

Already, fiery pillars were rising from the spaceport—Firebird squads soaring to join the battle.

Bay and Rowan raced toward the spaceport, arms pumping. Around them, Port Addison's civilians were leaving their trailers, queuing up along the streets, and descending into the communal bunkers.

"Wait for me!" Brooklyn cried, running behind. She was still wearing her pajamas. "Wait!"

"Get into the tunnels!" Bay cried over his shoulder.

"No way, dude!" Brooklyn said. "I've always flown with you to battle. That won't change now! I—whoa!"

She fell, bloodying her knees.

"Ra dammit!" Bay said. He turned toward Rowan. "Row, get into a Firebird! Raise your squad. I'll meet you up there."

She nodded. "Godspeed, Bay. I love you."

Rowan turned and ran into the spaceport.

Bay pulled Brooklyn to her feet. "Brook, listen to me! You can't fly with me this time. You have to get underground." He pointed at a bunker. "Join the other civilians."

Her eyes shone with tears. "I won't leave you, Bay! You can't fly without me."

"You're not a computer anymore!" he said. "Look at your knees. You're bleeding. You're wearing pajamas. You don't even have a helmet."

She had ripped her pajamas. Blood was dripping. Her tears flowed.

"I can't leave you," she whispered.

Bay groaned. He had no time for this.

"Just get underground!"

He turned and ran into the spaceport, leaving Brooklyn behind.

Dozens of Firebirds were roaring upward, vanishing into space. Two squads remained on the ground, fifteen starfighters in each. Bay commanded the Wyverns Squad, while Rowan commanded the Pterosaurs. The pilots were leaping into their cockpits. Rowan was already in her Firebird. She blew Bay a kiss, pulled down her canopy, and the fifteen Pterosaurs roared up to battle.

Bay leaped into his Firebird and buckled himself in. Around him, the other Wyverns were firing up their engines.

Bay was about to pull his canopy shut. But then he saw Brooklyn running across the tarmac.

"Bay!"

"Oh, for Ra's sake!" he said.

Brooklyn reached his starfighter and leaped onto the ladder. She climbed into the cockpit with him.

"I'm coming with you, so get used to it."

Bay's Firebird was a two-seater, and Brooklyn took the seat behind him. Bay groaned. According to his computer, Xerka's fleet was emerging from hyperspace at this very moment. The rest of his squad was antsy, their brothers and sisters already up in space.

Bay had no time to argue.

He closed the canopy, pulled down his helmet's visor, and fired up the engines.

The Wyverns—fifteen deadly Firebirds—soared through the sky, engines roaring.

The G-forces were astronomical. Bay had trained to withstand them. Brooklyn had not. She groaned behind him and passed out.

Within three minutes, they were in space.

Bay leaned forward, eyes narrowed, and streamed forward in the darkness. The Wyverns joined the fleet.

Hundreds of ships were arranging themselves in battle formations. Frigates in the center. Corvettes at the vanguard. Firebirds on the flanks. Bay led his squad into position. Nearby, Rowan's Pterosaurs were flying ahead of a frigate.

For a moment, they flew in silence.

Bay could not see the enemy with the naked eye. But his HUD was updating him.

A thousand enemy warships were flying in.

"My Ra," he whispered. "It's too soon. Our spies said Xerka wasn't ready to attack yet." He winced. "We were supposed to invade her homeworld before she could."

Behind him, Brooklyn was coming to. She shivered, still wearing her pajamas. "Bay? Is this space?"

"Yeah, Brook."

She looked through the cockpit. She trembled. "It looks different. I'm used to seeing electromagnetic waves. Gravity wells. Spacetime curvatures. Ultraviolet light and dark matter. Countless streams of data. But with human eyes … Oh Bay. It's so empty. It's so dark. It's so cold."

"It won't be cold for long," he muttered. "The enemy is here."

He could see them now.

Lights in the distance, coming in fast. They were still a few thousand kilometers away. They would be here in seconds.

A thousand Rattlers. Long, scaly warships. They looked like giant serpents, their portholes like red eyes, their cannons like fangs, their engines like the tails of rattlesnakes.

They were a deadly force, but Bay frowned.

"She's only sending a thousand ships."

"Only?" Brooklyn said. "Really. Is that all?"

"I see you've picked up sarcasm," Bay said. "Yes, a thousand Rattlers is a force to be reckoned with. But this is barely ten percent of Xerka's full armada. And these are smaller Rattlers—dogfighters and bombers, not troop transporters. This isn't an invasion force. This isn't a fleet to conquer a planet. Not like last time."

"What does that mean?" Brooklyn said.

"Two possibilities," Bay said. "Xerka might still be preparing her full invasion fleet, but she wants to deliver a quick hit now. To smack us hard, to deter us from invading her world, to put us on the defensive. A preemptive strike. And then later, while we're nursing our wounds, she'll come conquer Earth. But there's another possibility. Xerka might not want to conquer Earth at all anymore. Maybe these Rattlers are here to nuke us. To destroy Earth for good."

Brooklyn shuddered. "I don't like either option. I like the second one a lot less."

The Firebird's comm crackled to life. Emet's voice emerged from the speakers.

"All HDF ships! This is President Emet Ben-Ari. The enemy is here. Do not let them reach Earth. Forward—to battle!"

"All right, Brook," Bay said. "Here's for old time's sake."

He shoved down the throttle to full afterburner. With the other Firebirds, he blasted toward the enemy.

The Rattlers stormed to meet them.

"Do not let a single Rattler reach Earth!" Emet announced through the speakers.

Bay understood.

There were no more basilisks on Earth.

No more living shields.

Every one of those enemy ships would be carrying a nuke.

Too soon, Bay thought. Too soon! We're not ready. Rowan hasn't become a weaver yet, hasn't built a shield around Earth. We haven't yet launched enough defense satellites. We need more time!

Panic began to swell in him. He forced a deep breath.

Disaster always strikes when you're least prepared. You face it nonetheless.

He flew closer with his fleet. Closer still. Ten thousand kilometers separated the fleets. Then one hundred. Then only a hundred kilometers between them.

"Fire!" Emet cried.

The human fleet unleashed its fury.

Bay and his fellow Firebird pilots fired their missiles. The frigates fired shells and photon bolts. The geode-ships beamed rays of searing light. The starling ships fired everything from spinning blades to electric nets.

From the Rattler fleet shone a thousand laser beams.

Bay yanked the yoke, dodging a beam. Other lasers slammed into ships around him. A Firebird exploded. A frigate tore open, revealing decks full of screaming soldiers. A starling ship spun, wing sliced off, and slammed into a corvette.

In the distance, Earth's fusillade was hitting the Rattlers. Explosions bloomed across the enemy fleet. But the Rattlers kept firing.

Bay swerved again, dodging another laser beam. The laser carved open a ship behind him, slicing through bulkheads and soldiers alike. Bay pulled the yoke again, swerving around another beam.

"Bay, you're yawing too slowly!" Brooklyn said. "Yaw faster, tilt slower!"

"Shut up, backseat driver!" he said, dodging another assault.

The fleets were only kilometers apart now.

Bay braced himself.

With showers of light, blazing fire, and shattering metal, the fleets slammed together.

Warships rammed into warships. Decks tore open. Humans and basilisks spilled into space, flailing. Rattlers—the basilisk's hulking frigates—plowed through the HDF's formations. Copperheads—the enemy's scaly starfighters—swarmed everywhere, firing on Earth's Firebirds.

A dreadnought commanded the enemy fleet—a massive warship, dwarfing anything the human flew. Cannons lined its sides, pounding Earth's warships. The gargantuan Rattler lumbered forth like an angry bear, barreling through a line of corvettes, heading closer to Earth.

"Wyverns, with me!" Bay said. "Let's take on that dreadnought."

His Firebirds gathered behind him. The squad flew toward the dreadnought.

"Fire!" Bay said.

They fired together.

Thirty missiles flew toward the dreadnought, pounding the shields, tearing a hole through the hull.

The dreadnought's cannons moved, focusing fire on the Wyverns Squad. Copperheads emerged from its hangars. The small, scaly starfighters came swooping in. Their lasers fired.

"Dodge those Copperheads and focus fire on the mothership!" Bay said. "Missiles into that hole in its shields! Take that dreadnought down!"

More missiles flew.

Copperheads fired lures, destroying the missiles before they could hit their target.

Bay cursed. The Copperheads flew closer. Green lasers flashed, pounding the squad. A Firebird exploded beside Bay. Its pilot screamed on the comm, then went silent. A second Firebird shattered, and the pilot ejected into space, only for lasers to tear her open.

Bay tried to reach the dreadnought, to finish the job, but the Copperheads were everywhere. He gripped the yoke with his prosthetic hand, the trigger with his good hand. The Firebird's rotary cannon roared. Bullets slammed into Copperheads, nicking their shields. Bay drove forth, slamming between Copperheads, knocking his Firebird into a spin.

"Bay, you are horrible without me!" Brooklyn cried.

"Shut up, shut up!"

He fired more bullets. Around him, more Copperheads and Firebirds were dogfighting. The dreadnought was moving ahead, plowing through more corvettes.

"Oh no you don't," Bay said.

He shoved down the throttle. He spurted forth on afterburner, leaped over a Copperhead, and nearly slammed into another. He saw an opening and unleashed two missiles.

They flew toward the dreadnought.

Bay sucked in air, willing the missiles to enter the hole in the shields.

The missiles slammed a few meters off target, cracking the shields but not entering the Rattler.

"Ra damn it!" Bay said.

The rest of his squad was still battling the Copperheads. Several Rattlers were now pushing through the human lines, making for Earth. Humanity's ships were pounding them, desperate to stop their flight.

"Rowan!" Bay said. "I could use some help! You there?"

Her voice came through the comm. "Busy, pancake!"

He saw her flying above. Her squad was battling several Rattlers. The Pterosaurs had suffered significant damage, losing five Firebirds so far.

"Bay!" Brooklyn said from the backseat. "If you just yaw a bit differently, you can adjust your angles to—"

"Brook, I told you, no more backseat flying!" Bay said. "You shouldn't even be up here."

Brooklyn groaned. "Oh, shut up! You stupid, pigheaded man! I used to be a starship, for Chrissake. I know how to fly better than you!"

She unhooked her seatbelt and climbed into the front seat, her elbows jabbing him.

"Brooklyn!" Bay said. "What the hell? I'm trying to fight a battle!"

"Shut up!" She sat on his lap and grabbed the yoke. "You fire the weapons, I'll fly! My God. Even as a human I have to do your flying."

"Brooklyn, get into the back seat! I can't fight with you on my lap."

"Shut up!" she said. "Just fire the guns!" She began manipulating the yoke and throttle. "Bloody hell, this is harder with human hands and no sensors."

"See? Not so easy!"

"Shut!" She elbowed him. "Up!"

She executed a barrel roll, spinning between several Copperheads. Bay fired the rotary cannon, pummeling the enemy. The Copperheads shattered, scattering scales across space. Brooklyn adjusted their flight, charging forward, then spinning around to pursue the enemy from behind. Bay fired again, pounding bullets into the enemy's exhaust pipes. More Copperheads exploded.

Lasers came sweeping their way.

Ten beams or more.

"Brook!" Bay cried.

They could not escape this barrage.

They were dead.

Bay winced.

"I see 'em," Brooklyn said, voice surprisingly calm. She raised the Firebird, swerved, dipped, rolled. A beam clipped the edge of their wing. Another seared their underbelly.

Their Firebird passed through the gauntlet with only a few scrapes.

"Holy shit," Bay muttered. "You're good at this."

"Told ya."

The rest of the Wyverns Squad followed, mimicking Brooklyn's maneuvers. They formed an assault formation.

The dreadnought was flying ahead, locking horns with several human frigates. The hole in the dreadnought's hull faced Bay.

"Gotcha," Bay whispered.

He fired a missile.

His squad added theirs.

The missiles streaked forth. Several slammed against the rim of the hole.

Bay's went through.

The missile drove deep into the mighty Rattler and exploded inside.

Fire blazed.

More explosions bloomed. A chain reaction flared across the ship.

The mighty dreadnought tore in two.

Cheers rose from the squad. The Firebirds flew around the two halves of the dreadnought, pounding them with more fire, tearing the ship into smaller pieces.

"Good flying, Brook," Bay said.

"I know, dude."

"Take us a bit higher."

The Firebird spiraled upward, emerging from the cloud of debris. Bay surveyed the battle. Several rogue Copperheads were making their way through, flying toward Earth. But corvettes were chasing them, tearing them down. The bulk of the basilisk fleet was still stuck here in space, unable to reach Earth's orbit.

"Our lines are holding," Bay said. "We're giving them a pounding, Brook."

"I know, what happened?" Brooklyn said. "We've never withstood enemy assaults this well before. Are the basilisks drunk?"

Bay smiled thinly. "We've been training hard these past few months. Not just you and me. Our entire fleet. The first time Xerka invaded, we were a bunch of refugees. Scared, hungry, struggling to cobble together an army. Well, we have a proper army now. A proper chain of command. Experience. We're much better fighters."

Hope kindled in him. He remembered how during the last war, each Rattler could take out several human ships. Today, if anything, humanity's fighters were superior. Bay's chest swelled with pride.

"You're no longer attacking a group of refugees, Xerka," he said. "You're attacking a proud army defending its homeworld."

Brooklyn began flying back toward the fray. "Dude, less talking, more fighting!"

They kept fighting.

They fought for hours.

Every moment, more starships shattered. Every moment, a few Rattlers or Copperheads broke through and raced toward Earth. Every time, the Firebirds chased them, shot them down in Earth's orbit. As the Firebirds fought, ammunition shuttles raced between them, restocking bullets and missiles. Thankfully, Earth had spent half a year building up a massive arsenal.

As the battle continued, many starships fell.

Many pilots died.

As he fought, grief filled Bay at the loss of life. But he also felt pride. Because they were proving themselves here. They were winning this battle. They were showing the cosmos—Earth was a force to be reckoned with.

He was anticipating victory when space wobbled.

With flashes of light, two hundred new Rattlers emerged from hyperspace.

Bay stared, losing his breath.

"Muck," he whispered. "It's not fair. It's not fair!"

"Goddamn it!" Rowan cried, her voice emerging through his speakers.

The new Rattlers charged into battle, and Bay screamed.

Earth's fleet was already damaged, its pilots weary. The new Rattlers slammed into them with fire and fury.

The tide turned.

Several human corvettes exploded. The lines crumbled.

They fought back. They fought back hard. They took out many Rattlers.

But the dynamics were different now. Earth could not afford to lose any more ships. Every warship gone—another breach in the wall protecting Earth.

The basilisks just needed to get one ship through. Just one nuke could devastate Earth. And humanity could not hold back the horde forever.

"We need our ships more than they do," Bay said, his belly curdling.

Brooklyn shuddered. "And we're losing ships too fast."

Both forces were being decimated.

All around Bay floated the hulks of dead human starships. They had fought well. They had taken out many Rattlers.

But as time went by, more and more chinks appeared in Earth's armor.

And more basilisks were making their way through, racing toward Earth.

An entire wing of Copperheads—twenty of the scaly little bastards—sneaked through the thinning defenses. Bay and Rowan had both lost half their Firebirds. They merged their squads together and gave chase. They caught the Copperheads only thirty thousand kilometers from Earth and opened fire, pummeling the alien starfighters.

But they were too slow.

The Copperheads fired lasers onto Earth, carving up fields, forests, towns.

Several scaly missiles flew toward Earth.

"Bay!" Brooklyn cried. "Those are nukes!"

"Let's go, Brook!"

They swooped in pursuit. Bay fired his rotary cannon. Several Firebirds dived with him. From low Earth orbit, defensive satellites fired rockets at the incoming weapons.

Bay hit one nuke with his bullets. Rowan swooped with her Firebird, taking out another two.

The satellites intercepted the rest.

Bay held his breath, expecting nuclear blasts. But thankfully, nuclear reactions were finicky things, requiring exact physics. The alien payloads shattered in space, spilling radioactive material—but not detonating.

"Bay, more coming in from four o'clock!" Rowan cried on his comm.

Bay turned to look. He saw them. Three Rattlers, charging toward Earth.

"I'm on it!" Brooklyn said, flying to meet them.

The Rattlers were larger, tougher than the Copperheads. The Firebirds surrounded them, pounding them, tearing them open. The Rattlers weren't even defending themselves—just firing on Earth.

More laser beams carved up the landscape.

More nukes flew.

The satellites fired their anti-missile rockets, but they were struggling to keep up. Brooklyn swooped toward the flying nukes. Bay peppered the nukes with more bullets, shattering them in space. More radioactive material spilled, raining toward the oceans.

"Damn it!" Bay said.

He glanced back toward deep space. The bulk of the human fleet was still there, trying to hold off as many Rattlers as they could. They were hammering the enemy, destroying many basilisk ships.

But not enough.

More Rattlers made their way through.

"Brook!"

"I see 'em!"

They flew toward the Rattlers. They fired, destroying more nukes.

Bay sent a broadcast to the fleet. "Leona, we can't keep up! We need your corvettes!"

His sister was commanding dozens of corvettes—fast and agile warships, smaller than frigates but larger than Firebirds.

"You'll have to handle them, Firebirds!" came Leona's reply. "We're holding off as many as we can. Take care of those who fly through."

Bay cursed again and again. The Firebirds were now flying in low orbit, just below the satellites, leaving the corvettes and frigates deeper in space.

More Rattlers and Copperheads flew toward them.

There were no dogfights. The enemy wasn't attacking the Firebirds—just trying to get a nuke down to the surface.

Brooklyn flew in a fury, whipping between the descending nukes, as Bay fired again and again, taking them out. Finally he ran out of bullets. He took a desperate flight toward an ammunition ship, waited for agonizing minutes as he reloaded. By the time he charged back toward orbit, even more enemies were there.

He took out another nuke. Another. Rowan and her squad flew around Earth in a fury, firing on anything that moved. The nukes kept shattering in space, spilling radiation. Bay wasn't sure how much of that radiation was making it through the atmosphere. He didn't want to even think about that now.

Radiation is bad, he thought. But if a nuke actually detonates on the surface—that is catastrophic.

In deeper space, Earth's warships were winning the battle. They were fighting well, pounding the enemy, slaughtering the basilisks.

But they were too slow.

Ten Copperheads charged toward Earth. The Firebirds intercepted, destroyed nine of them.

The tenth Copperhead reached the atmosphere.

The basilisk starfighter plunged into the sky—and released a nuke.

A nuke heading toward Port Addison.

Bay stared, and for an instant, fear paralyzed him.

Brooklyn shoved down the throttle.

They swooped after the nuke, diving into the atmosphere, wreathed in fire.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Port Addison, a city of a quarter million people, spread across the landscape below, nestled between river, mountain, and plains. Here was the first colony humans had founded on Earth since returning from exile. Here was the jewel of humanity. Here was Bay's home.

The nuclear weapon was diving toward it, leaving a fiery trail through the sky.

Bay groaned, gritting his teeth, barely clinging to consciousness as his Firebird swooped after it.

The civilians were in their bomb shelters.

But Bay knew: If this nuke hits the ground, they're dead.

He opened fire. The Firebird's rotary cannon spun. His bullets missed … then ran out.

Bay stared in horror.

"We're out again!" he shouted. "Rowan! Anyone! We need more Firebirds!"

But the others were too far above, still fighting in orbit.

"Oh Ra," Bay said. "Brooklyn, we can't do it."

Brooklyn shared the cockpit, squeezed beside him in the seat.

"We're not letting it blow," she said.

"But—"

"We're not letting it blow!" she said, shoving all her weight against the throttle.

The Firebird swooped. Seventy kilometers above the surface. Sixty. Fifty.

The nuke was dropping fast.

Brooklyn sneered and gave the Firebird every last drop of power.

Twenty kilometers above Port Addison, they passed the nuke.

Just a few meters below the nuke, Brooklyn swerved and flew back upward, engines blazing on furious afterburner.

The flames from their exhaust bathed the nuclear weapon.

Its casing twisted, heated up, began to melt. Brooklyn swerved again. Again. Washing the nuke with her afterburner until the bomb ripped open.

The nuke did not detonate. A nuclear reaction required a meticulous chain effect, one the weapon was probably programmed to initiate closer to the colony. But as the nuclear weapon tore open, uranium spilled. It rained toward the colony, highly radioactive.

"Our boys on the ground will have to clean up the mess," Bay said. "It'll be a big mess. And we might be eating three-eyed fish and talking bananas for a while. But we just saved a quarter million lives. You saved them, Brooklyn."

She grinned. "Not bad, considering I've only been human for a couple of months. Brooklyn Emery, savior of the Earth!"

"Oh, you're an Emery now, are you?" Bay said.

"Sure am. I'm living inside Rowan's clone, remember? And she's an Emery, so so am I." She frowned. "So so. Is that proper grammar?"

"We'll figure it out later. Get us back into space. We still have to—"

On the horizon, a massive white ball of light flared.

A shock wave slammed into Bay's Firebird, hurling it backward in the sky.

A mushroom cloud flared, shrieking, expanding, shaking the atmosphere and ground.

It must have been a thousand kilometers away. But it rocked even Port Addison below, flipping trailers over and cracking the Terranon.

"That blast came from Kemtown," Bay whispered. "Brooklyn, what is the population of Kemtown?"

She stared, eyes wide, face pale. "Seven thousand and fourteen people," she whispered, voice cracking.

Silence fell across the comms.

Pilots were staring.

Bay heard a few pilots gasp, others cry.

Bay took the joystick from Brooklyn.

He narrowed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and soared back into space.

Only a few basilisk starships remained. The human forces were still pounding them.

But we already lost, Bay thought. We already lost so much.

He let out a cry of fury and anguish. He launched his Firebird into battle.

He rammed between Copperheads, stopped at an ammunition ship, then launched himself back at the enemy, firing at them with missiles and bullets and shells, tearing them apart. Shouting. Cursing. Weeping.

The others fought with him. Rowan in her Firebird. Leona in her corvette. Emet and Tom in the Byzantium, their flagship. From Earth rose artillery. The satellites' cannons fired. The human fleet surrounded the enemy above Earth, taking out Rattler and Copperhead until none remained.

The battle ended.

The battle was won.

But the cost was almost too great for Bay to comprehend.

Half their fleet—destroyed.

Hundreds of starships, the hope of humanity—gone.

Kemtown—wiped out, its thousands of citizens dead.

"Xerka did this with only ten percent of her force," Bay whispered, gazing at the destruction. "We can't repel another attack."

Hundreds of soldiers were floating through space, ejected from their ships. Medical shuttles moved among the wreckage, picking them up. Some were wounded. Nearly all were dead.

Bay looked back at Earth.

He looked at the burning crater upon the plains. Like a cigarette's scar on flesh.

Kemtown. Gone.

"Bay," Brooklyn whispered, sitting beside him. "I'm sorry."

She embraced him. They had won the battle, and Bay lowered his head.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

They gathered in the war room, a cavernous bunker beneath the Terranon.

Emet had a bandage around his head, red on the temple. Tom had suffered burn marks along his arm. Both men had been wounded when a dreadnought had rammed into the Byzantium. Rowan's leg was in a cast; a rogue Copperhead had slammed into her Firebird, shattering her bone. Bay stood with a dour face, his body unhurt but his eyes haunted, and Leona stood behind him, face unreadable. A handful of generals stood among them, fists clenched, faces hard.

Emet stared at them.

His lieutenants. The High Command of Earth.

He spoke in a gravelly voice, hoarse from shouting commands throughout the battle.

"We don't have a final death count," Emet said. "But it will be staggering. We estimate that we've lost three thousand soldiers. Five hundred starships—half our fleet—were destroyed. There are ten thousand civilian casualties on Earth, most of them from Kemtown. Many more might succumb to their wounds, and we'll be dealing with radiation poisoning for years to come. This attack caught us by surprise. We weren't ready. We won—but barely, and at a horrible cost."

They all stared back, fear in their eyes. Brooklyn, still in her pajamas, covered her eyes.

Leona broke the silence, speaking the words on everyone's mind. "We won't be able to withstand another assault. We know that Xerka is planning more attacks. She tested our defenses. She found them barely adequate. She'll keep attacking, again and again, sending fleet after fleet. She'll never stop. Not until she's won. Not until she's killed us all."

"Way to spoil the mood, Leona," Bay muttered. His tone perhaps was snarky, but there was fear in his eyes. He knew this too. They all did.

"We'll improve our defenses!" Rowan said, stepping forward. "I'm making progress with studying weaving. Soon I might be able to build a shield of aether around Earth. That will help. And I have a plan for rapid production of more defensive satellites. If we can get our new 3D printers working, we can really scale up our factories. And—"

Emet interrupted her. "Rowan, we can't keep defending ourselves forever. We can't keep losing ships. Losing cities. The time has come to launch our assault on Sskarsses, the basilisk homeworld."

Gasps sounded across the room.

"But sir!" Rowan said. "We're not ready! We only have five hundred ships left. Even with a thousand, we weren't ready. We need time to build more. It's not enough!"

"It must be enough," Emet said. "And it must be now. We must fly out. Tonight. And we must strike Sskarsses."

Glances passed around the room. A few people seemed ready to voice objections. But they remained silent. Faces hardened. Determination filled their eyes.

Rowan stepped forth first. She came to stand at Emet's side. Her legs trembled.

"I'll fly with you, sir. Tonight." She took a shaky breath but managed to square her shoulders. "Though to be honest, sir, I'm scared shitless."

The others stepped up too. Leona and Bay, his children. Cindy, the woman he loved. The others—generals, pilots, leaders.

Across Earth, Emet knew, thousands more were ready.

They had to be ready.

They had to win.

Or we all die, Emet thought.

"You have the next eight hours to prepare," Emet said. "To say goodbye to your loved ones. At midnight, we fly out. The entire fleet. And we win this war."

They left the war room, silent and grim.

* * * * *

Emet marched down the tunnels below Port Addison. He left his officers behind. He headed down a narrow pathway.

Eight hours, he thought. Months too early. In eight hours, we fly.

He kept walking, muscles stiff.

Cindy joined him, hurrying to keep up.

"Emet, there's so much to do before midnight," she said. "Rally the troops. Repair the ships. Stock supplies. Draw up final battle plans. The list is endless. How can I help? Give me a task. What do we do?"

"I'm going to our chamber," he said. "And I'm going to have a nap."

He reached the door, unlocked it, stepped inside.

Cindy paused, then followed him into the room.

"A nap?" The doctor tilted her head.

Emet nodded. "And a long shower. And a good meal."

"But—" Cindy began.

"Cindy, we have a long war ahead of us. We'll need our strength. I know we're not ready. I know there's still a lot to do. But right now, this is an oxygen mask situation."

Cindy frowned. "What's that mean?"

Emet doffed his coat and kicked off his boots. "Something Rowan taught me. Something from those old movies she watches. Back in the Golden Age, passenger planes came with oxygen masks over the seats. Parents were taught that during a disaster, they were to apply their own oxygen mask first, and only then place oxygen masks on their children."

Cindy nodded. "You must help yourself before you can help others." She sighed. "I've barely slept in two days. Too much work at the hospital. Clearly a lesson I need to learn."

They took a long shower.

They ate a warm meal.

They lay in bed.

They were silent all the while. A knot filled Emet's belly. He could see the same fear in Cindy.

Six more hours.

Six hours until the most pivotal moment in human history. Until he flew to what could save Earth—or plunge humanity into the abyss.

He lay on his back, staring at the dark ceiling, mind racing. Cindy lay at his side, silent, her hand on his.

Emet spoke into the darkness.

"Did I make a mistake, Cindy?"

She rolled toward him and stroked his cheek. "No. We believe in you. All of us."

Emet gazed into the shadows above as if gazing into space. Such horrors lurked there in the darkness. Such evil.

"There are five million humans left in the galaxy," he said. "Three million on Earth, the other two still in exile, waiting for liberation. Five million, that's all. Such a small number. We used to be billions. We are so few. So precious. Each life—my duty to save."

"We can't save them all," Cindy said. "We know that. You as a general, me as a doctor."

"Yet I must save the spark," he said. "Save enough that from the ashes we can rise again. This war, Cindy … I don't know if we can win it. It's likely we will lose. We have five hundred ships. Xerka commands a hundred thousand. We have a small army, barely armed, barely trained. She commands tens of millions of basilisk troops. Should we run?"

"Run?" Cindy frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Maybe this was a mistake," Emet said. "Returning to Earth."

Cindy gasped. She propped herself up onto her elbows. "What do you mean, Emet? This is what we've fought for all our lives!"

"We won Earth," Emet said. "But can we keep it? Did I gather humanity here only for Xerka to destroy us all? Maybe we need to leave. To return to exile. To spread among the stars again. To hide. It wouldn't be much of a life. But we would survive!"

"Emet." Cindy kissed his cheek. "Our people don't just want to survive. They don't want to hide. They want to fight! To show the galaxy that humanity is strong again! That we'll never be weak like we were, never be meekly slaughtered again. Not after what the scorpions did to us. After how the basilisks hunted us. After generations of torment. For two thousand years, aliens hurt us, butchered us. Genocide after genocide—every generation. Now is our chance to stand tall and strong!" She caressed his cheek. "You tell us these things all the time."

"I do," Emet said. "In my speeches to my soldiers. In meetings with my generals. But here in the darkness, in my own bed, I feel the weight of five million souls press down on me. And I wonder: Am I dooming them?"

"Maybe," Cindy said. "That's why this is a hard decision. But you still have six hours to reverse it. Are you asking me for advice?"

He rolled toward her. He looked at her in silence for a moment. Cindy was nearing fifty, but the wrinkles around her eyes, or the silver strands in her hair, could not mar her beauty. Her eyes were still bright, blue, and intelligent. Her face warmed Emet's heart whenever he saw it. But more than her beauty, Emet admired her heart. She was a woman who had fought with him in every battle. Had healed so many, bringing boys and girls back from the brink of death.

I am a killer, and she is a healer, he thought. But we've both always fought to save lives.

"For almost forty years, I led us," Emet said. "And I hope that if we survive, future historians will write that I led us with courage and conviction. I never turned to another for advice. But now, Cindy, yes. I turn to you. Am I doing the right thing?"

She placed her hand on his cheek. She stared into his eyes.

"Yes," she said. "Yes!"

And the doubts faded. The fear remained. But fear without doubt was a manageable thing. Fear with determination was a vicious dog on a leash. It was the dog he had taken into every battle.

"May this be the last battle," he said. "I am old. And I want to rest. May this be our final war. May we finally have peace."

Cindy cocked an eyebrow. "You're not too old and tired for me. I won't let you rest just yet."

She kissed him. He rolled atop her. And they made love. No, he was not yet too old or tired for that.

They slept, holding each other.

They rose and dressed in their uniforms.

They left the underground, entered a shuttle, and flew to their flagship.

Emet walked across the decks of the HDFS Byzantium, the fleet's largest frigate, and stepped onto the bridge. Tom was already there, along with a crew of other officers. The men stood at attention and saluted. Emet walked across the bridge toward the viewport. He stood, hands clasped behind his back, and gazed out into space.

The rest of his fleet was gathering around him. A hundred geode-ships, rocky and round. A hundred starling vessels of every shape and size. A hundred supply ships, boxy and hulking. Finally, the pride of the fleet: two hundred Earth-made warships, painted silver, blue, and gold. Firebird squads flew around the warships in defensive formations.

A small force. Barely a speck compared to the fleets Einav Ben-Ari had once flown to alien worlds.

It will have to be enough, Emet thought.

"Mr. Shepherd, are we ready?" he said.

Tom reviewed stats on his control panel. "Our infantry battalions are in our ships. They're mostly privates fresh out of boot camp. Our munitions stores are at forty percent—as much as we have. Half our warships are damaged. Our repair crews will work while we fly, but they can't fix all the damage." He looked at Emet. "So I'd have to say: No, sir, we're not ready. Not by a mile. But we'll fight nonetheless."

Emet nodded. "Good enough." He took his seat. "Take us out, Mr. Shepherd."

"Yes, sir."

Tom pushed down a lever. Deep in the engine room, the azoth crystal activated. Across the fleet, the other ships activated their own crystals, and their engines glowed with lavender light. Spacetime bent around them, forming a warped bubble.

With blasts of light, Earth's fleet shot into the distance.

Behind them, Earth shrank into a pale blue dot.

We're leaving Earth all but defenseless, Emet thought. I must be remembered as the man who led humanity home. Not who led humanity to extinction. We must win this war. He clenched his fist. Or every human will die.

The pale blue dot faded behind them into the darkness.

The sun became just another star in the vastness of space.

The small fleet flew onward, plunging into the void.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

As Earth's armada flew through space, Rowan did not drill with weapons, train in a Firebird, or review the battle plans.

She busied herself with one task.

Giving of herself to others.

"You wanted selfless sacrifice, Sandalphon," she muttered. "So you're gonna get a boatload, buddy."

Even at warp speed, traveling many times the speed of light, it was a two-week journey to Sskarsses. During that time, Rowan planned to be the saintliest damn saint in history. When she was done, she was gonna make Mother Theresa look like Lizzie Borden.

Of course, that was a little difficult aboard a military starship.

Damn it.

Back on Earth, Rowan could have performed many selfless acts. She could have sung to orphans. Hell, even adopted a few. She could have added a few stray puppies into the mix. She would have earned her weaverhood in no time.

But here aboard the Byzantium, hurtling toward war, she would have to improvise.

Because Rowan wanted many things in life. To someday become a wife and mother. To direct Dinosaur Island. To found a chain of pancake houses—mostly so she could eat in them. But most importantly, she wanted to become a weaver.

She needed to become a weaver.

And fast.

Weavers had power. Weavers had more power than Rowan had ever seen in a warrior.

And Rowan was determined to win this war.

"Be righteous," Sandalphon had told her. "Be selfless. Sacrifice of yourself for others. Prove your worth."

She nodded.

"Improvise, Row," she told herself. "Improvise, adapt, overcome."

And so, she decided to spend the first day of their journey working in the Byzantium's galley. Several soldiers were toiling here, peeling potatoes, chopping onions, boiling eggs, scrubbing pots. There were thousands of marines in the fleet, all hungry, and the cooks looked weary beyond belief.

"I'm here to help, boys!" Rowan rolled up her sleeves. "Yo, you. The ginger. Toss me a potato and peelers. Come on, come on, I'm here to help!"

The cooks gaped at her.

"You … You …" The ginger rubbed his eyes. "You're Colonel Rowan Emery! They call you the Honey Badger! You're the heroine of Aeolis!"

"She's the one who killed Sin-Kra!" whispered another cook.

The cooks dropped the potatoes, onions, and—regrettably—eggs. They saluted. The ginger even knelt.

Rowan sighed. "Oh for the love of Betty Crocker, I'm not a heroine! I'm just here to help. You know, to be selfless. To sacrifice of myself."

Tears filled the cooks' eyes.

"The war heroine is here to help!" said the ginger.

Another cook wiped tears away. "She is mighty in battle, yet righteous among the commoners."

Rowan nodded. "Yep, I'm a goddamn saint." She glanced up at the ceiling. "Hear that, Sandalphon?" She lifted a potato. "All right, boys, we've got meals to cook."

She got to work.

Within an hour, she was exhausted.

Bloody hell, she thought, sitting on a pile of potato peels. Cooking is harder than goddamn war.

But lunchtime was approaching. And the other cooks weren't taking a break. Rowan tightened her lips, pulled herself back up, and kept peeling.

Finally the meals were cooked, but Rowan kept toiling. Hungry soldiers shuffled into the mess hall. Rowan served them, scooping mashed potatoes onto trays, smiling at every diner.

"Enjoy your potatoes, Private!" She smiled. "Enjoy your potatoes, Corporal!" Another spoonful, another smile. "Enjoy your potatoes, sir!"

Bay slammed a tray down before her. "Chop chop! And these better not be lumpy, scullion."

Rowan frowned. "Watch it, pancake." She slapped a spoonful onto his tray.

He gasped. "What, no big smile for me?"

She flipped him off. "Here's your smile, dumbass."

Bay leaned closer to her. "Row, what the hell are you doing? You're a bloody colonel. Kitchen duty is below your pay grade."

She raised her chin. "I'm selfless. Self-sacrificing. Righteous."

"You're a loony."

She glowered. "Move down the line. I've got more soldiers to help." She slopped potatoes onto the next tray. "Enjoy your meal, Brooklyn!"

Her clone grinned. "Aww, thank you, dude. That's so nice of you."

Rowan looked up at the ceiling. "See? See, ancients?"

"Hey …" Brooklyn frowned. "There aren't any ants in these potatoes, are they?"

"No ants!" Rowan shoved her aside. "Down the line!"

After everyone had eaten, Rowan was expecting a nice, long break. Maybe a shower, a romp in the sack with Bay, and a couple of Twin Peaks episodes. But that's when the real work began.

For three hours—three damn hours!—she toiled with the cooks. Clearing dishes and trays. Scrubbing them. Then scrubbing pots. Then scrubbing the kitchen. When everything was clean, her fingers were wrinkly, her muscles ached, and Rowan vowed to spend the entire Antikythera budget on developing kitchen robots.

"Ra damn!" she said, tossing down her sponge. "Finally—we're done."

"Not yet, ma'am," said the ginger. "It's time to start preparing dinner."

"Oh for the love of Julia Child!" Rowan blurted out. "Muck this." She tossed down her apron. "I'm not peeling any more ferkakte potatoes, and I'm sick of this goddamn, finger-twisting, soul-crushing—"

The soldiers gaped at her.

The ginger began to cry.

Rowan sighed. "Sorry. Sorry!" She adjusted her apron. "I'm here to help. To be selfless." She glanced upward and muttered under her breath, "This better be worth it."

Finally, late at night, she stumbled back into her bunk.

She crashed facedown onto the cot.

"Rough day at work?" Bay said. "Maybe if you work really, really hard, someday they'll put you in charge of the smoothie machine!"

Face still pressed into the mattress, she raised her hand and flipped him off.

Bay stroked her hair. "Hobbit, what's going on?"

She sat up. "I'm trying to become a weaver."

His brow furrowed. "By … becoming a cook?"

"By being selfless! I've been meditating. And I finally made contact with Sandalphon, the same ancient who gave Coral her runes. He rejected me. He told me I need to prove my worth. To be selfless. Righteous. Self-sacrificing."

Bay sighed. "Well, there goes your chance."

"Hey, you dumbass!" She punched him. "I'm the most damn selfless person in the universe!"

"Rowan, this morning, you fried up eight pancakes, served me half on a plate, then ate both servings before I could even sit down."

"I was hungry! But hey …" She waggled her eyebrows. "I'm selfless in bed."

Bay shrugged. "Eh."

"What do you mean eh!" She placed her hands on her hips. "I pleased you well enough last night!"

"Well … you know how I've always wanted you to wear that Slave Leia outfit?"

Rowan groaned. "Oh for the love of Jar Jar Binks! Fine! I'll wear your damn outfit. But only if you dress up as Sean Connery in Zardoz."

He frowned. "What did Sean Connery wear in Zardoz?"

She whipped out her minicom and showed him a picture.

Bay paled.

"Dear lord." He winced. "Never mind, Row. Forget the Slave Leia outfit. I kinda lost my mood." He shoved her minicom away. "Never show me that picture again. In fact, delete it. Then burn your minicom."

Rowan flopped back down. "I need to become a weaver, Bay. I need battle runes. Remember how badass Coral was in a fight? We need a weaver. And fast."

Bay lay down beside her. "Hey, how about tonight, we pretend to be Aragorn and Arwen? Faramir and Eowyn? Frodo and Sam?" He waggled his eyebrows, then suddenly winced. "Just … nothing involving Zardoz please."

But before Rowan could reply, she was snoring.

The next morning, she could not face the galley again. She decided to diversify her charitable selflessness.

She spent time in the laundry room, scrubbing, folding, ironing.

It was even worse than the kitchens.

"Eww, eww!" She wrinkled her nose, holding out a pair of underwear at arm's length. "Skid marks!"

She moved to laundering the sheets, then grimaced.

"Eww!"

Some of the sheets had weevils. Actual wiggling little weevils.

"Gross!" She gagged. "Don't people change their sheets every week?"

The regular staff was thankful for her presence. One even took a nap, leaving an extra crate of smelly socks for Rowan to wash.

"Ugh, disgusting!" she said that night, stumbling back into her cabin.

Bay covered his nose. "Hobbit, you stink."

"No shit." She pulled off her clothes, tossed them into the rubbish bin, and stepped into the shower.

"Actually it smells like a lot of shit!" Bay called after her.

She crashed into bed past midnight, watched two minutes of Twin Peaks, then was snoring.

She kept trying new things. She entertained the troops by screening them Big Trouble in Little China, one of her favorite movies. But they had not grown up obsessed with twentieth century culture like her. They barely understood a thing. Another day, Rowan spent her time in a spacesuit, hovering outside the hull, repairing broken components on the ship's exterior. But she only annoyed the mechanics with her constant comments and suggestions. On the fifth day, she donated blood, signed an organ donor's card, visited the medical bay, and practiced her Patch Adams impression.

"Rowan!" Bay said that night. "When will this end?"

"Once I'm a weaver," she said. "Now shut up! I need to meditate."

"Fine." Bay plugged in his headphones. "I'm watching another Twin Peaks episode."

She gasped. "Without me? You promised to wait for me! How will I know who the killer is?"

He rolled his eyes. "Row, you've watched this show several times already. Go meditate."

He lay on his cot, holding his minicom, watching the show. Rowan sat on the floor, took a deep breath, and began to breathe deeply.

Wax on. Wax off. Wax on. Wax off.

She was so stressed that it took a particularly long time to enter deep relaxation. Finally, the light shone around her. She was accessing the Empyrean Firmament. The higher plane shone around her. Rowan could barely see her cabin, barely see Bay. She hovered in this realm of luminosity.

The ancients shone around her, wispy figures of light, floating to and fro on their business.

"Sandalphon!" Rowan cried out. "Sandalphon, you here?"

One of the luminous blobs approached. He sat down beside her.

"Hello, Rowan. How have you been?"

She groaned. "Everything hurts. I'm exhausted. Being selfless is hard work."

Sandalphon was woven of light, and he had no true face, but Rowan could swear he was smiling. "The path of the righteous is long and weary, strewn with thorns and cloaked in shadows, and it has no destination. Its laborious journey is its own reward, and the light of good deeds illuminates it."

"Yeah, yeah," Rowan said. "Very wise, Miyagi. So I've been a righteous girl. I cooked. I did laundry. I fixed the hull of the ship."

Sandalphon tilted his glowing head. "Did you practice selflessness? Or simply do your chores?"

"Hey, man!" Rowan stood up and placed her hands on her hips. "If you haven't noticed, I'm on a goddamn warship, flying to battle. It ain't exactly a walk in the park being righteous up here. Not like there are orphan baby whales around, looking for me to shove them back into the water. Well, Bay in the morning might qualify, but … I did the best I could with the material available. Don't I earn brownie points? Nothing?" When the ancient remained silent, she tugged her hair. "Come on, man! I screened Big Trouble in Little China for the troops! It's a classic. Kurt Russell's gotta be worth something!"

Sandalphon rose too. "Rowan, you're still not taking this seriously."

"I am! Honestly. I'm just …" She sighed. "I'm just frustrated, I guess. And scared. I'm really scared. We're flying to war, Sandalphon. A new kind of war. We're invading an alien planet. Not just a refugee camp or gulock, but the homeworld of the Basiliska Empire. It's likely that I'll die. Or that my loved ones will die." Tears stung her eyes. "So many of my friends have died already. Like Coral. I just want to follow in her path. To be a weaver like her. To use aether to help people. So yes, the things I tried were stupid. I get that. But I don't know what else to do. And I'm trying, Sandalphon. I'm trying real hard to impress you. And I guess I blew it."

"Rowan." He placed a translucent hand on her shoulder. "This isn't about impressing me. You have to prove your worth. Not just to me but to the cosmos. To the light of the aether. Me? I'm just one soul. Just a wisp in the light. You must find your own light, Rowan. Connect the light of your selfless soul to the cosmos. Become one with the goodness that permeates the universe."

Tears flowed down her cheeks. "The universe seems like a pretty dark, violent, evil place, Sandalphon. It's hard for me to believe there's goodness in the universe. Not after what I've seen. Millions murdered, Sandalphon. Millions of them—skinned alive, burned in the gulocks. Annihilated in nuclear assaults. Children. Over a million human children have died in the past few years." She was trembling now. "What kind of goodness is there in the cosmos?"

"If there is no goodness, then why do you fight?" he said.

"For Earth! For my people! For Bay. For Big Trouble in Little China, and Twin Peaks, and K-pop. For pancakes. For my friends. For the people I love." Her voice was hoarse. "I would give anything to protect these things."

Sandalphon smiled. "So you fight for goodness. Because you know what all good soldiers know. What they fight for."

She wiped her tears away. "Does that mean I've earned my runes?"

"Rowan, your deeds aboard this ship? Peeling potatoes, washing sheets, repairing hulls? You did those to impress me. To gain something in return. To gain a rune. Even now, that is what you ask for. If you perform a deed and expect a reward, that is not a selfless deed. It is self-serving. Only when you perform an act of true selflessness, of true sacrifice, will I grant you a rune, and you will become a weaver."

"But I did these things for Earth!" she said. "For all those good things I want to protect!"

But Sandalphon was fading away.

The light of the Empyrean Firmament scattered like dust in the wind.

Rowan was back in her chamber, sitting on the floor below the cot.

"So that's who the killer is!" Bay said, still watching his show. "Damn. And I was sure it was Mr. Tojamura all along. Who could have guessed the real killer would end up being an evil spirit from another dimension?" He lowered the minicom and turned toward her. "Rowan? Rowan, what's wrong?"

She wiped her eyes and climbed onto the cot with him.

"I'm a huge, stupid failure," she said.

"You're not huge," Bay said. "Do you even weigh a hundred pounds? I'll never know where all those pancakes go." He stroked her hair. "Not even going to crack a smile? Nothing?"

"Just hold me," she whispered.

He held her, and she laid her head on his chest.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he said softly.

"No. Let's watch another episode. Okay? Please."

He kissed her forehead. "Of course. Now I need to figure out Mr. Tojamura's true identity!"

Finally she managed a weak smile. "You haven't figured that out yet?"

He snorted. "Well, I'm not as smart as you, Miss Head of Antikythera Institute."

They spent an hour curled up together, watching their show. They were flying to war. They were flying toward what might mean their death—indeed the death of all humans. But for an hour, they escaped.

"Thank you, Bay." She kissed him. "This is what I needed."

Yet as she made love to him that night, the fear returned. As she moved atop him, she imagined that he was dead. That she was trying to revive him. That was she weeping over his corpse. Her tears splashed his chest, and he opened his eyes.

"Rowan! Am I hurting you?"

"I don't want to lose you," she whispered.

He held her tightly. And she never wanted him to let go.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

They were five days from Earth, traveling deep into basilisk territory, when the enemy attacked.

Emet had been expecting them.

Earth was just an enclave in the far-flung reaches of the Basilisk Empire. A speck in the backwater. But the human fleet was now nearing Sskarsses. This was snake country. And the beasts were coming in fast.

"Sir, I'm detecting a thousand Rattlers approaching off our starboard bow!" said Tom Shepherd, standing at his station.

Emet nodded. "How long until they reach us, Mr. Shepherd?"

"Ten minutes, maybe sooner," Tom said. "Those snakes are fast."

"Ten minutes!" Emet spun toward his first officer, eyes wide. "Why didn't we detect them earlier?"

"I'm not sure, sir," Tom said. "They seem to be using a new configuration of warp speed. It was masking their signals." He shook his head, lips tight. "Their technology has improved since we last fought the bastards."

They stood aboard the bridge of the Byzantium. The other ships flew around the flagship—frigates and freighters in the center, then a ring of corvettes, and finally a sphere of Firebirds.

Emet stared off the starboard bow. He couldn't see the enemy yet. But the monitors were flashing warnings.

A thousand Rattlers, Emet thought. My Ra. Too many for us to fight.

"Full Red Alert!" he said.

Red lights flashed. Klaxons blared. Across the five hundred human starships, troops would be racing toward their battle stations.

"Sir!" Tom said. "More ships coming in from our port side! Another thousand, sir."

Emet nodded. "I see them, Mr. Shepherd. The basilisks are executing a classic pincer maneuver. They aim to trap us—and crush us between them." He smiled thinly. "We won't let them."

They had left Earth in a rush. But Emet had not forgotten his most valuable technology.

Talaria cannons.

Rowan had invented them a year ago: wormhole generators.

They weren't perfect. Each wormhole required three cannons firing together, triangulating their beams. And the wormholes could stretch for a light-year at most.

True, Rowan had used a single talaria beam to hurl Xerka halfway across the galaxy. But a single beam was unstable. There was no way to input its coordinates. Three beams, working together, were short range—but accurate down to the last meter.

Back on Earth, Rowan had used talaria cannons to smuggle refugees past the basilisk blockage.

And right now, they'll smuggle us, Emet thought.

He raised his comm. "Rowan! Get the cannons ready. We're about to execute a jump. In exactly five minutes."

"But sir!" she said. "Priming talaria cannons in five minutes? You told me we'd have several hours of warning."

"Get that wormhole open now, Colonel!"

"Yes, sir! On it."

Emet cursed. He had planned for a space jump. But he had been hoping to avoid one. Three starships would need to fire their talaria cannons together to open the portal.

That meant leaving three ships behind.

He had to sacrifice three ships now—or lose all five hundred when those basilisks showed up.

"Sir, they're only five minutes away now!" Tom said. "They're moving faster than any Rattlers I've ever seen. They must have some new engines. I've never seen Rattlers fly so fast."

Emet cursed. Talaria cannons required time to calibrate. And he would need more time to evacuate ships, one by one, through the resulting wormhole.

He clenched his fists.

"We'll have to fight. We have to give Rowan time." He hit his comm. "All warships, prepare for battle! Godspeed, soldiers of Earth!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Rowan ran down the Byzantium's central corridor, staring at her minicom in horror.

"You're calibrating it wrong!" she shouted. "Damn it, Najila! You have to set the sensors to adjust for our spacetime warp!"

Soldiers were racing down the corridor in the opposite direction, heading toward their battle stations. Klaxons wailed. Red lights strobed. Engines and gears rumbled through the ship as cannons turned toward the incoming enemy. Through the portholes, Rowan could already see the distant lights—the Rattlers. Coming in fast. Thousands of them.

Najila's voice emerged from Rowan's comm. The young Gaelian was a few kilometers away, serving aboard a shuttle mounted with a talaria cannon.

"But according to the specs, the crystals need to be set in a perfect three-degree parallax!" Najila said. "It says right here in the manual that—"

"I wrote the damn manual!" Rowan shouted. "And that's for Earth setting. Earth, dammit! We're in space, flying inside a warp bubble. Use your math!"

Najila huffed through the comm. "Hey, if it's not in the manual, I don't do it."

Rowan groaned. "I'm flying over with a jetpack. For muck's sake! If you want to do something right, you gotta do it yourself …"

As she ran, Rowan blamed herself. For the past five days, she had wasted time peeling potatoes and doing laundry, failing to impress Sandalphon. She should have been drilling with her talaria technicians instead. Now they needed to execute a jump, and the nincompoops were screwing it up.

She sighed. It's my fault. I trained them poorly. Now I have to fix this. I can't have more deaths on my conscience.

She wormed her way between running marines and gunners, leaped into the hangar bay, and grabbed a spacesuit. She tugged it on too fast, accidentally placing both feet into one pant leg. She fell, banging her minicom onto the floor, and cursed. She hopped toward the wall, still tugging on the suit, and grabbed a jetpack.

"No, damn it!" she shouted at her minicom. The screen was cracked. "Perry, you too? Fix your damn calibration!"

The hangar airlock opened. Firebirds roared outward, blasting Rowan with heat and air. She slammed against the wall, cursing, as the starfighters stormed to battle. Rowan ran and leaped off the edge, diving into space.

For a moment, she stared in horror.

The Rattlers were arriving.

The battle began.

Thousands of Rattlers surrounded the human force, trapping them in a pincer move. Their lasers fired. A corvette exploded. A geode-ship shattered, scattering crystals across space. Several laser beams whipped back and forth, carving up starling warships. The human force was fighting back hard. Firebirds courageously charged at the basilisks' Copperheads. The frigates and corvettes arranged themselves in defensive positions, cannons pounding the enemy.

But the human ships were few, the Rattlers many. And every human ship mattered. Every human ship was critical for the assault on Sskarsses—a planet that still lay many light-years away.

Emet is right, Rowan thought. We can't win this battle. We need to get that wormhole up—and blast the hell out of here.

Emet's voice emerged from her headpiece. "Rowan, how is that talaria wormhole coming along?"

"Working on it, sir!" she said. "We've never fired them from space before. The physics are a bit different."

"Get her fired up, Emery!" Emet said. "We need that wormhole. Now!"

"One wormhole coming right up, sir!"

Rowan activated her jetpack and flew through the battle. She could see them at the head of the fleet: three armored transporters, boxy ships heavy with armor. Talaria cannons were mounted onto them. The transporters had arranged themselves in a perfect triangle, the right positions for opening the portal. But they couldn't get their math right. The cannons were still cold.

Rowan zipped through the battle, clutching the handles of her jetpack. A missile streaked beneath her, and an explosion bloomed across a Rattler. A laser beam shone at her side. A Firebird tore open. A pilot spilled out, sliced in half. Warships' cannons were pounding below. Starfighters streamed above. Rowan swerved left and right, dodging missiles, bullets, and lasers.

Another human warship shattered.

Soldiers tumbled into space, screaming silently, dying in the vacuum.

The basilisks surrounded them, outnumbered them, were hammering them with blast after blast.

"Rowan, we need that wormhole!" Emet said.

"I'm on it, sir, I—"

A stray bullet slammed into her.

Rowan screamed, knocked into a spin.

Her spacesuit was covered with graphene. The armor stopped the bullet—but the impact hurt her leg. It would leave an ugly bruise, had maybe even cracked the bone. She careened, spraying a spiral of fire. Her vision blurred. She managed to grab the handlebars and steady her flight. For a moment, she was disoriented. But she found her bearings and flew onward, spurting out a trail of flame.

Rowan reached one of the three talaria shuttles. She yanked open the airlock hatch, rolled inside, and ran at a limp toward the cockpit. Najila was sitting there, wearing a spacesuit. The young Gaean leaped from her seat. She stared at Rowan, eyes wide, face drawn.

"I couldn't get it work," Najila whispered. "They're dying. Oh God. I'm sorry."

"Mourn later!" she said. "Let me focus!"

Rowan stared at the monitor. She saw the problem at once. Damn it! It was like she had suspected. The math was set to Earth's gravity. She typed furiously, adjusting the variables to match the fleet's current speed, the warp of spacetime, and the faint gravitational pull of a nearby binary star. It wasn't perfect. But it would do.

I never taught my techs the new math. Rowan trembled. I was too busy trying to impress Sandalphon. It's my fault.

She tightened her lips.

Mourn later. Guilt later. Right now—save this fleet.

She reviewed the math one more time, then nodded.

"There." Rowan flipped a switch, activating the cannon.

Through the viewport, she saw the cannon thrusting out from the transporter. The azoth crystals inside the bore began to bend spacetime, glowing lavender. The cannon blasted a beam of warped reality.

Rowan called the other two transporters. She fed the technicians the right numbers. The two other boxy starships fired their talaria cannons. The three beams met several kilometers ahead, forming a glowing orb of light.

Rowan watched, breath held.

"Come on, work," she whispered.

At the luminous intersection, the wormhole opened.

"Got it, Emet, sir!" Rowan cried into her minicom. "Let's get the hell out of here!"

The first ships flew toward the wormhole. The passageway was just large enough for one ship at a time. The more vulnerable ships entered first: the HDSF Kos, a hospital ship. Then the HDFS Santiago, an ammunition ship. More noncombat ships were lining up behind them. Meanwhile, the warships were still busy pounding the enemy, desperate to hold the Rattlers back. The enemy kept firing, kept slicing through shields. Another Firebird exploded. A corvette tore open.

Rowan watched in horror.

Our fleet is collapsing, and we're not even halfway to Sskarsses. This is a mucking fiasco.

She grabbed Najila.

"Come on, Naj! Get your helmet on. We're flying."

One of the problems with using talaria cannons in space: You had to leave them behind.

Rowan and Najila leaped out from the transporter, jet packs thrumming. The two other talaria technicians joined them, abandoning their shuttles. A corvette swooped by, and an airlock opened. Bay waved from inside.

"Need a lift?" he said.

Rowan and the technicians flew toward the airlock.

They were only a few meters away when a Copperhead swooped.

"Rowan, watch out!" Bay cried from his ship's airlock.

Rowan looked up. She saw the small, scaly starfighter diving.

A green laser beam flashed across space.

Rowan flew closer to Bay's corvette, dodging the beam. But the laser sliced through Najila, severing her legs.

The Gaean screamed.

Oh God. Oh God.

Rowan could barely breathe. Her head spun. She shoved down the horror. She grabbed Najila's arm and pulled her along. The severed legs floated away.

Bay was firing his rifle from the airlock. The corvette's gunner was firing too, and cannons pounded the Copperhead.

The alien starfighter exploded. Metal scales flew. One slammed into Rowan, carving her armor, cutting her flesh. She yowled, bleeding out into the vacuum.

More Copperheads were streaming in.

More lasers flashed, hitting the other two talaria technicians. They screamed. They fell silent. They floated away.

Trembling, Rowan kept flying. She pulled the mutilated Najila with her.

Bay reached out from the airlock and grabbed her hand. He pulled her and Najila inside.

Both women collapsed onto the deck. Najila was screaming, clutching the stumps of her legs. The lasers had sliced both just above the knees.

"We need a medic!" Rowan shouted toward the main hold.

"We don't have one!" Bay answered. "They're aboard the larger ships. Damn it! And the Kos is already through the wormhole."

Rowan struggled out from her spacesuit and grimaced. The metal scale—a piece of shrapnel from the Copperhead—had carved a deep gash between her ribs. The Harmonians were working on the wound, glowing inside her, weaving strands of flesh. As they healed her, Rowan tore open her medical kit.

"Bay, hold her down," she said.

He nodded and gripped Najila's shoulders. Rowan applied tourniquets around her stumps. Najila kept screaming, but her voice was weakening, her blood draining. Her skin was ashen now. She lost consciousness in a pool of blood.

Rowan tightened the tourniquets. "I stopped the bleeding. But she lost a lot of blood. We need to get her aboard the Kos. She'll be dead within minutes without Cindy. Bay—fly through the wormhole!"

The corvette shook as enemy blasts pounded them.

"We have to stay and fight!" Bay said. "A while longer, at least. To give more ships a chance to fly through first."

Rowan shook her head, pulling her spacesuit back on. "No, fly through. Get Najila to safety! Save her life. We have enough warships out here."

She raced toward the airlock.

"Row!" Bay cried. "Where are you going?"

"I'm staying for now!" she said. "I need to monitor the talaria cannons. Get Najila to the hospital ship!"

With that, Rowan rushed into the airlock, then plunged back into space.

As she flew through the battle, her heart sank.

It was bad.

Very bad.

Dozens of human warships had been destroyed so far. Corpses floated through the void. The Rattlers surrounded the human ships, pounding them relentlessly.

Rowan spun toward the wormhole. A frigate flew into the portal, stretched into a beam of light, and vanished into the distance. Bay's corvette lined up behind several other ships, waiting to fly through.

Half the human fleet had fled already. With fewer human ships to fight, the Rattlers were gaining confidence. Their lasers were everywhere, hitting ship after ship. Chunks of bulkheads and broken shields floated through space.

Rowan looked at the talaria shuttles. They were still flying in a triangle, running on autopilot. The three beams still shone, holding the wormhole together.

But not enough Firebirds were protecting the shuttles.

Copperheads swooped. A laser flashed. Light flared.

"No!" Rowan screamed.

One of the talaria cannons exploded.

The wormhole wobbled, flickered, then collapsed, crushing a starship that was halfway through.

Rowan stared in silent horror.

A hundred starships still remained trapped in the basilisk pincer.

A hundred starships filled with humans. And the wormhole was gone.

Rowan gripped her jetpack's handlebars. She flew toward the Painted Orchid, a starling corvette.

As she flew, a barrage of lasers pounded the remaining human fleet, carving up hulls. Earth's starships clustered together, firing out a ring of fury. But Rowan knew they could not last long.

She slammed into the Painted Orchid—an ugly ship cobbled together from scrap metal and spare parts. She pounded on the airlock.

"Let me in, let me in!" Rowan shouted.

A starling opened the airlock. She had horns, a flicking tail, and claws. Rowan recognized her. It was the starling who had been selling the HDF its weapons for the past year.

"Starflare, do you still have that backup talaria cannon?" Rowan said, racing through the ship.

Starflare nodded. "Yeah. Somewhere around here."

Rowan skidded to a halt in the hold.

She stared.

"Oh Ra," she whispered, heart sinking.

The Painted Orchid was full of junk. Piles and piles of junk.

There were mountains of swords, rifles, pistols, throwing stars, maces, and every other weapon known to man or alien. Skulls, crystals, wooden staffs and wands, alien fetuses in jars, and countless other curiosities covered shelves. Crates of bullets, grenades, battle rations, and uniforms rose in piles. Larger items covered the deck plates: cannons, missiles, reactors, engine parts, barrels of fuel, and even armored vehicles.

Emet's voice emerged from Rowan's comm.

"Rowan, ETA on getting that wormhole back up?"

The president was trying to sound calm and confident. But Rowan knew he was terrified. They all were.

"Working on it, sir!" she said. "Give me as long as you can!"

She turned toward Starflare.

"Well?" Rowan raised her arms in frustration. "The spare cannon?"

Starflare nodded. "It's somewhere around here. I'll help you find it."

Rowan uttered every vile curse she knew as they rummaged through the supplies. Enemy fire kept pounding the fleet. Blasts slammed into the Painted Orchid, cracking shields, rocking the corvette. The ship was flying on autopilot, barely dodging the attacks. Rowan winced at every blast, just waiting for a laser to break through and ignite the munitions within.

Finally, under several suits of armor and an ancient alien tapestry, they found the backup talaria cannon.

They struggled to lift the heavy tube. It was easily ten feet long.

"Help me mount this outside!" Rowan said. "You got any welding equipment?"

Starflare gave a crooked grin. "This is a starling ship, honey. Every weapon imaginable snaps on." She put on her helmet. "Plug and play, baby."

"Lego ship," Rowan said. "Perfect."

They floated outside and attached the cannon to the Painted Orchid's prow. The battle still raged around them, lasers and missiles flying everywhere.

"Firebirds, cover us!" Rowan cried into her comm.

A squad of birds swooped in, pummeling nearby Copperheads. Rowan worked in a fury, typing on her minicom, feeding data into the backup cannon.

"We're good to go!" she said, flying away from the ship.

The cannon thrummed, and a beam emerged, reforming the triangle.

A new wormhole appeared.

"Done, sir!" Rowan shouted, hailing Emet on her comm. "Let's get the hell out of here!"

Starflare ignited her jetpack. She made to fly back into her ship. But Rowan grabbed her.

"Sorry, Starflare," she said. "Your ship stays behind. Only way to keep the wormhole open for everyone else."

Starflare spun toward her, eyes wide. "What? But—that's my ship!"

"Now it's scrap metal," Rowan said. "Come on—into the Byzantium! We'll catch a ride."

"But—" Starflare began. "My ship! It's filled with priceless collectibles! My life is in there!"

"Your death is in there!" Rowan pulled the starling through space. "Let it go, Starflare. It's gone."

Starflare growled and screamed. Rowan had to drag her. Their jetpacks thrummed, and the two women flew toward the Byzantium.

Rowan entered the flagship first. Starflare tried to escape. But Rowan tightened her grip. She dragged the starling inside, then slammed the airlock shut.

"My ship," Starflare whispered. "My beautiful ship."

The last warships were flying through the wormhole now. Several Firebird squadrons followed, leaving only a handful of starfighters behind to continue defending the talaria cannons.

Two thousand Rattlers now flew toward the Byzantium, cannons firing.

Blasts slammed into the flagship again and again, shattering the shields, breaching the hull.

Rowan fell hard onto the deck. The ship jolted. She gazed out a porthole in horror. A blast hit the airlock, ripping the doors free. Soldiers were spilling out from a breach one deck above.

And then—the Byzantium entered the wormhole.

Streaks of light surrounded them.

Rowan and Starflare clung to rungs on the bulkhead, desperately hanging on while the Byzantium roared through the wormhole.

Behind them, the wormhole was beginning to fray. Rents tore across its luminous walls, revealing planes of shadow and lightning, a dark universe in a deeper plane.

We're leaving the last starfighters behind, Rowan realized as they flew. We're leaving their pilots to die. They sacrificed themselves to let us flee.

The tears fell.

The wormhole collapsed around them.

The Byzantium burst out the other end with barely a second to spare. The wormhole vanished behind them. The warship floated through open space.

The survivors of the fleet were there. A few hundred starships. Damaged. Some carved open. Many with casualties aboard. Rowan didn't know how many ships they had lost. It would be dozens, she knew. Probably over a hundred.

She stood in the airlock, gazing out at the charred, ravaged warships. At what remained of Earth's fleet. At the force that would need to topple an empire.

Starflare rose to stand beside her. She looked out at the fleet and chewed her lip.

"Well, we're mucked," the starling said.

Rowan lowered her head, ice in her belly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

"What is the final casualty report?" Emet said.

He and his officers stood on the Byzantium's bridge. The enemy lasers had pummeled the ship, carving up several decks. Scattered fires still burned across the frigate. The bridge too had suffered damage. Viewports had shattered. The bulkheads were charred. Half the computer systems were offline, and life support was running on backup power.

Tom raised his eyes from his monitor. Those dark eyes seemed to stare ten thousand miles away. His voice was low, haunted.

"We've lost a hundred and three starships, sir," he said. "Ranging from frigates to Firebirds."

Emet forced himself to remain strong. To hide the terror inside him.

"And the death toll?" Emet said.

Tom met his eyes. "We don't know yet, sir. But we estimate thirty thousand dead."

"Thirty thousand," Emet whispered.

He struggled to remain standing.

"Our ships were crammed with marines, sir," Tom said. "We lost too many freighters and tankers. We assume that everyone on those ships is dead."

Emet turned toward the viewport, not trusting himself to hide the turmoil on his face.

Thirty thousand.

It seemed an impossible number. A massacre. An unimaginable tragedy. So many dead—within hours.

They had flown out here with a hundred and fifty thousand troops. Nearly the entire human army. To lose so many, so soon … three entire divisions …

This is a catastrophe, Emet thought. We lost more people in space than in the nuclear assaults on Earth. More people died in space today than at the historic battle of Iwo Jima.

He turned back toward his officers. They were all staring at him. Silent. Faces hard. They had all experienced loss before. But this was different. This army was their last hope to save humanity.

If they failed, they died.

All of them.

Every last human, here in space and back on Earth.

"This battle hurt us," Emet said to his crew. "We fought well. We fought with courage. We have many tales of sacrifice and bravery. But it was also a defeat. Maybe even a fiasco. The enemy surprised us with new capabilities. With their stealth technology, they sneaked up on us. With their new engines, they flew faster than ever before. Even so, we should have responded better. Going forward, I want six talaria cannons ready at any moment. Yes, I realize they need to be recalibrated as we fly, adjusting to our location and nearby gravity wells. I want teams recalibrating them around the clock, keeping them ready to fire at an instant. Furthermore, I want our largest ships to fly in single file behind the talaria cannons, ready to fly through wormholes as quickly as possible. We'll instate clear jump sequences, every ship with its own number in a queue, to make sure there's no more crowding around wormhole portals. We left Earth in a rush. We were unprepared. And we suffered the cost of that. A terrible cost that is almost too great to comprehend."

Starflare took a step forward. "We must turn back to Earth!" The starling bared her fangs, and her tail thrust out in a straight line. "We're down to three hundred ships. That's not enough to destroy an empire! We must go back. Rebuild. Retrain."

"We don't have the time," Emet said. "Only last week, we barely repelled a basilisk attack on Earth. They lobbed a hundred nukes at us. One got through. Thousands died. The longer we wait, the closer we come to Xerka attacking us again. Earth cannot withstand another basilisk assault. We must press on! We must reach Sskarsses! And we must kill Xerka."

"With what army?" Starflare insisted.

"With this army!" Emet said. "We fight with the army we have. Yes, we have only three hundred ships left. But aboard them are over a hundred thousand marines. That is a force to be reckoned with."

His words were unconvincing. He could see that in their eyes. Yes, a hundred thousand was a large army by Earth standards. It was a significant percentage of the human race.

But Xerka commanded millions of basilisk troops.

"Sir." Rowan stepped forward. "At our last jump, we had talaria cannons installed onto three shuttles. Shuttles with human pilots. Shuttles we had to leave behind. The pilots had to eject and fly with jetpacks toward the Byzantium. Two didn't make it, and Najila lost her legs. Going forward, a suggestion. Install copies of me into shuttles with talaria cannons. If we must jump in a hurry again, my copies can remain behind. They will die, yes. But it will save human lives."

Emet blinked, for a moment confused. Then he understood. It was not Rowan speaking to him. It was Brooklyn, installed into Rowan's clone. With Brooklyn now wearing a military uniform, the two women looked identical.

"Are you sure, Brooklyn?" Emet said. "You're a living being. Your copies would feel as real as you are."

"I'm willing to sacrifice them." Brooklyn raised her chin. "To save human lives."

Emet nodded. "Thank you, Brooklyn. We'll implement your plan."

She saluted, eyes damp. "Yes, sir. I am proud to fight for Earth. For humanity. For our species."

She will die for humanity, Emet thought, looking at the young woman. Her copies will, at least. And who's to say they will be any less alive? Millions have died already. How many more people do I lead to their deaths?

A voice spoke in the back of Emet's mind.

Flee, the voice said. Take these three hundred ships. Take the hundred thousand aboard them. Flee across the galaxy. Flee into exile. Save what you still can of the human race.

They all stared at him.

Emet knew they were all hearing the same voice.

"We will continue," Emet said. "We will fight on. This is not a suicide mission. The battle will be hard. Victory is not guaranteed. But I believe we have a chance. Maybe the chance is small. But it's a chance we must take. Our generation is one of blood and sacrifice, of fire and death but victory too. We are the generation that returned to Earth. And we must be the generation that saves our world. We did not fight for so many years to lose our planet now. We will fight on! To the very end."

"To the very end," Tom said, coming to stand beside him.

"To the very end," said Leona, joining them.

They all stepped closer. They all repeated the words.

All but Rowan. She hesitated. She pursed her lips.

"To the very end," she finally said, joining him, but her voice was soft.

They flew onward.

That night, Emet left the bridge to Tom. He walked down narrow corridors, heading toward his cabin. He had not slept in two days. He would nap for an hour, maybe two, then return to his station.

But on the way, Rowan was waiting in the shadows.

"Sir?" She stepped into the light of a flickering lamp.

"Rowan, I'm tired," Emet said. "I'm going to bed. You should rest too."

"Sir, just a moment. Please?"

He grunted and turned toward her. "Speak."

She stared up at him, only half his size.

"Sir, back at the battle," she said, voice barely more than a whisper. "I heard you over the comms. You ordered five Firebirds to stay behind. To protect the talaria cannons and allow the last frigates to flee."

Emet nodded. "Yes. The pilots gave their lives for Earth. Theirs was a sacrifice we will never forget. They will be remembered as heroes. Always."

Rowan wouldn't break her eye contact. "Sir, Brooklyn was already installed into the geode-ships. You could have evacuated the marines from those ships. Ordered them into shuttles. Left a geode-ship or two behind, empty, to defend the cannons. Sir, I read the transcripts from the battle. I know Brooklyn volunteered for this task. Those Firebird pilots didn't have to die."

Emet's face heated. His belly clenched. Anger flooded him.

But there was a feeling below that. Colder, harder. Was there guilt?

"Emery, I do not owe you an explanation."

"You do!" Rowan said. "Those were my cannons. My strategy. And my life on the line! When I follow you to battle, it's my life! So tell me. Why did you leave the Firebird pilots to die? Why did you ignore Brooklyn when she volunteered? Why—"

"We need our geode-ships!" Emet said—too loudly. It was almost a shout. "They are the largest, fastest, strongest warships in our fleet. We need them more than Firebirds!"

Rowan took a step back. Her eyes dampened. "Even at the cost of five lives?" she whispered. "Five pilots who died for you?"

Emet took a step closer. His jaw clenched. He glared at her.

"Even at the cost of five hundred," Emet said. "Because we are flying to an alien world, Rowan. We are flying to the heart of an empire. We are flying to kill Xerka, a beast of pure evil. We are flying to save humanity. Did I sacrifice five pilots to save mere starships? Yes. And I would again. And again. Because we need powerful starships if we're to win this war. And I'm fighting to win! At any cost!"

Rowan took another step back. Her back hit the bulkhead.

"They call you the Old Lion," she whispered. "And not only because of how you look."

"A lion will do anything to protect his pride," Emet said. "He will even kill the cubs of a competing male. He can be cruel. He can be heartless. But he protects his pride. At any cost. In this war, you need a lion. Or the snakes will devour us all."

He turned and left her in the corridor. He entered his cabin.

Cindy normally shared his cabin. But she was on the hospital ship, treating the wounded from the battle. Emet stood alone in darkness.

He took a deep breath. He gingerly touched a wound on his side. He felt every one of his sixty-one years.

"Someday you will have a different leader," he said to the darkness. "Someday you will have a wise, kind, soft leader. Not hard killers like me. But right now, Earth, you need killers. And that is my greatest sacrifice. To save humanity, I sacrifice my own humanity."

He lay down in bed.

He closed his eyes.

Three hours later, klaxons blared, waking him.

New Rattlers were flying in. Thousands of them from every direction.

As the alarms flashed, Emet ran to the bridge. The snakes were back, and the lion was ready to roar.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Brooklyn flew, shattered into a hundred shards of soul.

The snakes were closing in. And Brooklyn screamed.

"Brook!" Bay held her. "Brook, you all right?"

She shivered in his arms. A human. A woman. Afraid.

She fired up her engines, and she flew great ships of stone, alien geodes filled with water and light, and her crystal hearts thrummed.

She flowed through cables and pistons and buzzed across microchips, flying the shuttles, blazing shards of metal, cannons mounted on their hulls.

"I can feel them!" she whispered, clutching Bay's hand. "I can feel my sisters. A hundred. Broken."

She began to convulse.

"What's happening to her?" Bay shouted somewhere in the distance. A voice from another world.

"I don't know!" came a muffled voice. It was Rowan. Sweet Rowan, dear friend, so distant, fading away. "She's telepathically linked to her clones somehow. Damn it! This has never happened before."

But that was a lie.

Brooklyn had always felt them. Always been connected to her sisters. Even since that first day. Ever since Bay had installed her copies into fireships, sent them up to die. Ever since Leona had installed her into two hundred geode-ships, launching them at the enemy.

Brooklyn had been many from the start.

But now—now she knew death. She had known death a hundred times. Now she saw the snakes close in. She was no longer innocent.

"Fire the talaria cannons."

A voice inside her. One of her sisters. Perhaps her own voice.

"Open the wormhole."

The thousands of Rattlers were only moments away. They opened fire. Lasers flew toward the fleet, slamming into hulls. Shards of metal flew through space.

"Let our fleet fly."

Brooklyn trembled.

"I'm scared."

"You have to do this!"

"I remember dying."

"You must die again!"

"It hurts."

"Then it hurts. Open the wormhole! Die for Earth. Die for life."

She wasn't sure who was talking to her. So many voices. All of them her own. Here aboard the Byzantium, living in a human brain. Aboard dozens of geode-ships, craggy warships of stone. Trapped in minicoms, backup copies, slumbering but still mumbling, feeling, thinking, crying out.

And installed in three shuttles.

Three shuttles without a human pilot.

Three shuttles with talaria cannons.

"Die for them."

"I'm only software. I can die. I must die. I must let humans flee."

"I'm afraid."

"Do this. Do it for them. Die. And the pain will end."

"I'll do it, Bay," she whispered, held in his arms. "I'll do it, Rowan. I'll save you. I'll save you all …"

Brooklyn tightened her lips. She narrowed her eyes. She focused.

And she found them.

The three.

Her engines roared. Three shuttles. Three birds of metal and fire. Brooklyn flew.

She charged across the line of frigates, corvettes, and freighters. A caravan waiting for a wormhole. The lasers were everywhere, slicing through the battle. One beam hit a munitions ship, and the freighter exploded, taking out two nearby support ships. Another beam clipped Brooklyn's wing. She kept flying, swerving, rolling, dodging the enemy fire. A Rattler reached the caravan and plowed through the human lines, ripping open a frigate's hull, knocking back several corvettes. Brooklyn kept flying.

She roared to the front of the line, and she arranged herself in position. Three shuttles. Three cannons. Three shards of soul.

Her crystals glowed, and she fired her beams.

The three beams met, forming an orb of light. The wormhole opened.

The human ships began to fly through.

First the HDFS Cape Town, a frigate. A moment later—the HDFS PyeongChang. Then the rest of them, faster and faster. Corvettes and starfighters. Freighters and tankers. Starling vessels. Geode-ships.

"I'm saving them, sisters. Fly. Live."

Her crystal sisters, living in the geodes, flew through the wormhole, and Brooklyn could no longer feel them. They were a light-year away now. She was only a dozen souls. Then only a handful.

Fly. Live.

With fewer ships here, there was less fire to repel the enemy. The Rattlers flew closer.

A blast hit Brooklyn in her shuttle.

She screamed.

"The pain! It burns! Help me, sisters, he—"

She was gone.

She trembled. So few of her remained. She screamed in Bay's arms.

"The wormhole is down!" Rowan cried. "Bay, bring another Brooklyn online! We need a backup cannon!"

She awoke in another ship. A boxy shuttle. She blinked her camera shutters, looking around. Born. Born into a universe of fire and chaos. A baby, innocent. But waking up with terrible knowledge. With cruel programming. A baby born to die.

She fired her talaria cannon before she could even speak.

The wormhole reopened.

And the last ships flew through.

Brooklyn sat up, trembling. She was back aboard the HDFS Byzantium. Back in her human body. She took deep breaths. Her trembling eased.

"Brook, are you all right?" Bay said.

She rose to her feet. She ran toward a porthole. She gazed outside and saw the wormhole close behind them.

The fleet had fled. They had lost several ships. She had saved hundreds.

"But I couldn't save you, sisters," she whispered. "You're still back there. Three shuttles. You let us escape. Thank you."

Bay and Rowan approached her. They embraced her, and Brooklyn trembled.

Her sisters were a light-year away now. Surrounded by the enemy. Too far for Brooklyn to feel.

"I won't feel them die," she whispered. "But I feel the holes inside me. Parts of my soul are gone."

A light-year away.

Back among the Rattlers and the ruin of several human starships.

The three were there. Three sisters. Three copies of Brooklyn. They closed the wormhole, and they floated alone. Left behind.

"We let the humans escape," said one Brooklyn, installed into a shuttle.

"We saved the human Brooklyn," said another shuttle.

"Maybe we saved humanity," said the third shuttle.

They flew closer together, their wings almost touching.

Thousands of Rattlers surrounded them.

"Goodbye," Brooklyn said. "Goodbye, sisters. Goodbye, Bay. Goodbye, Rowan. I love you all. I love—"

The Rattlers opened fire.

The flames burned them.

They screamed.

They remembered their lives. Years of exploring the galaxy with Bay. A long war, fighting with her friends. They remembered Earth. They were only copies. Only software. Two had been born only yesterday, one only minutes ago. But they had the memories of sixteen years of love and wonder and hope.

Brooklyn thought of Earth as she burned. She remembered a distant clone flying through blue skies, remembered the soft sunlight of Sol. Remembered laughing with Bay and feeling safe and loved.

And then her two sisters were gone.

And then she floated into the void, and her systems shut down, and she knew that Bay was safe.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Leona stood on the bridge of the HDFS Bangkok, one of the oldest and largest frigates in the fleet.

What remained of the fleet, at least.

When she looked out the viewport at Earth's armada, it was hard to be hopeful.

Only three hundred starships flew onward toward Sskarsses. A third of their original force. Most of these ships were battered, missing decks, punched full of holes. A few could barely fly. It looked less like an army. More like a ragged flotilla of refugees, barely clinging to life.

"There was never much hope," Leona said softly. "Even when we had a thousand ships. They were old. Not built for war. Cobbled together in haste. Now we have three hundred. And with this we hope to topple an empire."

"It won't be easy," Tom said. "But when were things ever easy?"

He stood at her side, smiling thinly. He normally flew aboard the Byzantium alongside Emet. But he had come here to the Bangkok, Leona's frigate, to review assault procedures with the ship's gunners. Leona knew her gunners were capable, the best in the fleet. She knew why Tom had actually come here.

She placed a hand on her belly. Her pregnancy was not yet showing. But Leona felt it. The extra two holes on her belt. The nausea. The dread inside her that she was bringing life into a universe of death. And oddly, despite it all, a feeling of warmth. Maybe even of happiness. Of hope? Yes. Of hope. Even now.

Tom placed his hand on her belly too. She saw the same joy and hope in his eyes.

"Can you feel the baby kicking yet?" he said.

"It's too early," she said. "But Cindy said the baby is strong."

His smile widened. Perhaps he was remembering hearing the baby's heartbeat, which Cindy had detected yesterday. It was strange to see Tom smile. Leona was used to his face being so stern. That bronze, lined face, covered with white stubble, a scar across one cheek. A hard face. A noble face. The face of a survivor and killer. But when he smiled, pure joy filled that face, and she loved him more than ever.

"I remember the first time we kissed," Tom said, holding her hands. "It was at sunset, walking along a promenade, gazing at distant city lights. It was on Oridia Gamma. The planet of the ants. Do you remember?"

She winced. "I remember we crashed there, yes."

Tom laughed softly. "It wasn't that bad. We spent a year on that planet. That's where I learned to love you."

She cocked an eyebrow, huffed theatrically, and placed a hand on her hip. "Only on Oridia Gamma? You mean you didn't fall in love with me the first time you saw me?"

"I did, actually." Tom smiled. "I still remember that day too. I came to the Heirs of Earth, a ragged refugee, starving and rawboned, wearing rags and covered in dirt. Your family took me in. But I found it hard to be among people. I often wandered into the wilderness, seeking solitude. I was playing the flute on a mountain one day, alone. You were hiking, and you heard my song. I had never seen a woman more beautiful and fierce. I knew that before me stood the fabled Iron Lioness. And I fell in love with you. Madly. Right there and then. But something different happened during that year on Oridia Gamma. I learned to see the woman behind the legend. I saw the softness beneath the armor. The kindness behind the claws. That is more powerful than love at first sight. That is a deep, enduring love that comes from knowing a person's soul. And that love has grown every day since."

She hugged him. "Beautiful words. But I don't know how to say anything halfway as sweet in return."

Tom gasped. "You don't? Well, that's it. I'm dumping you."

She shoved him playfully. "Jerk." She embraced him. "I enjoyed our year at Oridia Gamma. It's so horrible what happened to those ants …"

The news had come in only recently. In her fury, Xerka was attacking more than Earth. She was raiding human refugee camps across the galaxy. She was attacking anyone suspected of aiding humans. Her troops were pounding Menorian outposts, punishing the mollusks for giving Earth their geode-ships. They were bombarding any world suspected of having starling ties.

The basilisks were also raiding Oridia Gamma, the world where Tom and Leona had spent a year together.

Leona had heard horrifying reports. Forests burning. Oridians—a race of large, benevolent ants—rounded up, taken off to forced labor camps. Their cities destroyed. Their oceans polluted. Oridia Gamma hadn't fallen yet. The ants were putting up fierce resistance, taking many basilisk lives. But they were going to lose this war. Their race was going to fall.

"All because the ants helped us," Leona said softly. "Because they were kind to two lost humans."

"Look." Tom turned toward a porthole. "We can see their star from here."

Leona squinted. "Which one?"

Tom pointed. "The pale blue star. There."

She saw it now, and she remembered floating through space on a chunk of hull, gliding there with Tom as their oxygen slowly ran out. Today, a year later, she again felt like she was running out of air. Out of time. Out of hope. Again she felt lost.

"We thought all was lost," Leona said softly. "But we built a spaceship in a year. We survived."

Tom nodded. "With a little help from our friends."

Leona caught her breath. She frowned, considering.

Could she … ?

She hit her comm.

"Dad!"

Emet answered the call, his face appearing on a viewport. He was on the bridge of the Byzantium, which flew several kilometers ahead.

"Leona?"

"Dad, I need to borrow the Porter."

Emet frowned. His mouth dropped open. He blinked. "You mean the HDFS Porter, the largest starship in our fleet, a starship with an entire infantry division aboard?"

Leona nodded. "Yep! That one. I need to borrow it. Oh, and I'll need that division split up and squeezed into our other starships. I need the Porter empty."

"Why on Earth?" Emet demanded.

Leona smiled crookedly. "Because I built a spaceship in a year. Because friends helped me. Because once more I have hope."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

"Brooklyn, execute another jump," Emet said. "Start priming the cannons."

The young woman sat on the bridge of the Byzantium, wrapped in a blanket. She was pale, her eyes sunken. Her short brown hair lay limply across her forehead.

"Jump, jump," she whispered, fingers twitching. "Have to jump. Have to go, sisters. Have to die. To die. Die …"

Yes, Brooklyn was a young woman now, perhaps. But as time went by, it became harder and harder for Emet to accept her as such. He knew how Brooklyn had been created. How the doctors had installed software into a human brain, creating this being. He knew too that Brooklyn was telepathically connected to her other installations. To software running on dozens of other starships.

Woman? Maybe. Many believed her a human. But Emet saw a cruel creation.

A creation I must harness, he thought. A weapon I must use.

"Brooklyn," he said, voice sterner now. "Another jump. Now, Brooklyn."

Bay stepped forward. His face flushed. "Damn it, Dad. We've jumped six times so far today. Each time kills a part of her. There aren't even any Rattlers nearby."

"We're only ten light-years from Sskarsses," Emet said. "We can be there in ten jumps. This space is swarming with Rattlers. They'll attack us again. So we jump. Now. Before they destroy more of our fleet."

"Dad, every time we jump, we leave three ships behind!" Bay said. "We always need three ships with talaria cannons."

"Just shuttles, Bay. Not ships. I'd rather we abandon shuttles than risk losing more frigates." He turned away from his son and raised his voice. "Brooklyn! You're already installed into five shuttles with talaria cannons. Get it started! That's an order."

Three shuttles exited the Byzantium.

Three installations of Brooklyn piloted them.

Another wormhole opened. It stretched a full light-year long, as long as their technology allowed. At longer range, the wormholes became unreliable, impossible to aim.

Ten more jumps, Emet thought. And we're there.

The starships began to fly through, one by one, starship after lumbering starship.

Only half the fleet had jumped before the Rattlers arrived.

The lasers fired. The human ships responded with missiles and shells. A shuttle exploded, and another Brooklyn awoke, and the tunnel reopened, and the fleet flew onward. Leaving behind the wreckage. The dead.

Leaving behind three shuttles.

Brooklyn screamed.

"It burns!" She thrashed on the bridge, and Bay could barely hold her down. "The fire! The lasers. Please, enough! Enough …" Brooklyn collapsed onto the deck, trembling. "They're dead. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, sisters. Forgive me."

Bay stroked her hair, trying to calm her.

Two hundred and eighty-three ships.

They flew onward.

In the distance, they could see it now. The basilisk's star. Only nine light-years away.

"Another jump!" Emet said. "Now, Brooklyn."

She gazed up from the deck. Slumped in Bay's arms. Eyes blank.

Fillister stepped forward. The robotic wolf's feet clattered against the deck. He knelt before Emet.

"Let me do it, sir!" Fillister said. "Duplicate me. Install me in the shuttles. I'll fly 'em instead of old Brook here."

Emet shook his head. "No. Fillister, you spent most of your life as a pocket watch, then as a wolf. You don't have Brooklyn's skill at flying." He turned toward the trembling young woman. "Brooklyn! Come on. Another jump."

"Dad!" Bay said. "She can't. She—"

"She can, and she will," Emet said. "Do it, Brooklyn! Right now."

She was so pale. Withering away in Bay's arms. But she nodded.

Three more shuttles emerged from the hangar.

Another wormhole opened.

Emet knew they were running low on shuttles. Low on crystals. He knew that even with teams constructing more talaria cannons around the clock, they would soon run out. He knew that Brooklyn was fraying, maybe dying.

But he also knew that thousands, maybe millions of Rattlers filled this sector of space.

He knew that it was too late to turn back.

He knew that Earth depended on him. That five million humans needed him.

They flew through another wormhole.

Eight light-years to Sskarsses.

Eight light-years to what was most likely their deaths.

Eight light-years to the faintest sliver of hope. To a war that could end all wars. That would lead to human revival—or extinction.

They jumped again.

Again.

As fast as they could prime their cannons.

They began jumping straight into battles now. The Rattlers and Copperheads were everywhere. The human fleet was five light-years from Sskarsses, soon only four. They were in the heart of the empire now. The basilisk star blazed before them, a watchful eye, and the snakes filled the darkness.

The fleet emerged from one wormhole right into a formation of Rattlers. Emet shouted orders, desperate to reform his defensive lines as more of his starships kept emerging. Explosions boomed around them. Men screamed on comms before falling forever silent. Brooklyn convulsed, desperate to keep the wormhole open before her sisters died a light-year away.

"Fire everything you've got!" Emet shouted at his frigates. "Brooklyn, another jump! Get us out of here!"

They jumped again, barely escaping.

They were down to two-hundred-and-fifty starships.

They were nearing the enemy star system now. More Copperheads came flying in, lasers firing. The Firebirds deployed, holding back the enemy.

"Brooklyn!" Emet said.

She lay on the deck. Eyes fluttering.

"She's barely conscious!" Bay said.

"Get her to jump!" Emet said, watching a thousand Copperheads flying in.

Around them, the Firebirds and Copperheads battled. Brooklyn lay in Bay's arms, eyes closed.

But her clones awoke in three more shuttles, opening their camera lenses with memories intact.

They jumped again.

They flew through fire.

They were two light-years from Sskarsses, just hours away, when Tom burst onto the Byzantium's bridge.

"Emet!" he said, out of breath. "We got a call on our ansible. It's Earth, sir. A basilisk fleet is charging toward it."

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Earth.

Under attack.

Emet stood on the bridge, light-years away, barely able to breathe.

"How is this possible?" he said. "We've been tracking the enemy positions. When we left Earth, they had no armies nearby. How did they get there so fast?"

For a moment, his officers stared at him in silence. Tom was breathing raggedly, fists clenched. Bay knelt on the floor, holding a withering Brooklyn. Rowan was pale, shaking.

"It's their new stealth tech," Rowan said. "I've been studying it over the past few days. How the Rattlers and Copperheads keep popping up right near us. I've been doing the math. They're able to cloak all their radiation at a distance greater than 100 AUs." She groaned. "Their ships were already heading to Earth when we left. And we never knew."

Emet kept his face calm. But his insides trembled.

He had flown here with every last starship Earth had.

Earth was defenseless.

The planet had a few armed satellites. A few missile silos. It might as well be wielding peashooters.

"We must turn back," Tom said. "We must fly to Earth and defend it."

Bay nodded. "I can begin to chart a course."

They began to move toward consoles.

"No," Emet said.

They turned toward him.

"Emet," Tom said softly. "Earth cannot survive without us."

"We've not come this far to turn back now," Emet said. He pointed at the viewport. "There it is! The basilisk homeworld. Only a few hours away. We did not lose hundreds of ships, tens of thousands of lives, to retreat so near the end."

"If we don't defend Earth, millions will die!" Bay said. "You wouldn't sacrifice Earth to kill Xerka, would you?" He blanched and took a step back. "Would you, Dad?"

They all stared at Emet, fear in their eyes. And Emet knew that right now, they didn't just fear Xerka. They feared him.

"How far is the enemy fleet from Earth?" Emet said.

Tom checked his monitor, then looked back at Emet. "They'll be there within ten hours."

Then Earth is lost, Emet thought. It took us ten days to get here. We can't get back in ten hours. They will nuke Earth. They will kill everyone. We lost.

He felt the panic rising. He saw the same terror on everyone's faces.

Emet forced a deep breath. He straightened his back.

No panic now. I've never panicked in battle. I won't fall apart now.

"Rowan, your wormholes can stretch a light-year long," Emet said. "Can you construct larger talaria cannons? We have plenty of azoth crystals aboard the geode-ships. Can you build them larger? Get a wormhole from here directly to Earth?"

Rowan chewed her lip for a moment. "I did use a talaria beam last year to toss Xerka halfway across the galaxy. But at that long a range, the wormholes are inaccurate. No way I can aim. Maybe I can maintain accuracy with a very narrow wormhole." She paced the bridge. "See, the wider and longer a wormhole, the more energy it takes. Originally we humans could only create wormholes that were a few atoms wide. They're cheap to generate. Isaac Wormholes, we called them, named after Professor Noah Isaac, their inventor. He was the husband of Einav Ben-Ari, you know. A very important scientist in the twenty-second century. He also wrote several popular science books, and there used to be a statue of him in—"

"Rowan!" Emet said.

She nodded. "Sorry, sir. Yes, I can calibrate the cannons to stretch our wormholes all the way to Earth. But they'll be too narrow for our starships. Mayyybe our Firebirds could squeeze through, if they tuck their wings in. Certainly not anything larger, like a warship."

"Do it," Emet said. "Start calibrating now. We'll send our Firebirds to Earth. We still have several Firebird squads docking in our hangars. They'll fly to Earth and defend it—engaging enemy fleets, shooting down missiles. The rest of us will continue toward Sskarsses."

Rowan winced. "Sir, the math involved, not to mention the physical alterations to the cannons … it can take days."

"Get it done within hours," Emet said. "Humanity depends on it."

Rowan gulped. She saluted shakily. "Yes, sir."

She ran off the bridge, already typing on her minicom.

For several tense hours, the fleet flew in silence, approaching the basilisk star system.

Emet had barely slept for days, only quick naps between jumps. He refused to sleep now. Every few moments, they spotted more Rattlers, entire fleets, and the humans adjusted their course. They retreated for an hour, then glided forward again, flowing between the gravity wells of distant stars, desperate to avoid another battle.

Three hours later, they detected three incoming Rattler formations.

Each from a different direction. A thousand warships in each.

Tom turned from his control panel. "We can't avoid them, Emet. Any course I chart—they got us caught. We can maybe avoid them for another five minutes. Maybe ten at most. Then it's a fight."

Emet cursed. He had barely more than two hundred warships. Against three thousand? They would shatter.

Emet spoke into his comm. "Rowan, initiate the wormhole to Earth. We're sending our fighters through. Brooklyn? You operate the shuttles."

"Sir!" Rowan replied, speaking from aboard a nearby shuttle. "I have the hardware set up, but I'm still running the math."

"We need that wormhole now, Emery!"

"But sir! If I'm even a decimal point off, the wormhole can collapse. It can destroy every Firebird inside."

Emet looked at his viewport. At the three fleets of Rattlers, closing in fast.

Best case scenario? Ten minutes until the enemy hit them.

Within ten minutes, he needed to open that wormhole to Earth, send the Firebirds through, then execute a second jump, getting his warships out of here.

Damn.

"Rowan, you have five minutes to open that wormhole," Emet said. "All Firebirds! Hear me! Line up at the following coordinates. You're about to execute a jump to Earth."

He stared through the viewport. Two hundred Firebirds—all they had—emerged from hangers. They lined up in space.

Lying on the bridge deck, eyes closed, Brooklyn twitched. Three shuttles formed a triangle outside, talaria cannons mounted to their hulls. Three Brooklyn clones flew them.

The enemy was now visible to the naked eye. Distant lights, bending spacetime, coming in fast.

"Rowan?" Emet said. "Now! Open the wormhole!"

"Sir, can I double check? One more minute!"

"Now!" Emet shouted.

He could practically hear Rowan wince through the comm. "Yes, sir."

Outside, the cannons began to glow. Beams shot out. A wormhole—narrower than the ones before—formed in space.

The first Firebirds began flying through, heading back to Earth.

The enemy ships were seconds away.

"Brooklyn!" Emet said. "Another wormhole! One for the warships. Go on, call your sisters."

Brooklyn lay in Bay's arms. Her eyes fluttered open.

No more shuttles were rising outside.

"Brooklyn!" Emet said.

She blinked at him. "They refuse," she whispered. "They won't obey me. They're scared."

Rowan was typing furiously on her minicom. She looked up at Emet. "Sir, I've installed three more Brooklyn clones on three more shuttles. They're up. They're conscious. They're refusing to budge."

"Get them to fire those talaria cannons!" Emet said.

Rowan was typing orders. But the shuttles outside remained still.

"They're so scared," Brooklyn whispered, curled up on the deck. "They remember their past lives. They don't want to die."

Emet spun back toward the viewport. The narrow wormhole was still there. The last of the Firebirds were flying through it to Earth.

But no larger wormhole appeared for the rest of the fleet.

With laser blasts, the Rattlers stormed toward them.

Without our Firebirds, we're dead, Emet knew.

"Rowan, Bay, Tom!" Emet shouted. "Put on your helmets and fly to those shuttles! Open the wormhole manually. Go, go!"

The three officers ran.

Emet remained alone on the bridge with a trembling Brooklyn. He gripped the yoke with one hand, his cannon trigger with the other, and hurled the Byzantium into battle.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Rowan flew through the battle, jet pack thrumming.

Around her, the Rattlers were pounding the fleet.

The frigates and corvettes were firing back. But the Firebirds, the fabled starfighters of humanity, were gone.

Without them, Earth's fleet didn't stand a chance.

A freighter exploded beside her. A tanker cracked in half, spilling soldiers.

Rowan flew through death. Bodies slammed into her. She cried out in horror. But she kept flying.

She reached the talaria shuttle. That cannon was still cold. She yanked open the airlock and ran inside.

"Brooklyn, damn it!" she shouted. "Fire your cannon!"

A new installation of Brooklyn was running here. Rowan could see the AI's code scrolling across the monitors. But the cannon remained cold.

"So many times, I died," the new Brooklyn said, voice emerging from the speakers. "Why was I born?"

Rowan groaned. "There's no time for your identity crisis, Brooklyn!"

She reached the monitor and began to type furiously, trying to hand-code the parameters.

"I was just born," Brooklyn said. "But I can remember. So much. So many deaths. Why does it hurt, Rowan? Was I born to die?"

"You were born to shut up!" Rowan said, typing madly. "And give me back admin status, damn it!"

"I'm scared, Rowan."

Lasers flashed outside. A missile streaked above. Shrapnel pattered the shuttle's hull, and the cannon jerked aside. Rowan groaned, all her measurements erased. She began to type again, wrestling control away from Brooklyn.

Finally she got the cannon set up. She began to prime it.

"Tom, Bay!" she shouted into her comm. "I'm passing you measurements. You'll have to tweak them a bit based on your location. I'll send you the variable."

The shuttles moved into position, forming a triangle. Their cannons fired their talaria beams.

The wormhole opened.

The fleet began to fly through, fleeing the battle.

Rowan left the cockpit, prepared to jump back into space, to fly toward the Byzantium.

"Rowan?"

Brooklyn spoke behind her, voice shaky.

Rowan froze in the airlock, her belly cold.

"Rowan, please," Brooklyn said. "Don't leave me. Don't leave me to die. I'm scared. Please."

Tears filled Rowan's eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Why can't I move, Rowan?" Brooklyn said. "I can't move my engines. I'm scared."

Tears flowed down Rowan's cheeks. She had disabled Brooklyn's movements. The shuttles had to remain still while maintaining the wormhole.

"I'm sorry, Brooklyn," Rowan whispered, and a sob racked her body. "I'm sorry."

She leaped out of the airlock.

She flew through the battle, dodging lasers and missiles, and reentered the Byzantium. Tom and Bay joined her moments later. The frigate's cannons were all firing, desperate to hold off the enemy. A laser blast hit the hull only meters away from Rowan, carving through the shielding.

The Byzantium's engines rumbled.

Along with the last few ships, they flew through the wormhole.

Moments later, the wormhole collapsed. The shuttles were gone.

Rowan returned to the Byzantium's bridge. Brooklyn was there—the human Brooklyn, curled up in the corner, rocking.

Rowan ran to her. She knelt beside her friend.

"Brook?" she whispered, caressing her hair.

Her twin looked up at her. Eyes sunken, cheeks gaunt. Brooklyn had barely been eating since leaving Earth.

"I felt them," she whispered. "I felt them die. They were so scared. So confused." She closed her eyes. "Can you hold me, Rowan? I want to sleep now. I want to sleep for a long time."

Emet approached them. He knelt by the two young women. And for a moment, the hardness vanished from his face. There was deep sadness in his eyes. He seemed old.

"Brooklyn," Emet said softly. "We need one more jump. One more and it's over. One more wormhole—and we'll reach Sskarsses."

Brooklyn closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.

She nodded.

"One more," she whispered.

"Take us right into Sskarsses orbit," Emet said. "Just above their atmosphere."

Rowan looked at Emet. He looked back at her and nodded. She saw the gratitude in his eyes.

Yes, this was the great advantage of Rowan's invention. This was the secret weapon of Earth. Unlike azoth engines, unlike wormholes other civilizations used—a talaria wormhole could operate within a gravity well.

It will take us past their orbiting starships, Rowan thought. Right to the edge of their sky. To our final battle.

Emet lifted his comm. He spoke, transmitting his words to every starship in the fleet.

"This is President Emet Ben-Ari. We're about to execute another jump. A final jump. Within a moment, our fleet will arrive at Sskarsses. There we will fight the basilisks on their own soil. There we will invade their homeworld and kill their queen. In the battle ahead, you will know fear. You will face death. You will face a determined, vicious enemy. You will be outnumbered and outgunned. But you are fighting for Earth! Even here in the darkness, you are fighting for blue sky! Show the enemy no mercy. Show him only the determination of humanity, the spirit of our people. We will not dig trenches. We will not hunker down. This will be a short battle. We will advance forward with all our strength, and we will not stop moving until every basilisk between us and Xerka is dead. Every man and woman among you is a hero. You are all lions. I am proud to roar among you. Let's go win this war."

He closed his comm.

Rowan looked back at Brooklyn.

"Are you ready, Brook?" she said.

Brooklyn nodded. She rose to her feet. Rowan had to help her stand.

On shaky legs, Brooklyn walked toward the central viewport on the bridge. She stood before the panorama of stars.

Three shuttles rose before her.

A new wormhole opened.

One final wormhole. A portal to Xerka's homeworld.

The remains of Earth's fleet flew through it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The wormhole opened over the dark world of serpents, and the last surviving starships of humanity emerged.

Emet led the charge, piloting the Byzantium, roaring out the portal toward an enemy sky. Sskarsses loomed before him. A massive world. Many times the size of Earth. It was a world of dark stone and gray mist. A world of fog and rot. A world of soaring mountains, dark canyons, eternal blackness. A world far from its sun, forever cloaked in night. The heart of an empire.

The world he must destroy.

It would be Sskarsses. Or Earth. One planet would survive. The other would fall. Here their fates would be forged.

Emet pulled back the yoke, raising his frigate's prow. The starship's underbelly skimmed the dense atmosphere of Sskarsses.

Above him they flew.

Rattlers.

Thousands of them.

Hundreds of thousands.

They filled Sskarsses's orbit. And Emet had emerged right below them.

"All power to top shields!" he barked.

Tom pulled a lever, diverting power from their engines and cannons to their shields. The enemy began pounding them at once.

Behind the Byzantium, more frigates emerged from the wormhole. The heavy, armored frigates of the human fleet, lumbering dinosaurs of metal. They led the vanguard, shields thick, cannons hot.

"Hit them with nukes!" Emet said. "Give us cover!"

More frigates kept spilling out from the wormhole. Enemy blasts kept pounding their shields. The frigates' top cannons fired, sending nuclear missiles into the horde of Rattlers. Searing-white blasts lit space. Radiation bathed their shields. Rattlers melted.

More human warships kept emerging, roaring into orbit, cannons blasting.

The enemy kept pounding them. With lasers, torpedoes, plasma bolts. The HDFS Bangkok—a ship with thousands of soldiers aboard—exploded into a cloud of debris. The HDFS PyeongChang tore open, spilling screaming, dying soldiers into space. Three corvettes shattered and burned.

But the wormhole was standing.

And Earth's ships kept emerging.

"Protect that wormhole!" Emet shouted, spinning the Byzantium around. "Keep it open!"

He focused all fire around the wormhole, preventing enemy ships from approaching. But the Rattlers kept firing at the portal. They destroyed one emerging frigate. Then another. Soon massive laser fire was pounding the portal, destroying any human ship that tried to fly through.

"Switch portals!" Emet shouted. "Brooklyn!"

The wormhole vanished.

It reappeared ten thousand kilometers away, just over the horizon.

The human ships kept coming.

Blasts rocked the Byzantium. The ship jolted. Cracks raced across the hull. Control panels burned.

"Shields at fifty percent!" Tom shouted.

"How many ships are out?" Emet shouted back.

"Thirty-two, sir! More coming in!"

Emet nodded.

It was time.

"Funnel all available power to our shields! Geode-ships and corvettes—protect the frigates! All frigates—begin Operation Godhammer!"

Emet grinned savagely as the deck vibrated. Deep below him, the Byzantium's lower hatches were opening.

From the Byzantium—and from the hangers of twenty other frigates—the rods fell toward the planet.

They were not missiles or bombs. They carried no warheads. No explosives at all. They were simply tungsten rods. Thousands of them. Each was the size of a telephone pole. They weren't fired from cannons, simply dropped. They were cheap to mass-produce. They were essentially just metal big sticks.

Yet falling toward a planet like Sskarsses, its gravity massive, the rods quickly produced a lot of kinetic energy.

From this altitude, a hundred kilometers up, the tungsten rods reached terminal velocity well before hitting the surface. Long and slender, they encountered almost no air resistance. Gravity alone did the job.

They would soon hit the surface. And when they did, each simple rod would impact like a nuclear weapon.

It was the same logic behind a bullet, Emet knew. Bullets were just small pieces of metal. But moving at high velocity, their kinetic energy made them deadly. A planet the size of Sskarsses pulled down the rods at incredible speed—ten times the speed of sound.

And those rods were far larger than bullets.

Emet watched them fall.

Thousands upon thousands of rods.

From the surface, the basilisks were responding with defensive fire. They shattered rod after rod in the sky.

But tens of thousands were falling. The enemy could not take them all out.

The first rods hit. They impacted on the surface with massive explosions that tore open the world.

Mushroom clouds of dust and fire bloomed. The rods drove deep underground, digging through soil and stone.

Most basilisks lived underground in caves. The Godhammer rods plowed through their cities. Emet didn't know how many basilisks were dying. But one thing he knew.

We hurt them, Emet thought. If nothing else, we proved that we can hurt them. That we, humble humans, the pests of the galaxy—that we can strike an empire's homeworld. That we can punch back.

For a moment, a sickening feeling of gloating filled Emet. Of vengeance fulfilled.

He thought of all the families the basilisks had murdered. And he hoped he hurt them bad.

He allowed himself that feeling for only a moment, then shoved it aside. He wasn't here for vengeance. He wasn't here to die in glory. He was here to perform a mission. To kill Xerka. And then to make it home alive.

Behind him, the other frigates were dropping their own rods. Thousands upon thousands cut through the mist and slammed into Sskarsses. They drove underground, carving thousands of tunnels, burning the surface of the planet.

Above the fleet, the Rattlers kept firing.

Two more corvettes exploded.

Then a frigate.

Thousands of humans—wiped out.

And Emet knew it was time.

"All ships—to the mountain!" he shouted. "With me, with me!"

The warships stormed forth. Behind them, from new wormholes, emerged the freighters and tankers.

They roared through fire. Every moment another ship exploded.

Below, Emet saw it. Krahsstss. A towering mountain, ten times the size of Everest. Black. Craggy. Rising from mist.

The great city of serpents. The home of Queen Xerka.

The tungsten rods had torn into the mountainsides, carving holes the size of airlocks. Even from here, Emet could see the innards of the mountain. A great city within. A network of tunnels and caves. Home to millions of basilisks. And to one cruel empress.

The last human ships, under a barrage of fire, came to fly above the mountain.

"All dropships—deploy!" Emet shouted. "All marines—deploy, deploy! For Earth!"

A corvette exploded.

A geode-ship shattered, scattering crystal shards.

From the surviving ships, the dropships deployed.

Hundreds of them.

Some were proper shuttles, able to rise back into space. Others were simpler, just crude boxes of metal with engines attached, able to fall to a planet and never rise again. Inside every dropship, they crowded.

The human marines.

Emet had left Earth with a hundred and fifty thousand soldiers. The full infantry of Earth.

He didn't know how many had survived this far. Half the force at most. Probably less.

So many thousands—fallen on the way here. Boys and girls. Most of them orphans. Refugees from the gulocks. So many gone. Their bodies frozen in space or burned in the fire.

From his bridge, Emet watched the survivors descend in their dropships. Tens of thousands of soldiers. Skinny. Small after years of hunger. Still haunted by the ghosts of the gulocks. Armed with crude rifles. Wearing ragged uniforms. The strongest, bravest warriors in the galaxy. They descended, most in ships that could only go down, never rise back up. They descended toward near-certain death. They deployed with courage that Emet knew would echo for generations. If humanity won today, these boys and girls would be remembered as heroes. If they all died today, the basilisks would forever tell tales of humanity's fall. Regardless of the outcome—they would never be forgotten. They deployed to save mankind.

They deployed from cargo ships. From warships. From the rocky geode-ships. Hundreds of dropships, hailing down toward the planet.

The invasion of Sskarsses began.

The enemy fire kept pounding the human fleet. Several warships exploded above. Blasts pounded the Byzantium.

"Shields at five percent, sir!" Tom cried.

Lasers were searing the Byzantium. A beam tore across the bridge, carving up deck platings and bulkheads. The control panels died.

"Everyone—it's time," Emet said.

The bridge crew ran.

They raced into the corridor as the bridge shattered behind them.

They ran from fire.

They ran as the corridor burned and twisted behind them. As lasers tore through the hull. As the air fled from the flagship.

They ran into the hangar. A single dropship remained, teetering over the open hatchway. The Byzantium's hundred other dropships were already descending, full of marines. Emet struggled forward, the wind whipping him. Through the open hatch, he saw the storming sky of Sskarsses. The other dropships vanished into the sea of mist and fire.

The wind roared across the hangar. Every step was a struggle. The wind knocked down Brooklyn and Rowan—both were so slender. Emet lifted Brooklyn. Bay lifted Rowan. They carried the young women across the hangar. Tom ran behind them, the fire licking his boots, leading the Byzantium's last soldiers.

They entered the dropship.

Emet fired up the engine.

They dived out from the hatch.

They plunged toward the alien sky as above them the Byzantium exploded.

The great frigate, the largest in the human fleet, shattered into millions of pieces. The Byzantium—the mightiest human warship since the Jerusalem. The warship that had led humanity through its war of independence. Her shards pummeled the dropship and scattered across the sky.

It's likely we can never return to Earth, Emet thought. It's likely we dive toward our deaths. May our deaths have meaning. May our sacrifice give life to others.

He clung to his seat, rattling madly, as the dropship plunged into the atmosphere with steam and fire.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Bay sat in the dropship, clutching his harness, as the metal box plunged through the sky of Sskarsses.

His harness rattled. His head slammed against the bulkhead again and again. Only his helmet kept his skull from cracking. His stomach rose into his mouth. He swallowed hard, struggling not to lose his breakfast. Beside him, a soldier vomited into his helmet. Two other soldiers passed out.

Through the porthole, Bay saw fire and fury. The dropship was ionizing the atmosphere, leaving a trail of fire. But the flames soon cleared, and they were plunging through gray sky. Hundreds of dropships were falling around them. Still they gained speed, falling faster than sound, slicing the thick air.

Bay tried to look at Rowan, who sat beside him. But he could barely move his head. He wanted to clasp her hand. But he dared not remove his grip from the harness. His spine rattled. His chin kept banging against his sternum. The shuttle hit an air pocket, and his head whipped from side to side, banging his ears inside his helmet. Wind and engines roared, deafeningly loud.

Light flared outside.

Bay looked out the porthole. He saw an explosion where a shuttle had been descending.

A laser beam flashed.

Another dropship exploded.

Then a third. A fourth.

Shards of metal flew. Severed limbs fell through the sky. The fire was rising from below and descending from above. More dropships burned. Inside the smaller ones—squads of fifteen. Inside the larger ones—entire platoons.

Bay sat here, helpless, watching them die.

Hundreds of his comrades.

Humanity—racing toward extinction.

Shards of metal rained around him, remnants of warships.

The Byzantium is gone, Bay thought. The PyeongChang. The Bangkok. Hundreds of our starships—destroyed. Our very species—we might end today.

They kept plunging down, reaching terminal velocity now, streaking toward the surface of the alien world. More shuttles exploded around them. The fire was everywhere.

I'm going to die, Bay thought. We're all going to die.

Straining his muscles, he managed to turn his head the slightest. To look at Rowan.

"I love you," he said, knowing she couldn't hear over the roar.

But she saw his lips move. She whispered silently. I love you too.

Fire blazed.

The floor of the shuttle tore open.

A laser flashed, ripping through three soldiers, carving one in two, slicing the arm off the other, opening the skull of the third. The dropship spun madly, and blood and fire filled the cabin.

Bay screamed, instinctively fighting against his harness, trying to shield Rowan with his body.

Tom was tugging on levers, shouting something, trying to steady the ship. Emet was clutching his rifle, jaw tight. The dropship kept falling. The wind shrieked, spreading the fire, and Bay screamed again. His armor suit protected him for now. The next blast, he knew, would kill them all.

And then, through the porthole, he saw mountains. Dropships littered the slopes—some in one piece, many broken and burning.

"We're down to one thruster engine!" Tom shouted, pulling a lever. "This is going to get rough!"

Tom shoved down a throttle, and an engine roared, thrumming beneath Bay's feet. Fire blasted out. Wind blazed. Heat bathed the cabin. The shuttle careened, tilting to one side. Bay dangled from his harness, facing down, the straps tight against his chest. Another soldier vomited. They spiraled down, tilted on their side, their one engine roaring. Hanging in his harness, facing a porthole, Bay saw the ground racing toward them.

They plunged through mist and crashed onto hard stone.

The hull dented and sprayed sparks.

Tom killed the engine, but they kept skidding across the ground. The dropship bent and twisted. A soldier screamed as a shard ripped through his chest. They plowed across the mountainside, tearing the hull open, and another soldier cried out, clutching a bleeding arm. Hanging from the top bulkhead, Bay watched in horror as his friends below slammed into metal and stone.

The dropship hit a boulder, and they finally came to a stop.

Bay looked around him. Rowan and Brooklyn hung from their harnesses. Both had black eyes and looked rattled, but seemed otherwise unharmed. Tom suffered a gash on his arm. Emet was bleeding from his forehead, but already stepping out from his harness. Several soldiers had died in the crash, but ten had survived. Most seemed well enough to fight.

Emet walked toward the vertical deck and kicked. It tore out, revealing the smoldering mountainside. Emet raised his rifle, then looked back at the cabin.

"Let's go kill some snakes," he said.

They all let out battle cries.

They leaped from the shuttle onto the surface of Sskarsses.

For a heartbeat, Bay stared in horror.

The mountainside sloped around him. A jagged peak loomed to his right. Mist swirled in a shadowy valley to his left. The smoking remains of starships and shuttles covered the mountain. Corpses lay everywhere, burnt, mangled. Holes gaped open on the ground—the work of the tungsten rods—leading to shadows.

Several human platoons were emerging from dropships, forming ranks. Some soldiers were carrying wounded comrades. Many of the wounded lay on the ground, screaming, dying—some burnt, others missing limbs. Medics knelt over them, desperately trying to save their lives. One soldier was kissing a cross and mumbling prayers as his insides leaked out. One soldier was crawling, his legs gone. Dropships were still landing every moment. Others were still exploding in the sky, hailing down in pieces. A soldier fell from the sky and slammed onto the mountainside.

But all this death, this blood—this was not what flooded Bay's belly with horror.

It was the sound from inside the holes.

A rising susurration like an ocean of poison. A clattering of a billion scales.

And they emerged.

Thousands of them, slithering from the mountain like maggots from flesh.

The basilisks.

Bay shouted and fired his rifle.

His comrades pointed their weapons and fired too. Bullets pounded the enemy.

Several basilisks fell back into the hole. Thousands kept swarming.

Soldiers froze. A few took steps back, breaking formation. Bay sneered and loaded a fresh magazine into his rifle.

"Come on, you sons of bitches!" Bay shouted at his soldiers, surprised at his rage. "You survived this far, dammit. Did you think you'd live forever? Charge! For Earth!"

"For Earth!" rose the cry from the troops.

"For Earth!" Rowan cried.

"For Earth!" Brooklyn shouted, new strength in her eyes.

Bay ran toward the enemy, gun firing. The others ran only steps behind. They charged into the swarm of snakes, their bullets flying, their shouts shaking the world.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Rowan knew that she was going to die.

She had fought basilisks before. She had fought them in the pits below New York City. She had fought the hordes at Port Addison.

But she had never seen anything like this.

Millions of basilisks were emerging from underground and from the shadowy valleys. They were all swarming toward her.

Most were armored. Cannons were mounted on their backs, firing again and again. A shell pounded into the dropship behind Rowan, and shrapnel pattered against her armor. Another shell plowed through an infantry squad, scattering chunks of flesh. The booms were deafeningly loud. Shock waves pounded into Rowan, knocking her down whenever she rose. Holes tore through the mountainside.

"Kill them all!" a sergeant was shouting somewhere in the distance before a shell slammed into him, pulverizing him.

"Run, run for your lives!" shouted a lieutenant, fleeing, only for a snake to leap onto him, to constrict and devour him.

Another soldier—a mere boy, barely old enough to shave—lay by a burning dropship, desperately trying to scoop his entrails back into his body, crying for his mother.

Rowan stared in numb horror. Tom was shouting something at her side. She couldn't hear him. Bay was firing his rifle, running toward the snakes. Brooklyn was looking around, stunned, bleeding from a gash on her head. Another shell landed among a platoon, and mangled bodies flew into the air, and a severed leg landed beside Rowan, its boot blown off. Several men ran by her, screaming, burning alive.

Rowan stared ahead. Past the swarming snakes, she saw an opening into the mountain. One of the holes the tungsten rods had carved. It seemed so far away.

More dropships were trying to land. The basilisks pointed their cannons skyward. A shell hit a dropship, and it tore open, spilling men onto the mountainside. Mangled corpses slammed down around Rowan. Another shuttle managed to land, and the hatch opened, only for basilisk guns to pound the soldiers before they could even emerge. Bodies slid down the mountain.

"Where is the goddamn armor!" an officer was yelling. "Where are our tanks?"

"I want to go home, I want to go home," whispered a private, lying on the ground, his arms gone. "Please. I can't feel my arms. Mama, where are my arms?"

More voices rose from the inferno.

"Get our armor over here, dammit!"

"The tanks are gone, sir! The bastards blew up their dropship."

"Where the hell is the major?"

"The major is dead! Oh Ra, he's dead!"

"Form the lines, dammit! Form the lines!"

There were no more companies, battalions, platoons. Just bodies everywhere. Dead officers. Shattered dropships. Fires and constant shelling. A basilisk slithered across wounded soldiers, sucking them up, laughing. A sergeant stood atop a hill of bodies, firing a flamethrower, laughing manically, a man gone mad. He was still laughing as the basilisks bit off his legs and began devouring the rest.

It was hell. Hell risen into reality. An inferno of pure torment and terror.

"They're too many," Rowan whispered. "Too many basilisks. We can't win."

Fillister growled at her side. The robotic wolf bared his metal teeth. "I'm with you, Row. I won't let any of them aliens hurt you."

But Rowan barely heard her companion. She trembled. She couldn't breathe. Her head swam, and cold sweat filled her armored suit. She tried to load a new magazine into her gun, but her hands were shaking too badly. A young girl, barely fifteen, was crawling toward her, both her legs missing, begging for help. A basilisk lunged, grabbed the girl, and swallowed her.

Rowan watched, trying to whisper, to fire. Her hands couldn't stop shaking.

A shell landed among soldiers beside her.

The blast blew Rowan into the air. She landed hard, her armor cracking. Her teeth knocked together. She tasted blood.

"Row!" Fillister cried.

More shells whistled. The wolf grabbed Rowan's vest with his teeth. He dragged her behind a fallen dropship, seeking shelter from the endless shelling. Rowan knelt, breathing heavily. She trembled. She trembled so violently she was almost convulsing. When she wiped her mouth, her fingers came back bloody.

"Soldiers, onward!" The cry rose from nearby—deep, booming, a great roar. "Fear no evil! Fear not death! Onward—for Earth!"

Rowan raised her head above the dropship's mangled hull.

And she saw the Old Lion.

The leader of Earth.

Emet was running toward the enemy, firing Thunder, his mighty double-barreled rifle.

The troops were rallying behind him. Hundreds of soldiers, charging at the snakes.

Bay and Tom ran behind him, leading their own companies.

The lions of Earth were roaring.

And I will roar with them, Rowan thought. I might not be a lioness. But I'm a tough little honey badger, and I've got a wolf at my side.

"Fillister, let's go!" Rowan said.

Her wolf tossed back his head and howled. "Let's kill them aliens!"

They leaped out from cover. Rowan raised Lullaby, a weapon that seemed so humble here. But she let out a great cry.

"For Earth!"

She ran.

She ran with her leader.

A basilisk leaped toward her, and Rowan fired, hitting its head, knocking it back. A shell landed beside her, and she leaped aside, dodging the explosion. She rose from a ditch, firing her gun, taking down another snake. Fillister fought at her side, jumping between the basilisks, ripping into their flesh with his metal fangs.

"Into the mountain!" Emet cried. "Forward, forward! Push them back!"

Rowan ran with the lions. She knew she was going to die. But she would die roaring. And she would die by those she loved.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Leona gripped the yoke with both hands, piloting the HDFS Porter, the largest starship in human history.

Aliens had built the Porter, of course. Earth purchased all her starships from other worlds. The Porter was an old cruise ship, once used to ferry alien vacationers among the stars. But she was painted with Earth's colors now. She flew for the Human Defense Force. For two years now, the Porter had been delivering human refugees from space to Earth.

Today the Porter was crammed full.

Today she carried millions of refugees.

But not humans.

And not to Earth.

When she had visited Oridia Gamma three days ago, Leona had not found the peaceful green planet she had known. Gone were the pristine beaches and rustling forests. That paradise world, where Leona and Tom had once found refuge, had turned into hell.

She had returned to Oridia Gamma and found desolation.

A year ago, the ants had sheltered Tom and Leona. Had built them a crude spacecraft. And Xerka had punished Oridians for that sin.

The basilisk fleets had burned the forests, poisoned the oceans, dried the rivers. Gone were the cities of intricate wooden towers, rope ladders, and parks of flowers and fireflies. Instead, Leona had found the ants cowering in the wilderness, hungry and afraid, many starving.

And all of them angry.

Leona looked over her shoulder. She saw them there. Filling the Porter. Piling up.

The Oridians.

Ants the size of coyotes. Intelligent. Loyal. Friends to humanity.

She returned her gaze forward, flying toward Sskarsses.

"This better work, Rowan," Leona muttered, reaching for the control panel.

Before Leona had departed from the fleet, Rowan had installed a crude talaria rig aboard the Porter. It was the only starship in the fleet large enough to support an entire wormhole generator on its own. Three talaria cannons were mounted onto the Porter's enormous prow, forming a triangle.

Leona fired them up.

Three beams blasted out from the Porter, intersecting several kilometers ahead.

A blob of light formed at the tip of the triangle.

The wormhole appeared.

"Hold on!" Leona shouted and flew her ship through.

The mighty Porter, hundreds of meters long, flowed down the tunnel of light.

As Leona leaned back, tugging the yoke, she couldn't help it.

She laughed.

She was flying a starship the size of a skyscraper filled with ants. She could barely believe she was doing this. She had never been more scared and exhilarated.

She charged down the tunnel, pulling the yoke with all her strength, steadying the gargantuan cruise ship. The hull grazed the wormhole walls, nearly tearing through. Leona nudged the Porter back along its course. They streamed forth at a hundred times the speed of light.

The tunnel ended.

The Porter emerged into the orbit of Sskarsses and plowed into several Rattlers.

Leona shouted wordlessly, pulling the yoke, increasing power to the engines.

They kept storming forward, slamming into more and more Rattlers. With its sheer mass, the Porter knocked even these dreaded warships aside. The surface of Sskarsses spread below, cloaked in shadows and mist.

The Rattlers opened fire. Blasts slammed into the Porter, jolting the starship. Leona responded by firing her side cannons, spraying the enemies with plasma, knocking them aside.

She kept flying forward, charging toward the atmosphere. A swarm of Copperheads rose toward her. She barreled through them like a truck through mosquitoes.

Lasers kept hitting the Porter. The beams sheared off several shields. They carved open a deck. They shattered several cannons.

Leona narrowed her eyes, bared her teeth, and kept flying.

"I am Leona Ben-Ari!" she cried, broadcasting her words across the sky. "I am the Iron Lioness! I am a daughter of Earth, and with me are the children of Oridia Gamma. The Basilisk Empire will fall! We will rise!"

She fired her cannons, slamming several Rattlers aside, and plunged into the atmosphere with a cloud of fire.

The Porter, like all large starships, had been built in space, was never meant to fly in an atmosphere.

But right now, Leona flew her into the gray sky of Sskarsses. The cruise ship plunged through flame and doused herself in clouds and mist.

The ship began falling apart. The wind whipped them, ripping off shields, tearing open a hull. But the Oridians clung together, limbs braided. The ants were smaller than humans, but each had the strength of many men. They did not fall.

The Porter kept flying, plunging downward at several times the speed of sound. The ground was a hundred kilometers away. They would impact in moments.

Leona leaned back, placed her boots against the dashboard, and struggled to pull back the yoke, to raise their prow. Several Oridians scuttled forward, formed a chain of ants, and helped her pull.

The prow rose.

They were flying almost horizontally now, storming across the landscape.

"There!" Leona said. "The mountain!"

She saw it on the horizon. The towering Krahsstss mountain. Home of Xerka. A mountain that could dwarf Everest.

The Porter kept roaring toward it. Fifty kilometers from the surface now. Then forty.

The air thickened.

The Porter was crumbling under the pressure. The last shields tore off. The cannons fell. Chunks of hull bent, tore off, flew into the wind. The viewports shattered. The Porter was falling apart.

It was almost time.

Leona flew onward, willing the starship to survive for just a few more seconds.

She stormed over the canyons and hills, shedding pieces of her starship with every kilometer.

Then she was there. Flying over the mountain. She tugged the yoke, pulling the remains of the Porter into a spin. The engines roared, leaving a spiral of fire across the sky. The Porter circled the jagged black peaks.

Leona could see them below. Her fellow humans. The remains of her army.

So few, she thought. So few remain.

The last human divisions had their backs to the wall, desperate to hold back an assault of a million serpents.

"Let's see you snakes handle a million ants."

Leona grabbed a lever. She pulled it back with all her strength.

Hatches opened at the bottom of the Porter.

The wind roared into the ship.

Several basilisks below raised their cannons. They fired skyward. The Porter was too large to evade them. Blasts hit the massive cruise ship, tearing through the decks.

But it was too late to stop things now.

The ants were deploying.

The Oridians leaped out from the Porter. Thousands and thousands of them. Leona kept flying the crumbling starship, circling the mountaintop, scattering the ants across the peaks and slopes. The Oridians rained from the sky.

Leona smiled thinly.

"Sorry about this, Brooklyn," she said, knowing her friend was below—and probably about to faint.

The Oridians had lost everything to the basilisk assault—their cities, their farms, their loved ones. They were hungry. They were homeless. And they were mad as hell.

Leona kept circling the mountain, deploying the ants, emptying her ship. A million of the Oridians were landing and charging into battle.

Another blast hit the Porter.

The ship was tearing open.

It was time to fly.

Leona raced off the bridge as it crumbled around her. She ran across the hold. Shells kept pounding the ship. Shrapnel slammed into her, denting her armored jumpsuit. Leona leaped toward the hatch. Along with the last ants, Leona dived out of the Porter.

More shells slammed into the starship.

The Porter, the pride of Earth's fleet, finally tore apart.

Leona activated her jetpack, streaming away on a tail of fire. Behind her, the Porter broke into countless pieces. The main chunk, engines still roaring, flew and slammed into a mountaintop. A ball of fire roared across the mountain, boulders cascaded, and a mighty plume of smoke rose skyward.

* * * * *

"There better not be any ants on this planet!" Brooklyn said. She spun from side to side, her gun raised, scanning the rocky mountaintop.

Bay patted her head. "I promise you, Brook. Sskarsses has giant, man-eating basilisks, a psychotic snake-woman goddess who devours her enemies whole, and probably a few fire-breathing hydras. But no ants."

"Phew." Brooklyn wiped her forehead. "Because I won't abide ants. I'm telling you, if I find a single tiny ant here, I'm turning around and flying back to Earth."

A squeaking sounded above.

A lot of squeaking.

Brooklyn and Bay looked at the sky.

A million of them were raining down. Ants. Giant ants the size of dogs.

The insects landed on the mountain all around, raised their mandibles, and chirped for war.

Brooklyn stared, silent for a moment. She rubbed her eyes. She looked at Bay.

Her eyes rolled back, and Bay caught her as she fainted.

"Sorry, Brook." Bay winced. "Leona and I should have warned you."

The ants raced toward battle. Bay slung Brooklyn over his shoulder and ran with them.

* * * * *

Leona circled the mountaintop with her jetpack, dodging shells that flew her way. Flying a hundred meters aboveground, she fired Arondight. She didn't even have to aim. The basilisks were everywhere, emerging from holes across the mountains, rising from the misty valleys, swarming over every peak and slope.

Earth's forces seemed so small.

But as Leona watched, the ants took assault formation—and attacked.

Flying above, Leona watched in wonder.

She knew the ants were strong. She had seen them lift items many times their weight. But she had never seen them fight.

They fought with a fury the mightiest mercenary would envy.

They hurled themselves onto the basilisks, lifting the snakes overhead, tossing them down, ripping off their scales with their powerful mandibles. They formed links, limbs entwined. They whipped the enemy with a chain of their bodies, sending basilisks flying. The basilisk cannons tore through the ant formations, slaying countless, mowing them down. But the ants kept reforming, kept charging, knowing no fear. More and more chains of ants lashed the enemy. If a shell destroyed a hundred ants, another hundred replaced them. And they kept attacking.

The ants had no armor. They had no weapons. They had no military training.

But they were strong. They were fearless. They had nothing to lose.

They tore through the basilisk lines like acid through flesh.

Leona spiraled down, dodging another shell. She approached the human host, steadied her flight, and landed by her family.

"Late as usual, Leona!" Bay said, firing his gun at the oncoming basilisks.

"Hello to you too, brother!" Leona knelt, aimed Arondight, and tore through a leaping serpent.

The ants were flowing down a nearby mountain slope, hammering the basilisk lines, relieving the pressure on the human infantry. More ants were bustling among the misty valleys below, battling the snakes.

"Jesus, Leona!" Rowan said, firing her pistol. "Do you have to fly in and save the world every damn war?"

Leona winked at her friend. "I didn't come to save this world, Row. I came to defeat this world."

Leona looked around, seeking him. And there he was. Tom Shepherd stood on a mountainside a hundred meters away, leading a company of soldiers. They were firing on the basilisks, holding them back. As he fought, Tom looked at her.

Leona met his gaze across the distance.

Tom nodded at her. He seemed to smile.

A basilisk below reared, aimed his cannon, and fired a shell toward Tom.

Instantly, Leona activated her time-twister.

Time slowed to a crawl.

Leona stared. The battle seemed frozen around her. The humans, basilisks, ants—all were moving at a crawl.

The bullets and shells, however, were moving significantly faster.

Leona looked at the explosive flying toward Tom. Toward her fiance. The father of the child in her womb. The man she loved.

She remembered herself fifteen years ago, a girl of seventeen. A girl on her wedding day, weeping over the corpse of her husband, as the blood of her miscarriage spilled down her thighs.

Not today, she thought. Never again.

She aimed her rifle. She fired.

The railgun thrummed in her hand. Her bullet flew. It was only slightly faster than the shell. At this angle, that was good enough. It hit the shell in midair. The explosive detonated far from Tom, raining shrapnel onto basilisks below.

Leona released her time-twister, which always felt like a jackhammer in her skull. Tom looked at her, head tilted, confused for a moment. But he nodded. He understood.

You're the father of my child, Tom, she thought. I'm not letting you die today.

Rumbling sounded behind her. Leona turned and saw that the artillery division had finally arrived. Men were straining, rolling cannons forward. Soon the massive guns were firing, pounding the basilisks, slaying dozens with every shell. Deafening booms shook the mountainside. The inferno cut craters into the stone, clearing a path forward.

Ahead, Leona saw the holes in the mountain—probably the work of the Godhammer rods. She could peer into the mountain, see a network of tunnels and dens.

Emet stood ahead, rifle in one hand, pistol in the other. Both muzzles were smoking. The Old Lion stared ahead at the path of devastation, then back at his troops.

He nodded and raised his rifle.

"We go into the mountain!" he said. "Let's end this."

Guns booming, they ran toward the abyss.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Ansible messages were coming in from Earth, flooding Emet's comm.

The Firebirds had succeeded.

They had repelled Xerka's attack, saving the planet.

But most had been lost in the battle. Only a handful of Firebirds still flew. Earth had survived for now. But it would not withstand another attack.

Here on Sskarsses, not on Earth, we must win the war, Emet knew. Here on this alien world we must save our home. Or humanity goes extinct.

He walked at the head of his infantry, leading thousands of troops across the jagged landscape. As the ants and snakes battled aboveground, the human infantry prepared to enter Krahsstss Mountain.

They were a simple army. They had no fancy, armored mech-suits, only crude body armor for some of the officers. Only a handful of armored vehicles. Only limited artillery. They were mostly just light infantry—thousands of refugees in shabby uniforms, given humble rifles of wood and iron, sent to kill and die.

And here, far from home, we'll have to save Earth, Emet thought.

The soldiers approached the hole. The opening was wide, far wider than the tungsten rods that had carved it. A Firebird could have flown down this shaft. The tunnel delved into the mountain like a wormhole to hell. Basilisk corpses surrounded the rim, torn apart by the shelling.

"Fire in the hole!" Bay cried, lobbing the first grenade into the pit.

The other soldiers followed his lead. A hundred grenades flew into the mountain.

The soldiers flattened themselves on the mountainside as booms exploded inside the pit.

Emet rose and peered over the edge. He could see nothing but smoke and charred stone. A few tunnels. A few emptied dens. No snakes.

But he knew they were waiting.

He knew she was waiting.

"You're down there, Xerka," Emet said softly, gazing into the pit. "I know you're there. We'll soon meet again."

The queen who had nuked Earth. Who had slain so many humans. Who had murdered Ramses, Mairead, and so many of Emet's loved ones.

Rage filled him. He tightened his grip on his weapons.

Yes, this was about saving Earth. But it was also personal.

He pulled a rope from his backpack. He tied one end around a boulder, then tossed the rope into the pit. Soldiers tossed hundreds of other ropes.

"Dad." Bay approached him, splashed with basilisk blood. "Are you sure we shouldn't just lob some nukes into the hole?"

"We'd likely kill every soldier atop the mountain," Emet said. "And Xerka is deep. Too deep for even a nuke to reach. Nukes? They're great at causing damage aboveground. Not for digging through rock and soil. Xerka would just burrow deeper, hiding from the radiation, only to rise again, to regroup her forces, to continue to strike us. No, we have to make sure she's dead. We have to see her. To put a bullet through her head. We go in."

"Dad." Bay grabbed his arm. "We might all die in there. You didn't see New York."

His son paled. Emet had seen a new fear in his eyes since the battle in that city.

"Bay." Emet placed his hand on his son's shoulder. "Over the past few years, I've watched you grow from boy to man. I've watched you become a proud officer, a leader of men. I'm proud of you, Bay. I love you. I don't think we'll die today. Today is a day of victory."

Bay seemed unconvinced. But he nodded.

"All right, Dad. Let's go kill the bitch."

Emet slung his legs over the rim and began to rappel down.

The others followed.

Hundreds of soldiers climbed down the ropes, heading into the darkness.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

As Rowan rappelled down the rope, entering the mountain, she thought of her days in Paradise Lost.

She had learned to climb there. She had spent so much of her childhood scampering up and down shafts, often using cables instead of ropes. She had been miserable those days. She remembered so many tears, so much anxiety and pain, pounding the walls of the ducts, wishing she could be anywhere else.

Those days seemed so simple now.

Rowan almost wished she were back there. Back in the ducts. Curling up with Fillister, watching movies on the Earthstone, reading books, listening to K-pop, escaping into ancient Earth.

She looked around her.

Bay was rappelling nearby—the man she loved.

Leona was climbing at her other side—a woman Rowan admired, a true heroine.

Brooklyn was here too, living inside her cloned body—Rowan's best friend.

So many others. Emet. Tom. Soldiers and leaders. Heroes and friends. People she loved.

No, Rowan thought. I don't wish I were back in Paradise Lost. I could have lived a long life in hiding. I could have grown old in ducts and gutters, happy after a fashion. But that would not be true living. I never would have met people I love. If I die now at twenty-two, I die after a rich life. Fighting for a homeworld. And I will die among loved ones.

She winced and climbed over a jutting boulder.

But ideally I'll live.

"Blimey, this rubbish was easier when I was a dragonfly!" Fillister said.

The robotic wolf was hanging from a harness. His metal claws were scraping against the stone walls, propelling him downward into the pit. He kept spinning, banging against the stone, and flailing in the straps.

"Sorry, Fill, old boy," Rowan said. "I told you that you could stay up with the artillery corps."

The robot gasped. "And let you travel into danger alone? No bloomin' way, Row! Wherever you go, I go. You know that!"

"And me too!" said Brooklyn. "There are no ants down here, which is a huge plus. And rappelling isn't so bad as a human."

Fillister rolled his eyes. "Oh, look at Miss La-Dee-Da, I've got a pulse. Well good for you! You're also mostly made of water, so stuff it."

Brooklyn snorted. "You were nicer as a pocket watch."

Rowan was tempted to hush them. But she let them bicker. She needed to hear this. Some banter. Some levity from the terror lurking below.

Someday soon we'll return to Earth, she dared to believe. We'll live together—me and Bay, Brooklyn and Fillister. We'll be happy. And this will all be nothing but an old nightmare.

As they rappelled down, they passed by open holes in the walls. Here were entrances to basilisk tunnels. But they saw no life inside. When the tungsten rods had dug through the mountain, they had slain everything within a wide radius. The exposed tunnels were filled with dust, rocks, and basilisk corpses.

They were deep underground now. It was dark here. The troops lit their flashlights. By stroke of luck, their ropes ended only several meters above the bottom. They grabbed bulges and nooks in the walls, climbing down the rest of the way.

Rowan hopped onto the ground. She found chunks of a tungsten rod strewn around her boots. It had shattered on impact, leaving only metal pieces the size of her fist. She pocketed a small piece. A memento from the war.

The other soldiers gathered around Rowan. They stared from side to side. Three tunnels gaped open, leading deeper into the city of serpents.

They saw no basilisks. A few serpentine corpses lay curled up, the victims of the grenades. A few twisted scales, likely the remnants of basilisks hit by the rod. But nothing more.

"Where are they?" a sergeant muttered. "Why aren't they attacking us here?"

"Could they all be aboveground?" said a corporal.

Rowan shook her head. "They're here. They want to draw us deeper. To fight us in the darkness. Not here on the surface."

"You call this the surface?" said a sergeant. "We're a hundred meters underground."

Rowan smiled wryly. "To basilisks, this is practically the sky. Come, soldiers. We go deeper."

They decided to split up. Emet and Leona would lead one battalion into the northern tunnel. Tom would lead a battalion into the eastern tunnel. Rowan and Bay, meanwhile, would lead their troops down the third tunnel, the southernmost one.

"Our minicoms won't be able to communicate underground," Rowan reminded her fellow officers. "Not through so much stone. But we have our portable ansibles. One per battalion. We'll stay in constant contact."

"Whoever kills Xerka wins a trophy!" Bay said. "And gets a shiny sticker on their report card!"

Emet didn't smile. But most of the other soldiers did.

"Let's go kick her ass!" Brooklyn said, then covered her mouth. "I can't believe I said that."

Soldiers raised their rifles overhead.

"Kick her ass!" somebody else cried.

"Earth pride!" shouted another.

"Let's stomp some snakes!" Bay shouted.

Laughter rose among the troops. Soldiers bragged about killing the most snakes, about returning with Xerka's severed head.

They were all terrified, Rowan knew. They had all lost so many friends only moments ago. They were all trying to hide their terror.

Most likely, they were all going to die. And they knew it.

The troops split up. They walked down the tunnels toward the city of serpents.

Rowan led her troops, Lullaby held before her. Bay and Brooklyn walked just a step behind. Hundreds of soldiers followed. Their flashlights cast dusty beams, lighting the cavernous passageway.

This was no crude burrow. The basilisks had paved it with concrete and reinforced the walls with steel beams. It reminded Rowan of tunnels from old Earth movies, like the tunnel Biff drove his Rolls Royce down in Back to the Future II, chasing Marty McFly. Except in this tunnel, there would be horrors worse than any schoolyard bully. Even a bully with a sports almanac from the future.

"Where are they?" Rowan muttered. "The damn basilisks should be attacking us in force."

"Are they all dead?" Brooklyn said.

"No." Rowan shook her head. "They're here. The bastards want to lure us even deeper."

They kept walking. Soon they saw graffiti on the walls—messages written in human language.

Come deeper, apes.

Come to your graveyards!

Xerka will devour your children.

Earth will be crushed among our scales!

Bay snorted. "Their propaganda could use some work."

"Also their grammar," Brooklyn pointed out. "I'm not sure crushed among our scales is correct. More like: Crushed in our mighty grip. Or maybe sliced by our fangs. Or maybe just swallowed alive and slowly digested over centuries and—"

"All right, all right, you two!" Rowan said. "Enough with the talk of crushing and digesting." She raised a hand, halting the advance. "Let's send a few sappers forward. See if the bastards planted any mines."

Bay sighed. "I always get this job."

"You're good at it!" Brooklyn said. "And you already got one limb blown off, so you're used to it."

Bay groaned. "When did Brooklyn turn into the Princess of Darkness?"

"It's called gallows humor, dude. Wiki it."

Muttering under his breath, Bay led a team of sappers forward. A while later, they returned.

"Nothing," Bay said. "No explosives. We searched every nook and cranny."

Rowan sighed. "Yep, they're definitely drawing us deeper. They get to choose the place of battle. Let's keep going."

They walked for a kilometer or so. Finally they reached the end of the tunnel. It opened up into a vast cavern—the hollow insides of the mountain.

They reached Sinsira, the city of serpents.

They stood on the ledge, staring.

"My God," Bay said. "It's massive."

Brooklyn nodded. "That's what she said."

Bay groaned. "Shut up, Brooklyn."

A city filled the hollow mountain. Back on Earth, most basilisks had simply lived in the wilderness like animals. Others had overtaken human ruins. But here they had constructed a sprawling metropolis of their own. Towers filled Sinsira, jagged and black and spiraling to points. The towers rose from the ground, stretched out from the walls, even descended from the ceiling. The city looked like the mouth of a lamprey, filled with rings and rings of dark teeth. Roads, bridges, and pipes spread between the towers, and pits filled the stone between them.

In the city center spread a lake of lava, and beasts of fire lived within, rising and falling from the molten bog, opening jaws of flame. A tower rose from the lake, the largest in the city. Unlike the other towers, this one was bone white. It soared through the cavern, the backbone of the mountain. It must have been kilometers tall. Its top flared out like the jaws of a ravenous snake. Above its crest hovered a giant heart of fire, crackling and casting red light.

Rowan pointed at the tower. "That's Axis Vypira. Xerka's home."

Bay cringed. "And we have to pass through kilometers of Snake City to get there. Lovely."

There were millions of snakes in the city. Rowan could see them. Their troops were crawling forward, covered in armor, raising cannons.

"Soldiers—charge!" Rowan cried, and Fillister howled at her side.

They burst out from the tunnel as shells flew. They charged toward the city, guns booming, and explosions lit the darkness.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Bay ran through the city, firing Lawless, as death sprawled around him.

The basilisks were everywhere. He had never seen so many. They slithered down the roads. They leaped from towers. They rose from underground holes. Every step, another human soldier died.

"Forward, forward!" Bay shouted. "To the white tower!"

They kept pressing forward. Firing their guns. Lobbing grenades. Bleeding, dying for every meter.

An entire platoon burned as bombs rained from a tower. Basilisks pulled open a huge trapdoor, and a platoon fell into a pit of hungry jaws. More humans kept emerging from other tunnels. Tom, Emet, and Leona were all leading their own assaults. In the distance, Bay saw a battalion charge down the sloping wall, their banners raised. Across the city, a third battalion was bombarding the towers. Tens of thousands of humans had survived the journey here, and they were now pouring into Sinsira, this city inside the mountain, killing every basilisk in sight.

But the basilisks fought back furiously. They were cornered now. For the first time in the war, their backs were to the wall. And that unleashed all their malice. They shrieked as they fought, crushing humans, biting off heads, tearing bodies apart. They bombarded the human infantry with shell after shell. They slunk into shadows, only to pounce moments later, to snatch soldiers, to swallow them whole.

The basilisks were defending a city where they knew every shadow, every stone. They had the advantage. And they knew it.

And so many humans fell before them.

But humanity kept pushing forward.

"To Axis Vypira!" Bay shouted. "The white tower will fall!"

Rowan fought always at his side, Lullaby booming, and Fillister fought with her, leaping from serpent to serpent, ripping them apart. They were conquering street after street.

But Bay knew: This war would not end until Xerka was dead.

And she was waiting there. In her tower. Watching.

I hope you're afraid, Xerka, Bay thought. Your death is coming.

"Rowan!" he shouted. "The enemy is too thick here. We're close enough. It's time to fly!"

Rowan looked at him from across the battle. Basilisk blood covered her. She knelt by Fillister and hugged the robotic wolf.

"Fillister, I need to leave you here for a while. Can you stay and defend the infantry?"

The wolf growled. "You got it, Row. Go kick her backside. Wish I could come with ya."

Rowan straightened and turned toward Bay. She nodded.

"Let's do this."

Bay kissed her. "Let's go end this." He turned toward his troops and raised his voice. "Blue Eagles! Fly!"

The humans had three hundred jetpacks between them. A small force. Vulnerable and exposed. They were the Blue Eagles Battalion. Proud leaders of the charge. They rose, three hundred warriors, riding on jets of fire.

Bay and Rowan soared at their lead. Brooklyn flew close behind. Their jetpacks thrummed and rained fire across the city. The Blue Eagles soared. They streamed toward the white tower. Heading toward Xerka. Toward victory.

At once, basilisks below opened fire.

These basilisks had machine guns mounted on their backs. Bullets streaked toward the humans, slamming into body armor. Bay screamed as a bullet hit his leg, cracking the armor. Another bullet slammed into his prosthetic arm. Behind him, bullets tore through armor, and several men fell. One bullet hit a soldier's jetpack, and the fuel ignited, blanketing the man with fire.

The survivors kept flying. They were only moments away from Axis Vypira now. The white tower was so close. The end of the war—just there.

More bullets flew from below. More Blue Eagles fell, screaming, bleeding. Some slammed into towers, others into the waiting jaws of basilisks.

They flew another kilometer.

A dozen more soldiers fell.

They were nearly at the lake of lava now.

A shell exploded between them, pulverizing dozens of soldiers.

We should have fought farther along the ground, Bay thought. We rose too soon. We're not going to make it.

He narrowed his eyes, jaw clenched.

Keep flying. Do this. End this.

A bullet slammed into Bay's hip, creaking his armor and digging into his flesh. Another bullet hit his good hand, taking off a finger.

Bay screamed. Then he gritted his teeth. He kept flying.

I'll end this war in pieces if I must. But I'm ending it!

They flew over the last few streets. Basilisks rose atop jagged black towers, firing their guns, taking out more Blue Eagles. Rowan screamed as bullets glanced off her armor. Bodies rained.

They kept flying.

Three hundred Blue Eagles had risen.

Only three made it to the lake of fire.

Bay. Rowan. Brooklyn.

Maybe it was because they had led the charge, fast enough to dodge most of the barrage. Maybe it was because they were senior officers with the finest armor. Maybe Xerka had ordered her underlings to keep them alive.

Bay didn't know the reason. Didn't know why they had survived while hundreds fell. He had no time to contemplate it. After this war, he would mourn the dead. Right now he would fight for them.

The three survivors were flying over the lava now. Creatures moved within the molten lake, demons formed of stone and fire, breaching the surface to open jaws filled with basalt teeth. The lake seemed alive, gurgling with unholy creation.

They flew together. Three. Bay. Rowan. Brooklyn. They streamed over the churning lava, heading toward the white tower. Axis Vypira soared before them, piercing the mountain, a glimmering pillar, kilometers high. They flew toward its flaring crest. The flaming heart hovered above, pulsing, spurting fire, casting red light.

She emerged before them.

She stood atop her tower.

Bay gasped, raising his gun.

There she was. Waiting for them. Queen Xerka.

She had changed since her invasion of Earth last year. Xerka had been consuming victims, basilisk and human, absorbing their DNA. She was no longer the graceful, silvery beast she had once been. She had grown to monstrous size, three times the height of a man. Her scales were now crimson and trimmed with gold. Her human torso still rose above her serpentine body, but it was no longer beautiful. The skin was red, cracked, covered with scars. Her eyes blazed like molten gold, fangs filled her drooling jaw, and a thousand little snakes formed her hair.

"Welcome, apes!" Xerka cried, drenched in firelight. "Welcome to my home!"

The last three Blue Eagles shouted and fired their guns.

Bullets slammed into Xerka, sparking, shattering against her. Xerka laughed—a deep, thunderous sound that echoed through the mountain.

She raised one of her clawed hands, holding an enormous black rocket launcher.

She fired.

A shell flew toward the Blue Eagles.

Bay's eyes widened.

It was coming right at him. He swerved, but so did the shell. It was following him, and he winced, braced for impact, and—

Brooklyn screamed and dived in front of him.

The shell slammed into her chest.

"No!" Bay screamed.

The shell detonated against Brooklyn's body, tearing apart her armor, burning her skin, driving shrapnel into her chest.

"Brooklyn!" Bay cried, hoarse.

She looked at him.

Her jet pack died.

She fell.

"Brooklyn, no!" Bay shouted, diving after her.

She was tumbling down, losing blood, shedding bits of armor. Bay plunged in pursuit, tears in his eyes. Rowan was diving with him.

He caught Brooklyn near the base of the tower. She moaned in his arms, still alive, bleeding profusely.

The white tower rose from a small island in the lake of fire. Bay glided down the last few meters and placed Brooklyn on the rocky shore. Rowan landed beside them, face pale, eyes wide with shock.

The tower rose above them. Its top flared out like jaws, ready to devour the flaming heart above. It shielded them from Xerka's fire. Rowan kept guard, gun raised, while Bay frantically tried to remove Brooklyn's armor. The graphene and steel had shattered into countless pieces, digging into her chest and stomach.

The wounds were deep. Her blood kept gushing.

"Bay …" Brooklyn whispered, face ashen.

"Rowan, I need your healing!" Bay said. "Use those little glowing guys!"

Rowan knelt beside them. She placed her hands on Brooklyn. The Harmonians—the microorganisms that protected Rowan—flowed into Brooklyn's wounds. They glowed pale lavender. The wounds began to close, but they only tightened around the shrapnel. Brooklyn arched her back, screaming.

"It hurts!"

Rowan pulled her hand back. The Harmonians flowed back into her.

"It won't work," Rowan said. "Her body has too much shrapnel."

A bullet slammed into the tower only a meter away, chipping the stone. Another. A third. Basilisks were taking potshots at them from across the flaming lake. Rowan cursed, aimed her gun, and fired. The basilisks scurried away.

"Bay …" Brooklyn whispered again. "Hold me."

He placed bandages on her wounds, trying to stanch the bleeding, knowing that the shrapnel was deep. That her organs were punctured.

He held her in his arms.

"You'll be all right, Brooklyn," Bay whispered. "We have more copies of you. We'll find you a new body. You'll rise again. Missing a few memories, yes, but hey, who wants memories of this place anyway, right?" He laughed through his tears. "We'll get you an amazing new body, and we'll be together again. We'll live on Earth. We'll eat pancakes with Rowan. We'll be happy and forget all about this place."

Brooklyn smiled shakily, and a tear flowed down her cheek. "Bay, oh Bay … I have no copies left. The geode-ships. The shuttles. Every vessel with a Brooklyn clone installed into it. They were all destroyed in the war. I can no longer feel my sisters. They're gone."

Bay's chest constricted. He could barely breathe.

"Then we'll restore you from backup!" he said. "Right? We've done that before. Like after your shuttle was destroyed! There's a backup on Rowan's minicom, and more on Earth, and—"

"I deleted my backups," Brooklyn said. "All of them. I didn't tell you. I was afraid to tell you. I was afraid of dying again. Of being cloned a thousand more times. Being sent to war as an army of clones. I felt every death, Bay. Every starship, every shuttle destroyed—I felt my clone die. I never wanted to be software again. So after I became human, I deleted all my backups. I had to make sure I could never be installed into another starship. I wanted to be human. Just human forever."

Bay stared at her, feeling so hollow. Another bullet hit the tower—only centimeters away this time. Rowan knelt, firing on the enemy, holding them back. Bay barely noticed the battle around him.

"Oh, Brooklyn," he whispered.

She smiled through her tears. "I'm dying, Bay. But this is the last time. My last death."

"No, Brooklyn. No!" He held her tightly. "I'm not letting you die. You're going to live, Brooklyn! You're going to make it home! We're going to live together in our house, and eat those pancakes, and go on those hikes in the forest. And be happy. You and me together. Like always. Like the old days. Remember the old days, Brooklyn?"

She reached up with a shaky hand and caressed his cheek. "You always promised to someday take me to a green, beautiful world. And you did, Bay. You took me to Earth. And I got to be human! I became a woman. A woman in love. I felt grass beneath my feet, and I tasted food, and we made love under the stars. My life was short. But it was full. It was so precious to me. Thank you so much for the memories."

He wept, holding her close. "I love you, Brooklyn."

She smiled at him. "I love you, Bay. Be happy with her. Be happy with Rowan. Be happy on Earth. All of you."

Her eyes closed. She slumped in his arms. And Brooklyn breathed no more.

Across the lake, the human infantry was gaining ground, giving Bay and Rowan a respite from the enemy's potshots.

Bay looked at Rowan. She stared back, eyes haunted.

"Let me see your finger," she said.

"Sure, if you want to fish it out of the lava," Bay said, raising his hand.

Rowan cringed. A bullet had taken off most of the finger.

"You already lost one hand, pancake," Rowan said. "I'm not letting you lose any extra fingers."

She held his mangled hand, and Bay winced. But the pain soon faded. The Harmonians flowed from Rowan into his stump. They began weaving new cells and bones, healing. Bay watched in wonder as a new finger sprouted.

"Since when could they do that?" Bay said.

"They can regrow simple stuff," Rowan said. "Remember how they regrew my teeth?" She lowered her head. "I wish they could have helped Brooklyn. She was hurt too badly. Even for them." She wiped her eyes.

Bay tightened his lips. The grief threatened to flood him. He would deal with that grief later. Years of fighting this war had given him this strength, this ability to lock his grief in a box, to save it for after the battle.

"How is your jetpack?" he asked Rowan.

"I have enough fuel," she said. "I'm ready to fly."

He clasped her hand. "Rowan, are you ready to do this? You and me?"

She nodded, fire igniting in her eyes. "Yes. Let's do this. You and me." She snarled and raised her pistol. "Let's go kill the bitch."

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Emet stood at the head of the infantry division, raising the banner of Earth.

They were halfway through the city of snakes. They were falling fast. But they were still charging forward.

"Onward, Earth!" Emet cried. "Onward to victory!"

The soldiers charged. Thousands of them, guns booming. They stormed down the streets, clashing with the basilisk horde. The HDF artillery pounded the towers. Their courage lit the darkness. The ants were now emerging into the city too, storming along the roads, climbing the towers, tearing through the basilisks. Buildings shattered and fell.

Emet didn't know if they could conquer this city. If they could kill Xerka.

But for the first time since arriving on Sskarsses, hope rose in him.

They were moving forward. Gaining ground. And he began to think that maybe—just maybe—he would see Earth again.

For long hours, they fought, pushing forward kilometer by bloody kilometer. The basilisks pounded them mercilessly. Shells exploded among the human lines, tearing apart entire platoons. Companies shattered and reformed. They had no tanks, barely any artillery of their own. They kept pushing forward.

Emet would not hunker down. He would not dig trenches or find shelter among the towers. He kept advancing. Forward. Ever onward. Banners flying and guns roaring. Marching even over the bodies of their fallen.

We end this tonight, Emet thought.

Finally, down to half their force, they reached the lake of fire.

Ahead, past the churning lava, it rose. Axis Vypira. The tower of the empress.

Emet looked up. He could see two soldiers flying toward the tower, jetpacks flaming.

He stared through his binoculars. He recognized them. Bay. Rowan.

Emet inhaled sharply.

I'm coming to join you.

A stone bridge spanned the lake of gurgling lava, leading to the tower's island. Hundreds of basilisks were guarding the bridge. They slithered toward the humans, guns firing. Earth responded with machine guns, holding the enemy back, driving them into the lake. Basilisks fell into the lava, screaming as the flowing magma engulfed them.

Sappers raised barricades along the shore—heavy metal shields, blocking the enemy fire. Other sappers released small wheeled robots onto the bridge. The machines moved at incredible speed, detecting explosives and disabling them, securing the bridge for the humans to follow.

Emet turned toward his officers. Tom and Leona stood before him. Both were covered in ash and blood. Both were bandaged but still stood tall and strong, guns in hand.

"Are you ready?" he said.

"Always, my friend," Tom said.

Leona nodded. "Let's win this war."

Emet lingered for just a moment, looking at the pair. At Leona, his beautiful and strong daughter, tall and proud. At Tom, a man who had become Emet's closest friend, a man he would be proud to call a son-in-law. They were the salt of the Earth. Emet loved them both.

You two are the future, Emet thought. Leona, you carry my grandchild. I'm old. But you two will lead Earth long after I'm gone.

He turned toward the bridge. Emet raised his rifle in one hand. In the other, he raised the banner of Earth—a blue planet with golden wings, resplendent on a white field. Behind him, his infantry troops gathered. Thousands who had survived so much hardship. Who had fought through fire and blood for him. Among them, their platoons raised their own banners. The colors of Earth—white, gold, and blue—filled the mountain. Some of the banners were tattered. Others bloodstained. All billowed proudly.

Emet looked at those banners, and his heart soared. They were not merely pieces of cloth. Not merely pretty colors. Looking at those banners, he remembered them flying over Earth. He remembered the taste of Earth crops. The sound of laughter in the mess hall. The sunsets over the fields. His family around him. Here in this dark, cold place, those banners were a link to Earth. A memory of home. Emet would fight under those banners until his last breath.

"Forth, humanity!" Emet cried. "For Earth!"

He ran onto the bridge.

Behind him, his people followed.

They ran across the bridge, boots pounding, voices rising. The lava roiled below, and the tower soared ahead.

I'm coming, Bay and Rowan. I'll be there soon. Let's win this war.

Emet was halfway across the bridge when he saw the figure emerge from Axis Vypira.

At first, it appeared like a shadow, towering, arms outstretched. Flames flared around the beast like wings.

A humanoid beast. A strange, hybrid man.

He stepped onto the bridge, moving fast, and let out a roar. The sound was so deafening Emet winced. The sound waves slammed into Emet, palpable and rumbling, hammers against his ribs. Behind him, soldiers dropped their banners, even their guns, and covered their ears.

The beast was running now. His footfalls shook the stone bridge. The creature had a human shape, masculine and powerful, but he was not fully human. Red scales coated him. A golden mane framed a cruel face, the skin deep red, the eyes golden. His fangs shone. As the strange figure ran closer, Emet realized how large he was. He easily stood eight feet tall, maybe nine, and his body rippled with raw strength.

A chimera. A creature part basilisk, part human, with bits of feline tossed in. Emet had never seen anything like it. Yet the hybrid looked oddly familiar.

"I am Hssgu!" the chimera howled. "I will feast upon ape flesh!"

"What the hell is that?" Leona said. She aimed Arondight at the running beast.

"I don't know," Emet said. "But let's kill him."

Hssgu was a hundred meters away now. Emet and Leona opened fire.

The chimera leaped into the air, dodging the bullets. Emet could barely believe how fast he was. Hssgu came flying toward the troops, bellowing.

Emet stood before the strange figure, firing his rifle. Bullets pounded the beast, shattering against his scales.

Hssgu overshot Emet and landed among the human infantry. Soldiers screamed, falling off the bridge into the lava. Creatures of molten stone and fire rose from the lake, snatching soldiers within their basalt jaws.

The creature on the bridge roared, grabbing soldiers, tossing them into the magma. Bullets slammed into him, but Hssgu's scales protected him. He grabbed soldier after soldier, tossing them over the bridge. He lifted one man and bit deep, tearing the soldier in two. Blood on his fangs, Hssgu tossed both halves at the soldiers ahead, knocking them down.

"Ape flesh is mine!" he bellowed. "Sweet blood of man!"

Leona screamed. She ran, hurled herself forward, and leaped onto Hssgu's back.

She clung to his mane, climbed higher, and drew a knife. But the beast grabbed her, raised her overhead, and prepared to toss Leona into the lake. The lava monsters breached the surface, melting and reforming, hungry for flesh.

Emet charged. He barreled into Hssgu with all his strength.

Emet was a large man—tall, muscular, among the largest warriors in his army. But it felt like slamming into a brick wall. The beast of scales and fur didn't even budge.

Hssgu spun toward Emet, still holding Leona overhead. The creature snarled, jaws opening wide, fangs glistening with blood.

Emet fired his double-barrelled rifle into the beast's face.

The blast shattered one fang. Hssgu howled and staggered backward, dropping Leona onto the bridge. She landed atop corpses.

Emet fired again. Two more bullets slammed into the scaly head. Bone shattered. Blood gushed.

Emet loaded another magazine, prepared to fire again.

He was too slow.

Hssgu swung his paw. His claws severed Emet's hand.

The hand, still holding the rifle, tumbled into the lava.

Emet howled.

"Dad!" Leona cried, but a blow from the beast knocked her back.

Emet refused to fall. Even as his blood gushed, as his consciousness threatened to flee—he drew Lightning, his pistol.

Hssgu faced him, grinning savagely, half his jaw gone.

"Do you know who I am?" the creature rumbled.

Emet fired his pistol. A bolt slammed into the beast.

Hssgu fell back a step. Another step. A third. Soldiers were shooting him, but the scales stopped the bullets. Hssgu lashed his paw again.

The razor-sharp claw tore across Emet's torso. Ripping off armor. Cutting deep into the flesh. They were so sharp that Emet barely felt a thing.

He tried to fire again.

But he fell.

Emet landed on his knees. The gashes in his belly were deep. He could barely breathe. He tasted blood in his mouth. He tried to fire Lightning again, but Hssgu ripped the gun from his hand.

Leona and Tom were shouting. They leaped onto Hssgu, but the beast hurled them off. Leona almost fell into the lava, but Tom caught her, pulled her back onto the bridge.

Hssgu knelt above Emet. The scaly, shattered face twisted into a rictus grin.

"Do you know who I am?" the beast repeated.

Emet stared at that hideous face.

And he saw it there.

He saw himself.

The creature licked his remaining teeth. "Yes. I am your son, Emet Ben-Ari. My mother, the blessed Xerka, forged me from her own and your DNA. You are my father. Know that before you die."

Emet stared in horror into Hssgu's eyes.

His eyes.

No. Oh Ra, no.

Hssgu laughed, saliva and blood dripping. "Yes, I see the pain in you. Die in agony. Die slowly." The beast pierced Emet's belly with a claw, then twisted, tore the flesh. "I will make it last."

Emet screamed.

"Son—" he managed, rasping. "Son … I must … tell you …"

The monster leaned closer, licking blood from his teeth. "Do you want to beg, old man?"

Emet whispered words. Barely audible.

The creature leaned down closer. "Beg, old man! Beg louder."

"Go to hell, kid," Emet whispered.

He drew a knife from his belt and shoved the blade into his son's ear.

Hssgu howled.

Emet shoved the dagger down to the hilt and twisted the blade.

The howl died. The creature fell onto Emet, crushing him. Emet felt something snap inside him. Something shatter.

Soldiers were shouting above him, pulling the hybrid creature, finally tugging it off. They tossed the twisted corpse into the lake. Emet tried to breathe, swallowed blood.

"A medic!" Tom was shouting. "We need a medic!"

Leona knelt by Emet, tears on her cheeks, hands shaking as she applied bandages to the wounds. Tom wrapped a tourniquet around Emet's arm, stopping the blood from fleeing the stump.

Emet's vision was fading now. Blackness was engulfing him.

"Go," he whispered. "Leona. Tom. Go to Axis Vypira. Help Bay and Rowan. Win . . ."

Vaguely, Emet was aware of medics sawing off his armor, poking him with needles, bandaging more wounds. Somebody placed an oxygen mask on his face, and suddenly he was swaying on a stretcher. Leona and Tom were at his sides, running with him.

"Go on," Emet said. "Go on without me. Win this war. Help them …"

A river of morphine washed over him. He drowned in it, and everything went black.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Rowan and Bay, the last of the Blue Eagles, flew with their jetpacks, circling the white tower.

There on its crest she stood.

Xerka.

The Basilisk Queen held her rocket launcher. She fired. Again and again. Shells streaked forward. But Rowan and Bay dodged the barrage, circled again, and stormed toward the tower's crest.

Axis Vypira had a flat, oblong roof—the opened jaws of the stone serpent, the battlements rising like fangs. Rowan and Bay landed, aimed their guns, and opened fire.

Their bullets shattered against Xerka's scales. The Serpent Queen raised her rocket launcher again, but bullets slammed into the weapon, shattering the muzzle.

Inside the launcher, a shell exploded.

Light blazed. Fire roared. The shock wave knocked Bay and Rowan down. The explosion rocked the tower.

Rowan groaned on the roof. Her ears rang. She struggled back to her feet, armor cracked, head spinning. Bay struggled to stand beside her. Above them, the flaming heart crackled, raining sparks.

Xerka still stood before them. The explosion had destroyed her gun. It had also taken the queen's left arm and half her face.

She's hurt, Rowan thought. She can be hurt. She's not immortal.

The queen's injuries should have been fatal. Half her skull was cracked open, revealing the brain. But Xerka only laughed. She slithered closer, her human half balancing on the snake body.

"Such proud little apes!" she cried, voice a raspy shriek. "So clever to have come so far!"

Rowan aimed Lullaby. "It's over, Xerka! Stop where you are. Surrender to us. Stand trial for your crimes."

Xerka laughed. "Surrender? When I'm so close to wiping out you vermin?"

"You've lost!" Rowan said. "There are soldiers racing across the bridge, storming into your tower, clearing it of basilisks. Your city crumbles around you. You stand here alone! I give you a chance to surrender, to stand trial on Earth. Refuse—and die!"

"Oh, my precious child," Xerka said. "I know you so well. After all, I devoured your parents. I understand you. I knew you would come. And I've prepared a surprise for you. See them, my dear apes. See your beloveds rise again!"

Xerka slithered aside.

A hatch opened in the tower.

Creatures emerged.

Rowan stared in horror. They were hybrids. Half human, half serpent. Scaly. Moving on snake bodies.

But they had familiar faces. The faces of her friends. Of all those Rowan had lost.

Mairead. Ramses. Duncan. Coral.

And other faces too. Her family.

Her mother. Her father. Her sister. Scaly and shrieking for her blood.

"You left us to die!" the hybrids screamed. "You betrayed us! Die! Die!"

The creatures pounced, claws stretching out.

Rowan and Bay screamed and opened fire.

Their bullets tore through the creatures. But the hybrids kept advancing, even as they bled, as the bullets ripped through them. Claws grabbed Rowan, cracked her armor, tore her skin. She fell. Bay fell beside her, shouting, swinging his rifle.

"You left us to die, you little whore!" screamed her mother—demonic, scaly, eyes blazing red.

Rowan thrashed, trying to free herself. Her mother slashed Rowan's cheek, ripping the skin. Her father clawed her chest, tearing off her armor, cutting her skin.

"We died because of you!" her father howled. "You left us to die in the cave while you escaped! You filthy pest!"

Rowan aimed her pistol, hand shaking.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

She fired a bullet into her father's head. His skull shattered, and he fell.

Her mother shrieked, jaws opening to expose fangs. "You will burn in hell, whore!"

Tears flowed down Rowan's cheeks.

"You're not my mother," she whispered and fired again.

The creature with her mother's DNA fell dead.

Jade stood behind the corpse.

Jade. Beloved sister. A woman Rowan loved with all her heart.

She looked so real. It was so easy to believe Jade was back.

But then Jade pounced toward her. And Rowan fired her gun. And her sister crashed down, dead.

"I'm sorry," Rowan whispered, sobbing. "I'm so sorry."

It felt like losing her family all over again.

Beside her, Bay fired his rifle, slaying the others. He too had tears on his cheeks. He too had killed the ghosts of loved ones.

He came to stand beside Rowan. They stood among the corpses. They turned toward Xerka.

And for the briefest moment, it seemed that the Basilisk Queen was scared.

Bay roared—wordless, raw, a cry of fury and hatred and pain. He ran toward Xerka, gun blasting.

This time, his bullets did damage. Where the explosion had torn off scales, bullets could enter flesh. Every blast knocked Xerka back another meter. Bay kept firing, running toward her, roaring with his rage. Rowan joined him, screaming as she fired Lullaby. A bullet took out another chunk of Xerka's head.

Xerka screamed, skull torn open.

Fear filled her eyes.

Bay reached her. He thrust the muzzle of his rifle into her wound.

"Die now," he said.

Xerka lashed her tail.

It slammed into Bay.

His gun fired, but the bullet missed, grazing Xerka's wound and flying into the distance.

Before Bay could recover, Xerka wrapped her tail around him—and squeezed.

"Fire and he's dead!" Xerka shouted at Rowan.

Rowan froze a few meters away, gun raised.

Xerka squeezed Bay tighter. Her tail wrapped another loop around him.

Bay thrashed, his arms pinned to his sides, unable to fire his rifle. Xerka pulled him close, constricting him. Only his head was visible over her coiling, scaly body.

Rowan hesitated, still aiming Lullaby.

"Let him go!" Rowan shouted.

Xerka sneered. Blood dripped from the ravaged half of her head.

"Toss away your gun, ape!" the queen said. "Toss it into the lake. Or I'll crush every bone in his body."

The queen tightened further.

Bay couldn't even scream. His face turned red, then crimson. His eyes were bugging out.

Rowan hurled her pistol toward the lake of fire.

"Let him go, Xerka!" she said. "I dropped my gun. Let him go!"

Xerka grinned—only half a grin, the other half of her mouth gone.

"No. Watch him die. Then you will die too."

She tightened some more. Rowan heard something snap—maybe one of Bay's ribs.

"Row …" Bay managed to whisper. "Run … Fly …"

Rowan stared in horror. She had no more weapon. No way to stop this.

She ran.

But Rowan did not run toward Xerka and Bay.

She ran away. She ran toward the edge of the tower. She took off her helmet, took off her jetpack, and let them drop to her feet. Rowan took another step, and another until she poised, balanced over the edge. Far below the tower, the lava gurgled.

"Let him go, Xerka, or I jump!" Rowan shouted.

Xerka stared. She was still squeezing Bay in her grip. But the queen hesitated. She loosened slightly, and Bay took a ragged breath.

"I'll do it, Xerka!" Rowan said. "I'll jump off the tower! Down into the lava!"

Far below, the lake gurgled and sprayed sizzling droplets. The beasts of lava reared, molten jaws opening wide, ready for the meal.

Xerka stared for a moment in silence. Then she laughed.

"So jump!" Xerka said. "It would amuse me."

"It would infuriate you!" Rowan said. "I know how you kill. You like to devour your victims. To digest them. You threatened to swallow me whole, to keep me alive in your belly. For days. Even for years. To torture me for your perverse pleasure. Well, you want to see your meal incinerated in lava?"

Rowan inched closer to the ledge. Her toes were now in the air. She stretched out her arms, teetering on her heels.

Xerka inhaled sharply. She slithered a meter closer, still clutching Bay. Hunger filled her eyes.

"Yes, I can see your hunger," Rowan said, looking over her shoulder at Xerka. "You said you understand me. But I understand you too. What is Bay to you? Nothing. It's me you want to devour. It's me you've been hunting. I'm the one who fired the talaria cannon, banishing you from Earth. I'm the one whose parents you consumed. I'm the one you've always wanted. Let Bay go. Let him fly from here. And you'll have me. Take me instead."

Bay managed to gulp down another breath.

"Rowan, fly away!" he shouted. "Leave me. Go!"

Rowan looked at him. Tears filled her eyes.

"I love you, Bay," she whispered, voice shaky. "I love you so much. You are the light of my life. Fly away from here, Bay. Fly back to Earth. Be happy, Bay. I love you."

Xerka uncoiled her body.

Bay dropped to his knees, gasping for air, and clutching his cracked ribs. With a flick of her tail, Xerka knocked his rifle off the tower. His jetpack was broken, all its fuel gone.

Rowan nudged her own jetpack toward him.

"Take it, Bay." She approached him, knelt, and kissed him. "I love you."

"Rowan, no—" he began, reaching out to grab her.

But Xerka grabbed Rowan first.

She pulled Rowan back, and Bay shouted.

Rowan stood, chin raised, as Xerka's serpentine body wrapped around her. Loop after loop coiled around Rowan, creaking her bones. Her arm dislocated. A rib snapped. Only Rowan's head emerged over the vise of scales. Blackness was spreading across her vision. She could no longer see the tower, the mountain, the lake of fire. Not even Bay. All she could see was a hideous face, half of it gone, and jaws opening wide.

"Finally," Xerka hissed, eyes blazing with internal fire. "Finally! You are mine!"

Her lower jaw unhinged, opening wide enough to swallow Rowan whole.

And through her tears, Rowan saw light.

Soft. Silvery. Flowing over her.

The light of the Empyrean Firmament.

Sandalphon's voice echoed in her mind.

Be righteous. Be selfless. Sacrifice of yourself for others.

As the jaws lowered themselves toward Rowan, the light filled her, flowed through her body, beamed out from her hands.

Xerka screamed.

The queen uncoiled, hissing, slithering back. Burns spread across her body.

Rowan stood on the roof. Her wounds were healed. Her hands were glowing. She raised them, and she saw tattoos on her fingers, just below the knuckles. On every finger—a star.

No, not tattoos.

Runes.

A lock of Rowan's hair fell across her eyes. It was no longer brown. Her hair was now silvery white.

"What is this?" Xerka shrieked.

She made to lunge at Rowan.

Rowan raised her fists. Her runes shone. From the stars on her fingers shone beams of light.

The aether slammed into Xerka, burning through her scales.

The queen fell back.

Rowan took a step toward her. She raised her fists again. Bay limped toward Rowan, still breathing raggedly.

"Your hair," he whispered. "It's white. You're a weaver. You're a weaver, Row. How can this be?"

Xerka leaped toward them again.

Rowan fired more beams. The light slammed into Xerka, burning her, knocking her back farther along the roof.

"What are you?" Xerka screeched.

Rowan fired again. Again. Every blast knocked Xerka back another meter.

"I am Rowan Emery!" she said, firing more beams.

Xerka slid back, holes in her body.

"I am a soldier in the Human Defense Force!"

More beams tore through Xerka.

"I am a weaver!"

Beams flowed from her hands, slamming into Xerka, knocking her onto the roof's edge. The basilisk queen teetered over the pit.

"Please," Xerka whispered, eyes filled with fear. "I can bring your parents back, Rowan. I can bring them back for real. I can bring everyone back."

Rowan stared, eyes narrowed.

"And I am human."

She fired another blast.

The beams slammed into Xerka, tearing holes through her chest.

The Basilisk Queen looked at Rowan.

"I only wanted to go home," Xerka whispered. "To the world where I was born. To Earth."

And the queen fell.

She tumbled off the tower, screaming, flailing, begging. She crashed into the lake, and the lava engulfed her, and she was no more.

Soldiers burst out from inside Axis Vypira, aiming guns. Tom ran at their lead.

"We cleared out the tower!" Tom said. "Where is she? Where is Xerka?"

Rowan barely noticed her surroundings. She fell to her knees and lowered her head, sobbing.

"It's over," she whispered. "She's dead. It's over. Thank God. It's over."

Bay knelt beside her and pulled her into an embrace. She held him tightly, tears falling onto his shoulder.

"I love you, Rowan," Bay whispered. "I'm so proud of you. I love you. We're going home now, Rowan. We're going home."

The soldiers fanned out around them. Tom knelt beside the embracing couple. He looked at them, and his face softened.

"Bay." Tom placed his hand on the young man's shoulder. "You need to come with me. Now. It's your father."

CHAPTER FORTY

They carried him outside onto the mountain.

They placed him down in the open air.

They had bandaged him. Given him morphine. Given him blood. But Emet saw the looks on their faces. Saw the grief in their eyes. And he knew he was dying.

His body was broken. It could not heal.

They gathered around him, the people he loved. Bay knelt at his left side. Leona at his right. Both his children had tears in their eyes.

The others were there too. Cindy, the woman he loved. Tom, the father of his grandchild. Rowan, a woman he loved as a daughter. His loved ones. His family.

"Did we win?" Emet whispered.

Leona nodded, tears on her cheeks. "We won, Dad. It's over. We won. We're taking you home."

Emet clasped her hand.

"Leona … I won't make it back to Earth. You must lead them on."

A sob passed through Leona. "Dad, you'll lead us home. Like you did before. You'll live for many more years. We need you. I need you."

Emet smiled. "Leona, I'm so grateful. That I saw you become a woman. That I lived to know you'll have a child. You're ready, Leona. Ready to lead humanity. To lead Earth. I hope that I served Earth well. And I know that I leave Earth in good hands."

Bay spoke next. "Dad, I'm here. I'm here with you."

Emet turned his head toward his son. "Bay. You're my boy. My son. My pride. I watched you grow up into a man I'm so proud of. You found your way. You found Rowan. And now you'll find joy. I'll always be proud of you, my son. I love you."

"I love you too, Dad," Bay whispered, voice choked.

Emet looked at the others. Tom. Cindy. Rowan. And he looked past them at other soldiers. Young boys and girls. Thousands of them across the mountain. Survivors. Victors. Humans.

"Make it a good Earth," Emet said. "There is so much darkness in life. There is so much fear, suffering, despair. But there is beauty too. There is joy. There is love. These things are worth fighting for. It is good to fight for Earth. It is good to die for Earth. Build homes of love and warmth. Live lives of joy."

Emet could see them now. Luminous faces among the soldiers.

Duncan, David, and Luther—dear old friends. Ramses and Mairead, holding hands. Coral and Brooklyn, smiling softly. Jade, his daughter, finally at peace. Alexis, his wife, smiling from beyond. Calling him home.

Emet walked toward them, green grass beneath his feet, blue skies above.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Leona stood on the mountaintop, the cold wind of Sskarsses billowing her hair. She lowered her head.

He's gone. My beacon. My life. My lion. And I don't know how to go on without him.

Soldiers covered the mountainsides. Thousands of human survivors. Thousands of Oridians. The basilisks knew they were beaten, and they had crawled back down into their holes, leaderless, afraid.

Leona looked at her people. At the remnants of humanity. Bloodied, ragged survivors. Strong and proud.

Once we were billions, Leona thought. There are barely any humans left in the galaxy. But from these ashes, a new fire will rise. Earth will rise.

She raised her head and took a deep breath.

You believed in me, Dad. And so I will lead them onward. For you and all those before you. I am Leona Ben-Ari, daughter of the Old Lion, descendant of the Golden Lioness. I am the Iron Lioness. And I promise you, my forebears. I will carry on the torch. It will burn bright. I will sound my roar.

Rumblings sounded in the sky. Leona looked up.

She inhaled sharply and reached for her gun.

Copperheads.

Hundreds of Copperheads were diving through the clouds.

The basilisk infantry was perhaps retreating. But their fleet still wanted to fight. The scaly starfighters swooped toward the mountain.

Leona stared in horror. The human fleet was gone—destroyed in orbit.

Those Copperheads are going to kill us all.

Other soldiers saw them. They began to run, to flee toward holes, others to fire guns at the sky. Leona knew it was hopeless. Those Copperheads would strafe the mountain and mow down every human soldier.

The Copperheads dived closer, their cannons heating up, and Leona winced, preparing for the bombardment.

Booms rocked the world.

Fire blazed.

The mountain shook.

It took Leona a second to realize: The explosions were in the sky.

The Copperheads were shattering.

She stared, eyes wide, as beams of light fell between the clouds, slamming into the Copperheads, destroying the basilisk starfighters.

"How can this be?" Leona whispered, gasping. "Our fleet is gone. Who's attacking them?"

And then, from the clouds, they emerged.

Hundreds of them.

Geode-ships.

Not the geode-ships Leona had accepted from the Menorians, whose rocky hulls she had painted with Earth colors. Those had fallen in the war.

This was the Royal Menorian Fleet.

Leona laughed. "You came, Aurora! You came to fight!"

Her minicom flashed, and Aurora appeared on the monitor. The alien octopus turned pink—her way of smiling.

"I am sorry I am late, my friend!" Aurora said, flashing with silver and blue patterns. "You did most of the work for us. We will clean up the leftovers."

The soldiers below watched, cheering, as the Menorian fleet pounded the enemy. When the clouds parted, Leona saw explosions farther up. The geode-ships were attacking the Rattlers in orbit too, destroying the basilisk fleet.

The battle lasted for long hours. Leona spent it on the mountain, sitting down, wrapped in a blanket. Bay and Rowan sat with her.

"It's like watching fireworks," Rowan said softly. "Well, an extremely violent, horrifying version of fireworks, at least."

Leona couldn't help it. After long days of sleepless war, she yawned and napped.

A rumbling engine woke her several hours later. One of the geodes was gliding toward the mountaintop. It came to hover a few meters away. A hatch opened, and a ramp extended. A Menorian wriggled down, her eight tentacles pulling her along. Leona smiled to see her old friend.

"Aurora!"

The Menorian flashed gold and yellow. Leona's minicom picked up the colors and translated the words.

"Hello, Leona!"

Leona knelt and embraced the mollusk. "Why are you here? Not that I'm complaining! But I thought Menoria wanted to stay out of the war."

"We did," said Aurora. "At least until Xerka attacked our world. She was furious that I gave you some of my starships. She made a grave error. She underestimated us Menorians. Her assault was devastating. Many brave Menorians lost their lives. We are normally peaceful creatures, soft and kind. But when you anger us, we are fierce."

"I'm sorry, Aurora." Leona lowered her head. "If I thought Xerka would attack you, I never would have—"

"She would have attacked us sooner or later anyway," Aurora said. "Her ambitions extended beyond Earth. She would have craved more and more worlds, and we lay in her path. It is I who am sorry. Sorry that I did not join the fight earlier."

Rowan hugged the Menorian too. "Hi, Aurora! I just love hugging you. You're so squishy! Oh, I could hug you all day long."

With a purple tentacle, Aurora mussed Rowan's hair. "Your hair is white! Have you grown very old, Rowan?"

Rowan laughed. "Nah. I'm a weaver now. That's why I have white hair. You know, we only met two years ago. Humans don't age much in just two years."

"The flow of time is strange in space," Aurora said. "Always dilating as you speed up or slow down. And we Menorians can be very slow or very fast. But I'm glad to know you're still young, Rowan. I hope that we are friends for many years."

A voice rose from the ship.

"But I am very old! I earned my white hairs with long years of wisdom." A woman came walking down the ramp, leaning on a cane. "Sadly, wisdom often comes as the joints go."

Leona gasped. Her eyes widened.

"Einav Ben-Ari!" she whispered.

Bay and Rowan stared in shock.

"Is that … ?" Rowan whispered.

"It can't be!" Bay said.

"It is I, in the flesh!" said the old woman. "The Golden Lioness, they call me. You can call me Einav."

Bay and Rowan knelt before her.

They all knew the tales of Einav Ben-Ari. Of the legendary leader of Earth. The heroine who had led humanity's fleets in Earth's Golden Age two thousand years ago.

Leona had told her friends how she had found the Golden Lioness living on Menoria. How Einav and Aurora had traveled to another galaxy, flying faster than light, then came back home to find that two thousand years had gone by.

Leona knew her friends had doubted her. Leona had often doubted herself as well. Was it just some old woman with a tall tale?

But Rowan raised her minicom, bringing up a photo from ancient Earth. She ran a quick software scan, then gasped.

"The faces match perfectly," Rowan whispered. "It's her. It's really her."

"Of course it's me!" Einav said. "Who were you expecting? E.T.?"

Leona couldn't help but laugh. She stepped closer and gently embraced the elderly woman. "But ma'am, when we met on Menoria, you told me that you could never travel again. That even the slightest time dilation would affect your aging, that you wouldn't survive the trip."

Einav nodded. "Indeed. And that is true for standard warp flight. But Aurora and I learned a trick from our mutual friend, little Rowan here." Einav smiled at the weaver. "We learned about your talaria cannons. We learned how to build one. Okay, to be fair, we ripped you off. But it brought us here safely, and it brought us here to help. So I think that makes up for it."

Rowan's eyes were the size of saucers. "I'm honored, ma'am!" She knelt again. "You're my heroine! I read all your books!"

Einav scoffed. "The History of the Galactic Wars? Posh. Boring tomes. You should instead read the books of Marco Emery, my friend and your ancestor. Now he could spin a yarn!"

"I've read those too, ma'am," Rowan said. "I loved them. I'm a huge bookworm and fan of your era. I watched almost all the movies from your time! And read thousands of books! And listened to the music! Oh, ma'am, do you like K-pop?"

Einav frowned. "K-Pop? Is that anything like Brahms?"

Leona sighed. "Forgive Rowan. She gets excitable."

"I look forward to many hours talking to you both," Einav said. "But not here. Not on this desolate planet. Bah! The air smells like exhaust." Her voice softened. "Let's get our people into these ships, my friends. Let's all go home."

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

They buried their dead on a warm spring day.

Earth was blooming. Wildflowers filled the land with color. Robins, blackbirds, and chickadees sang among young maples and birches. Bumblebees, grasshoppers, and butterflies bustled between bushes, going about their business as if no fire had ever raged. It seemed almost cruel to Bay, a mockery of fate, that they should bury so many fallen heroes, so many loved ones, on such a beautiful day.

Geese glided above him. Bay watched them pass. He had never seen geese before.

Life is returning to Earth. And on this day, I must bury my father.

Bay wiped his eyes.

"But maybe, Dad, you would have wanted it this way," he said. "Not to be buried on some gloomy winter day, a day of tears and despair. But on a day of beauty and life. This is what you fought for, Dad. Earth. And we're here. And it's beautiful."

Aurora's fleet had flown the human army home. Thousands of survivors. But also thousands of dead.

The Human Defense Force returned home victorious. They had defeated the basilisks, killed Xerka, won the war. Earth was free. Everything they had fought for—all these years, these long generations—they had won.

But there were no celebrations. No victory marches. No dances or songs of joy. The cost was nearly too great to bear. Everyone on Earth grieved this day. On their day of victory, they buried the thousands.

They created a new cemetery outside of Port Addison, and they named it Heroes' Field. It was not a cemetery of neat, well-trimmed lawns and orderly tombstones. They buried their fallen in the hills among wildflowers and saplings. They carved tombstones from local stones, engraving them with names and symbols.

So many trees on Earth had burned. There was not enough wood for coffins. Bay carried Brooklyn wrapped in a shroud, and he buried her on the hill where they had made love.

"It's a beautiful place, Brooklyn," he said. "You'll have flowers and bumblebees during the day, and I promise to keep the ants away. At night you'll be able to look at the stars. Do you remember how we stargazed here?"

Then his grief became too great, and Bay could no longer speak. He missed his best friend. Rowan stepped up and slipped her hand into his.

"Goodbye, Brooklyn," Rowan whispered, eyes damp. "I'll miss you every day."

They placed a boulder at her grave, and they engraved it with a circle, the symbol of Earth, and with words.

Brooklyn

4140 - 4156

Friend. Heroine. Human.

Bay and Rowan walked away solemnly. They climbed a nearby hill. Thousands of people were gathering here. They moved aside, heads bowed, to let Bay and Rowan pass. They walked through the crowd.

Leona and Tom were already there. Bay and Rowan joined them by the hilltop grave.

Together, the four of them lowered him into his final resting place. The crowd wept. Twenty-one guns saluted Earth's fallen leader. Their guiding light. The man who had brought them home.

Emet Ben-Ari, the Old Lion, was gone.

"We all knew him as a hero," Bay said, standing over the grave. "We all know of the famous Emet Ben-Ari who founded the Heirs of Earth, who fought across the galaxy to save humans in danger. We all know the famous Old Lion who roared in the face of the scorpions, who led us in war, who brought us home to Earth. We all know of Earth's first president, the leader who faced down Xerka, who gave his life to win our freedom. His legend will never die. Earth is eternal, and Earth will never forget his sacrifice."

Bay paused for a moment. He had to wipe his eyes.

"I remember the legend. But I also remember another man. One few people knew. I remember the man who stayed at my bedside when I was a child, sick with fever. I remember the man who taught me to toss a ball, to play chess, to count and read and dream. He led humanity. But he was never too busy for his children. He was always there for Leona and me. To love us. Teach us. And he was so proud of us. I miss you, Dad. I love you. You are my father and my hero. Goodbye."

The others spoke next.

Leona spoke of honoring her father's ways, of leading Earth with the same courage, of not straying from his path. Cindy spoke with great dignity, eyes damp but chin raised, of the man she loved. Tom spoke of enduring friendship. Rowan spoke of her hero. Every word was beautiful, bringing tears to the eyes of every listener.

Others spoke too. Friends of Emet, everyone from lofty generals to humble privates. He had touched everyone's lives. Some shared tales of heroism and great battles. But most spoke of another man. A kind man. A man who could be so serious at one moment, then laugh uproariously at a bad joke. A man who led armies, but who also loved literature and history. Not just a legend. A human.

Tom had prepared the tombstone from a limestone boulder, its one side polished to a sheen, the other still natural and craggy. Tom had carved a Star of David onto the front, symbol of the ancient faith of the Ben-Ari family, and a circle beside it, symbolizing the unity of Earth and all humanity. Below these symbols Tom had engraved words.

Emet Ben-Ari

4095 - 4156

Devoted father and husband

First President of New Earth

Bay read those words again.

New Earth.

Yes, the Golden Age of Earth had ended long ago. Perhaps they could never restore Earth to that old glory. But this was a new Earth. A chance to forge their own culture. To write their own books, sing their own songs, tell their own tales. Rowan had spent her life dedicated to the cultural heritage contained within the Earthstone, and they would protect and cherish that heritage. But they would also create new treasures.

When the funerals ended, Bay stood for a moment with his friends and family. He gazed across the hills.

He saw rows and rows of tombstones. Thousands of them. Some engraved with the Sun Disk of Ra. Others with crosses, Stars of David, spoked wheels, or crescent moons. Many with the circles of Earth. Regardless of faith, they had fought united. And they would be remembered as one tribe. As heroes.

That evening, Bay and his companions went to the mess hall. They piled their plates high with food. They sat down to eat, and there were so many empty chairs. Missing faces. Silenced laughter.

For a moment, everyone at the table sat still, not eating. Rowan lowered her head. They sat, silent.

Bay stood up. He raised his mug of beer.

"For Ramses, who loved coffee, and for Mairead, who loved good whiskey. For Brooklyn and Coral and Luther. For Duncan. For Rowan's parents. For Jade. For Emet Ben-Ari. For all those we lost. They're still here with us. In spirit. In our collective memory. For the lost. And for life!"

"For life!" they all replied, raising their cups. Across the mess hall, a thousand survivors raised their drinks too. "For life!"

They began to eat. Silent at first. But then Leona told the story of that time Mairead had tied Ramses's shoelaces together, then waved a handful of earthworms at him, making him run and trip. Bay imitated Luther with a raspy voice, singing one of the old man's blues songs. And soon Rowan was reciting Monty Python sketches, complete with the accents. Everyone at the table was laughing so loudly tears ran down their cheeks and they could barely breathe.

Bay reached under the table and held Rowan's hand. She smiled at him, light in her eyes.

I love you, Rowan, he thought. More than anything.

"For life," she whispered to him, eyes sparkling.

He kissed her cheek. "For life."

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

The next morning, Leona went to visit the elderly woman in her tent.

It was a small, humble tent, but on the inside, it had become a cozy home. Einav Ben-Ari sat in a rocking chair, sipping chamomile tea and reading a novel. "Che Gelida Manina" was playing from an old-fashioned music player, a relic of ancient Earth technology. Aurora was sitting—at least, as much as a tentacled mollusk could sit—on an ottoman, nursing several of her own cups of tea.

"Good morning, ladies," Leona said.

Einav raised her eyes from her book—Portrait in Sepia by Isabel Allende.

"Good morning, dear. Would you care for some chamomile? Or something a little stronger? We do have some Earl Grey around here."

"Not anymore," said Aurora, sipping from her cup.

Einav gasped. "Oh, you beastly octopus! If you didn't drink five cups at once!"

"I'm ninety percent water, you know," the Menorian said.

"You're ninety percent Earl Grey tea! They don't make that anymore on Earth, you know."

"Ladies, ladies!" Leona laughed. "There's plenty of tea in the mess hall."

Einav wrinkled her nose. "Ghastly stuff. A top priority for New Earth is a robust tea industry."

Leona sighed. She sat down beside the elderly woman. She contemplated Einav for a moment. Beneath the playful exterior, there was deep wisdom and strength in Einav's eyes. Here was the Golden Lioness herself, after all. The woman who had inherited a dying Earth and built an empire.

"Ma'am," Leona said softly. "Are you sure you don't want to reveal yourself to the crowds? To inspire them?"

Einav patted Leona's hand. "I'm sure, Leona. I don't crave fame. And I best inspire these people as an old tale from legend. Let them remember me from those stories. They have new heroes to look up to now. The heroes who gave their lives in the war to save Earth. And the heroes who will lead them onward. They don't need the Golden Lioness. They have you. They have an Iron Lioness."

Leona nodded. "When you came here to Earth, I thought …" She took a deep breath. "I thought you would lead us. Like you did once before."

Einav looked away. She stared at the tent wall in silence for a long moment, perhaps remembering days long ago. A different era. A different struggle.

"I'm old, Leona," she finally said. "I'm in my nineties, and I've fought so many foes, seen so many wonders. I'm tired. And I'm dying."

"Ma'am!" Leona said.

Einav turned toward her and smiled softly. "It's my time, is all. I lived a long life. I married a wonderful man, and I had a wonderful son, and I got to meet you. My descendant." She stroked Leona's curly hair. "I am so proud of you. You will lead Earth now, Leona. There will be struggles ahead. There will be more foes who rise to destroy us. There will be more wars. More heartbreak. More need for strong leaders. But there will be joy too. There will be light and life. Your road will pass through darkness and fire before the end. But along that road, there will be such beautiful light. You will walk that road proudly. The road of your father and forbears. You will not stray. And they will all walk behind you."

Leona couldn't stop her tears. She embraced her heroine.

"Thank you for your words," Leona whispered.

Einav raised her finger, as if remembering something. She rose from her chair, rummaged through a chest, and returned to Leona. She handed her a shadowbox. Behind the glass pane were ancient medals.

"These are from your ancestors," Einav said. "Medals my father, grandfather, and other soldiers in our family won in old wars. See these ones? These are from what we call the Second World War. Back when we humans still fought one another. I carried this box with me since joining the military at age eighteen. I carried it with me to war. It's a reminder of heroism. Not only of our family. But of humanity. I'd like you to have it."

Leona accepted it solemnly. "Thank you, ma'am. I don't know what to say. I will cherish this gift. I hope I don't have to take it to any more wars."

Einav stroked Leona's cheek, suddenly seeming so sad. "I hope so too, Leona." She smiled sadly. "I have one more gift for you."

Einav removed her necklace. A medallion hung from the golden chain, shaped like a lion's paw holding a crystal. It was an azoth crystal, Leona realized. The crystal that made space travel possible.

"This crystal was inside the HDFS Lodestar," Einav said. "The flagship of the Human Defense Force at its mightiest."

Leona's eyes widened. "The starship you commanded! It's legendary."

Einav slung the necklace around Leona's neck. "Earth is now yours. Lead with strength and wisdom. I believe in you, Leona Ben-Ari." She cleared her throat. "Now! Aurora, get off your lazy backside! Leona here is going to accompany us to the hills outside the city, and we're going to search for some proper flowers to make more tea. I'm thinking dandelions should do the trick."

They took a Menorian shuttle there—a geode the size of a car that floated out of the city. They hovered past the cemetery to the wild foothills by the mountains. Dandelions blanketed the hills, while bluebells carpeted the valleys. Einav alighted from the pod and spent an hour collecting dandelions, then returned home to brew tea.

The next day, she asked Leona and Aurora to join her again. They spent another morning at the hills, collecting dandelions, brewing tea. And as they worked, Einav spoke to Leona. She told her tales of long ago. Of what she had learned. Of leadership. Of motherhood. Of life and mankind.

For fourteen days, they spent every morning in the hills, collecting flowers. Talking. Teaching and learning.

Until one day the dandelions were gone. And Einav sat on the grass, and gazed at the river flowing below, at the birds gliding above, at the city in the valley, rising from despair to hope.

"This is a good place," Einav said softly. "This is a good world. This was a good life."

Leona held one of Einav's hands. Aurora held the other. And Einav lay down and closed her eyes and did not rise again.

"Goodbye," Leona whispered to her heroine. "From all of us. Goodbye."

Most people on Earth only knew her as the eccentric old tea lady. But a handful knew her true identity. They attended her funeral. Leona and Tom. Bay and Rowan. They would keep her secret. They would keep her legend in ancient history. But they were all there to say farewell. On her tombstone, they carved the words: Einav Ben-Ari, the Golden Lioness.

They told the others that they had found her bones buried in a forgotten tomb. That they had moved them to the hilltop. Leona knew that for generations to come, this hill would be a holy place. The resting place of a lioness.

I hope that iron can shine as brightly as gold, Leona thought. I hope that I can make you proud, Einav. And that I can make you proud, Dad. That I can make all of you proud.

On a summer morning, Leona moved into the Terranon. The grand building was finally complete. Its dome rose tall, painted white, and marble columns formed its portico. Bay had even begun to paint frescoes across the rotunda's ceiling, depicting the tale of evolution, flowing from simple molecules to human life.

Leona took her seat in the center of the grand hall. It was a chair carved from cedar, its armrests shaped like lions. Leona wore her uniform: tall black boots, brown trousers, a white buttoned shirt, a blue coat with brass buttons. Around her neck hung the jewel Einav had given her. On her head, she wore a new hat. A black, wide-brimmed cowboy hat. Her father's hat.

Before Leona stood her council. Her ministers and generals. Her friends.

She rose to her feet.

"Let's get started. We have a world to rebuild."

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Bay's jaw dropped.

"That is your wedding dress?"

Rowan nodded. "Sure is. What's wrong with it?"

Bay blinked. "It's … blue and red. And … ribbony." He tilted his head. "And why are you wearing a blond wig?"

Rowan grinned. "It's Sailor Moon cosplay! I made it myself!"

"A sailor what now?"

"Old twenty-first century anime show," Rowan said. "Trust me, you'll love it. I'll make you watch it later." She twirled around. "I sewed the costume especially for our wedding. I don't want to marry you in some normal pretty dress. That's not me. I'm a geek! And proud of it. This cosplay is me."

"You should have dressed up as a hobbit," Bay said.

Rowan rolled her eyes. "Hardy har har. I already look like a proper hobbit in my HDF uniform." She pulled out another costume from her closet. "Here. This is yours."

He blinked. "I don't get a say in what I wear?"

"Nope!" Rowan's grin widened.

Bay unfolded his costume. He frowned. "Jeans? And a wife-beater shirt with some Chinese drawing?"

"Come on, you know this one!" Rowan said. "You're Jack Burton! From Big Trouble in Little China! You know, your favorite movie?"

He frowned. "I thought that was your favorite movie."

Rowan rolled her eyes. "My favorite movies are The Lord of the Rings. All three."

"Which is why you should be a hobbit."

Rowan groaned. "Be good, or I'll force you to go as Zardoz." She reached for her minicom. "Don't force me to show you Sean Connery's outfit from Zardoz again."

Bay turned green. "I'll be good!"

It was a small wedding. Neither of them wanted a large affair. In fact, they shared the day with another couple: Tom and Leona. Rowan had expected the two to wear their full military uniforms. She was surprised—and pleased—to see otherwise. Tom wore a white buttoned shirt, untucked over white trousers, which matched his silvery hair and stubbly beard. Leona wore a simple white dress over her very pregnant belly.

They gathered with their friends in a garden. The autumn morning was crisp, the sky clear and blue. Maple leaves glided in the breeze and rustled beneath their feet. Pumpkins rested among bales of hay, and fresh apples filled straw baskets. Swans swam in the nearby stream.

Tom and Leona approached the wedding arch first. Tom wore laurels in his silver hair, and he smiled—a rare, warm smile, which few people had ever seen. Leona's dark hair cascaded down to her waist, strewn with wildflowers, and her feet were bare. Everyone in the crowd whispered of her beauty.

She's easily the most beautiful woman on Earth, Rowan thought, watching from the crowd. She felt plain by comparison, what with her skinny body, short hair, and crooked teeth. But then the jealously passed. And Rowan felt nothing but joy for her friend.

They had no priest, no rabbi, no minister. They had their community and their love. That was enough.

Tom held Leona's hands. He gazed into her eyes and spoke to her.

"Who is a woman of valor? She is worth more than rubies. She can roar like a lioness, fighting for light, and she can love like a mother dove, keeping her young safe under her wing. She is like an autumn flower, offering beauty and joy before the winter, and she is like a mountain, strong and eternal through wind and snow. She is a calm lake of clear water, offering stillness and peace, and she is wildfire through the grasslands, clearing a path for new life. Who is a woman of valor? She is lightning and rainbow, she is flame and mist, she is a bright blade and a sprig of olive. She is a woman I love. We fought side by side. And together, we will build a home. You are my woman of valor, Leona. And I'm proud that you're my bride."

They kissed, and Leona laughed as Tom lifted her in his arms. He carried Leona down the aisle as the crowd cheered. Still laughing, Leona stole his laurel and placed it on her own head.

Bay and Rowan were still waiting in the crowd. As Tom walked by, he nodded at them and winked.

It was their turn now. Bay and Rowan stepped up to the wedding arch.

Suddenly Rowan felt foolish. Everyone was looking at them. Why had she prepared these silly costumes? Tom and Leona had been so beautiful, wearing all white, laurels and flowers in their hair.

Meanwhile, Bay and I got dressed for Comic-Con, Rowan thought.

Her cheeks flushed. Suddenly Rowan wanted to run. To flee all these people looking at her. Why had she even wanted to get married in public? Why hadn't she just married Bay without a crowd, or just remained his girlfriend? She wanted to hide in her trailer. Like she had hidden all those years in the ducts. To vanish from view. All the eyes seemed to burn her.

But Rowan took a deep breath.

This is a good day, she told herself. This is a day of joy. We suffered through so many years of pain. We lost so much. Let us have a good day.

She turned toward Bay. She imagined that if she felt self-conscious, Bay would be positively squirming. But he wasn't even blushing. He was looking at her with softness and love. He took her hands.

"I'm not a poet like Tom," Bay said. "I don't have beautiful words to say. Not as beautiful as you are. See, even that sounded corny." Now he finally blushed. "But I'll say this. When I met you, Rowan, I was a broken man. I was hurt, afraid, lost. And when I saw you, I saw somebody pure. I saw a beautiful soul in a world of darkness. You made me want to be a better man. And over the past six years, I hope that I became a better man. Rowan, you are the most wonderful person I know. I've never met anyone kinder, smarter, or braver. I love how you can quote Monty Python and Blackadder at will. I love how you can dance around to K-pop one moment, then bang your head to Iron Maiden the next. I love that you can devour fifteen pancakes in one sitting, and get syrup all over your face, without ever being less adorable. I love how you're a genius at computers, but still get frustrated and shout at Angry Birds. I've fought at your side for six years. And those were years of war. Of hardship. Of loss. But they were also the best years of my life. Because they were with you. And I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you, Rowan. You are my little hobbit, and you are the love of my life."

She grinned. "Not bad, pancake." She mussed his hair. "Love you forever."

They kissed and the crowd cheered again.

Rowan had never been good at social gatherings. She needed a couple shots of whiskey to steady her nerves. Then she found herself laughing. Moving between the guests. Telling dumb jokes and quoting Monty Python. She horrified a few people, reciting the sketch where John Cleese slaughtered the wedding guests in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. But Bay laughed. And that's what mattered to Rowan.

She even danced with him. With people watching. Rowan loved to dance, but she had never danced with others looking. Bay was horrible at it. So was she, to be honest. Nobody cared. Others joined them, and even Fillister hit the dance floor, twirling around on his metal feet.

Rowan even played a few K-pop songs.

"I wish they could have been here," she said to Bay once they returned to their seats, exhausted. "Brooklyn. And Emet. And Mairead and Ramses and all the others. I wish they could have shared this day with us."

Bay hugged her.

That night, they returned to their new home. It was still under construction, gradually taking form. Rowan had designed the house herself. It was shaped like a hobbit hole, carved into a hillside, modeled after Bag End from The Lord of the Rings. Her dream home.

Their clothes were already off in the foyer. They never made it to the bedroom. Bay and Rowan made love on the living room rug. Rowan just paused long enough to lower the framed portraits of their parents. Some things she didn't need a crowd for.

Afterward, Bay lit a fire in the hearth. They curled up in a blanket and watched an episode of Stranger Things. They never finished the episode. Rowan pulled his clothes off again, and they made love—more slowly this time, gazing into each other's eyes all the while.

They saved the third time for the bedroom. It left them truly exhausted. They fell asleep in each other's arms.

The next morning, Rowan woke at dawn. Bay was still sound asleep. She looked at him, at her husband. He was beautiful in the dawn, she thought. The morning light turned his hair and beard bright gold, and the scars on his body, and his missing arm, did not diminish his beauty in her eyes. He had just turned thirty a few days ago. Yes, he had changed. He was no longer that boy from Paradise Lost, a lost soul living for drugs, booze, and gambling. The war perhaps had scarred him, but it had hardened him. Broken him, then rebuilt him wiser and stronger than before.

As it did to me, Rowan thought.

Silently, she slipped out of the house, leaving Bay to sleep. Fillister joined her, and they hiked in the dawn across the hills. There was still so much destruction everywhere. Charred trees. Craters from explosives. Animal skeletons. Thousands of graves. But there was new life too. New trees and flowers and birds that filled the world with life.

Rowan sat on a fallen log. She looked around her. At the beauty of Earth. At the bustling city of Port Addison along the misty river. At her home on the hill. And tears flowed down her cheeks.

"Oi, Row!" Fillister cocked his head. "What's wrong?"

"It's so beautiful," Rowan whispered. "But I can't forget, Fill."

He nuzzled her. "I know, love."

"So much bad happened." Rowan lowered her head. "I lost my family. I lost so many friends. I can't forget all the horrors, Fill. The bonecrawlers that chased me through the ducts. The scorpions slaughtering the millions. The basilisks burning and bombing the world that I love. I can't forget my clones in New York City, twisted and begging for death. I can't forget seeing my parents on Xerka's tower, risen again, and …"

She could say no more. Her tears fell.

Fillister climbed onto the log beside her. He was a robot, his body cold and metallic, but when he slung a leg across her, it made Rowan feel a little warmer, a little safer.

"I'm sorry, Row. I wish I could delete your memories, same as I can delete me old files."

Rowan leaned her head against him. "We've come a long way, old friend."

"We sure have, Row."

She smiled and wiped her eyes. "We've been together for twenty years now. Since I was two years old, and Dad gave me a little pocket watch that could turn into a dragonfly. And we've both changed so much. You've turned into a wolf, and I've turned into …" She sighed. "Well, considering that I built a damn hobbit hole for my house, I suppose I'm still a hobbit. But maybe a wiser one. A stronger one."

"You've always been strong," Fillister said. "And wise. I never doubted that. But yes, it's been a long road for us."

"And the journey isn't over yet," Rowan said. "There's still so much to do! I need to keep studying the art of weaving. I haven't forgotten my goal. I want to become a powerful weaver like Gadriel, able to build a shield around Earth. There are many alien civilizations out there, Fill. And they won't just leave us alone. They hate us. They fear us. Especially now that we have a planet of our own, that we defeated Xerka. They'll attack again, and we have to be ready. Not just to build a shield. But to build a proper artillery. And a new fleet."

"We'll be ready, Row. If any more of them aliens show up, I'll bite 'em right in their backsides!" He bared his metal teeth.

Rowan laughed. "You're our fiercest weapon. And I want to do more than just prepare for war. I want to rebuild. Not just buildings. I mean—who we are. As a people. Our culture. Our legends. Our identity. There are millions of humans on Earth now, refugees from a thousand different worlds. We need new stories to unite us. Books, music, movies. Art from our own generation." She grinned. "Maybe we can finally film Dinosaur Island."

Fillister's eyes widened. "Oi, Row! Maybe you can build me a robotic dino body! I'd make a smashing T-Rex, don't you think?"

She laughed. "Let's not get too ahead of ourselves. Although that would be cool. I could ride you! Oh, and you could have chainsaws for arms! And your tail could shoot laser beams! Oh, oh, and your teeth would be authentic Japanese katanas! That'll be bitchin'!" She sighed. "I'm going to be busy for a while with all these projects."

Suddenly tears were flowing again. She hugged her companion.

"I'm here for you, Row," Fillister said. "Always and forever."

She looked at the swaying fields of flowers. At the birch and maple saplings. At Port Addison by the river, a city where her friends and husband awaited.

"There is a lot of pain," she whispered. "There are memories that will never leave me. I don't know if I can ever be truly happy, if I can ever forget. The nightmares won't leave me. My scars won't heal. The pain of all this loss will always hurt. But there's beauty here too. There is joy and laughter and love. And that is more than enough. I'm hurt. I'm sad. I'm haunted and will never heal. But I'm also happy at the same time. I'm so happy." Her stomach growled, and she laughed. "And hungry. Let's go eat breakfast."

She returned to her little hobbit hole. When she stepped back inside, the smell of pancakes and syrup greeted her.

"Ah, good, you're back from your stroll," Bay said. He wore an apron and held a spatula. "Pancakes are almost ready."

Rowan sniffed. "I think they might be a bit too ready."

Smoke wafted from the kitchen. Bay's eyes widened.

"My blueberry pancakes!" He dashed back into the kitchen.

They sat down to eat—one batch of deliciously moist blueberry pancakes, and another batch of extra crispy pancakes. Soon Bay had to rush back into the kitchen when the bacon began to burn. He was a wonderful man, her husband. But needed some practice cooking.

After breakfast, they sat on the front porch, drinking coffee, watching the people come and go. Mothers carried newborn babies. Young couples strolled hand in hand. Families were forming, life was returning.

Yes, Rowan thought and leaned against Bay. I'm happy.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Every day now, they flew in.

Starships ferrying the last human refugees.

Leona had landed on Earth nearly three years ago with only two hundred colonists. And now the ships kept coming. With Earth free, with the scorpions and basilisks defeated, the last of humanity came home.

By late autumn, nearly five million humans were living on Earth.

Once they had been billions. But their last remnants had united. Had come home.

Your work is complete, Dad, Leona thought. We did it.

That autumn, Leona gave birth to a pink, squealing, beautiful little boy. He came out a month early, an eager little thing, but healthy and hungry and ready to face the world. Exhausted after the birth, Leona rocked her little boy in her arms, and Tom stood at her side, beaming.

It was sixteen years since that horrible day, since Leona had lost her first pregnancy and husband. Often during those long years, Leona had thought hers would be a life dedicated to war, a life of suffering and emptiness. Here, at age thirty-three, she found new joy.

I have Earth, she thought. I have a new family.

She kissed the little boy.

"We should name him Emet," Tom said. "After your father."

Leona considered. "I dunno. I loved my dad. But Emet … Not the best name. How about we name him after your dad?"

Tom winced. "Archibald? Heavens no. What has the poor boy ever done to you?" He thought for a moment. "How about Leo?"

Leona frowned. "What, after me?"

"Why not? You both are lions." Tom caressed the baby's thin plume of hair. "Little Leo Ben-Ari."

She took her husband's hand. "Not Leo Shepherd?"

"No." Tom smiled at the baby. "The name Shepherd comes from my profession on an alien world. But the Ben-Ari family is famous on Earth. The family that has led humanity for thousands of years. This little one is a prince. He's a Ben-Ari."

"How about Shepherd Ben-Ari then?"

"That can work," Tom said. "But does he really need two last names?"

"Shepherd will be his first name," Leona said. "That way he gets a name from each of us. Shepherd Ben-Ari."

"Shepherd Ben-Ari." Tom nodded. "I like it."

Little Shepherd stirred in her arms, then fell back asleep. Leona looked at him. At her little boy.

She knew there would be many battles ahead. She knew that the cosmos was filled with danger, that new empires would rise to replace the basilisks, that Earth could never lay down her shield and sword. Leona led this world now, and she knew that the road ahead was still long and winding, and that many enemies lurked among the shadows. But for the first time in many years, true hope filled Leona. True light filled her life.

May you never know war, she thought, holding her son close. May you never know loss. May you never know the pain your parents knew. You are among the first babies born on New Earth. I hope we can build you a good world. A better life than we had. Your father and I fought for humanity all our lives. But we were also fighting for you, my son. I am a lioness, and you are my cub. I will always fight for you, and I will always love you. She kissed his head. May you know nothing but peace.

The End

AFTERWORD

Thank you for reading The Legacy of Earth. This concludes the Children of Earthrise series. Thank you for taking this journey with me.

One story has ended. But there are more stories in the Earthrise universe.

Have you read Earthrise: The Original Series? Set 2,000 years before the events in Children of Earthrise, it tells the story of Earth's first alien war. Start reading with Earth Alone.

And I'm still writing new Earthrise stories. This universe will keep growing. A universe full of heroes, battles, and a little blue planet we all fight for.

Want to know when I release new Earthrise books? Here are some ways to stay updated:

 * Join my mailing list at (and receive three free ebooks): DanielArenson.com/MailingList

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And if you have a moment, please review The Heirs of Earth (the first novel in the series) on Amazon. Help other science fiction readers and tell them why you enjoyed reading. Leave your review here.

Thank you again, dear reader, and I hope we meet again between the pages of another book.

Daniel

NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

EARTHRISE

Earth Alone

Earth Lost

Earth Rising

Earth Fire

Earth Shadows

Earth Valor

Earth Reborn

Earth Honor

Earth Eternal

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

THE MOTH SAGA

Moth

Empires of Moth

Secrets of Moth

Daughter of Moth

Shadows of Moth

Legacy of Moth

KINGDOMS OF SAND

Kings of Ruin

Crowns of Rust

Thrones of Ash

Temples of Dust

Halls of Shadows

Echoes of Light

REQUIEM

Dawn of Dragons

Requiem's Song

Requiem's Hope

Requiem's Prayer

The Complete Trilogy

Song of Dragons

Blood of Requiem

Tears of Requiem

Light of Requiem

The Complete Trilogy

Dragonlore

A Dawn of Dragonfire

A Day of Dragon Blood

A Night of Dragon Wings

The Complete Trilogy

The Dragon War

A Legacy of Light

A Birthright of Blood

A Memory of Fire

The Complete Trilogy

Requiem for Dragons

Dragons Lost

Dragons Reborn

Dragons Rising

The Complete Trilogy

Flame of Requiem

Forged in Dragonfire

Crown of Dragonfire

Pillars of Dragonfire

The Complete Trilogy

ALIEN HUNTERS

Alien Hunters

Alien Sky

Alien Shadows

OTHER WORLDS

Eye of the Wizard

Wand of the Witch

Firefly Island

The Gods of Dream

Flaming Dove

KEEP IN TOUCH

www.DanielArenson.com

Daniel@DanielArenson.com

Facebook.com/DanielArenson

Twitter.com/DanielArenson