THE SONG OF EARTH

CHILDREN OF EARTHRISE, BOOK 5

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

AFTERWORD

NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

KEEP IN TOUCH

Illustration © Tom Edwards - TomEdwardsDesign.com

CHAPTER ONE

Colonel Mairead "Firebug" McQueen, commander of the Firebird Fleet, watched thousands of alien warships open fire.

Below her, Earth burned.

Mairead stood in her cabin aboard the HDFS Jerusalem. The heavy frigate, humanity's flagship, was orbiting Earth. Mairead stared through the porthole at the devastation. At the scaly warships of the basilisk empire. At the storms of flame and fury pounding her homeworld.

For an instant—just half a breath—Mairead forgot her duties. She froze in terror.

It's beginning, she thought. The great war.

Of course, humans had been fighting for Earth for generations. They had fought the scorpions in the depths of space. For almost two years now, they had been fighting the basilisks here at Earth. Some humans, like President Emet Ben-Ari, had been fighting since before Mairead had been born.

But this was different.

Watching the fire rain, Mairead knew this was no ordinary battle.

This is our war of independence, she thought. Or our war of extinction.

The instant of horror ended. And Mairead McQueen did what she did best.

She leaped into battle.

"All Firebirds, prepare for launch!" she shouted into her comm.

Firebirds were humanity's best weapon, best hope. The starfighters were quick and deadly, capable of fighting in space or air. Mairead had been flying Firebirds for most of her life. Today she commanded the entire Firebird Fleet—humanity's front line of defense. Today it was her duty to save the world.

She was already wearing her armored spacesuit. She had not removed it in days, not even to sleep. Not with tensions so high. She reached for her helmet, which lay on a table, when a blast hit the Jerusalem. The starship jolted, knocking Mairead against a bulkhead. Her helmet clattered by her feet.

She scooped up the helmet, didn't even pause to put it on, and burst out of her cabin.

Klaxons blared across the Jerusalem. Red lights strobed. Most of the ship's complement was down on Earth. The remaining skeleton crew was running along the corridors, racing to their battle stations.

Another blast slammed into the frigate. The mighty warship jolted. Mairead screamed and fell. Fire blazed above her, and smoke filled the corridor. A laser beam flashed ahead, green and crackling and thrumming with energy, carving into the hull. A man screamed and died, sliced in two. Blood rose from the corpse like a red snake, funneling toward a hole in the hull, then flowed into space,

Mairead lay on the floor, staring, frozen.

Her eyes burned.

Through a porthole, she saw the rest of her fleet. A thousand human starships. Burning. Falling toward Earth. Lasers hit the starships one by one, and explosions filled space.

The enemy was everywhere. Thousands of elongated Rattlers—the basilisks' scaly warships—were flying outside. Lasers flashed. Bombs rained. This alien fleet had been orbiting Earth for a year now, blockading the planet.

But now, the basilisks were done with a mere siege. Now they were attacking in earnest. Now they were firing everything they had, destroying Earth and her fleet.

And Mairead saw something even worse.

Something that froze her blood.

Wormholes appeared around Earth. Seven massive portals, rimmed with fire.

From each portal, new enemy warships emerged.

Mairead knew these ships. She had seen them in the depths of space before. And now they were here, at her home.

One wormhole spewed the organic podships of the Esporians, sentient mushrooms that loathed humanity. They were foul fungus, able to disperse clouds of toxic spores. They bred faster than rabbits, and they thrived on rotting human flesh.

From the second wormhole: The dagger-shaped warships of the Aelonians, humanoids with transparent skin and innards of fire. They had once been human allies. Now they would fight to see humanity destroyed.

From the third: Spiky ships like urchins, filled with hellwolves, demonic canines known for terrorizing a thousand worlds. They were larger than horses, their fangs like swords, rabid beasts feared across the galaxy.

The fourth wormhole discharged fleshy ships like sacks of skin. These loathsome pustules carried alien blobs, living cubes of mucus that loved to digest their victims alive.

From the fifth portal: Massive, boxy ships of metal, filled with carnivorous caterpillars. These beasts would never become butterflies. The size of crocodiles, they sprouted rings of arms around their jaws—built to grab their victims and pull them into ravenous hellmouths.

From the sixth portal: Circular ships filled with salty water and spiky marine killers. The fish inside made sharks seem like sponges.

From the final porthole flew more Rattlers, the serpentine warships of the Basilisk Empire. But this was no ordinary basilisk armada. The mighty Vypress, Xerka's new flagship, led this fleet. The Serpent Queen had come herself, leading this monstrous host. She would oversee Earth's destruction.

Seven portals. Seven alien fleets. Each crueler than the last. All had united. All were bombarding the world.

Below, Earth was burning.

Earth had faced alien invasions before. But never something like this. Never seven armies attacking together.

It was the end, Mairead knew. The end of humanity.

She trembled. She couldn't breathe. The air was fleeing the pierced hull of the Jerusalem. Her skin began to blister. Her saliva boiled on her tongue.

She clenched her fists and gritted her teeth.

Fight. To the very end. To a death in fire and glory.

She screamed and rose to her feet. She placed her helmet over her fiery curls and gulped down oxygen. And she ran.

She leaped over corpses—the corpses of friends. Another laser beam hit the Jerusalem, carving through the hull. Mairead dropped to her knees and slid forward, passing under the beam, then rose and ran again.

She burst into the Firebird hangar.

After a long war, Earth was low on Firebirds. At the height of its power, during the Golden Age long ago, Earth had commanded thousands of these starfighters. Today they were down to dozens. Only a handful awaited Mairead here aboard the Jerusalem.

And lasers were carving them up.

Mairead skidded to a halt and stared, aghast.

Two laser beams—as thick as her arm, crackling with green fury—were searing the hangar. They ripped up the deck, sliced open bulkheads, and tore into Firebirds. Several pilots lay dead, carved up like Christmas hams. Living pilots were scrambling into their cockpits.

"Deploy!" Mairead shouted, running toward one of the remaining Firebirds. "Fly, pilots of Earth! Fly and fight!"

A laser swept toward her, burning everything in its path.

Mairead leaped over the beam. She hopped into her Firebird, slammed the canopy shut, and fired up the engine. Around her, the surviving pilots did the same. Ear-crushing electric guitars boomed inside Mairead's cockpit, the music she always played when flying—to energize her, to drown her fear.

The airlock was mangled, its doors hanging loose, exposing space. The entire frigate was falling apart. Mairead fired her starfighter's machine guns, tearing off the loose doors.

Then she shoved down the throttle and roared out into space.

Five other Firebirds followed.

They flew into hell.

Mairead had fought in many battles. She had joined the Heirs of Earth at age thirteen, becoming the youngest soldier in its history. For fourteen years now, she had been fighting for Earth. Her Firebird had flown in the greatest battles. She had flown with the Iron Lioness at the Battle of Terminus, storming toward armadas of scorpion strikers. She had fought above the forest moon of Helios, charging against the dreadnought of Jade the Huntress. She had even fought in the Battle of Aelonia, the climactic battle of the Galactic War where a million starships had burned.

But Mairead had never seen anything like this.

She could not see the sky below nor the stars above. She could barely see Earth at all. Barely see the rest of her fleet.

Only fire. Only death.

For a year now, Xerka's Rattlers had surrounded Earth like a noose. Tightening. Threatening. But not yet attacking.

But Earth had lost the vote at the Galactic Council. Thousands of alien species had decided—Earth belonged to the basilisks.

Now that basilisk fleet, along with its allies, was unleashing all its wrath.

Flying in lower orbit, the human warships were fighting back. Their cannons were pounding the enemy. More Firebirds were emerging from other motherships. But the human fleet was so small. Most of Earth's ships mere tankers and freighters, barely equipped for war.

They were falling fast. The enemy was firing everything they had: laser beams, torpedoes, poisonous spores, blobs of acid, plasma bolts, and whirring blades tipped with explosives. The fusillade tore through the human fleet. Legendary ships—ships that had fought in legendary battles, that had liberated gulocks, that had delivered the first colonists to Earth—were burning and falling.

But the horror in space was nothing compared to the horror on Earth itself.

The Rattlers kept spewing spinning, flaming projectiles. The incendiaries stormed toward Earth like comets, leaving trails of fire. They slammed into the planet, raising tidal waves, shattering mountains, burning grasslands and woodlands. Burning colonies.

Mairead took this all in within several heartbeats.

Then she turned her Firebird away from Earth. She soared, charging toward the enemy hosts.

Xerka's Rattlers hid the stars. Thousands upon thousands of them. They were long, undulating warships, shaped like the serpents inside them. Armored scales covered their bendable hulls. Portholes blazed upon their prows like red eyes. Cannons thrust out like fangs. Engines roared on their sterns like rattlesnake tails, giving these deadly machines their name. The largest were a kilometer long, dreadnoughts more powerful than any Earth vessel. But even the smallest Rattlers were mighty frigates, as large as the Jerusalem. And with them—thousands of other alien warships, metallic and organic, smooth and spiky, all firing their guns.

Alone in her Firebird, Mairead screamed as she soared toward them.

She knew she was going to die.

She flew onward.

"Fire on these sons of bitches!" she shouted—and unleashed an arsenal of missiles.

Around her, the other Firebirds rose. They added their firepower to hers.

The missiles streamed upward, moving at hypersonic speed, and slammed against the Rattlers. They pierced through armor. They drove into enemy decks. Scaly warships exploded above, raining shrapnel.

Below Mairead, several human frigates fired their cannons. Shells the size of men pounded the enemy, tearing open more hulls.

For a moment, Mairead dared to hope. They were outnumbered a hundred to one. But maybe—just maybe—they could win.

And then the enemy starfighters swarmed.

They emerged from the basilisk motherships. Hundreds of them. Each was only a few meters long, covered in metal scales. The humans called them Copperheads—tiny vessels, barely larger than the snakes who flew them.

Despite their size, they were horrifyingly deadly.

The Copperheads charged toward the Firebirds at dizzying speed, firing lasers, vowing death.

Mairead growled and kicked her yoke, tossing her Firebird into a barrel roll. She corkscrewed upward, howling, dodging lasers. A beam grazed her wing. Sparks flew. She ignored the blow and kept flying.

A Firebird exploded to her left.

Another to her right.

The lasers were picking them off one by one.

"Muck you, snakes," Mairead said.

She extended her Firebird's machine guns—and unleashed her rage.

Her starfighter thrummed as the bullets streaked up. The barrage slammed into Copperheads, tearing through the small vessels.

The two starfighter fleets kept charging toward each other—the Copperheads from above, the Firebirds from below.

With a firestorm that shook space, the forces collided.

Several Firebirds and Copperheads slammed together, exploding with showers of fire and flesh. Mairead's bird grazed a Copperhead, ripping off several scales. Her hull dented. Her canopy cracked. She rose toward a mothership, released a missile, but didn't wait to see it hit. She turned and swooped toward the Copperheads, which were now flying below her, and bathed them with hellfire.

She was now facing Earth again.

Her heart nearly shattered.

The blue planet had turned red.

Fires burned on the plains of Ontario—where Port Addison was located, the first and largest human colony. But the flames were everywhere. There were half a million humans on Earth. Only a year ago, they had been refugees. They had suffered untold pain in space. Most had survived gulocks, torture factories where aliens skinned their victims alive. Two thousand years ago, humans had lost Earth, and since then, they had languished in the darkness. Lost. Hiding. Hunted. Tortured.

Only two years ago, they had finally found Earth. A planet many had believed just a myth. Haunted, brutalized, humanity had begun to return. To build again. To heal.

And now this.

Again—the fire, the agony, the death.

Fury filled Mairead.

It's not fair! Tears burned in her eyes. We suffered so much. Billions of us died. Alien empires, one after another, slaughtered us for sport. The centipede scum. The marauders. The grays. The Hydrian squids. The Skra-Shen scorpions. Now the basilisks. We can't even catch our mucking breath! She roared out her agony. Just give us a Ra damn break!

But she had no time for such thoughts now.

Right now, the world was burning. The human fleet was collapsing. Mairead had to save whatever she could of humanity—or die trying.

A blast hit her stern.

She grunted as smoke filled the cockpit. Her Firebird tumbled, and she wrestled with the yoke, finally steadying the starfighter.

Another blast slammed into her.

Her canopy shattered.

Mairead screamed. Shards dug into her armored suit, then streamed out into the vacuum. She clenched her jaw, wrestling with the yoke, spinning madly. Everywhere around her—thousands of warships and starfighters. Jagged debris. Lasers and missiles and bullets. Floating corpses.

A Firebird exploded beside her.

Ten Copperheads swooped, firing lasers, carving up a human frigate. The massive warship tore apart. Its decks plummeted toward Earth and burned up in the atmosphere.

Mairead shouted and opened fire. She didn't even have to aim. The enemy was everywhere. Her missiles slammed into a Rattler. Her bullets tore through a Copperhead. But it was like swatting two bees in a swarm—pointless.

Another Firebird exploded. Another frigate burned.

And Mairead knew she was going to die.

Her breath shook in her chest. She was only twenty-seven. She had never fallen in love. She had never gotten married, raised a family.

It's too soon. I'm not ready.

She fired again, unleashing her last two missiles. She was down to bullets now, and her Firebird was barely flying. Her fleet was collapsing.

Below her, the HDFS Jerusalem began to rise.

The mighty frigate, flagship of the human fleet, had been Mairead's home all her life. She had been born in space, born into this war—born on that very ship. She had been raised aboard the Jerusalem, spending her childhood running through the winding corridors, exploring the engine room, gazing through the portholes at the stars. Even since arriving at Earth two years ago, Mairead had spent most of her time aboard the Jerusalem, ready to pilot her Firebird at a moment's notice.

Now the Jerusalem, that beloved home, was cracked and leaking air. The lasers had seared off several decks. More fire kept pounding her, stripping off the last of her shields. Yet still the frigate flew, rising toward the enemy armada. As smaller warships shattered and fell around her, the legendary Jerusalem kept soaring.

A broadcast emerged from the Jerusalem. The small monitor in Mairead's cockpit was cracked, but it flickered to life, showing a grainy image. She saw General Crane, a stocky man with gray hair and a bushy mustache. For decades, Emet Ben-Ari had commanded the Jerusalem. But Emet was president of Earth now, fighting down on the surface, and Crane commanded the human fleet. Now Crane spoke to the fleet as his bridge burned around him.

"This is General Michael Crane, speaking from the HDFS Jerusalem," said the burly officer. "All ships that are capable of atmospheric flight—fly down to Earth and fight in the skies."

Mairead sneered. "I won't abandon you, General!"

"You will not abandon Earth!" Crane said. "Colonel McQueen—lead all surviving Firebirds to Port Addison. Space is lost. Continue the war in the sky."

The Jerusalem was rising by Mairead's starfighter now. She could see Crane standing aboard the crumbling bridge, only a hundred meters from her starboard bow. Enemy fire kept pounding the Jerusalem, carving up more decks. Shuttles were fleeing the flagship, carrying crew members. The Rattlers fired on them. Several shuttles exploded. Others managed to reach Earth and plunged into the sky.

"Come with us, Crane!" Mairead said. "General—enter an escape shuttle! Come with us to Earth!"

As he rose by her, Crane looked through a cracked porthole. He saluted.

"A captain should go down with his ship."

Three Copperheads swooped, coming between Mairead and the Jerusalem. She focused on fighting, swerving around the enemies, firing her last bullets, taking them out one by one.

The Jerusalem gained speed, soaring above her, shedding scraps of metal like an insect shedding its shell. The entire stern detached and fell. Shield plating tumbled down. A piece of shrapnel slammed into Mairead's Firebird, tossing her into a tailspin. She could barely steady herself.

Crane was still on her monitor. The general raised his chin.

"For the blue skies of Earth!" he said—and engaged his afterburners.

The Jerusalem shot upward with a burst of speed, hurtling itself toward the alien formations.

The legendary frigate, the ship that had led humanity for decades, charged into the enemy lines. And among thousands of alien warships—detonated its nuclear arsenal.

Light and heat flooded Mairead.

She covered her head with her arms, grimacing. She was twenty, maybe thirty kilometers away from the explosion. Her suit was built to withstand the harsh radiation of space. And yet this conflagration washed over her with the fury of a supernova.

The battle paused.

No more missiles flew. No more lasers burned through steel. Everyone stared.

Above, the light faded.

The HDFS Jerusalem was gone.

This legendary starship. The great flagship of Earth. The shining beacon that had led humanity from exile to their homeworld. Their pillar of fire in the night.

She was gone, and Mairead wept for the loss.

With her destruction, with the sacrifice of her commander, the Jerusalem had taken out a hundred enemy warships.

With a trembling hand, Mairead lifted her comm to her mouth. She spoke with a shaky voice.

"This is Lieutenant Colonel Mairead McQueen. You heard the general. All ships capable of atmospheric entry—fly down to Earth. All shuttles—deploy. To the rest of you—Godspeed, children of Earth."

With roaring fire and blazing lasers, the battle resumed.

More blasts hit humanity's fleet.

More starships shattered.

The starfighters and shuttles, vessels with wings, began heading toward Earth. Mairead's Firebird was damaged, barely able to fly, but she circled around the others, firing on the enemy, covering the retreat.

Above her, the larger human starships—vessels that could not survive atmospheric flight—were rising in their final stand.

Another frigate charged into the enemy lines and exploded.

"For Earth!" its commander cried before the end.

More light and heat and radiation bathed the battle. Another hundred Rattlers tore open. More tears filled Mairead's eyes.

One by one, the human starships were blazing with light, tearing through the enemy, going out with glory.

And Mairead knew she would go out with them. She too would sacrifice herself for Earth.

A captain does not abandon her ship, she thought. And I will not abandon my fleet. She raised her chin, even as tears flowed down her cheeks. I was born in space. I was raised among the stars. And I will die here.

As the shuttles descended, as the starships exploded, Mairead soared.

She flew through debris, rising higher, engines sputtering, ascending through the fire and fury.

Her starfighter was out of ordinance. She raised her pistol and fired through the shattered canopy.

"For Earth!" she cried.

Starships blazed above. The inferno washed over her.

Her engines died, and for a moment—silence.

Nothing but silence as the cosmos burned.

And her Firebird fell.

As she tumbled toward the Earth, Mairead stared above, watching the commanders of the fleet perish in fire. She screamed, wanting to join them, to die with them in glory, to rise with them to halls of fallen warriors.

But the gravity kept pulling her. Her starfighter disintegrated around her. Only her armored suit protected her now. She ejected and blasted out into space, crying out in rage and agony.

She floated alone through the battle. A woman in an armored suit. A woman falling.

Corpses careened around her. Mairead tumbled through the battle and into the sky.

She fell, teeth rattling, consciousness slipping. A mantle of fire burned around her. She was ionizing the air, shrieking downward, spinning madly.

All was blackness.

She floated in a void.

She gasped for air, regaining consciousness, and saw the burning plains of Earth below her. Only a few kilometers away.

Screaming, she grabbed the controls of her jetpack and ignited the engines.

She streaked across the sky, leaving a vapor trail. She soared, staring upward, trying to rejoin the battle. But a jetpack could not escape the gravity well.

"I should have died with you!" she howled. "I am a warrior! I should have died in battle!"

But she fell.

She fell like a coward.

The world was burning below her. All around her, the enemy shells were shrieking downward, exploding on the ground, digging craters. Smoke covered the sky. Chunks of shattered starships fell like meteorites. A piece of metal, no larger than a tack, slammed into Mairead's jetpack, killing one engine.

It tossed her into a mad spin. She corkscrewed downward, trailing spirals of smoke. She killed her remaining engine and fell. A meter from the surface, she ignited the jetpack again, spurted upward, and then shut down the engine.

She fell.

She crashed through a canopy of trees and hit the ground.

Darkness spread over her.

As a fiery curtain spread across the sky, Mairead's head dropped to the ground. Blackness enveloped her, and there was no more pain.

CHAPTER TWO

Half a million humans. The entire population of Earth. They huddled underground as the surface burned.

"Get me General Crane on the comm!" Emet barked as the walls shuddered.

"He's gone, sir!" cried an officer. "The Jerusalem is gone."

Another explosion sounded above. The bunker shuddered, and dust rained from the concrete ceiling.

"Get me the Jaipur, dammit!"

"They're all gone, sir." The officer stared at him, her face pale. "Our entire fleet. It's gone."

The war room shook again. Every second, another blast pounded the surface. The bunker was buried deep underground, and the walls were thick concrete reinforced with metal. But even they groaned in protest, and cracks spiderwebbed across them. Officers filled the bunker, staring at their monitors in disbelief. One man was trembling. Another vomited in the corner.

Doorways led to deeper bunkers, an underground network containing the entire population of Port Addison. People were praying. Holding one another. A song rose from a nearby chamber, a hundred voices singing together. They sang "Earthrise," once the song of their exile, today the anthem of Earth.

Our entire fleet, Emet thought. Gone.

The words lingered in the war room.

The Jerusalem had been his home for thirty years. His closest friends had served on that ship. Earth's fleet. Its orbit. Its surface. Lost.

His officers were looking at him. Waiting for his guidance.

For a moment, despair clutched Emet. He could barely breathe.

We're all going to die, he thought. The dream is over.

But then he listened to the people singing in the tunnels. Thousands were now singing together, their song filling the tunnels under Port Addison. His people were afraid but not despairing. Bowing but not unbent.

And they gave Emet strength. He had never been prouder of humanity.

He picked up his comm, and he spoke, transmitting his voice across the tunnels. Not just the tunnels here below Port Addison, the capital of Earth, but to bunkers across Earth's fifty human communities. He spoke in a loud, steady voice, even as booms kept shaking the bunker.

"This is President Emet Ben-Ari. Yesterday, the Galactic Council chose to grant Earth to the basilisk empire. At once, the basilisks began a campaign of shock and awe against us. Ships from six other alien nations joined their assault. They are bombarding our colonies, seeking to break us. But we will stand strong! Underground, we are safe. Xerka, Queen of the Basilisks, will dare not nuke our planet, dare not drop explosives that can burrow underground. Millions of basilisks live on Earth, most of them in tunnels of their own. So long as we stay underground, we're safe. The Human Defense Force, the military of Earth, knows how to fight this threat. Our brave soldiers are already mounting an artillery attack on the enemy starships. All soldiers of Earth—listen to your commanders, fight bravely, and we will overcome. All civilians—continue to stand strong, to support those who fight, and to inspire us with your courage. This is our war of independence! This is a war we will win."

He ended the transmission. A massive explosion sounded above, rattling the bunkers. Cracks raced across the ceiling, and dust fell.

Emet spoke to his officers next, his words for their ears only.

"This bombardment will not last forever. The enemy is softening us up. In a day, maybe two, maybe even a week—they'll invade with their infantry. Then it'll be a fight in the tunnels. Until then, our artillery batteries will try to take out as many Rattlers as we can. This won't be a short war. This won't be an easy war. This is not a war over territory, nor riches, nor power. This is a war for the survival of our species. If we lose this war, humanity goes extinct." He clenched his fists. "So we must win."

As the bombardment continued, Emet walked through the tunnels.

Two hundred thousand humans hid here below Port Addison—the entire population of the city. Most of them had escaped gulocks during the last war, only to end up here—arguably history's worst case of leaping from the frying pan into the fire. But they all stood tall, chins raised, shoulders squared. They were singing. Their eyes shone.

Yes, they were in bunkers. But they had an army. They were no longer cattle. No longer refugees, lost and scared in space. They were proud humans fighting for their homeworld.

As Emet walked among them, they reached out to him. He shook their hands. He patted their backs. He soothed their crying babies. He returned the salutes of young soldiers, some no older than thirteen but already wearing military uniforms. Brown trousers. White shirts. Blue coats. Colors that across the galaxy meant human pride. The soldiers could barely hear one another. The explosions were still booming above, and the bunkers kept shaking. But the people kept singing. One man was playing a guitar. In another room, a young woman was singing to a crowd of children. Not everyone here was a soldier. But they were all fighting for Earth.

Emet reached a shaft and ladder. He climbed and entered an artillery pillbox that rose above the surface—a hill of armored concrete and metal. A huge cannon thrust skyward, so large Emet could have climbed inside. Brave soldiers stood there, loading rockets and firing them into space. Emet spoke to them, slapped them on the back, congratulated their fighting spirit. Then he moved to another pillbox, another cannon. A third. A fourth. Every hundred meters, an artillery battery rose from the bunkers, firing upon the Rattlers.

The enemy had scored direct hits on two pillboxes, destroying them, crushing the cannons and slaying the gunners. But two hundred other artillery stations still operated across Earth, filling space with rockets. Most of these cannons had once been mounted on starships. The ships had burned in the wars. The guns had been salvaged.

Emet walked through the military intelligence bunker. Soldiers stood here at computers, painting pictures of the battle aboveground, communicating with other bunkers, working relentlessly to track the enemy positions. They used an array of hidden cameras on the surface, sonar machines underground, and hidden satellites in deep orbit. Even underground, the HDF was not blind.

Many bunkers were filled with infantry. Emet had a hundred thousand soldiers on Earth. But only one in ten was armed. Across the planet, they had barely ten thousand rifles. And only small caches of bullets.

Two hundred artillery cannons, Emet thought. Ten thousand rifles. My fleet destroyed. It's barely an army. It's not enough.

But that did not include the Exodus Fleet.

The Exodus Fleet was still out there. Flying in deep space. Fifty starships, armored and armed. Starships tasked with bringing human refugees home. Bay and Rowan were commanding the operation. Right now, they were Earth's only hope.

Emet walked through the tunnels and entered the communication hub—a large chamber filled with monitors, humming computers, and cables.

"Any luck contacting the Exodus Fleet?" he asked.

The chief communication officer, a petite woman with curly black hair, shook her head. "No sir. The basilisks are still jamming our signals."

"So unjam them!" he said.

The woman stiffened. "Sir, we're working on it. My entire team. Every time we come up with a new code, the basilisks disable it. We can reach a few of the nearby colonies—barely. To contact the Exodus Fleet in space? We need more time."

Emet pursed his lips, swallowing the anger. He nodded. "You're doing a good job, Major. Keep at it."

He left the room. He kept moving through the tunnels, visiting medical stations, an ammunition factory, infantry brigades, and their dwindling stores of food and water.

But he kept thinking about the ships out there in space.

About Bay, his son—flying with the Exodus Fleet.

About Leona, his daughter—perhaps still at the Galactic Council, perhaps trying to make her way home.

About Rowan, who had become like a daughter to him. About Tom, who was like a brother. Both far from home.

As much as he feared for Earth, Emet feared for his family. And he didn't know if he wanted them back here—or for them to fly far away and never return.

A massive boom shook the tunnels.

Dust flew.

Screams rose.

Emet ran toward the cries. An enemy shell, tripped with a drill, had bored through a nursery ceiling. Several children lay dead, and their mothers wailed. Another boom sounded. Another. The bombardment continued, unabated, and Emet did not know if they'd last the night.

CHAPTER THREE

The Exodus Fleet, the last fifty starships of humanity, hid behind Pluto as the enemy bombarded Earth.

"We have to join them!" Bay said, pacing the bridge. "Damn it, Rowan, we have to join the fight."

He made to grip the yoke, to fly the HDFS Byzantium home. Rowan caught his wrist, stopping him.

"Wait!" She glared at him.

"But—" Bay tugged his hair and groaned. "The basilisks are bombing our world! Earth needs our help! We—"

"Bay!" Rowan grabbed his head with both hands and stared into his eyes. "Calm yourself. Now. Breathe. And listen to me. Are you listening?"

He forced a deep breath. He nodded. "I'm listening."

"Good." Rowan gestured at a monitor, which displayed an image of the attack on Earth. "If we fly there now without a plan, we're dead. The basilisks destroyed hundreds of human starships. They can destroy us too."

"What about our people?" Bay demanded. "My father! The rest of them!"

"They've spent the past year building bunkers, Bay. They're safe. But you know who's not safe?" Rowan pointed out a porthole. "The HSS Porter. A mega-starship with a hundred thousand human refugees aboard. A starship with no weapons and barely any shields. Those refugees have no bunkers. No artillery. Only a hundred rifles between them. Right now, only we—the Exodus Fleet—are defending the Porter. If we rush home now, the Porter is dead. And a hundred thousand humans with her."

They both stared in silence at the ship outside. The Porter dwarfed any other ship in the fleet. Back in her younger days, cowering in the ducts with the Earthstone, Rowan had watched a twentieth-century show about a cruise ship—an enormous boat with thousands aboard. The Porter too was a cruise ship, even larger than those from Earth's ancient oceans. An alien company had built the Porter for pleasure. Then the Galactic War had broken out, burning the galaxy—and killing the Milky Way's tourist industry. After the war, humans had purchased the hulked Porter, and now she carried gulock survivors. These refugees had crossed vast distances, traveling for over a year—only to be stopped so close to home.

"Rowan, we can't flee again," Bay said softly. "After everything we fought for. All our battles. All those who died. We can't abandon Earth."

Earth was too far to see with the naked eye from here. But they both turned to look at their monitor, which showed a telescopic view of the planet. The sensors were picking up enemy formations in orbit, displaying them as little red dots. Thousands of little red dots.

"We'll never abandon Earth," Rowan said. "We vowed to get these people home. And that's what we'll do. Thousands of enemy starships surround our planet. They're firing on anything that moves. But look, Bay. See this?"

She pointed at the monitor. Green dots were rising from Earth.

Bay nodded. "Yeah, what the hell is that?"

"Artillery fire," Rowan said. "Human weapons. Emet is alive, Bay. And he's firing all his cannons on the enemy. We must talk to him. To get him to concentrate all his fire in a cylinder. To form a tunnel of rockets. And we fly down that tunnel—and bring these people to Earth."

Bay sighed. "Row. Row, listen to yourself! You want to fly through a tunnel of rockets. Of rockets, Row! Weapons made to destroy starships! Rockets that are incredibly inaccurate, and if one strays just a single degree aside, it can destroy the Porter. That is, assuming the basilisks don't make it through first with their lasers. And even if the plan weren't batshit crazy—which it is—we can't even talk to Earth. The damn Rattlers keep jamming every signal we try to send." He sighed again. "Damn it, Row. I dunno. Maybe we should flee. Just for now! Just until things settle down."

Rowan lowered her head. "If things settle down, that means we lost." She pursed her lips, raised her chin, and stared into his eyes. "Bay, you don't understand. I don't just want to bring these one hundred thousand refugees to Earth because that's our mission, or because it's their home. I want them on Earth so they can fight. This bombardment campaign?" She gestured at the monitor. "It's a shock and awe campaign. They're softening the ground. And soon enough, maybe in days, maybe only hours, the aliens are going to invade with their armies. We have a hundred thousand people aboard the Porter who are useless in space—but who can fight on Earth! We don't just need them home. We need them in the army."

"All right." Bay nodded. "Fine. Fine, Rowan! You convinced me. There's still the little, tiny issue of being unable to talk to Dad. And we need him to cover our asses as we fly down there."

Rowan gave him a crooked smile. "We can talk to him. With a little ingenuity. Bay, will you man the bridge? I've got some MacGyvering to do."

She left the bridge. The Byzantium was a large, labyrinthine frigate, dented and charred from many battles. If Earth's main fleet was gone—and it sure looked that way through the telescope—Rowan was now flying one of humanity's last frigates.

Only a few steps away from the bridge, she had to pause. Her head spun. She leaned against a bulkhead, legs shaking, and gulped down several deep breaths.

The Jerusalem is gone.

Her eyes stung.

Hundreds of our warships—wiped out within hours.

Her body trembled.

Earth—under massive assault.

The panic, the grief, the terror—they were seizing her now. Rowan suddenly felt very young, just the girl in the ducts, hiding from the monsters.

Rowan forced herself to take deep breaths. She was no longer that frightened girl. She was a woman now. She was a warrior. She was a major in the Human Defense Force. And even through the pain, she would fight.

She made her way to the upper deck, where the Byzantium had its sensors installed. The Human Defense Force—and before it the Heirs of Earth—used old, cheap starships. All had been bought second or third-hand from alien junkyards. The ships mostly utilized primitive technology, relying on old-fashioned electromagnetic signals for communication. Radio waves were slow, easy for an enemy to intercept, and unreliable. It was tech humans had possessed for thousands of years. Barely more advanced than smoke signals. But it was cheap, and it was simple, so they used it.

But the Byzantium also had a more advanced piece of technology. High in its upper decks, nestled between telescopic and radar equipment, lay an ansible.

Rowan spent long moments rummaging through piles of equipment before she found it—a small but heavy sphere. It reminded her of an old-timey medicine ball. Or perhaps, more appropriately, a crystal ball—like the crystal balls the wizards used to communicate in The Lord of the Rings, her favorite novels.

Ansibles were far more advanced than radios. It was like comparing a computer to an abacus. Rowan was a bit fuzzy on the science. She thought that ansibles used quantum entanglement. The particles inside two ansibles were linked even across vast distances, capable of instantaneous communication. But she wasn't entirely sure. She was a computer programmer and officer, not a physicist. This science was beyond her pay grade. She knew the important part: ansibles were impossible to hack.

Other forms of communication had to send physical packets back and forth—through cables, over radio waves, or hell, just two cups and string. As a result, the fastest they could work was the speed of light. Ansibles sent nothing back and forth. They were simply … linked. There was nothing to hack. Speak into one, your voice emerged from the other. Instantly.

Spooky.

Rowan had to admit—the mere thought of ansibles always made her shudder.

They were wonderful technology. The problem was—humanity only had two. And both were here with the Exodus Fleet.

Rowan sighed. She had begged Emet—begged him!—to install one ansible on Earth. But the project wasn't trivial. Ansibles couldn't be accessed directly—no more than an azoth crystal could bend spacetime without an entire engine around it. Ansibles too required a wrapper of secondary equipment. Who had time? Emet was busy colonizing a world! Well, now that world was out of reach. And Rowan was stuck with both ansibles. One here aboard the Byzantium. The other aboard the Bridgetown, the corvette flying nearby.

She patted the metal sphere. "Somehow, I've got to get you down to Earth, buddy. And get you talking to Emet."

A voice emerged from her minicom. "Oi, Row!"

She pulled the small computer from her pocket. She smiled at the screen. "Good morning, Fillister."

"Mornin', squire!" said the friendly AI. "Reckon I can help?"

It felt good to keep Fillister in her pocket these days. Rowan wished she could build him a new body. His old body—shaped like a dragonfly—had perished in the war. She had revived a backup soon after. Since then, her friend had lived as incorporeal consciousness, moving between the Jerusalem's computers, the Byzantium's systems, and her own minicom, a ghost haunting the network.

"We've got two challenges," Rowan said. "First: Emet has no ansible of his own. Second: Even if he did, he lacks the auxiliary tech for using it. We must solve both those problems. We need to interface this ansible with an old-fashioned radio. Then, we need to build a rig that can deliver the payload to Earth. Through the hailstorm of basilisk fire." She winced. "It won't be easy."

"Piece of cake, Row," Fillister said. "If I still had a body, I'd build it within an hour. Hint hint, wink wink."

Rowan groaned. "I know, I know, Fill! But with the war going on, I've had higher priorities."

"Higher priorities than building me a body?"

She nodded. "Saving humanity, for one."

"Oh, this just grinds me gears," Fillister said. "At least, it would if I still had gears. Fine, love! I'll help you as a disembodied voice. The voice of reason—that's me. Move the minicom around the room, camera on! Let me peep at what we've got to work with."

She put on some old music—The Queen is Dead, the third album by The Smiths—and got to work.

She worked for long hours.

The first step involved attaching a radio to the ansible, which would let Emet use it. Unfortunately, this involved more than duct-taping two machines together. Rowan spent all morning and afternoon coding an interface between them, translating the ansible's code into something the radio could understand.

Once an hour, she and Bay touched base. He was still manning the bridge, anxiously watching the war on Earth, eager to join the fight. Rowan kept pleading with him for more time.

She was going through her old The Cure albums when the ansible and radio were finally talking to each other. Cables, microchips, and screws covered both pieces of machinery.

Now the hard work began. Rowan scoured the ship for scrap metal, grabbed welding equipment, and spent several hours building a protective shell for her communicator. When the work was done, she had a metal ball that rose to her shoulders. Not that her shoulders were particularly tall—after a malnourished childhood, Rowan stood barely four-foot-eleven. But it was still an impressive, heavy piece of machinery.

Rowan patted the metal ball. "This should withstand orbit. Now we just have to hurl you down to Earth."

Fillister stared through the minicom's camera. "Oi, Row, them snakes would blow it to Kingdom Come. If they see a giant metal ball flying down to Earth, their lasers will go chop chop."

Rowan smiled. "Way ahead of ya, Fill. I've got a cunning plan."

"Does it involve getting me a new body?" Fillister said.

She rolled her eyes. "I wish! That way I could slap you. No, Fill. We're going to disguise this communicator." She rolled the metal ball across the deck. "We're going to make it look like a comet."

Rowan enlisted a few deckhands. Wearing her spacesuit, they rolled the communicator into the Byzantium's freezer—a room the size of several cabins, filled with rations. Rowan dropped the temperature as far as it would go. The deckhands brought a hose, and they began spraying water on the spherical communicator. Rowan helped by slapping ice cubes all over.

It took a while. Even in the freezer, water didn't freeze immediately. But eventually they had it. The solar system's largest snowball.

Working together, they rolled the icy sphere through the airlock, and it hovered in space outside the Byzantium. Rowan hovered beside it in her spacesuit, admiring her handiwork.

It was ready. Her makeshift comet. Inside it, like a prize hidden in a chocolate egg—the ansible. A gift for Earth.

She spent another hour with her crew, repurposing a torpedo bay, building a crude launcher. After all, what use was a snowball without being able to throw it?

Then came the hardest part.

To launch this comet, Rowan would have to get closer to Earth.

She returned to the bridge. Bay was waiting there, his hand on the thruster.

"Row, you sure?" he asked.

"Does syrup go on pancakes?"

Bay sighed. "I'll take that as a yes."

He pushed down the lever, firing up the warp drive.

The stars streaked. The Byzantium raced across the solar system, moving faster than light. Ten minutes later, they were beside the moon.

They emerged from warped space, and for a moment, Rowan stared. Earth floated ahead, appearing as large as an apple. Tears filled Rowan's eyes.

"Oh, Bay," she whispered.

Earth was burning. Thousands of alien warships were bombarding it. No human ships had survived the assault; the entire fleet was gone.

This was not like watching red dots on a monitor. This was real. Right before her. And it tore her heart.

Her tears fell. But Rowan tightened her lips. She pressed a button, launching her comet from the torpedo bay. The ball of ice, with the ansible hidden inside, hurtled toward Earth.

"I'm sorry," she whispered as she turned the Byzantium around. She flew at warp speed again, heading back to Pluto. "I'm so sorry, Earth."

Ten minutes later, they were back with the rest of the Exodus Fleet, guarding the Porter. The comet had no warp engine of its own. Even from the moon, it would still take a while to reach Earth. The clock ticked, and every minute stabbed at Rowan. Earlier today, she had felt the buzz of adrenaline, excited to be fighting for her home. But after seeing the destruction, she could feel only grief.

She wiped her eyes. "We have a few hours before the comet reaches Earth. I'll install the second ansible—the one from the Bridgetown—here in the Byzantium." She began walking off the bridge. "I need to stay busy anyway. I—"

"Rowan?" Bay said, and something in his voice made her pause.

She turned back toward him. He took several huge strides toward her and pulled her into an embrace.

They stood together for a long moment, hugging. Rowan allowed herself just one moment of tenderness.

She kissed him, and a soft smile broke through her pain. "I love you, Pancake."

He stroked her hair. "I know, hobbit."

One more moment of softness in his arms. Then she got back to work.

She flew back and forth between the two warships. She installed the second ansible on the Byzantium, hooking it up to the bridge computer. Within an hour, the sphere was humming contentedly, waiting for its twin to reach out.

With her work complete, Rowan dozed off, falling asleep in her chair on the bridge. She woke up a few hours later to find that Bay had made her pancakes. Fear was crushing her appetite, but she needed some nourishment. She and Bay shared the meal, and if she shed a few tears onto the pancakes, Bay didn't notice.

She was dozing off again when Bay woke her up.

She blinked at him, smiling through her drowsiness, feeling a little bit more like herself. "Did you make me more pancakes?"

He shook his head. "Not yet."

"You're a bastard."

Bay kissed her forehead. "And you only love me because of my pancake making skills. The comet is about to hit Earth. Come see."

They stood together by the viewport, watching. From here, they could only see numbers on the screen, tracking the ansible's location.

The Rattlers were still firing on Earth. But their fire was concentrated on the colonies. They were ignoring Rowan's comet.

A moment later—her ansible landed on Earth, touching down somewhere in a South American desert.

"Hole in one!" Rowan said. "Touchdown! And the crowd goes wild!" She waved her arms.

But Bay remained somber. "Let's wait and see if it works."

"It'll work," Rowan said. She picked up her comm. She spoke, transmitting her words through the Byzantium's ansible to the ansible on Earth. "Port Addison, do you read me? This is Major Rowan Emery, speaking from aboard the Byzantium. Do you read me, Earth?"

Silence.

Nothing but silence.

If everything was working, the ansible on Earth was resting somewhere in the cozy sand, picking up Rowan's words. It would then relay those words through its radio antenna. The broadcast would fly under the basilisks' radar—all the way to Port Addison. The device should be able to transmit words back into space using the same method.

That was, assuming the entire contraption hadn't crumbled on atmospheric entry.

Bay winced. "It's not working.

"Give it more time. It'll work." Rowan nodded. "It has to work." She winced. "Please work." She tried again. "Come in, Port Addison! This is Major Rowan Emery. Do you hear me?"

They waited for several agonizing moments.

Still nothing.

Another long moment passed. Rowan was chewing her fingernails down to the nubs. Bay kept having to pull her fingers away from her mouth.

Finally—a voice emerged from the Byzantium's speakers.

"HDFS Byzantium, this is Emet Ben-Ari, speaking from Port Addison. Do you read me?"

Rowan leaped into the air, laughed, and hugged Bay.

"You owe me pancakes, Mister!"

Emet spoke again. "Rowan, is that you?"

"Sorry, sir!" she said. "Yes, it's me. I was talking to Bay. We're fine up here. We're still in space. How are you holding up down there?"

His voice was stern. "Rowan, how many refugees do you have aboard your fleet?"

"A hundred thousand, sir," she said. "The largest shipment yet. We're only ten minutes away. And I need your help getting home."

CHAPTER FOUR

May 4, 4154.

Today began the evacuation of the HSS Porter.

It was a day after Rowan's twentieth birthday. It was, she knew, a day that would go down in history.

Of course, this assumed humanity survived today and there was a history to remember. Rowan tried to remain optimistic.

It was three days since the enemy's shock and awe campaign had begun. Rowan had waited, biding her time, allowing the enemy to blow off some steam. Over the past few hours, the alien bombardment of Earth had begun to wane. Perhaps Xerka was running low on ammo. Perhaps she was readying her troops for the ground invasion. Perhaps the basilisk queen had even begun to pity the common basilisks who lived on Earth.

Whatever the case, Emet and Rowan decided together: Now was the time.

"We cannot wait any longer," he said, calling from his bunker on Earth. "The enemy is scanning the solar system for your position, Rowan. They will find you soon. If they reach you, they will defeat you, and a hundred thousand humans aboard the Porter will die. Bring me ten thousand survivors at least. We can save ten thousand. Ten percent will be a great victory."

"We'll save more!" Rowan said.

"We'll save whoever we can," Emet agreed. "It's time. Are you ready, Major Emery?"

She stood aboard the Byzantium, wearing her uniform, her gun at her side. The other ships flew around her in tight formation. Bay stood on the bridge of the nearby Bridgetown, commanding that corvette. Several more corvettes flew nearby—smaller warships than the Byzantium, but stocked with ammo and hardened with thick shields.

Her fleet—along with the Porter—was still hiding behind Pluto. But soon they would fly into the fire. Rowan took a deep breath, struggling to calm her nerves.

"Ready as I'll ever be, sir. Let's get these people home."

"Here are your coordinates," Emet said. "We'll cover your flight with intense fire. Stay within the lines, Rowan! If you stray only a few meters, I can't help you."

"Understood, sir. Our first flight is ready to go—fifty shuttles full of refugees. Let's rock and roll."

The shuttles had come with the Porter. They were designed to transport vacationers to holiday resorts. They had once been luxurious vehicles, their seats upholstered in supple leather, their hulls trimmed with gold. Each shuttle had come lavishly equipped with an entertainment system, a kitchenette, and a bar. The Human Defense Force had stripped the shuttles of their amenities, even the cozy seats, and covered their hulls with shields. The shuttles were now standing room only, armored boxes that could fit fifty refugees each. It was cramped inside. Body to body. But it didn't have to be comfortable. It just had to get these people home.

Rowan grabbed the Byzantium's yoke. With her flew twenty other warships—the fighters of the Exodus Fleet. They formed a defensive ring around fifty shuttlecraft—the full fleet that normally docked in the Porter's hangars. The Porter would remain here behind Pluto, far from the enemy fire. But in these shuttles flew over two thousand refugees. The first batch among, hopefully, many.

"All right, Exodus Fleet!" Rowan said, transmitting her voice to the other ships. "Follow my lead. We're going home. Godspeed!"

She flipped a switch, engaging her azoth drive. Around her, the other warships did the same. Their engines glowed purple—the color of the azoth crystals inside. Spacetime began to warp around them, engulfing the flotilla. The shuttles had no warp engines. They would share the warp bubble the larger vessels were generating.

The bubble formed, enveloping the fleet.

Rowan pushed down the throttle.

The stars streaked around her, and she blasted forth, flying faster than light. The other warships flew with her, still forming a perfect ring, protecting the shuttles.

Within only seconds, they traversed the distance between Pluto and Earth—a journey that would normally take years.

The ships disengaged their warp drives. They popped back into reality in Earth's orbit.

For half a heartbeat, Rowan stared in silent shock.

Dear God.

She had never seen such a horror.

Earth was burning. Entire forests—gone. Mountains—shattered. The sky—a storm of smoke. Myriads of enemy warships were orbiting the world. Most were the scaly, undulating ships of the basilisks. But thousands had come from other species, hellbent on human extermination. There were fleshy podships of fungus. Spiky ships of jagged iron. Blobby ships like floating bubbles of flesh. Boxy ships of dark metal, lined with cannons. An entire coalition was here—species who hated humanity, who had united to fight, to finish the job the scorpions had begun.

Before them, Rowan—with her mere twenty warships—felt very small.

The war seemed hopeless.

Before Coral had died, the weaver would open portals to the edge of Earth's sky—a mere hundred kilometers above the surface, closer than any warp drive could go. That had allowed the Exodus Fleet to sneak past the alien warships, which orbited Earth several thousand kilometers out.

But Coral was dead—a pain that still tore at Rowan. They had no more portals. The Exodus Fleet had only azoth engines now, useless near a gravity well. Rowan's fleet had emerged seven thousand kilometers above Earth, the closest their azoth crystals would take them.

It was close on the cosmic scale. But not close enough. Not enough to bypass the blockade.

Between Rowan and Earth flew thousands of enemy warships, bombarding everything in sight.

And those ships noticed her.

At once, hundreds of Rattlers turned toward the small Exodus Fleet.

"Emet?" Rowan said into her comm, voice shaky.

"I've got your back," he said.

And then Rowan saw them.

The missiles rising from below.

Two hundred missiles, launched from different locations across the Western Hemisphere—all soaring into space, forming a tunnel of death.

"To Earth!" Rowan cried. "Now!"

She shoved down her thruster and plunged toward the alien blockade.

The rest of her fleet—warships on the perimeter, shuttles in the center—charged with her.

Below them, Emet's missiles hit enemy ships and exploded in a ring of fire.

Rowan, leading the charge, plunged through the explosions like a circus lion through a flaming hoop.

The other Exodus ships followed, shielded within this tunnel of fire. They swooped toward the atmosphere.

Enemy ships came flying at them. Their weapons fired. Lasers from the Rattlers. Shells, torpedoes, spores, and fleshy blobs from the other alien ships.

Rowan screamed and fired the Byzantium's port and starboard cannons. Her heat-seeking lures flew out and slammed into the incoming torpedoes. Explosions rocked space. Behind her, the other Exodus warships were targeting the incoming fire too, shielding the shuttles between them.

Alien lasers flashed, but they hit mirrors installed on Rowan's ships, then bounced back toward the enemy. Several torpedoes followed the lasers. One slammed into the Byzantium, denting the hull, nearly driving Rowan off course. She screamed and gripped the yoke. Another torpedo tore through a warship behind her, breaching the hull.

But the Exodus Fleet kept plunging through the sea of enemy warships, streaking toward the sky.

From below, Emet fired another volley.

These missiles too rose in a ring, their tails forming a cylinder of smoke. The warheads slammed into enemy ships. A halo of fire blazed. The Exodus Fleet plunged through a second ring of explosions.

One enemy torpedo zigzagged, bypassing both Earth's artillery fire and Rowan's protective ring of warships.

Rowan shouted a useless warning.

Nearby, a shuttle exploded, killing the fifty refugees aboard.

Rowan cringed. But she kept flying. She still had forty-nine shuttles. They kept racing toward Earth.

A third artillery volley rose from below. A fourth. A fifth. Soon Emet was firing nonstop, raising ring after ring of missiles, forming a corridor of smoke and fire.

And he was holding back the enemy.

The Exodus Fleet kept racing down this tunnel. It felt like flying down another one of Coral's wormholes. Leading the charge, Rowan plunged toward the atmosphere.

And they made it.

They were in the mesosphere!

This was as far as the Byzantium could fly. The frigate could not operate in atmosphere. Rowan spun her ship around, flicked on her afterburner, and rose back into space. The other human warships did the same.

The shuttles continued diving through the sky, speeding toward the surface. For the next few minutes, they would have no warships guarding them. But Emet was still below, covering the shuttles with artillery fire. And he would be waiting to greet the refugees when they touched down.

Now the hard part began.

Rowan's Byzantium and her fellow warships hovered on the edge of space. They waited for the shuttles to return, empty and ready for more refugees. Rowan would need many more rounds of refugee smuggling to bring her survivors home.

The shuttles only required four minutes to reach the surface. Two minutes for the passengers to leap out. Four minutes for the empty shuttles to return to space. Ten minutes total, that was all.

It might as well have been forever.

Every second of this agonizing eternity, the enemy punished them.

The Exodus Fleet kept blasting out fire, taking out enemy torpedoes. Earth kept firing artillery, forming a protective ring around the fleet. But every minute, more enemy warships approached. More added their firepower.

A torpedo made it through the shell.

The HDFS Verona, a corvette flying near Rowan, exploded. Its crew screamed before the comm link died.

And then, finally—the shuttles were back.

"Go, go!" Rowan shouted.

They flew upward, charging through the enemy warships, heading toward open space. The Byzantium barreled into a Rattler, ripping through the enemy warship, scattering armored scales. The fire kept coming. They kept charging.

They were barely far enough from Earth's gravity well. It would have to do.

The Exodus warships engaged their azoth crystals.

And they blasted off at warp speed.

Seconds later, they were flying around Pluto again. Back with the rest of the Exodus Fleet—including the Porter.

Rowan slumped into her seat, trembling, panting.

She called up Bay, who was flying in his warship nearby.

"We lost one corvette and one shuttle," she said, voice shaky. "But we delivered nearly twenty-five hundred humans to Earth. We can do this."

"You're doing great, babe," Bay said. "Ready for another round?"

She nodded and kissed him through the monitor. "I'm ready. Love you, Pancake."

He kissed her back. "Love ya, hobbit."

They began loading up the shuttles again. They were down to forty-nine shuttles. But that was enough to cram in another twenty-five hundred refugees.

Emet fed her new coordinates.

And they flew back to Earth.

Again the ring of missiles rose from below—this time halfway around the world. Again the Exodus Fleet stormed down the corridor of fire, holding off the enemy with shields and shells.

They lost two shuttles this time. A hundred refugees—gone.

But over two thousand made it to Earth. And Rowan flew back to Pluto, her warships battered and bruised but ready for more.

The evacuation of the Porter continued for three days and nights. Rowan fought through it, not even pausing to sleep. She led every mission from aboard the Byzantium. They flew to Earth. They opened fire—from above and below. They sent the shuttles streaking down to the surface, filled with refugees, then up again, empty and ready for more.

They lost ships.

They lost lives.

With every run, at least one shuttle fell. Sometimes the enemy took out two or three shuttles at a time. Several warships shattered.

But the Exodus Fleet kept fighting. When Earth began to run low on artillery, Rowan escalated her own firepower. Now she used nuclear weapons, which she hurled forth from warped space, allowing them to explode and clear the orbit before she emerged from her warp bubble.

When too few shuttles remained, they enlisted more, converting ten Firebirds into makeshift shuttles that could squeeze in several children each. And they flew another mission.

"Bring me ten thousand," Emet had told her three days ago. Some of Earth's generals had thought this overly optimistic. They had expected perhaps a few hundred lives to be saved.

When the mission ended, the Exodus Fleet had evacuated ninety thousand refugees.

A full ninety percent of the Porter's refugees.

On any other day, Rowan knew, the loss of ten thousand lives would be a devastating blow. A horror. A massacre. An unspeakable tragedy.

But this day, May 7th, Earth celebrated a miracle.

Rowan and Bay had joined the last shuttle to Earth, leaving the Exodus Fleet under the command of others. Hunkering in the tunnels below Port Addison, Rowan wanted nothing more than to collapse and sleep. But she forced herself to stay awake. To listen to President Ben-Ari speak. He spoke to the crowds in the bunkers of Earth, but he broadcast his words to the stars.

"To all the children of Earth—those who fight here on our world, those who fight in space, and those who are still lost in the darkness, seeking their way home. The great war for Earth, our War of Independence, has entered a new phase—one of great danger but also of great promise and hope. Over the past three days, our brave pilots and artillerymen have carried out the Miracle of the Porter. With true grit and determination, and with great sacrifice of lives, they brought home ninety thousand humans. Ninety thousand who had suffered the horrors of the scorpion gulocks, only to find themselves caught in the invasion of the cruel basilisks. On Earth, their struggle continues. But now they fight on the soil of their home. Now they fight with humans who stand tall and proud, defending their ancestral homeworld, and they will never again cower in exile.

"Yet as we celebrate the Miracle of the Porter, we remember that five million humans, maybe six, are still lost across the galaxy. They too seek a way home. I vow to you: We will not rest until every last man, woman, and child who seeks a home on Earth stands beneath our blue sky!

"The war will be long. Perhaps it will last for many years. Here on Earth, our brave soldiers face odds that seem nearly insurmountable. The enemy armies are vast. They are cruel. They are everywhere. We are few in number. We have few weapons. Few ships. But one thing we have that the enemy does not: the human spirit. We are humans fighting for our homeworld. With heads high. With courageous hearts. We face our enemies with a determination that shocks them. That will see them driven from our homeworld. The aliens outnumber us a hundred to one. So every human must fight a hundred times harder! From what I witnessed during the Miracle of the Porter, to claim that our fighting spirit is a hundred times greater does us a disservice.

"Today, there is no distinction between civilians and soldiers, warriors and refugees. We are all soldiers now. The entire human species is now an army. Every man, woman, and child—you are all fighting this war. And I am proud of every one of you.

"We will fight our enemies underground in the tunnels we dug. We will fight them on the oceans of our world and in the charred remains of our forests. We will fight them in our once-blue skies that they have filled with smoke and fire. We will fight them in orbit, where we have already destroyed many of their starships. And we will not hesitate to strike them even in the depths of space—even on the soil of Sskarsses itself, homeworld of the basilisks. So long as our enemies attack, no place will be safe for them.

"I vow to you, humanity. We will defend our world! We will fight with a determination and strength such as the galaxy has never seen. We will not hesitate even to give our lives for Earth. The night is dark, but our courage is bright. We will fight on. For our freedom, for humanity, and for our blessed and beautiful home."

The president's speech ended.

Rowan stumbled to a dark corner and lay down on a blanket. Bay joined her, and she cuddled against him. In this bunker full of refugees, here beneath the surface of Earth, they finally slept.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Human Hunter was the grimiest, sleaziest bar Leona had ever been to. And that was saying something.

Several hairy, tusked aliens sat at a bar, hooting at a dancing alien who was seductively shaving her fur. Two diminutive creatures, covered in warts and spikes, were fighting inside a dangling cage. A group of rowdy, bearded aliens with stony skin were watching the fight, roaring between gulps of grog. A bloated animal hung from a chain, as large as a cow but limbless, wriggling as it bled from sliced arteries. Reptilian aliens lay beneath the dying beast, jaws open, catching the dripping blood. In the corner, a towering alien in metal armor shouted something about bad drugs, then ripped the wing off a feathery drug dealer. The musicians on stage stopped at the sight, laughed, then played on.

Yep, Leona thought, it's a shithole.

Leona knew that the bar's name—The Human Hunter—didn't refer to some human in plaid, hunting deer in the forest. It referred to hunting humans, a popular pastime in these parts.

Across the galaxy, it was common to name things after humans. Pest's Blood was a popular stew in the Deruvian sector. Pest referring to humans, of course. The Human Cabal was a bestselling novel in the Sagittarius Arm, selling billions of copies a year. It contained conspiracy theories about a secret human network dedicated to brainwashing alien children. There was Human's Ear, a venomous plant in the Centaurus sector, the bane of many planets. Ape's Curse, a wasting disease that afflicted many space stations. And of course, Kill All Humans, a popular band that sold albums across the galaxy.

Leona supposed The Human Hunter wasn't that bad, all things considered.

She stood in the corner, wrapped in a cloak and hood. Her three human companions stood with her, similarly concealed. Not that they needed much of a disguise. The bar was shadowy, half its lamps smashed, and smoke from a dozen hookahs filled the common room.

"Hey, lobos." A squat creature lolloped toward the humans. "Lobos. You sell smoke sticks? You sell?"

Leona shook her head. "No smoke sticks."

The creature pawed at Leona's pockets with a grubby hand. "Smoke sticks? Lobo, you sell?"

Leona groaned and tossed the creature a few scryls—the crystal skulls of insects, used as currency in most seedy bars like this.

"Go buy yourself some grog."

The alien snorted, but he kept the scryls, trundling off in a huff. The stocky little critter approached another group in a shadowy corner and tossed the scryls at them. "Lobos. Lobos, smoke sticks. You sell?"

Leaning against the wall beside Leona, Ramses groaned. "When can we leave this place? This sin hive is no place for a pharaoh." He brushed his cloak, pants, and pointy goatee, the shuddered. "I swear I'm catching fleas."

"Aurora still needs a few hours to repair her starship," Leona said. "Try to relax. Want me to buy you some grog?"

Ramses grimaced. "Grog? Heavens no. The grog in this place is a sure-fire way of getting a tapeworm."

Leona watched a few drunken patrons get into a fistfight, then pass out halfway through and begin to snore.

"Actually, I doubt anything can survive inside this grog," she said. "Probably not even tardigrades, and I read those little muckers can survive a nuclear blast."

"Perfect," Ramses said. "A drink that can kill tardigrades. Sounds like just what my stomach lining needs." He looked around. "Maybe they serve coffee. I don't see a waiter."

Leona pointed at the towering, spiky alien that stood behind the bar, a brute with fangs like katanas and fists like anvils. He was busy pounding those fists into a drunkard's head, rumbling about bad credit.

"I think you order from that dude," Leona said.

Ramses cringed. "I'll stick to secondhand smoke."

Najila, another member of their party, stepped forward. The young woman looked around with wide eyes. She had been born in Egypt, one of the Gaeans, a tribe of humans who had never left Earth. Two thousand years ago, the Hydrian Empire—a race of evil squids—had destroyed Earth, butchering billions. A few humans had managed to flee, and they had spent eighty generations in space, Earth but a memory. But the Gaeans had remained. All this time, they had hidden on Earth. They had survived. They had never known the stars.

Until now.

Until only days ago, Najila had never seen space. Ramses had picked her up in his starship, had taken her to the stars, had shown her to the Galactic Council—proof that humanity had evolved on Earth.

It hadn't helped. The Council had still awarded Earth to the basilisks. But Najila got her taste of the cosmos. For days now, traveling among the stars, the Gaean gaped with eyes like saucers. Leona had seen a thousand alien bars like this. To Najila, it was all new.

"You had to live in places like this for two thousand years?" Najila shuddered. "No wonder you've been so desperate to come home."

Tom Shepherd, the fourth member of their group, spoke in a low voice. "There are worse places than this in space."

They all turned toward him. Najila looked confused, but Leona understood.

Tom survived a gulock, she thought. He lived through hell.

She stepped closer to the tall, silver-haired man and squeezed his hand. She gave him a soft smile.

I'm here with you, she said, speaking with her eyes.

Tom gave her a sad smile in return. I know. Thank you.

"Fellas, I hate to break the tender moment," Ramses said, "but you might want to check out that screen."

The Pharaoh pointed. They all turned to look. A screen hung on the wall between wanted posters, alien heads on plaques, and centerfolds of seductive, green-skinned sirens. A news bulletin was playing. The anchor was a gelatinous, translucent alien. A smaller alien was visible inside him, being slowly digested.

"Earth is under attack!" the anchor announced, jiggling. "The war against the pests escalated this morning, with Queen Xerka's exalted hosts launching a massive bombing campaign against the human infestation. As our viewers recall, only days ago, the foul apes declared independence on Earth, openly defying the decree of the Galactic Council. An alliance of seven brave nations have launched a holy war, seeking to crush the ape rebellion. At the risk of veering into editorial, this broadcaster says: Bless Xerka and damn the pests!"

Inside the reporter's belly, the devoured alien raised his paw. "Damn the pests!" he squeaked.

The video switched to live footage of Earth.

Leona inhaled sharply and cursed. Ramses pulled Najila into his arms. Tom stared with cold, dark eyes.

Thousands of alien warships were bombarding the planet.

Earth was burning.

Across the bar, aliens began to cheer.

"Kill the damn pests!" roared a giant rodent with patchy fur.

"Burn all the apes!" cried a hunchbacked, three-legged alien.

"Hail Xerka!" A feathered alien lifted a bowl of worms. "Hail to the huntress of humans!"

The barflies were all laughing, pointing at the broadcast, and celebrating the destruction of Earth.

We suffered so much, Leona thought. Millions of us died in the gulocks. We saved the galaxy from the scorpions. Yet still they hate us so much.

"They're all dead," Najila whispered. "Oh Gaea, they're all dead. Our people. My family …"

"No." Leona shook her head. "Look, Najila. Egypt has been spared. The aliens don't know your people are there. They're concentrating fire on the colonies they know about. On my people. And my people have bunkers." She turned toward her companions. "We can still win this war."

Najila lowered her head. "It seems so hopeless."

Leona nodded. "We deal with hopelessness. That's what we've always done. We were the Heirs of Earth. We brought hope to the hopeless. Today we are the Human Defense Force, and we do the same. Wherever the situation is darkest, we shine a light." She looked at her companions each in turn. "Soon Aurora will be done repairing and fueling up her starship, and we'll fly away from this space station. We'll fly to Menoria, Aurora's homeworld, and speak to her wise elders. The Menorians have always been friendly to humans. They will sell us starships. Earth is suffering now. But we will return with a fleet! And we will strike Xerka down."

Tom turned to look at the monitor again. The light of Earth burning painted his face red. Following a style popular among Earth's officers, he had begun to grow a beard—joining Emet, Bay, and Ramses in the effort. Tom's beard was pale silver, which Leona found attractive and distinguished. But now, staring at the monitor, Tom seemed almost demonic, brooding and simmering with fury.

Yes, there it is, she thought. The demon inside him.

Tom was a kind man, she knew. A wise, compassionate, and gentle man. A man she loved. But there was a dark fire inside him. One she had seen blaze too often. One that hardened his eyes when he killed. She saw that fire in him now.

The gulock put that into him, she thought.

The gulocks had broken most who survived them, leaving them shattered beyond repair. But not Tom. That inferno had only hardened him, forging him into a weapon.

"I will not join you," Tom said, still staring at the images of Earth. "I will not fly onward to Menoria. I must return to Earth—as fast as possible. I must begin my journey back today."

"Tom!" Leona grabbed his arm. "I need you with me."

He slowly turned toward her. He stared into her eyes, and Leona took a step back.

My Ra.

She had never seen such intensity in his eyes. Such deep pain. She did not see her lover, the shepherd, the musician. She saw the killer.

"Earth needs me." And there was fury in his voice. But then his face softened. He held her hands. "Leona, I love you. More than anything. You are strong, capable, and experienced. You can complete the quest to Menoria on your own. There are barely any experienced officers on Earth. You, me, Ramses—we're among Earth's most battle-hardened commanders. And all three of us are out here, so far from home. There are—or were, when we left—half a million humans on Earth. But most are refugees, frightened, hungry, weak. Earth needs me right now. Emet needs me. I can buy a cheap starship at this port, or maybe pay for a smuggler to transport me. Menoria lies across the galaxy, months away. But if I head back to Earth now, I can be home in two weeks."

"You'll fly into the fire alone?" Leona said. "In a few months, if we succeed, you can fly home with a Menorian fleet."

"Not alone," Ramses said, stepping closer. The Pharaoh clasped Tom's shoulder. "I'm with you, brother. I too will return now. Leona can continue without us boys. We're both experienced military commanders. Right now, our place is on Earth." He winked at Leona. "We'll hold down the fort while we wait for you."

As she looked at the two men, Leona's heart twisted. Both were men she had slept with.

With Ramses, it had been two years ago. They had been alone in space for so long, seeking Earth, a planet they had never seen. So many around them had died. That one night Leona had found comfort in the Pharaoh's bed. She did not regret it. It was still a tender memory. But it was a night that had never recurred.

With Tom, Leona had only recently found love. Tom was fifteen years her senior, deep into his forties, and looked older with his silvery hair and beard. He had none of Ramses's swarthy, rakish good looks. But Leona had come to love Tom more deeply than any man in her life. In many ways, it was a deeper love than she had felt for Jake, her late husband. After all, she had been only seventeen when marrying Jake, then losing him the same day. She was a woman in her thirties now, and she loved Tom with a woman's maturity and wisdom.

They don't know, Leona realized, looking at the two men. That I've shared both their beds. Or maybe they know but won't speak of it. So neither will I. They need to fight as brothers.

"Hey, lobos. Smoke sticks, you buy?" The squat alien trundled back, holding out a box of the foul drugs. "You buy. You buy from Ulof." He held out the stained box. "Lobos. You buy?"

"Not interested!" Leona said.

The squat beast pawed at her coat. "You buy from Ulof. You buy now."

Leona shoved him away. But the alien's claws snagged her cloak, pulling the dark fabric. Her hood came free, and her mane of curly hair spilled out.

The little drug dealer gasped and stepped back.

"A lobo human!" he cried.

Leona cursed under her breath.

"Be quiet!" she urged.

But the alien scampered away, shouting. "Pests! Pests, lobos. Pests in the bar!"

Everyone in the bar turned toward the humans.

"Muck," Leona muttered, pulling her hood back up.

But it was too late. They had seen her. Aliens reached out with claws, tentacles, and paws, tugging at the companions' cloaks. Najila yelped and slapped an alien's tentacle away. Tom and Ramses were swatting alien insects that buzzed around them. The little buggers were pulling back the men's hoods.

The aliens overpowered them. Within moments, the four humans were exposed to the crowd.

"Apes!" gurgled a cyborg with an array of eye stalks.

"Disgusting creatures," said an oozing, boneless alien that quivered on a tabletop, several parasites sucking on its sores.

"Kill the pests!" squawked a crab-like alien, resting inside the throat pouch of a giant bird.

"Enough!" Leona roared. She stepped onto a table and glared at the crowd. "We are no pests. We are humans and proud! We slew the scorpions and defeated their empire. We saved this galaxy. Now we only want a home! Look at the images from Earth. Look at the destruction Xerka wreaks. This is a new menace to the galaxy. One we humans fight!"

But the crowd scoffed.

"The Council has spoken!" said one. "Earth belongs to Xerka. Humans are vermin."

"An infestation!" rumbled another alien. "They infested Earth, and now they infest this space station."

"Sin Kra should have killed you all!" roared an alien. "Hail Xerka the exterminator!"

Ramses reached for his pistol, but Leona grabbed his wrist and shook her head.

"Pick your battles, Pharaoh," Leona said. "We fight in wars, not bar brawls. Let's get out of here. Aurora should be ready by now."

She turned for the exit. But an alien moved to block her—a furry giant with claws and fangs. Leona tilted her head back, glowering at the creature.

"Stand back!" she demanded.

The beast grabbed her with massive paws, lifted her into the air, and roared.

Leona was far weaker than this gargantuan brute. But she kicked with speed and accuracy. Her foot connected with the alien's chin, knocking the furry head back with a sickening crack.

The alien released her. Before Leona had even hit the floor, she delivered a punch, hitting the alien in the same spot.

The towering creature fell. The bar shook.

And then everyone, it seemed, was leaping into the fray. Aliens of all shapes and sizes lunged at the humans. Ramses was throwing punches. Tom lifted one alien and hurled him into a group of others, knocking them down. Najila was tossing plates and mugs, shattering them against alien heads.

"Everyone, fall back!" Leona shouted. "This isn't our battle. Come on!"

She leaped over the fallen furry giant. The beast was coming to, but Leona delivered a kick to his temple, knocking him out again. The other humans followed, exiting the bar. Several aliens spilled out after them, tugging the humans' clothes and hair, trying to drag them back in.

Leona swung Arondight, her loyal rifle, clubbing an alien's head. The creature fell. A scaly, winged alien was pulling Najila's hair, nearly lifting her off the floor. Ramses pistol-whipped the creature, knocking it against the wall and freeing Najila, sans a few strands.

Leona slammed the bar doors shut, sealing the other aliens inside. A blast from her rifle shattered the control panel, locking the door.

"Bastards," she muttered, wiping blood off her forehead.

Tom grunted. "Our troubles aren't over. Look!"

They stared down the corridor. This was a space station typical of the inner sectors—a hive of brothels, drug dens, casinos, and fighting pits. Orphans slumped on the floor, hung from the ceiling like bats, or clung to the walls with suction cups, all begging for scryls. A wizened fortune teller with twenty arms sat on a rug, twenty eyes blinking behind twenty thick lenses. A neon sign flashed above a curtained doorway, promising electronic delights within. Leona had been to a thousand space stations like this.

Less typical were the six Peacekeepers racing toward them.

Most sin hives were lawless. But following the war, the Peacekeepers began spreading out, struggling to maintain order in a fraying galaxy. These brutes ahead were not organic aliens like most Peacekeepers. They were robots, towering and vaguely humanoid, their shoulders equipped with mounted machine guns. And those machine guns were pointing at Leona and her friends.

"Humans—halt!" intoned the lead robot.

If Leona had qualms about shooting organic aliens, she had none about robots. Especially Peacekeeper robots. She fired her rifle, and one robot's head shattered. Ramses and Tom added their firepower, taking out three more machines.

The remaining Peacekeepers opened fire just as the bar door slammed open. The drunken aliens spilled out, eager to kill the pests, and stumbled into the hailstorm of bullets. Blood sprayed the corridor. The fortune teller shrieked and fled. The orphaned children vanished into vents, fleeing through the HVAC ducts like Rowan must have done a thousand times in her childhood.

"Run!" Leona shouted.

The humans skirted a corner, seeking cover from the bullets. One had scratched Tom's arm. Another had hit Ramses in the hand; it was bleeding profusely, and he cursed as they ran onward.

"Mucking bots took off my finger!" Ramses said, slowing to stare at the stump.

Leona grabbed him. "Keep running."

Ramses gave a crazed laugh. "I have to go back for my finger. I—"

"Forget it, it's gone!" Leona shouted, dragging him onward.

The Peacekeepers emerged around the corner. Leona fired twice, taking out two of the robots. Tom took out a third. Ramses tried to aim but his hand was slick with blood, and he cursed, unable to fire. Najila grabbed his rifle from him. Screaming, the Gaean peppered the robots with bullets.

They continued running. The corridor took them by a large aquarium—a pub that catered to aquatic aliens. Through the glass, Leona saw a host of bizarre marine life: bright blue alien crustaceans feeding on a carcass, a demonic mermaid battling a spiky eel, crabs that used skulls as shells, and floating sacks of skin that flipped themselves inside out to catch their prey.

Leona just hoped they could survive for a while in a puddle.

As she ran by, she fired her gun, shattering the aquarium glass.

As the humans ran onward, the water roared into the corridor. Fish and sponges splashed around Leona's feet. Behind her, the Peacekeepers crashed down, their electronic components sparking.

Finally the companions reached the station's hangar. A couple hundred shuttles were docked here. Outside, dozens of larger starships hovered in space. Aurora was waiting in the hangar, anxiously beckoning with her tentacles. Her boneless body was changing colors in rapid succession. Leona's minicom translated the visual language.

"Hurry, friends! The Peacekeepers sent out a Code 9 alert!"

Tom, a retired Peacekeeper, cursed as he ran. "Code 9. Infestation. Bastards. This station will soon be swarming with exterminators."

Aurora was standing—well, as much as a mollusk could stand—beside her shuttle. It was a round, rocky craft inlaid with crystals. Her mothership floated outside the station, visible through the portholes—a starship shaped like a giant geode.

Leona ran toward Aurora. But Tom ran in another direction.

"Tom!" she cried.

She saw where he was heading. Toward a Peacecar—one of the slender blue starfighters of the Peacekeepers Corps. During her long years in space, Leona had fled more than one of these police ships.

Tom paused and looked at her.

"Didn't you want to say goodbye?" Leona said.

He took several large strides back toward Leona. He embraced her.

Behind Tom, a hatch opened on the Peacecar, and a robotic head emerged.

Without breaking her embrace with Tom, Leona drew her pistol, fired, and destroyed the robot. Not losing a beat, she kissed Tom—a long, deep kiss, one hand in his hair, her smoking pistol still in the other.

"I love you, Leona Ben-Ari," he said.

"I love you too, Tom Shepherd. Godspeed. Go kill some basilisks." She stroked his cheek. "And keep the beard. It suits you."

"New Peacecars incoming!" Aurora cried, flashing red. Leona saw the lights outside.

"Tom, my friend!" Ramses grabbed him. "You know how to jumpstart that Peacecar?"

Tom nodded. "I'll fly. You can operate the guns."

Ramses raised an eyebrow. "Normally I'm the pilot, but—hey, I'm missing a finger now, so you take the wheel."

Najila joined the two men. The three hopped into the blue Peacecar. Leona raced toward Aurora, pausing to shoot several more Peacekeepers that burst into the hangar.

More robots were clattering down the corridor, and new Peacekeeper ships were getting closer outside. As Tom's commandeered Peacecar roared to life, Leona and Aurora hopped into the Menorian's rocky shuttle. The two vessels rumbled toward the hangar's airlock.

Red lights flashed on the doors, denying access. A photon beam from Aurora's shuttle took care of that problem.

The two vessels roared out into space—and into a hailstorm of enemy fire.

Aurora took a sharp turn right. Tom's Peacecar swerved the other way. The bullets pounded the space station behind them, destroying a few portholes, billboards, and neon signs. A giant sign, shaped like a green alien in chains, tore free. The manacled alien floated through space, its neon chains sparking, promising cheap bail loans.

Aurora piloted her shuttle with four tentacles, using the other four to fire bolts of lavender plasma. The plasma slammed into the incoming Peacecars, knocking them back. Several bullets hit the Menorian shuttle, chipping its stony hull. But the shuttle kept wobbling forward, heading toward the geode mothership.

Several other vessels burst from the space station—the ships of bounty hunters, mercenaries, smugglers, drug dealers, pimps, and gunrunners. Here were galactic lowlifes. They all hated the Peacekeepers. Maybe these aliens hated humans too. But they hated the law even more. Especially when the law was destroying their space station.

A battle raged outside the station. Lasers, plasma, and bullets flew back and forth. Several starships exploded. This was no organized battle. Things descended into a chaotic brawl. A hundred starships fired in every direction, rival gangs using the chaos to settle scores. Outlaws, Peacecars, and just drunkards itching for a fight—everyone seemed to be fighting everyone.

Amid the madness, Tom's Peacecar engaged its warp engines. It vanished with a streak of light, heading home to Earth.

Godspeed, Tom, Leona thought, watching the light fade. Bring Earth hope.

Aurora and Leona kept flying their shuttle toward the Menorian mothership.

Five Peacecars rose before them, blocking their way. The Peacecars aimed their cannons.

Leona winced, instinctively gripping her rifle.

The Menorian mothership rose behind the Peacecars like a dawning sun. Five quick, bright blasts flew from the mighty geode. The five Peacecars were no more.

Leona slumped back, breathing out in relief.

Aurora guided the stony shuttle into her mothership. The airlock doors closed behind them.

Leona took a shaky breath, steadying herself. Then she stepped into the mothership's hangar—a vast chamber of stone and crystal.

Most of this starship was filled with water, and hundreds of Menorians swam through the flooded halls. Thankfully, Menorians were semi-aquatic, and they enjoyed the occasional forays out of the water. Their starship contained several dry decks for Leona to inhabit. She sat down on a giant nautilus shell—the Menorian's equivalent of a bench—to catch her breath.

"The Peacekeeper swarm will pursue us like hungry eels on a mating hunt," Aurora said.

Leona nodded. "Can we keep ahead of them?"

Aurora turned gold and yellow—the mollusk's way of smiling. "We are inside a mothership with spacetime crystals the size of coral towers. No ship can outrace us."

Crystals across the ceiling lit up, blue and purple and silver. With shimmers of light, the geode-ship formed a bubble of warped spacetime, then blasted into the distance.

Leona approached a crystal porthole. She watched the starlines stretch by outside. Yes, this ship was fast, among the fastest ever built. But Menoria, homeworld of these wise mollusks, was thousands of light-years away, one of the farthest planets humanity knew of. Even at this speed, it would take Leona weeks, even months, to get there. And the journey home to Earth would take just as long.

I don't even know if the Menorian elders will sell me starships, Leona thought. And if they do—whether it'll be too late.

She lowered her head, feeling very much alone. She was the only human on board, and she missed home.

Aurora extended her tentacles and dragged herself forward. The mollusk touched Leona's wrist.

"For two thousand years, I have sailed the cosmic ocean," Aurora said. "And I have known many humans. Including your ancestor, the fabled Einav Ben-Ari, whom you call the Golden Lioness. I have heard your tales, Leona, in the ripples of light that fill the darkness. They call you the Iron Lioness, a new heroine for Earth. I have seen great courage in you. And I see wisdom and kindness too. Do not despair. We navigators of the starry seas have sailed with your people before. We will sail together again. I am thousands of years old, but I am still young. In my species, I am barely an adult. My elders have lived for a million of your human years, but I will face them unafraid. I will speak of the courage of Leona Ben-Ari, and your light will shine in our halls."

Leona smiled and sat back down. "Can you tell me about Einav? You're the only living being in the universe who knew her, and she is a great heroine to humanity. And to me."

Aurora turned a rich, contented gold. "I will share her tales."

For a long time, they sat among the crystals, and Aurora shared tales of the golden age of Earth, when humanity stood tall and proud, and when Einav Ben-Ari led with wisdom and compassion. Leona listened raptly. This was what she fought for. To bring a new golden age, and to become a leader as strong and wise as her forebears.

CHAPTER SIX

"The invasion of Earth is about to begin."

The words hung in the war room. Everyone stared at Emet, waiting for him to continue.

He looked at them. At Bay and Rowan. At Cindy. At the others who joined him here, the leaders of humanity. His closest companions. His generals in this war. Those who had fought by his side for years. Who had slain countless enemies. Who, through the fire and rain, had survived.

Yet can we survive this? Emet thought.

They were all still looking at him. Waiting for his words of comfort. For his commands. For his strength and hope in the night.

As he looked at these faces, Leona's absence tore at Emet. He had not seen his daughter in a year, not since she had flown to the Galactic Council. He didn't even know if Leona was still alive. As much as Emet worried about Earth, for the thousands here underground, he worried about Leona, lost in the darkness of space.

Above the bunker, the explosions were still sounding. The tunnels rattled with every boom. But the blasts were less frequent now. And that worried Emet more than a constant bombardment.

The invasion was near.

He spoke again. "When I speak to the crowds, I give them hope. But here, in our war room, I won't sugarcoat the situation. It is dire. We have only ten thousand rifles. Only a handful of Firebirds. Only forty-odd starships, all hiding near Pluto. A couple hundred cannon silos are our main weapons—but we're almost out of rockets. We're facing a massive army. Seven alien fleets surround our world. Seven armies from seven vicious worlds. The enemy's bombing campaign is slowing down. That should worry us. Very soon—maybe tomorrow, maybe today—the ground troops will invade. Millions of aliens will swarm across the world. I've reached out to the enemy fleet, tried to negotiate. Even to surrender, if the terms guaranteed our lives. The enemy repeats the same message every time. Their goal is one: To kill us all."

For a long moment, they were all silent, pale. Emet knew they barely had any hope.

It was Bay who broke the silence.

"So we fight them." The young man nodded. He clenched his fists, but his legs still shook. "Let them invade! Earth will be their graveyard. One man defending his soil is worth a hundred alien invaders."

Rowan glared at him. "Be quiet, Pancake. You sound like a braggart. We can't win this war with force of arms. We need to use something unique to humanity." She tapped her head.

Bay frowned. "What, opposable thumbs?"

She smacked him. "Our brains!" She turned toward Emet. "Sir, if I may make a suggestion: Take me off Operation Exodus."

Emet shook his head. "No. Rowan, as soon as you can, I want you in a Firebird. Fly back to the Exodus Fleet. We'll cover your flight with artillery fire. Our top priority now is to bring more humans home. We need more fighters."

"What are more fighters worth if we don't even have weapons?" Rowan said. "Sir, there are five million human refugees still out there. Maybe more. Even if they were all on Earth, that wouldn't help us. A soldier without weapons is just cannon fodder. Give Operation Exodus to somebody else. There are plenty of capable officers already at Pluto, ready to fly out on your order." Rowan raised her chin. "Let me work full time at Antikythera Institute."

Emet frowned. "What the hell is Antikythera?"

"An ancient Greek analog computer and orrery," Rowan said. "Largely believed to be the first computer humans invented. But if you mean what is the Antikythera Institute, well—I just founded it. It's Earth's new defense technology company. Our job is to research and develop new weapons for Earth, specifically built to deal with this threat."

Emet grumbled under his breath. "Rowan, I don't know. I—"

"Sir, you saw the ansible transmitter I built," Rowan said. "Without it, we'd never have evacuated the Porter. I can invent things! I can invent more things. We need better communication networks between the colonies. We need new weapons. Earth is littered with the shards of thousands of crashed starships. And they're filled with components I can use. Give me a hundred science and engineering nerds, and I'll build you weapons to win this war. I promise you, sir." She touched his arm. "For a year, I commanded the Exodus Fleet. I flew from world to world. I brought half a million humans home. Now let me defend this home."

Sudden silence fell. The explosions above ended.

The aliens were no longer bombing Earth.

It's almost here, Emet thought. The invasion.

Across the bunker, the others grabbed their rifles, ready for the fight.

"Sir!" Rowan said. "I would like to propose a first project for Antikythera Institute. I call it: Operation Hidden Fire."

Emet was clutching his rifle, muscles tense. He stared at Rowan. The young woman stared back up at him, eyes eager. She was only twenty, and she looked even younger. Did she not realize the gravity of the situation? Damn it, this was no time for fancy titles and games. He wanted to scold the girl, to tell her to leave the war for the older, experienced soldiers, the hardened men of the army.

But his anger faded quickly, and he scolded himself for his impatience, for his momentary lapse. Major Rowan Emery was not just some innocent girl. She was braver than any warrior in this army. She was small, not even five feet tall, and thin as a reed. She was young. But she had been fighting this war for four years, day and night. She had saved more humans than anyone. She had slain Emperor Sin Kra. And if she had a new idea, Emet wanted to hear it.

He nodded. "Tell me."

Rowan smiled shakily. "When Bay and I took the last shuttle to Earth, it was just us in that shuttle. No other refugees. Just Bay and me … and twenty nuclear weapons. Nuclear weapons we took from the Exodus Fleet. Weapons we can now use." She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "We still have a few Firebirds on Earth. We still have a few transporters and shuttles. I suggest that we load them with nuclear weapons, install AI on their computers, and send them on kamikaze missions."

They all stared at her. Bay's jaw unhinged and he rubbed his eyes.

"Nuke them, Rowan?" he said. "What if they nuke us back?"

She gave him a wry smile. "They can't. If they could, they'd have done it already. There are millions of feral basilisks living on Earth. We're safe from being nuked." Her smile widened, but it was a bitter, pained smile. "But we can sure dish it out. And we better hurry."

* * * * *

When Rowan emerged from the bunkers, she found a world in ruins.

She had seen the devastation from space. And when landing here yesterday, she had seen the smoke and flame. But now that the bombardment from space had ended, that the dust was settling, Rowan saw the true destruction.

Port Addison was gone.

Everything that they had built over the past two years. It lay in smoldering ruins.

The tents had burned. The stone schoolhouse lay in a pile of rubble. Only the charred bones of cows remained in the farmlands. A few walls of the church and synagogue rose from ashes, their roofs gone, their windows shattered. When Rowan took a step away from the bunker's hatch, her boots scattered the bones of a stray dog, perhaps a mutt who had died seeking shelter in the colony.

Rowan had not spent much time in this colony. While Leona had been building its first roads, Rowan had been fighting the scorpions. While new colonists had raised walls and homes, Rowan had been flying with the Exodus Fleet. Yet the week she had spent here before the war, working in the sunlight, had been the best week of her life. She had come to love Port Addison, a beacon of hope and life, a colony of joy on her beloved Earth. It was her home.

But she had no time to mourn now.

Port Addison was gone, but her people still lived, hiding in the tunnels. And Rowan had only moments to save them.

She looked up at the sky. Smoke veiled the sun. She could not see the enemy from here. But she knew they were up there. And any moment, the attack would resume.

Rowan got to work.

"Come on, troops, let's move it!" she shouted.

A platoon emerged from the bunker. They ran through the ruins of the city, rifles aimed ahead. Twisted bicycles, a burnt crib, and the bones of animals lay around them. A baby shoe had somehow survived the bombardment, sheltered beneath a fallen beam. A doll's head stared with blackened eyes.

The walls around Port Addison had fallen. A few wild basilisks, not soldiers but the feral beasts from the hills, were slithering into the ruins. One of the beasts reared before the soldiers, eight feet tall and covered with black scales. Rowan aimed Lullaby and blew off its head with a single shot. The humans kept running.

They reached the city's spaceport. The tarmac was destroyed, a ruin of craters and smoldering chunks of metal. But Rowan didn't worry about that. Over the past few months, preparing for the invasion, the humans had dug hangars underground. Now the soldiers pulled open heavy metal trapdoors, revealing their cache of starships.

A few Firebirds. A few crude, heavily-armored dropships—big boxes of metal with wings, once shuttles of destroyed frigates. A few luxury shuttles from the Porter, which Rowan had kept on Earth, unarmed but fast and agile.

That was all. What remained of Earth's fleet.

Rowan stood on the ravaged tarmac, staring down into the hangar.

It would have to do.

An air raid siren wailed. Rowan looked up and saw a missile streaking downward.

Dammit.

"Into the hangar!" she shouted. "Go!"

A ladder led underground. Rowan knew they had no time to climb. The missile was shrieking toward them at terrifying speed.

"Jump, jump!" she shouted.

She leaped into the hangar and fell two meters. She landed on her feet, wobbled, and hit the floor, crying out in pain. Other soldiers landed around her.

"Close the hatch!" she shouted, racing toward the ladder. She began to climb. "We have to close the—"

The missile exploded aboveground.

Light and fire flared.

Rowan fell from the ladder and slammed against the opposite wall. Stones and debris slammed into her.

She slumped to the floor, trembling, gasping for breath. Her chest blazed with agony. Her ankle was twisted. Her ears rang and her nose bled.

I guess the bombardment isn't quite over yet, she thought.

She pushed herself to her feet, wincing. She could feel the Harmonians moving inside her, repairing the broken cells, mending her swollen ankle. A soldier beside her wasn't as lucky. A piece of shrapnel had sliced his jugular.

Not everyone had even managed to leap into the shelter, she realized. Rowan climbed back aboveground to seek survivors. She found three corpses.

But the survivors kept working.

They kept fighting.

One platoon stood guard above the underground hangar, firing at any feral basilisk that approached. The other soldiers worked in the bunker. They pulled the nuclear weapons from one shuttle, then distributed them to other vessels.

Rowan, meanwhile, pulled out her minicom. Over the past year, she had been moving Brooklyn and Fillister from computer to computer. Originally, of course, Brooklyn had been installed in a starship that bore her name. Fillister had been installed in a robotic dragonfly, which Rowan had kept in her pocket. The scorpion war had destroyed both starship and robot. But Rowan had been able to restore the two AIs from backups.

She had kept her two friends close. They now lived on her small pocket computer. So long as she had backups, she could bring her friends back to life, installing them over and over on new computers.

"Guys," she said, speaking into her minicom. "You there?"

Their avatars popped onto the screen. The minicom vibrated as they sent her virtual waves.

"Great," Rowan said. "I need your help. And I need to … do something new."

"Uh oh," Brooklyn said, voice emerging from the minicom's speaker. "Dude, I don't like the sound of that. Last time I tried something new, it was Fillister's poetry slam night—and I did not enjoy it. Besides, we're busy."

"There's a war going on!" Rowan said.

"I know, I know!" Brooklyn replied. "But Fillister and I are having an Alf marathon."

Rowan groaned and tugged her hair. "So pause it!"

"But this new episode is really good!" Brooklyn began. "Alf is trying to eat Willie's cat, and—"

"Brooklyn!" Rowan said.

"Ugh, fine!" Brooklyn said. "If I still had eyes, I'd roll them. By the way, any progress on getting Fill and me new bodies?"

"After we win this war," Rowan said. "To win it, I need your help. I need you and Fill to fly twenty spacecraft."

Fillister joined the conversation. "Oi, Row. There are only two us. How are we going to fly twenty bloomin' ships?"

An air raid siren wailed again.

"Incoming!" a soldier cried.

They leaped back into the shelter. Another explosion boomed above, rattling the blast doors. The soldiers huddled together by the spacecraft.

Rowan kept talking to her minicom.

"I still have your source code, guys. I've restored you from backups before. This time, I'm going to copy you. Ten copies each. And install you into our shuttles."

For a second, there was silence.

A second was a very long time for computers.

Finally Brooklyn spoke.

"Dude. Dude! There will be twenty of us? Well, twenty-two, including the originals?"

"For a while." Rowan nodded. "For a few minutes. Brooklyn. Fillister. I'm going to ask you to make a huge sacrifice. I'm going to send your copies on suicide missions. You'll be flying up there with nuclear weapons. And you're going to blow yourselves up among the enemy. The original yous will be safe. You'll remain here in my minicom. The copies will die."

This time, the AIs were silent for five entire seconds.

For them, it was an era.

Fillister gave their reply.

"Row, we'll do it."

She nodded. "Thank you," she whispered.

She knew what she was asking of them. Not to die only once. But to experience death ten times.

Would I have done this? Rowan thought. Yes. I would. But it would not be an easy choice.

She realized there hadn't been an explosion in a while. The invasion could be minutes away. Rowan worked in a hurry, moving from shuttle to shuttle. She decided to spare the Firebirds. After all, she was going to destroy these vessels, and Firebirds were state-of-the-art starfighters, too precious to lose. Instead, Rowan only approached the fleet's shuttles: both the military's armored dropships and the Porter's civilian shuttles. These vessels too were costly, but more expendable than the starfighters.

At each shuttle, Rowan plugged her minicom into the cockpit, made a copy of Brooklyn or Fillister, and installed it. Clones of her friends appeared inside the craft—containing the full memories, personalities, and consciousness of their master copy.

"This is weird," Brooklyn said, speaking through one dropship's computer.

"I can almost feel the other me," Fillister said, speaking from a shuttle.

Rowan couldn't help but shudder. She had revived the two AIs multiple times, moving them between the Jerusalem, the Byzantium, and her own minicom, but that had been different. She had merely resurrected the dead, so to speak. Now she was cloning them.

They were just computer programs, of course. Both Brooklyn and Fillister were essentially just lines of code. They had no brains, no physical bodies. Rowan tried to comfort herself with that thought. They wouldn't actually die up there in space, would they? How could lines of code die?

Yet clearly, both Brooklyn and Fillister were conscious. Both had unique personalities. Memories. Mannerisms. Feelings. Or at least, they had the illusions of these things. And that entire package reappeared in each clone.

Do they have souls? Rowan wondered. Am I sending living beings to die true deaths?

She wasn't sure what a soul was. What it meant to have a "self," to be an individual. Yes, robots were merely machines. But weren't humans also machines? Machines of meat instead of metal? Their own code ran in the brain, formed from synapses instead of circuits. Yet that did not make a human death less tragic. Perhaps souls were mere illusions, whether a human or robot souls. Some lines of code. Some memories. Some identity, maybe just the illusion of an identity, of a self.

But surely consciousness exists, even if souls don't, Rowan thought. What is consciousness, then?

It was not memories. Not thoughts. Not even personality or feelings. All those were simply activity in the brain, simply those lines of code or bits of stored data. But consciousness was different. It lived below these things, a ghost in the machine, an invisible operator. No—not even an operator. An observer.

Rowan didn't truly understand consciousness. She didn't know if Brooklyn and Fillister possessed this invisible observer, or whether they simply mimicked human consciousness. Yet if the mimicry was perfect, was there even a difference? If something looked like a duck, quacked like a duck, who was to say it wasn't a duck?

Her brain hurt.

"Rowan!" Bay shouted. He peered down from above the hangar, interrupting her thoughts. "My sensors are detecting movement in the enemy fleet. They're sending down landing craft."

"Damn it!" Rowan said. She cursed herself for wasting moments lost in thought. "I've only installed nine vessels so far."

"It'll have to do," Bay said. "Send 'em up there!"

Rowan nodded. She shouted into her minicom, "Operation Hidden Fire—engage!"

She pressed herself against the wall of the hangar and covered her ears. Ahead of her, one shuttle—with Brooklyn installed—fired up its engines. Farther down, another shuttle—this one with Fillister inside—began to rise.

One by one, nine shuttles rose from the hangar and soared into the sky.

Rowan climbed back onto the tarmac. She joined Bay, and other soldiers gathered around them. They all stared skyward. The shuttles were rising at incredible speed, leaving white trails.

Rowan tapped her minicom, streaming a view from one shuttle's cockpit.

"How's it going, guys?" she asked.

"Going well, Row!" replied five versions of Fillister.

"Dude, we're fine!" replied four Brooklyns.

Both sets of clones spoke in perfect unison. Creepy. Did that confirm that they were simple algorithms, responding to stimulus in a predetermined way, rather than conscious beings with free will? Rowan would have to contemplate that another day.

The shuttles were thirty kilometers up when Rowan frowned. She brought her minicom closer.

"What's that?" She squinted.

Her monitor was streaming a video feed from one shuttle. It showed thousands of specks darkening the sky.

Her heart sank.

"Enemy dropships," she whispered. "The aliens' landing craft!"

"Dammit!" Bay said. "Too soon!"

"Um, dudes?" Brooklyn asked from thirty kilometers up. "What do we do?"

Rowan inhaled sharply, mind racing.

"All right," she said. "Two Fillisters—the first two I cloned. You guys attack the alien dropships. The rest of you—that is, the other three Fillisters and all Brooklyn clones. You'll have to do some fancy flying. Maneuver around those dropships, get into space, and attack the motherships!"

Rowan wasn't sure that was the best plan. She would have to analyze it later. But it was the best she could come up with so quickly. For now, she hoped it was a wise distribution of force.

What I wouldn't give for a thousand shuttles, she thought. Of course, Brook and Fill might kill me for that…

"Soldiers!" she shouted. "We're gonna have a nuclear blast within our atmosphere. Back into the hangar!"

She could hear them now. Roaring engines above. Thousands of enemy dropships.

The soldiers cleared the ruins, entering bunkers, and pulled the blast doors shut. Rowan watched the video feed on her minicom.

One of Fillister's shuttles was charging toward the enemy. The alien dropships filled the upper atmosphere—some long and scaly, others boxy, some blobby and organic.

"Row!" Fillister cried out. "I love you, Row. Goodbye. Goodb—"

In the mesosphere, he slammed into the lines of enemy crafts.

The video feed died.

But Rowan could hear the nuclear explosion, even down here in the bunker, eighty kilometers below. The boom was deafening. The blast door shook. The concrete walls cracked and shed dust.

Rowan lowered her head, grieving the loss of her friend. There were still other Fillisters up there, and one master copy on her minicom. But that did not diminish the loss.

My friend died up there. A soul.

She switched her minicom to another shuttle's video feed. This was one of Brooklyn's shuttles. On this feed, Rowan could see the destruction Fillister had wrought. The nuclear blast had taken out countless alien landing craft. They were falling toward Earth, raw and burnt, some barely more than shrapnel.

A twisted, raging sense of triumph filled Rowan. She bared her teeth.

Good. Die, you sons of bitches.

But suddenly she cringed. On the monitor, she saw the alien craft open fire on the shuttles.

"Brooklyn!" she cried.

"I see 'em!" Brooklyn replied, swerving.

Rowan tapped the minicom, splitting the screen to show eight thumbnail-sized videos at once. Feeds from all eight remaining shuttles.

There were thousands of alien dropships. And they were all firing.

Earth's eight shuttles flew madly, barrel rolling, zigzagging, dodging the fire. An alien laser hit a Fillister shuttle, and the feed went dark. Then another Fillister feed. Then a Brooklyn feed.

"Goodbye, Bay and Rowan!" cried one of the Brooklyn shuttles. "I love you, dudes!"

Brooklyn cried out wordlessly—and her feed turned to flaring white light, then went dark.

She detonated her nuclear bomb, Rowan knew.

A few moments later, once the sound wave had traveled the distance, Rowan heard the explosion. The boom rattled the bunker.

Only four shuttles now remained. Rowan watched their video feeds as they entered space.

The view in space was just as terrifying. Countless alien warships flew there. Many were frigates, large enough to hold thousands of aliens. Some were even larger. The aliens flew several full-sized dreadnoughts, colossal warships the size of skyscrapers.

"Take out the dreadnoughts!" Rowan said. "Shuttles—scatter and take out those bastards!"

Everyone crowded around her in the bunker, watching. They knew that in seconds, the alien dropships would land. But all eyes remained focused on Earth's last four shuttles.

The dreadnoughts opened fire.

Countless lasers, missiles, and plasma bolts flew toward the shuttles.

A Fillister clone screamed and went dark.

A Brooklyn clone tried to dodge a missile, could not, and detonated her nuclear payload too early, taking out only a few alien dropships.

But the last two shuttles—one with Fillister, one with Brooklyn—made it through the fusillade.

Fillister reached a dreadnought, engaged his thruster brakes, and made a crude landing on the massive Rattler's hull.

Brooklyn positioned herself between one dreadnought and three frigates.

Both shuttles cried out, "For Earth!"

The video feeds flared white—then went dark.

Both shuttles must have detonated their nuclear payloads.

There was no resultant boom. No way for Rowan to hear or see the damage.

For a moment, the humans in the bunkers were all silent.

"Did it work?" Bay whispered.

Rowan didn't know.

The bunker began to shake. Across Port Addison, the artillery was firing. There were still thousands of enemy dropships in the sky, and Earth's cannons were bombarding them. Any moment now, the enemy would land. Rowan placed her hand on Lullaby, ready to fight—to death if she must.

Then—one more video feed appeared on her monitor.

It was a Fillister!

It was one more shuttle! A shuttle still in the mesosphere!

"Sorry, Row!" the last Fillister said. "Damn bullet took out me computer for a moment. But I've rebooted and I'm soaring back to battle!"

In the feed, she watched the last shuttle streak up into space—and into an inferno.

Rowan gasped and jumped and shed tears. Bay leaped up and hugged soldiers around him. Soon they were all watching the monitor, laughing, and pumping their fists.

Two entire dreadnoughts—massive warships that could conquer worlds—were destroyed.

The nuclear blasts had ripped through their hulls, cracking them into several pieces. Around the ravaged dreadnoughts, a hundred other alien warships were burning. The nuclear explosions had taken them out too.

Rowan watched, holding her breath, as Fillister's last shuttle flew toward a group of basilisk warships—and detonated its payload.

The video feed went dark, but this time Rowan knew: We got the bastards.

The troops in the bunker laughed and celebrated and embraced. When Rowan called Emet, she could hear cheers from his bunker as well. They too had been watching the video feeds.

For a brief moment, Earth celebrated.

"We proved something here," Rowan said. "We proved that we can hurt them! That we can hurt them bad. We are a force to be reckoned with! We—"

Then she heard it. Engines roaring. The bunker vibrated. The entire ground was shaking. Aliens screeched above.

Rowan switched on her video feed again—this time to a camera in the colony aboveground, hidden inside a hollowed-out boulder.

She saw them, and her heart sank. All her joy drowned under terror.

Earth's shuttles had taken out many alien dropships. But thousands were still landing. Many of them in Port Addison's ruins—just above her head.

Hatches opened. Roaring, drooling, and shrieking for blood, the enemy troops emerged.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Mairead was not used to this shit.

As she trudged through the wilderness, swatting insects and hacking at vines, she spat and cursed.

She had been born in space. She had been raised in starships, sleazy space stations, and the odd asteroid. To her, a battle meant blasting your enemies from the cockpit of a Firebird.

Now she faced a new enemy: the vast, rolling wilderness of Earth.

Mairead paused atop a hill, wiped her forehead, and spat.

"Muck this shit."

She had been walking for days, ever since crashing on Earth. But the wild still spread before her to the horizon. Earth was not a large planet. Mairead had fought on worlds that made Earth seem smaller than a boil on her ass. But with her Firebird gone, with only her legs to carry her, it was a long way home.

Where was she? Mairead wasn't sure. The battle had been so chaotic. She had lost consciousness during her fall from the sky. Last she remembered, she had been falling toward North America. That was good. She was hopefully on the right continent, at least. But it was still a damn big continent, and Port Addison was a small colony. She had no map. She had her minicom, yes, but there were no GPS satellites around Earth. How the hell would she find her way?

"It'll be like finding a virgin in a smugglers' whorehouse," Mairead muttered, crushing another mosquito. The insect died on her arm, leaking her own blood. "It can take years, and you'll catch ten viral infections while you look."

Mairead took a few moments to catch her breath. Her head was spinning. She rummaged through her pocket, found her last granola bar, and winced. Just one bar left. She tore the package open, aching to devour the whole thing. By sheer force of will, she ate only half, then pocketed the rest.

Her stomach growled in protest. Mairead patted it.

"I know, buddy, you want more."

Her belly growled louder. Hunt!

Mairead snorted. "What do I look like, Daniel Mucking Boone? I can fly a Firebird through an asteroid field, storm a dreadnought, and slingshot around a star. What the hell do I know about hunting?"

Her belly was having none of it. Learn!

Mairead rolled her eyes. She placed her hand on her pistol. Yes, if she had to, she could hunt. But she didn't have an infinite supply of bullets, and there were no munition ships anywhere nearby. She was saving her bullets for the enemy.

Because the invasion had begun.

Mairead could see it in the distance. Lines of smoke trailing down from the sky. Alien dropships. Filled with elite troops. Not just basilisks but all the horrors of the galaxy, a coalition of monsters hellbent on destruction.

Mairead was miserable out here. She hated walking. She hated the mosquitoes. She hated the rain and sunlight and even the fresh air had begun to annoy her. She was a creature of cockpits, casinos, and firing ranges. But this was still her home. This was her planet. Her birthright. And she would kill every last alien son of a bitch who set foot, paw, claw, tentacle, or underbelly on this hallowed soil.

Night fell.

Mairead considered starting a fire. She had bullets. Explosives in her backpack. A flare that hung from her belt. Starting a fire should have been easy. But she had no way to generate a spark. She spent a moment rubbing two sticks together, then tossed them aside in disgust. Besides—a campfire would alert any basilisk from kilometers around.

Muck fire.

It was springtime but damn cold at night. Mairead burrowed under fallen leaves and vines and closed her eyes. She slept fitfully. Her stomach kept rumbling, her arms itched from countless mosquito bites, and her head spun. Throughout the night, things moved in the forest. Branches snapped. Leaves rustled. She kept waking up and drawing her gun, only for the creatures to retreat.

Dawn rose, cold and gray. Mairead sat against a log, watching the sun rise. Birds sang among the branches. Delicious birds she could not reach nor cook.

"Am I going to die here?" she said softly. "I flew for thousands of light-years around the galaxy. Am I going to die a mere thousand kilometers from home?"

She rose to her feet and swayed, feeling weak. She hated feeling weak. Hated feeling helpless. She could plan an assault, defend a space station, lead fleets in battle. But she couldn't start a damn fire or catch a damn squirrel to save her life.

She started walking, swatting away mosquitoes.

"I must be in the south of the continent," she said. "It's warm here. Too damn warm. I freeze my ass off at night, but the days are hot. That means south, right?" She nodded. "So, I have to walk north. I'm walking north now. The sun's in the east on Earth, right? Pretty sure."

She groaned. Great, she was talking to herself now. The first step toward insanity. By the time she got home, she'd be stark raving mad.

Her stomach growled. She shut it up with the rest of her granola bar.

As she walked, Mairead thought about the others.

About Emet, her leader, the only man Mairead looked up to. She hated all other authority. She had spent her service infuriating her commanding officers, disobeying orders, brawling with her superiors, and ending up in the brig time and again. If not for her genius as a pilot, she would have been demoted, probably even discharged. But Emet—he was a man Mairead had always respected, looked up to, proud to fight for.

She thought of Rowan and Leona, two women who had become dear friends. Two fellow lionesses, great warriors for Earth. Mairead would never admit it to their faces—but she looked up to Leona too. And she saw Rowan as a younger sister, a mini-Mairead.

She thought of Ramses. A man who infuriated her. Who kept catching her cheat at poker. Who kept making her feel so unrefined. While she guzzled down grog, the Pharaoh would brew fine teas and coffees. When she was listening to old heavy metal, he would speak of classical music. She hated him. Hated that snooty princeling! But she also loved him. More than she would ever admit.

You don't know, Mairead thought. I'll never tell you. But I love you more than anyone, Pharaoh.

Mairead never wanted to get married. Never wanted to have kids. Hers was a life of freedom and fighting. But if she ever did allow a man into her life, it would be Ramses.

She snorted.

"I'm going mad with hunger. I'm absolutely mad! Ridiculous. Laughable! What are all these pathetic emotions? Just the Ra damn mosquitoes is all. Making me sick."

Yet as she kept walking, tears flowed down her cheeks. Because Mairead missed them. All of them. They were not only fellow humans. Not only her fellow soldiers. They were her family.

"I'll see you again," she promised. "Muck this shit!" She picked up a rock and hurled it. "I ain't dying out here in no Ra damn forest." She punched a tree, howling as she bloodied her knuckles. "I'm going to meet you again, Ramses, and beat your ass at poker. I'm going to teach you everything about how to kill aliens, little Rowan. I'm going to salute you again, Emet, and win this war for you." She wiped away her tears and roared at the sky. "I'm going home, bitches. Get ready!"

Birds fled from her voice.

The trees rustled.

Ahead in the forest, something growled.

Something big.

Mairead knelt, drew her pistol, and aimed.

For a long moment—silence.

Not even daring to breathe, Mairead lifted a rock and tossed it. It hit a branch with a clatter.

A beast pounced toward the sound, and Mairead lost her breath.

Ra damn.

It was a hellwolf. She hated hellwolves.

The beast was the size of a horse, with fangs like swords and six legs that shook the mountains. Mairead fired a bullet into the beast. She might as well have fired a spitball.

The alien spun toward her. Its jaws opened with a roar. Strings of saliva dangled between its teeth. The monster came racing toward Mairead, claws tearing up soil and rocks.

Muck!

She fired. Again. Again. Her bullets slammed into the alien, barely fazing it. The mosquitoes would have better luck.

An instinct rose in Mairead to run. To climb a tree. To flee this death barreling toward her.

She curbed that instinct. She was Mairead "Firebug" McQueen, a senior officer in the Human Defense Force, and she ran from no beast.

"Come on, you mucker!" She held her gun steady. "I've always wanted to kill one of you dogs."

The hellwolf closed the distance, then leaped into the air, flying toward her.

Mairead ducked, dodging a swinging claw, and swerved aside.

The hellwolf slammed into the ground, missing her by mere centimeters. It plowed through the soil, leaving a deep groove on the mountainside, shattering branches and uprooting bushes.

Mairead scampered back. But a spike thrust out from the hellwolf's flank like a scythe from a chariot. The horn sliced Mairead's leg, ripping through her trousers, skin, and muscle. She yowled.

Ignoring the pain, she grabbed a fistful of the creature's fur. She hoisted herself up, climbing the spikes like rungs on a ladder. She landed atop the creature and clung.

The hellwolf reared, bellowing. Mairead nearly fell. But she dug her heels into the animal's back, clutched its fur with one hand, and aimed her pistol.

Hellwolves were like Mairead. They never fled. Ever. In fact, they evolved to never flee. Their entire body was covered with thick fur and skin like armor, impervious to almost any weapon. Aside from one weak spot. One weakness that assured they would never turn their tail on a battle.

"Sweet dreams, asshole," Mairead muttered.

She fired into the back of its head—where the creature had no skull.

Her bullet sank deep, piercing through a thin layer of fur, then tearing the brain stem.

The hellwolf slammed down, dead before it hit the ground.

Mairead hopped off the corpse and spat on it.

"Bastard."

Sudden pain hit her, and Mairead staggered. Her leg flared with agony. She wobbled and fell beside the dead beast.

She stared at her wound. It was an ugly gash, so deep it nearly hit the bone. It was bleeding profusely. It looked infected too. The damn hellwolf carried venom on its spikes. The wound's edges were green and yellow, bubbling and oozing. It hurt like a son of a bitch.

Mairead's head spun, and she struggled to remain conscious. She had dealt with wounds before. She bore her many scars proudly. She had been stung by scorpions, bitten by basilisks, and blown out of her Firebird more times than she could count. She was no stranger to pain.

But this was different.

Here she was alone.

Hungry. Maybe sick. Lost thousands of kilometers away from her friends.

I don't want to die here. I don't want to die alone.

She inhaled sharply. With shaky fingers, she pulled off her belt and applied a tourniquet. Two years ago, Cindy had integrated a new program into the Heirs of Earth, one that had carried over into the Human Defense Force. The nurse—now a doctor—had insisted that all soldiers take a first aid class and carry basic medical supplies. Mairead was woozy. Close to passing out. But she forced herself to take deep breaths, to stay awake, and she pulled out her first aid kit.

She poured disinfectant into the wound.

It sizzled. Mairead screamed. At least it woke her up.

There was still poison in the wound. The gash seemed almost like a living thing, twisting, begging, a hungry mouth.

Mairead fed it more disinfectant. She kept pouring it in, washing out the poison, screaming all the while.

Finally she dropped the empty bottle, leaned over, and took ragged breaths. Her heart pounded.

Well, if there are any other hellwolves around, I alerted them all, she thought. Muck, if there are any hellwolves on Mars, they must have heard me.

Let no one say that Mairead did not learn from her errors. She grabbed a stick, bit down hard, and steeled herself.

Then she got to stitching.

Thankfully, this task hurt less. Her fingers shook, but she did good work, neatly stitching the gash. She wrapped her leg with bandages, then lay on her back, gasping for air.

"Mucking hellwolves," she muttered. "I hate hellwolves."

She pushed herself to her feet, but pain flared. She grimaced and fell back down. She took a few long, slow breaths.

A squirrel scurried along a branch and peered at her. The little critter squeaked. The bastard was mocking her.

Mairead drew her pistol and fired. The squirrel fell down dead.

"Muck saving bullets," she muttered. "I'm starving."

She was about to eat the animal, campfire or no campfire, when she heard the beeping.

She spun around, pistol raised, muzzle still hot. The sound came from the hellwolf corpse. Mairead dragged herself closer. The damn alien was beeping like an alarm clock. She cocked her head, trying to pinpoint the sound's exact location. It came from a tangle of greasy fur on the animal's neck. Wincing, Mairead reached into the furry brambles, careful to avoid any hidden spikes.

She felt something hard and round. She parted the fur and saw a device attached to a collar. It was flashing red and beeping.

A tracker, Mairead realized. So you're somebody's pet.

She frowned. The tracker must have detected the alien's demise, and was now contacting its masters. Within moments, this place would be swarming with basilisks.

Mairead was about to crawl away, but she paused. Something on the collar caught her eye. She stared closer.

A logo was engraved on the collar. A woman with a snake's body. An image of Queen Xerka.

"Is this your lapdog, Xerka?" Mairead wondered.

She pulled out her minicom. Over the past few days, Mairead had been regularly testing her minicom, trying to connect to Port Addison. It never worked. The damn basilisks were jamming signals across the planet. But when Mairead held the minicom near the dead hellwolf, it picked up the tracker.

"Yep, this thing is transmitting wirelessly," she said.

Mairead wasn't too good at computers. She was better at killing than programming. But Rowan had been teaching her a few tricks, had even installed some hacking software on her minicom. Mairead was able to bypass the collar's security protocols and connect to the tracker.

"Thank you, Rowan!" She pressed a few buttons on the minicom. "Now, puppy, where are you transmitting your signal to …"

A branch snapped.

Mairead jerked up. She stared toward a valley. The trees were rustling. She heard a familiar clatter and hiss.

Basilisks!

The hisses grew louder. Mairead's minicom began speaking the translation. She quickly muted the device, switching it to closed captions. She crouched behind the hellwolf corpse, reading the text flashing on the monitor.

"What the hell happened to the wolf?" said one basilisk.

"Dumb dogs!" said another. "We should never have hired them. All brute strength. No brains."

"Silence, mammal! Queen Xerka herself trained this wolf."

"Do not call me mammal! I am more snake than you. Xerka should rely on serpents only. These furry canines are nothing but trouble. Now we, proud snakes, must go clean up their mess. The dog is dead."

"And you'll be dead too if you keep questioning our goddess!"

While the basilisks bickered, Mairead worked silently. She tore bloody strips off her pants, then stuffed them into the hellwolf's mouth. She limped away, careful to cover her tracks, to an oak tree. Ignoring the pain in her leg, she climbed, slung herself across a branch, and peered between the leaves.

Not a moment later, the basilisks arrived.

There were five. Nasty buggers, each large enough to swallow Mairead whole. Here were basilisk soldiers, not the feral beasts who crawled across much of Earth. These wore armor, the metal plates painted with their unit's insignia. Guns were mounted on their backs. They held tracking devices in their long, thin hands.

Four were normal-sized basilisks. They wore no helmets, exposing their red and green scaly heads. Each had a single red stripe painted onto its armor, denoting rank.

The fifth basilisk was twice the size, a beast that could have swallowed a horse. It wore a suit of black armor painted with three red flames. Here was a basilisk general. This beast wore a helmet covered in spikes. The dark metal covered everything but the jaws, hiding even the eyes. And mighty jaws those were, jaws that could put the meanest crocodile to shame, filled with many rows of teeth. Flaps flared around the general's head like a cobra's hood, covered in black scales.

Mairead recognized this basilisk. She had seen him before on the Jerusalem's monitor.

Here slithered Naja, Prince of Basilisks. Xerka's son.

Bloody hell, Mairead thought. What is that bastard doing here in the middle of nowhere?

She clung to her branch, pistol in hand, listening.

"I knew it!" hissed a red basilisk. "The damn wolf is dead."

A yellow and green basilisk stuck out his forked tongue. The tongue flicked, then retreated between the fangs. "The beast stinks to space!"

Mairead was thankful for that stench. Basilisks smelled with their tongues, and their olfactory sense was weak, no stronger than a human's. The stinking corpse would cover her own scent—admittedly not too pleasant after days in the wilderness. She kept watching from the tree.

A one-eyed, dark green basilisk slithered closer to the hellwolf. He licked the creature, then reared.

"This hellwolf fought a human!"

The serpents all gathered closer.

"A human killed it?" said one. "Impossible! Humans are pathetic weaklings."

"I smell it. A human. A female. Look!" The green basilisk grabbed shreds of cloth from the hellwolf's jaws. "Human blood. Human clothes!"

"Where is the pest?" said another basilisk—a thick yellow beast with two cannons on its back.

"The hellwolf ate her," said the green basilisk. "Devoured her whole. Got injured in the battle and died soon after. Dumb brute."

"Maybe the human escaped," suggested the red basilisk.

Watching from the branches, Mairead readied her pistol. She would have to fire quickly. To fire into their eyes. To take out all five basilisks before they could attack. Basilisks were excellent climbers. The tree would not hold them off.

"If she did escape, she couldn't have gone far," said the yellow basilisk. "Look at all the blood. This is human blood. If she's alive, she's hurt. Dying."

"We can find out," said another. "Cut open the hellwolf. See if the human is inside."

"Disgusting!" The red basilisk gagged. "Don't touch this creature. Hellwolves are diseased mammals. Leave it here. Leave it to rot."

Finally Naja, the great black commander of the group, reared. The beast towered over the others, so high his head nearly reached Mairead in the treetop. His suit of black armor clanked, lined with spikes. The general looked from one basilisk to another.

"Enough bickering!" Naja said. "This wolf was Queen Xerka's personal pet. The tracker on its collar is linked to Xerka's bracelet." He ripped the collar off the corpse. "I will return the tracker to her, so she can select a new pet for it."

"What about the human, Master?" hissed the yellow basilisk. "She might still be alive."

"And there might be more!" added the green basilisk. "The humans breed quickly. Where there is one, there are soon others."

Naja nodded. "Both of you stay here and hunt. If the human is alive, capture her. Capture any other humans around her. I want no humans so close to our base. The rest of you sorry lot—you will return with me to the city. We'll go see Xerka and receive new orders."

The lower-ranking basilisks bowed. "Yes, Master."

The aliens turned to crawl away, taking the tracker. They left two basilisks behind—the burly yellow one with the cannons, and a slimmer green snake.

Mairead's head spun. Xerka herself was down here on Earth? She was nearby? What was this base, this city?

If I can find Xerka's location …

Mairead could already imagine it. An intrepid group of pilots. Her and Ramses and maybe a few others. A brave, secret mission to Xerka's base. Smart missiles. Maybe even a nuke. Killing Xerka and winning this war.

Mairead wanted to follow Naja, to learn more. But the green and yellow basilisks were still below the tree, sniffing around the corpse.

Mairead cursed inwardly. She could shoot the two snakes from above. But her gun was loud. It would only draw Naja back. Once more, no bullets allowed. Mairead looked forward to fighting Naja eventually. But not now, not in her current sorry state. Right now, she barely felt strong enough to fight a ladybug.

Below her, the two serpents began licking the ground, tasting for her tracks. Both were making their way toward the tree.

Mairead sighed. She would have to do this silently.

Muck.

She holstered her pistol and drew her knife.

I miss my Firebird, she thought as she leaped from the tree.

She landed on the beefy yellow snake, banging her wounded leg, and bit down on a scream. The beast bucked, nearly knocking her off, and Mairead slammed down her knife with all her strength.

She pierced the creature's eye and drove the blade into its brain.

The other basilisk reared before her, jaws opening to scream.

Mairead pulled her knife free and tossed it. The blade pierced the green basilisk's palate, silencing it. The alien bent over, gagging, struggling to disgorge the knife.

Mairead didn't wait for it to attempt another scream. She lunged, pulling the tourniquet off her wounded leg. She leaped behind the green basilisk, wrapped the belt around its neck, and pulled back hard.

The creature flailed, choking. Mairead sneered, tugging her makeshift garrote with all her strength.

"Don't like being constricted?" she hissed into its ear.

She twisted the belt, tightening the noose, until the leather began to creak and rip. The basilisk gagged, finally dislodging the blade from its mouth. Mairead pulled its head downward, grabbed the fallen knife, and embedded it into the alien's ear.

The green basilisk thumped down dead, joining its yellow brother.

Mairead lifted her dead squirrel. She ripped into its flesh, eating the meat raw. To hell with starting fires. She was hungry now.

As she chewed, she checked her minicom. It was still connected to the tracker. Naja was carrying the tracker north. Mairead could see his position move along her monitor.

She gulped down a mouthful of squirrel and tossed the bones aside.

"We're not done, buddy," she said, watching the tracker move. "You're going to lead me to your mistress. I've got some big snakes to fry."

She wiped her bloody hands on her thighs, slung her belt back around her waist, and walked on through the forest.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Fire!" Emet roared.

Along with fifty soldiers, he rose from the trench, aimed his rifle, and fired.

Fifty rifles boomed. The hailstorm of bullets tore through the charging basilisks, scattering scales across the ruins of Port Addison. From other trenches, more platoons rose. More rifles unleashed hell onto the aliens.

Some, like Emet's rifle, were powerful railguns, using electromagnetic force to hurl bullets at hypersonic speed. Many were cheaper, simpler weapons, relying on good-old-fashioned gunpowder. The smell of smoke, blood, and offal filled the hot air. The smell of war.

The enemy covered the ruins. Thousands of basilisks were slithering between the shattered buildings and burnt tents. With them swarmed aliens of other species: blobby, spiky, furry, fanged. Many wore armor. Most wielded weapons of their own. A barrage of enemy bullets flew back toward the trench.

"Down!" Emet cried.

The soldiers knelt behind the sandbags that lined the trench. The enemy fire slammed into sacks. A grenade made its way into the trench a few meters away from Emet. Before anyone could react, the grenade exploded. Soldiers screamed, were ripped apart, showering their friends with blood. A few other soldiers, unharmed, fell and screamed in horror, dropping their rifles.

"Keep firing!" Emet cried, ears ringing. The bodies of his men had protected him from the grenade; he now wore their blood. "Mow them down!"

He fired Thunder with one hand, Lightning with the other. Both rifle and pistol tore through the advancing aliens. Beside him, a sergeant was roaring as he fired a machine gun—one of only a few the Human Defense Force owned. The bullets ripped through snarling, wolflike creatures that were racing toward the trench.

"Artillery!" Emet cried into his comm. "Why aren't you firing?"

A staticky voice replied. "The enemy is swarming our cannon silos, sir!"

"Kill the bastards and keep firing that artillery!" he barked. "I want shells constantly pounding the enemy starships!"

An explosive hit a sandbag ahead of Emet. Several bags blew apart. When the clouds of sand settled, they revealed basilisks.

Emet stood before them, firing both his weapons, roaring as he mowed them down. Fangs bit him. Claws slashed him. But he kept killing. It took two sergeants to finally pull him back into the trench, to repair the fortifications.

"We must get you into the bunker, sir!" said a sergeant. "You're wounded."

Emet's leg was lacerated. As other soldiers kept firing, he pulled bandages from his pocket and slapped them on. He loaded another magazine. He would not rest until he, or every alien on Earth, was dead.

He kept firing.

If the trenches fell, he knew—the aliens would swarm into the tunnels below Port Addison. Two hundred thousand humans were huddling in there. Unarmed civilians, still traumatized by the gulocks. Emet would die before he let any more harm come to them.

He fought on. He would never stop fighting. He was almost sixty, and he had been fighting since age thirteen, since aliens had murdered his parents. But he had never fought a purer war than this. This was not a war for a dream, for some distant vision. This was a true war of independence. A war on Earth's soil. The war that would see humanity rising tall and strong again—or see the species perish.

"Dad!" Bay came running up from below, rifle in hand. "By the end of today, we'll be out of missiles. We won't be able to hold off more alien dropships."

Emet cursed. "Understood. We'll just keep firing until then."

Gunfire blazed across the ruins. More of Earth's cannons were firing, shaking the tunnels and trenches, pounding the enemy in orbit.

"Dad, we can't win this," Bay said. "We need to call back the Exodus Fleet. We need to get into those ships. We need to evacuate this planet."

"No!" Emet roared. "Damn it, Bay. We will not abandon Earth! The Exodus Fleet will continue its mission—bringing humans to Earth, not taking them away from it."

"We'll be bringing them to a deathtrap!" Bay cried.

A basilisk leaped over the trench, and both men fired, taking it down. The creature thumped into the trench beside them, gave a last twitch, and fell still.

"Then we'll die on Earth!" Emet said. "The basilisks hunt us everywhere—here and in space. I'd rather see our species die here than in exile. But we can still win, Bay. We can save this world!"

But his words felt hollow.

The odds of victory seemed so low.

He needed more weapons. More technology. More fighters. He—

With a deafening roar, an alien leaped over the sandbags and into the trench. It was a furry beast the size of a horse. The creature vaguely resembled a wolf, but its fangs were far larger, and eight red eyes blazed on its thick head. It moved on six legs, the claws like swords.

During his years in space, Emet had heard of such beasts, though never seen one. They were often hired as mercenaries, deployed as shock troops, branded as the ultimate killers. The species' name was impossible for humans to pronounce, but in the darkness of space, The Heirs of Earth had called them hellwolves.

Soldiers ran toward the monster. The hellwolf grabbed burly warriors, men even larger than Emet, and tore them apart. Severed limbs flew through the trench. Emet, Bay, and the others fired their guns, but the bullets barely fazed the beast.

The creature reared, bellowing. Strands of human flesh dangled from its jaws. Its paws swiped, ripping through soldiers.

Emet ran toward the machine gun. The gunner was dead, entrails spilling across the trench. Emet's head spun. Ringing filled his ears. He was going to vomit, to pass out. But he kept moving. Decades of war had hammered this instinct into him. He shoved the dead man aside, grabbed the machine gun, and spun it toward the hellwolf.

The beast lunged toward him, jaws opening wide enough to swallow a man whole, ravenous.

Emet fed those jaws some lead.

The machine gun raced through an ammunition belt, filling the hellwolf's jaws with searing death. Blood splattered the back of the trench. The hellwolf fell, crushing bodies. Soldiers stood above the alien, filling the beast with more bullets, firing until they were sure it was dead.

"Dad." Bay stepped around the furry corpse. "We need more rockets. More bullets. More rifles. Hell, at this point, even kitchen knives would come in handy. I know some arms dealers, some mercenaries, guys who owe me some favors. I used to grog with them. I'll fly out there. To space. To buy us ammo. Or we're all dead."

Emet and his son huddled behind the sandbags. For a brief moment, no enemies were attacking their trench. But the symphony of war rose from other trenches, all across Port Addison. Emet took a moment to catch his breath, to secure the bandages on his wounds. He pulled a flask from his pocket, took a swig, and offered it to Bay. But his son, who had spent years addicted to the drink, shook his head.

"Take Luther," Emet said finally.

Bay raised an eyebrow. "Luther is old, Dad. He's almost seventy. And he's sick." His voice dropped. "He has cancer in his belly."

"So?" Emet said. "He's not dead yet. Luther has spent his life selling the Heirs of Earth weapons and starships. He knows the other arms dealers, the best guys in the business. You know lowlifes who could maybe sell you a few illegal handguns. But Luther? He knows dealers who've supplied armies. Take one of the armored transports. With our last artillery, we'll give you cover."

Bay nodded. "I can borrow a freighter or two from the Exodus Fleet, if that's all right. I'll need the cargo room." His eyes shone. "I intend to buy a whole lotta guns."

Of course, Earth was also strapped for cash. But thanks to the invention of debt—that greatest of miracles and darkest of curses—it might just be possible.

Assuming, Emet knew, they could convince anyone that Earth was good for the money. With the way the war was going, Emet doubted Earth had a great credit rating. He just hoped Luther could call in a few favors.

The artillery silos rumbled. The rockets rose, pounding the enemy above the sky. Under artillery cover, an armored dropship blasted into the sky. From the trenches, Emet watched his son fly to space.

We are tough fighters, he thought. We'll fight until our last breath. But soon we'll be fighting with sticks and stones. Bring us back more rifles, son. Bring us bullets and shells and cannons. Bring us a fighting chance.

Another alien leaped into the trench, this one a gelatinous cube with human skeletons trapped inside. The translucent creature sucked up soldiers and began digesting them. Emet grabbed a flamethrower from a dead man and burned the blob, melting its glutinous body, melting the poor souls trapped inside.

The war for Earth continued, and Emet waited for his children to come home.

CHAPTER NINE

They plunged through burning space at breakneck speed, jostled inside their hijacked Peacecar.

Tom, Ramses, and Najila clung to their seats and screamed together.

The battle blazed all around them. Thousands of enemy starships flew everywhere. Lasers flashed past them. Missiles flew their way. A tapestry of destruction spread around Earth.

Piloting the Peacecar, Ramses yanked the yoke from left to right, dodging the assault. Artillery was rising from below, slamming into Rattlers above. Down on the surface, millions of humans and aliens were battling, covering the plains and forests.

"We leave Earth for a few months and look what happens!" Tom said, clinging to his seat for dear life.

"They can't be trusted on their own, the bastards." Ramses yanked the ship sideways, dodging another missile. "Damn this alien hunk of junk! Don't Peacekeepers know how to build proper ships?"

"Shut up and focus on flying!" Najila shouted, turning green.

After parting with Leona, they had flown the hijacked Peacecar all the way here to Earth. It was a cramped ship. Barely larger than a shuttle. The journey had not been pleasant. But right now, Tom missed the serenity of open, empty space.

The Peacecar raced around Earth, flying now above North America. But Port Addison was still a thousand kilometers down. And there were plenty of Rattlers in the way. Bombs were raining onto the world. Missiles were rising. Earth had become a fireball.

"Earth!" Tom said into the microphone. "Earth, can you read me? We need artillery cover to land!"

Only static came in reply. The Rattlers were still jamming their signals.

Tom cursed and kept trying. "Earth, you there? These are officers Tom Shepherd and Ramses al Masri. We're flying a small hijacked Peacecar. We need an artillery tunnel!"

More static. And then—a voice. Just a snippet.

"Mister She—"

More static.

Tom groaned. "It's useless, Pharaoh. We'll have to find our way down ourselves."

Ramses kept flying the Peacecar, dodging missiles left and right. One blast hit their port side, cracking a shield. The ship flipped several times before Ramses managed to right her. The Pharaoh tried to descend, to reach the atmosphere, but Rattlers blocked their way. Lasers flashed everywhere.

Ramses spun every which way. Tom swayed in his seat. The Peacecar had only a basic cannon, but he fired it, for all the good it did. The damn thing took a few potshots at the enemy, then jammed.

"Ra damn it," Tom said. "I swear we had better Peacecars back when I was in the Corps."

Ramses snorted. "You just got spoiled flying on Earth ships."

"Earth ships are even worse!" Tom said.

Ramses turned toward him, gasping. "Hey, you take that back! I'm proud of our ships. Nothing beats a good old-fashioned Firebird."

"Eyes on space, dammit!" Tom said. "Look at space, not at me!"

"We have to turn back!" Najila shouted. "Damn it, boys, we're beat. Don't get us killed."

Ramses rolled his eyes. "Lady, you never even knew what a spaceship was until you met me by the Pyramids. Let the pilot do his work."

Another laser hit them. The Peacecar rattled.

"And great work you're doing!" Najila said. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

"Will someone shut her up?" Ramses said.

Tom stared longingly down at Earth. At Port Addison far below. His home.

I need to be there, he thought. All of us do. To fight on the ground. To save our people.

Suddenly Tom frowned. A human ship was rising from below. Just a shuttle. Dented and charred. Barely able to fly. The windshields were cracked. Surely nothing could be alive in there.

Tom stared at it more closely, squinting.

There were letters spray painted on the shuttle's hull.

He tapped a few buttons, zooming in.

His eyes widened.

He could read the letters now: Tom, Ramses—stay back!

"Ramses!" Tom said, pointing.

The Pharaoh looked, and his eyes widened. He yanked the yoke, and their ship jerked violently to the side, creaking and losing a few bolts.

The shuttle from Earth exploded.

Debris flew every which way, leaving trails of fire. Several chunks knocked into the Peacecar, stripping off a panel of shields.

"By Mother Gaea's tits!" Najila exclaimed—a curse so ridiculous Tom had to laugh.

Thankfully, the Peacecar had dodged the bulk of the explosion. Several Rattlers hadn't been as lucky. The blast had torn them apart, opening a path down to Earth.

"Here goes!" Ramses said. "Thank you, Earth!"

They plunged through the hole in the enemy lines—and into the atmosphere.

Moments later, they landed in Port Addison.

After two weeks in space, the three humans spilled out of the cramped Peacecar—and into a battlefield.

Alien formations advanced all around. Armored basilisks crawled over piles of bones, guns mounted on their backs. Klurian blobs dragged their gelatinous bodies over the ruins, sucking up rocks, dust, and corpses. Hellwolves growled, ripping into human soldiers with fangs and claws. Aelonian warriors—the betrayers who had once fought alongside humanity—blasted beams of light from their spears. Spiky aliens thrashed in the river, ripping into the colony's docks, leaping onto the riverbank, and snatching soldiers.

Everywhere, the humans fought back. Undeterred. Relentless. Refusing to flee. From the last few walls that still stood. From pillboxes. From trenches. The Human Defense Force had no tanks, barely any artillery, only a handful of starships. They were mostly just refugees, fresh from exile, traumatized and gaunt, with only one gun for every ten soldiers. Yet across the ruins, they were crying out for Earth and fighting for every pebble and grain of dust.

They were the finest warriors Tom had ever seen.

Standing by their starship, Tom, Ramses, and Najila loaded their rifles.

"Well, Tom old buddy," Ramses said, "it's been nice knowing ya."

"Likewise," said Tom. "Welcome home, friend. Here's hoping we last the day."

Najila hefted her rifle. "My Gaea, life was simpler before you space humans came home—and dragged half a galaxy worth of aliens after you!" She sighed. "I miss the Nile."

The three humans let out battle cries and charged, firing their guns.

Hurry, Leona, Tom thought as he fought, as he killed, as claws tore at him, as his bullets ripped aliens apart. We need geode-ships. And I need you with me. Come back soon.

CHAPTER TEN

Mairead followed the tracking beacon for three days before she saw the ruins of New York City.

She stood in the wilderness of what had once been New Jersey. The wind ruffled her red hair and the grass around her boots. After her long journey here, her clothes were tattered, her limbs bandaged, and grime hid her freckled skin. Her two pistols were tucked into her belt, her flare stuck out from her pocket, and her pack of explosives hung across her back. She had followed the snakes across rough terrain, moving fast. day and night. Finally she had come to this place. Ahead, only a few kilometers away, rose Manhattan's jagged skyline.

She recognized the city at once. Back aboard the HDFS Jerusalem, a poster of ancient New York had hung in the officer's lounge. Mairead had played many poker games beneath that poster. Somebody must have found a photograph in the Earthstone, had printed it out, hung it on the wall. To Mairead, New York had always been what Earth looked like. It was one of the few photographs of the planet she had seen. Whenever the Inheritors had spoken of Earth, Mairead had imagined the New York skyline.

And there it was before her.

And it looked nothing like the poster.

New York City lay in ruins, so decayed it was barely standing.

The city had a long history. Mairead knew some of it. Once, it had been a jewel of humanity, home to tens of millions. The scum, the centipedes from outer space, had destroyed much of the city in 2093, a year every human remembered. The great heroes of old had reclaimed New York, had rebuilt it taller and stronger. The heroes of that age still inspired humanity. Admiral Bryan, the first human to strike an alien world. Einav Ben-Ari, the Golden Lioness. Marco Emery, the Poet of Earth. Addy Linden, the heroine who had raised humanity in rebellion against the aliens. They had reclaimed New York, and they had saved the world.

But their great generation passed. Earth grew complacent. Lesser leaders took the reins. Only two centuries after the centipedes were repelled, the Hydrian squids attacked. They destroyed this city again—along with the rest of the planet. That year, in 2270, Earth fell. The heroes of that age had failed. The exile of humanity had begun.

It was now 4154. And New York City stood again. But it was no longer a human city.

The Big Apple had become a hive of snakes.

Some of the old buildings were still here. Mairead recognized the Freedom Tower, once the tallest in the city. It must have fallen during those old wars but had been rebuilt. It was now shaped like a great serpent with flaming red eyes, soaring a kilometer into the sky. The Empire State Building was still here, but it was now coated with bronze scales. The Statue of Liberty rose from her island, but her face was now serpentine, and a forked tongue thrust out between her fangs.

The basilisks found the ruins of our great city, Mairead thought. And they remade them in their image.

The snakes were everywhere. Mairead could see them even from here. They were crawling up and down skyscrapers. They slithered across defensive walls that surrounded the city. Their ships hovered over the towers, long and scaly. There must be millions of basilisks here.

"The snakes stole my city," Mairead said. "Bastards."

Memories of that poster returned to her. Beautiful New York. She could smell the pilots' lounge aboard the Jerusalem. Her cigar smoke. Her homemade grog. Those damn aromatic oils Ramses put in his hair and beard. And Mairead was suddenly there again. Back in that lounge, playing poker with her friends. Feeling safe. Feeling happy. Feeling loved.

She wiped her eyes. Those days were long gone. The Jerusalem was destroyed. Most of those pilots were dead. Maybe Ramses was dead too. For all Mairead knew, she could be the last human alive on this planet.

She clenched her fists and punched herself, letting the pain shock away her self-pity.

"Enough navel-gazing, Firebug!" she scolded herself. "Enough mucking whining. What are you, goddamn Ramses? You're tough. You're strong. You're going to kill every last damn snake in New York City."

She checked her minicom. The beacon was still moving, heading across a bridge toward the city. Naja was still carrying the dead hellwolf's collar.

"Yes, bring the collar to your mistress," Mairead muttered.

The tracker was now moving through Manhattan.

"Is that where you live, Xerka?" Mairead whispered.

She knew what she had to do. She had to travel north from here. To make her way across the Canadian border to Port Addison. She would report this information to Emet, and the HDF could swoop down here with all their might. They could nuke the whole damn city. If Mairead walked quickly, she could be at Port Addison within a fortnight.

She took a few steps north, then stopped.

She looked back at the city.

"If I leave, Xerka might move," she said to herself. "To another city. Or into a bunker. Or up to her dreadnought in space. But if the bitch is here right now, if Naja is returning her pet's collar …"

Mairead snarled. She still had a few bullets. Her wound was healing.

It was probably a suicide mission. But Mairead never backed off from a fight.

She began trudging toward the city.

"I'm going to kill you myself, Xerka. Tonight. You're dead meat."

As she walked, a plan began forming in her mind. If Xerka truly lurked inside one of these skyscrapers, Mairead could not simply saunter in. Xerka's lair would be swarming with basilisks, thousands of them.

But if I can discover which tower she's in, I'll blow it up.

She hefted her backpack. She had explosives inside. But she chewed her bottom lip, running quick calculations. Her explosives were good at blowing through the hulls of starships. She could probably take out a wall or two. But would it be enough to bring an entire skyscraper down? Probably not. She would need more power than she carried in her pack.

Mairead narrowed her eyes, staring at the Manhattan skyline. Copperheads bustled over the cityscape. A few of the starfighters were taking off, others landing.

A spaceport.

A new plan formed.

I'll steal a Copperhead. I'll fly that sucker into the air. I'll discover what tower Xerka is hiding in—and bomb the bloody thing from the air.

Of course, before she could infiltrate the spaceport, she had to enter the city. That would not be trivial.

Mairead kept walking across the wastelands until she reached the Hudson. In the old photographs, the river had been blue enough—perhaps not pristine, but possible to swim across. No more. Today filth clogged the river. It was barely water at all. It was mostly floating trash and bubbling ooze. If Mairead tried swimming in this chemical sludge, she'd likely climb out with an extra arm.

Every once in a while, a creature rose from the water and roared, revealing jaws that could bite off a dinosaur's leg. Mairead wasn't sure if they were aliens or mutants. She doubted it mattered. The beasts filled the water, chomping, hissing, eying Mairead hungrily.

Yep, swimming is definitely out, she thought.

A few kilometers north, Mairead saw an old suspension bridge. It was rusty, falling apart, and swarming with basilisks. The serpents covered the bridge's towers, wrapping around the metal rods. Crossing that bridge was out too. There were more basilisks there than Mairead had bullets.

She checked her minicom. The tracker was flashing on her screen, moving closer to the city. The red dot appeared to be underwater now, moving beneath the river.

"Are you swimming, Naja?" Mairead said.

The tracker was a kilometer south from here. Mairead walked along the riverbank. Night was falling, and the grass rose to her shoulders. She moved hidden in shadows. She held her minicom in one hand, her pistol in the other. Every once in a while, she heard stirring in the grass, a nearby hiss, and she froze and waited for a basilisk to move by. Then she walked onward. Since crashing in the wilderness, she had learned fast, could now move like a ghost.

A kilometer south, she stopped and turned toward the Hudson.

There she saw it. A shiver ran through her.

The gaping entrance to a tunnel.

The black pit loomed like the maw of a hungry beast. Chains dangled from its upper lip like strings of saliva, encrusted with old blood. Bones lay strewn around the entrance, overgrown with mold. Darkness lurked inside. A cold wind blew from within the abyss, moaning, and ruffled Mairead's hair. The tunnel was breathing. Whispering. Beckoning her.

Mairead aimed her pistol at the darkness. Cold sweat trickled down her back. The more she stared at the abyss, the more it seemed like a living being. A creature of darkness, staring at her, peeling back her clothes and skin and flesh, gazing into her soul.

The tracker on her minicom flashed. The dot of light was moving. Naja had crossed the river, was now entering the city. He had taken this tunnel.

Mairead took a deep breath.

"Bloody hell, Firebug," she told herself. "You fought Ra damn scorpion armadas. You don't have to fear a mucking tunnel."

She stepped forward. The closer she got to the opening, the colder it became. The wind from the tunnel moaned louder, sounding almost human. Almost in pain. As Mairead approached, her boots scattered bones. She knocked over a skull, and a centipede fled the eye socket. The skull seemed to leer, to laugh, to mock her.

The wind whispered.

Come inside … come …

Mairead gritted her teeth, tightened her grip on her gun, and stepped into the tunnel.

The darkness enveloped her, as thick and crushing as a basilisk's embrace. Her flashlight had shattered during her crash. She pulled out her flare. For a long time, she had preserved the flare, hoping to see a Firebird overhead, maybe Ramses or Leona searching for her. To hell with that. Mairead didn't need anyone's help. She lit the flare. It crackled in her hand like a torch, casting flickering light across the tunnel.

The tunnel stretched before her. According to her map, it was nearly three kilometers long. Two miles of shadow. Mairead could see only a few steps ahead.

She walked deeper. The tunnel sloped, delving under the river. The temperature plummeted. At first, Mairead thought that the basilisks had carved this tunnel. After all, the serpents lived underground. But soon she passed by graffiti on the walls. The colors were faded. Years of grime had hidden most of the lettering. But she recognized some of those letters. It was ancient English.

Humans had built this tunnel thousands of years ago, Mairead realized. Here was an original relic of ancient New York City, of the lost golden age of humanity.

Her boots scattered more bones. She looked down at the skeleton of a child.

How many humans hid here when the Hydrians attacked? she wondered. How many perished here during the fall?

"I'll come back for you," she vowed to the bones. "I'll bury you. Every single one."

As she continued walking, she saw rusty ancient cars. They were barely more than ravaged shells, most of the metal corroded away. Some still had skeletons inside. Men. Women. Children. Aboveground, the centuries had withered the old civilization to dust. The Hydrians had butchered billions of humans. The skeletons on the surface were gone, returned into the soil and wind. Here were the last relics of that ancient, lost generation.

A giant skeleton draped across one car. Mairead paused to look at it. The skeleton had a huge spiky skull, as large as a human ribcage. Eight legs clutched the rusty car, the bones connected with many joints.

A Hydrian, Mairead realized.

She had never seen one. Those cruel aliens had gone extinct centuries ago. She had heard them called squids, but these were no soft mollusks. The bones were thick, their spikes cruel. This one must have died two thousand years ago. But it still made Mairead shiver.

So much of Earth is like this now, she thought. Not the beautiful countryside of Canada, where Leona had founded Port Addison. Not even the southern wilderness, with its mosquitoes and forests. It was places like this—ruins filled with death and memory.

A shriek sounded ahead.

Mairead spun away from the skeleton, facing forward.

She aimed her pistol, standing frozen and tense.

She saw nothing ahead. Only a few meters away, her flare's glow gave way to darkness.

The shriek echoed, soon fading.

That had not been a basilisk's cry. Mairead had never heard such a shriek. It had sounded almost human. But twisted. Filled with raw hatred and evil.

A sudden instinct to flee leaped into Mairead. To leave this tunnel. Why had she come here? She was no creature of the underground. She was a space warrior, a pilot, a woman of the endless vastness. This tunnel was like a coffin. Burying her. Closing in. The terrors lurking, and—

Enough! She sneered. Enough cowardice. Onward, soldier! Onward to Xerka. You have a mission. Kill the bitch. End this war. Onward!

She kept walking.

She glanced behind her once. The riverside was too far to see now. Mairead shivered, steeled herself, and faced forward again.

No looking back. Keep going. Onward.

She walked for a long time, passing between the rusty cars, around the skeletons. She must have been walking for half an hour now, maybe longer. Why was she still underground? She should have reached Manhattan by now. Should at least be sloping upward. Yet the tunnel was still descending, plunging into the cold depths. Mairead had never been so cold.

Cobwebs hung from the ceiling. Several old skeletons hung from chains—perhaps ancient suicides, perhaps the victims of Hydrian violence. As Mairead walked, bony toes jabbed her, snagged in her hair. Other skeletons hung lower, leering at her, their jaws hanging loosely. She parted the skeletons like curtains, and they swung, clattering, mocking her.

She realized that her boots were no longer scattering bones. A dense, foul material covered the floor. This malodorous carpet became thicker as she walked, piling up higher. Only the roofs of the rusty old cars were now visible, peeking like cobblestones from the muck. It looked like bat guano, thousands of years of the stuff. Mairead grimaced.

Am I walking on a giant carpet of bat shit?

Another shriek sounded—much louder and closer this time. Twisted. Monstrous—yet oddly human.

Muck this shit, Mairead thought, her hand shaking around her gun.

She should never have come this way. This was a tunnel to Hell. Naja could not have come this way. Or he was luring her into a trap. Mairead had to leave. To turn back. She would take the bridge or build a raft and row across the river. Or just get the hell out of Dodge, make her way to Canada, and come back with an army.

She had never run from a fight. But she would run now.

She turned around, prepared to march back to New Jersey.

She found herself facing a monster.

A pale face twisted in hatred. Rotten teeth thrust out from a bony jaw. Human teeth. Pale blue eyes stared. Human eyes. Deranged eyes. Veined wings flapped, and bony fingers reached out, yellow fingernails scrabbled, and a spine creaked, and Mairead screamed and fell back and fired her gun.

The boom echoed through the tunnel, deafening.

The creature flew forward, and Mairead ducked. It overshot her, vanishing into shadows, and its shriek rose again, louder now, filled with agony.

A human cry.

Mairead spun around, heart pounding. It clung to the wall. Leathern wings stretched over thin bones. A stubby tail like a hook. Hands that gripped the stone, and the face of a young woman. Rotting away. Pale gray. But human. Young. Filled with hatred.

"What are you?" Mairead whispered.

The creature howled. The tunnel reverberated with the sound. The beast lunged again, and it had a human spine, ending with a tailbone, but the ribs were gone, the legs were gone, and the arms stretched out. Human arms. Skin stretched between them and the tailbone like sails, lined with veins.

It flew back toward Mairead, jaws opened wide. It bit down hard. Those rotten teeth sank into her shoulder.

Mairead screamed and pistol-whipped the head, knocking the creature back.

"What are you?" she screamed. "Are you an alien?"

The creature fell to the floor. It looked up at her. No, not it. The creature was a she. A woman.

Mairead saw it now. The stitches. There were nipples on the wings. Somebody had torn out this woman's ribs. Had stretched the loose skin to her hands, down to her tailbone, removing the rest of the skeleton. Sewing. Creating. A dweller of the underground. A nightmarish bat.

"Help … me …" the woman whispered. "Help …"

Mairead trembled. A sob racked her body. She fired her gun. She knew this twisted monster was human, or had been human. Deformed. Barely alive. A mockery of life. And she fired again and again, perforating it with bullets, but the strange bat did not die. The woman cried out with pain, flapped those wings, and rose to the tunnel's ceiling.

Mairead looked up.

No. Oh Ra. No.

Dozens of the creatures covered the tunnel's ceiling.

The spines twisted like bony serpents. The wings stretched out, translucent and veined, stitched onto the bones. The faces were ashen. The eyes sunken. Staring at Mairead. Filled with a mixture of hatred and pleading.

With shrieks, they swooped.

Mairead ran. They scratched her, fingernails yellow and cracked. Bit her, teeth rotten. But mostly they stared, and their eyes were still human, still so filled with pain. Their cries of hunger sounded so much like voices begging for merciful death.

They herded her deeper into the tunnel. Mairead ran onward, not even bothering to fire her gun. One of the bats landed on her arm and bit, and the flare hit the floor and guttered out. Darkness fell. Mairead ran blindly. The shrieks rolled around her, and broken fingernails tore at her skin.

In Hell. I'm in Hell.

She stumbled, crashed onto bones, and cried out as the bats attacked, tore at her clothes, tugged her hair. She flipped onto her back, screaming, and fired her pistol. With every pull of the trigger, her muzzle lit the darkness, revealing rotting teeth, mad eyes, scraggly hair, creatures deformed and twisted with unholy hatred.

In Hell.

Mairead screamed, tears in her eyes. She had seen terrors in space. She had seen the gulocks. The scorpion halls. The nightmares in the darkness. But here on Earth, she had found true terror. Here on her homeworld, she had found the ravages of humanity, the disease that lurked within.

But I was always afraid. I was always filled with shadows.

A memory: Herself as a child. Barely more than a toddler. Watching as the scorpions tore her mother and brothers apart.

Herself as a woman. Weeping over the corpse of Doctor Duncan McQueen, her beloved father.

Trudging through killing fields, a cigar in her mouth, a smirk on her lips. Her—Mairead "Firebug" McQueen, always strutting with confidence, chin held high, eyes mocking. A bluff. Just a poker bluff, another game, another cheat.

And always inside—the monsters. Always deep in her shadows—such terror.

Here she had come face to face with these demons. Here, below New York City, Mairead could no longer hide. Somebody had stripped these beings around her of humanity, removing organs and bones. And they had stripped Mairead of her mask, of her armor, revealing the girl within.

"That's enough, my darlings!"

A deep, raspy voice from behind.

A red light.

Metal clattered and scales chinked. A shadow loomed, and the voice spoke again.

"Let her be. You've tasted enough blood for tonight."

The bats fluttered away and clung to the ceiling and walls, still staring with baleful eyes.

Mairead rose to her feet, gasping for air, trembling with pain. She turned toward the depths. And there she saw him.

"Naja," she said.

The basilisk prince grinned, revealing several rows of fangs. The teeth lined his gullet like the spikes in an iron maiden. His helmet hid everything but that thrusting jaw, covering even the eyes, assuming the creature even had eyes. Yet Mairead could feel Naja staring. Knew he could see her. The beast slithered closer and reared, and the spikes on his iron helmet scraped the ceiling. The creature was twice, maybe three times the size of a normal basilisk.

Mairead stared at the monster, curbing an instinct to take a step back. She would not show fear. With sheer force of will, she managed to keep her hands steady, to light a cigar and take a puff.

"You're a big one," she said to the basilisk. "That's good. I like killing big aliens. You make a big boom when you fall."

Naja laughed—a sound like cracking bones. He raised one of his long, dark arms. In his claws, he held the hellwolf's tracker.

"Were you looking for this, ape?" the basilisk general hissed. "Yes, I saw you hiding like a coward in that tree. I knew you would dispatch my underlings. And that you would follow me here." He licked his chops. "Did you truly think I would lead you to my mistress's lair? No, ape. I lured you here. To this dark place. Behold your destiny!"

Naja slithered aside, sweeping his arms toward an alcove in the tunnel. A fluorescent light flickered to life, illuminating what looked like a torture chamber. Blood stained a heavy oak table. Scalpels, hammers, and cleavers hung on the brick wall, encrusted with dry blood. Human bats crouched in cages. As the light hit them, they shrieked and banged against the bars. These ones had only recently been transformed; their stitches were still fresh and oozing.

Mairead had seen enough.

She fired her pistol.

Her bullets slammed into Naja, but they glanced off his armor. She aimed for his mouth, but the creature closed his jaws, and the bullets shattered against his scales. Mairead screamed, firing again and again, emptying her magazine, loading more, firing again. But nothing could hurt the beast.

When she had emptied her last magazine, Naja smiled toothily.

"Grab her," he said.

Bats swooped from the ceiling. Mairead screamed, punched, bit. But the creatures outnumbered her. They grabbed her arms, her legs, her neck. Their fingernails tore her skin. Their wings of skin wrapped around her, trapping her.

Naja drew closer. He leaned down and licked Mairead's face. The tongue was thin and forked, longer than her arm, and his breath stank of decay.

"Do you like my pets?" he hissed. "Soon you will be one of them. My most prized harpy. An officer of the human army—transformed into a beautiful beast, a queen of the damned! You will hunt apes!"

Her heart pounded. Cold sweat drenched her. She trembled in the grip of the creatures. They were whispering in her ear, licking her, welcoming her.

"Soon you will be one of us … One of us …"

Mairead howled. She spat on Naja's face.

"I'm going to kill you, asshole!"

The beast chuckled, a sound like tumbling stones.

"And how will you do that, my darling?"

Mairead panted and managed to smile shakily. "I've always loved flying. The feeling of freedom in space. The starlight around me … I've always felt so free up there. Floating through beauty." Tears ran down her cheeks. "But I've always had another passion." Her smile widened, shaking, caustic. "Explosives. I always carry them with me. And I placed an explosive on that tracker, Naja. The one you're holding. Hidden inside its mechanism. And the trigger is voice activated. I was hoping you'd bring it to Xerka. Just in case I could get close enough to set off the bomb. But you'll do fine."

Naja sneered. "You lie! You—"

"Boom," Mairead whispered.

In her pocket, her minicom picked up the word. Code activated, triggering the explosive in the tracker.

Mairead closed her eyes.

Heat bathed her. The sound of the explosion washed over her. Even through her closed eyelids, she saw the flaring white light.

Over the ringing in her ears, she heard Naja scream.

She opened her eyes and saw Naja clutching a stump. The tracker was gone. So was his hand.

The blast had seared the harpies holding Mairead. They had absorbed most of the energy, saving her life. The deformed beings were screaming, and she kicked madly, tearing herself free.

Mairead grabbed one of the flapping, bony creatures. As Naja lunged toward her, Mairead swung the harpy, slamming its face into the basilisk's gushing stump.

The harpy hit the exposed bone.

Naja bellowed, a cry so loud and agonizing it shook the tunnel.

Mairead released the harpy and ran past Naja, heading deeper down the tunnel. She could not run back to New Jersey. Too many harpies filled the tunnel behind her. Right now, she must plow forward. She raced through the darkness, arms pumping, while Naja screamed behind.

She glanced over her shoulder. The monstrous basilisk was pursuing her. The harpies were flying with him.

As she ran, Mairead reached into her pack and pulled out more explosives.

She hurled the sticky globs. They slapped onto the tunnel ceiling and walls and stuck.

She ran faster. Behind her, the enemy pursued.

Mairead sneered and lifted her minicom to her lips.

"Boom," she said.

She threw herself down, landed on her belly, and covered her head with her arms.

Behind her, the explosives detonated.

Fire raged. Dust and smoke flew. Stones buffeted Mairead's back. The shock wave pounded her like hammers, and she screamed.

She forced herself to rise, wobbled, and hit the wall. Her head reeled. Her ears kept ringing. Her uniform was burnt, and blood dripped down her fingers. She stumbled forward, crashed to her knees, then rose again and limped onward. The tunnel swayed around her.

As she ran, she glanced behind her. Dust swirled. The tunnel had collapsed. Boulders and bricks sealed the passageway. Naja was either crushed or trapped behind her.

Mairead ran onward, swaying, coughing. The tunnel finally sloped upward, and she burst into New York City.

The ruins rose before her, thousands of ragged skyscrapers coated with scales, swarming with snakes. Enemy warships filled the sky, rumbling, churning clouds of smoke. A scaly Copperhead soared from a few blocks away, shaking the ruins.

Smoke swirled around Mairead's feet. Her blood dripped. In the distance, a monstrous shriek rose, the cry of some unknown terror. Mairead swallowed and clenched her fists. She walked into the alien city, into the city of her dreams, into beloved New York.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Every moment away from Earth ached.

Bay paced the bridge of the HDFS New Orleans, a cavernous freighter. His footsteps echoed. He checked the porthole again, but Earth was too far to see. He kept pacing.

"Sit down, son!" Luther strummed his guitar. "You can't walk your way to Epsilon Eridani."

The old bluesman began playing a tune, humming along and tapping his foot. His voice was raw and gritty, but his fingers were deft.

Bay glared at the man. Luther had wrinkly, dark brown skin and white stubble. He wore corduroy trousers, a sweater, and a flat cap. He looked like a typical kindly grandpa—aside from his eyes. His irises were golden and shaped like starbursts. And under his hat, Bay knew, Luther had stubby horns.

He's not fully human, Bay remembered. He's a starling. A human who ventured too deeply into space. He came back … changed. He frowned. Is that why he doesn't seem to care about Earth? Does he not consider himself human anymore?

"How can you play music at a time like this?" Bay demanded.

Luther shrugged but kept strumming. "Care to join me? I've got a bass guitar lying around somewhere. It'll be a few days to Epsilon Eridani. We can jam while we fly. Beats your pacing." He barked a laugh.

"No!" Bay said. "I don't care to jam. Earth is under attack! The war rages! Rowan is there. And Emet. And everyone I know and love. I keep thinking about it, imagining the aliens attacking, and my friends fighting for Earth, while I'm …"

"Stuck here with an old mutant?" Luther said.

Bay felt himself flush. "That's not what I meant."

Luther lowered his guitar. He looked up with those strange, starry eyes. "But that's what you were thinking, son. Wasn't it? Old Luther here—he ain't a human. He's a starling! A human who ventured too far. Aye, it's true, son. I flew into the abyss where no humans should go. Came back with alien DNA spliced through my genes. But hey, it's been keeping me alive, even with the cancer in my belly. I still got a few good tunes in me." He strummed again. "Sit down, son! You can't kill the basilisks by pacing. But you can with the weapons we're gonna buy. We're doing important work here, son. The work I've been doing for your dad for three decades."

Bay nodded. Yes, for thirty years, Luther had supplied the Heirs of Earth with their weapons. He had donated hundreds of creaky old starships from his scrapyard—starships the Heirs of Earth had refitted for war. Without Luther, there would have been no Heirs of Earth. No human colony on Earth. Maybe no humanity at all.

But Xerka destroyed those ships, Bay thought. She took everything from us.

He finally sat down. He looked at the old man. "Do you really think we can buy weapons at Epsilon Eridani? I heard tales of the place. They say it's overrun with diseases. A sort of leper colony."

"Aye, I spread that tale myself." Luther winked. "Keeps the Peacekeepers out. And snot-nosed kids like you. Ha!"

Bay rolled his eyes. "I'm twenty-eight."

Luther snorted. "Pup."

The hours stretched by. Luther seemed incredibly relaxed. He rustled up some pancakes—but that just made Bay miss Rowan even more. They played a few rounds of Counter Squares, but Bay couldn't focus on the board. Luther played him a few records of Bootstrap and the Shoeshine Kid, his favorite blues duo, humming and tapping along, but Bay wasn't in the mood for music.

He kept seeing it over and over. The hellwolf leaping into the trench, ripping men apart. The basilisks swarming across the ruins, crushing soldiers. And old memories. Finding Rowan in the killing fields of Aeolis, her body mangled, every bone shattered and her teeth scattered on the ground. Seeing the naked, skeletal gulock survivors, some bearing the scars of medical experimentation. And always—the worries for home. For his family. For Rowan, the woman he loved.

Finally, Bay could not bear it. He left the bridge, entered his cabin, and fell to his knees. He breathed heavily, eyes stinging, and it was a long moment before he could calm himself.

He approached a porthole. He gazed back toward Earth, but the planet was too far to see, and the stars were streaked into lines.

"I miss you, Rowan," he said softly. "You can't hear me, but Ra damn, I miss you, babe. I love you a ton. Hang in there."

A sudden vision—Seohyun lying dead, her burnt arm reaching out of rubble.

Bay shoved that memory aside.

Yes, he had lost loved ones. And he still mourned them. But he must have hope. He must stand tall. He must not surrender to fear. Luther was right. They were doing important work here. And Bay swore they would not fail.

Epsilon Eridani was close to Earth, only ten light-years away, making it the third nearest star to Sol. The trip only took a few days, but every moment gnawed on Bay.

Finally, after that short eternity, Bay stood on the bridge, gazing at their destination.

"Aye, there it is," Luther said. "Epsilon Eridani. The star of the damned." He pointed. "We're heading to a planet called Niraya. It'll be coming into view soon."

Bay frowned. "Niraya. Sounds familiar." He pulled out his minicom and opened Wikipedia Galactica, then looked at Luther. "The Buddhist name for the underworld. Coincidence?"

"No, sir," Luther said. "Starlings live there. Half humans. They know human lore. This planet ahead of us? This is the land of the damned. Of the forgotten. Of the lost. This is the underworld of the cosmos."

Bay shuddered. "It can't be worse than Earth right now."

Luther's voice was soft, as if lost in memory. "Niraya too is a home for the homeless, for those scorned and exiled. I lived there once." His shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. "Ah, there it is! The planet Niraya."

Luther pointed. Bay stared out the viewport, but he saw nothing.

"What, that speck?" he said.

Luther laughed. "That speck is another star, light-years away. Niraya is right ahead of us, as large as a full moon from Earth."

Bay titled his head. "Are you pulling my leg, old man?"

Luther rolled his eyes. "Son, the people who live on Niraya are called the lost. And they prefer to stay lost. In a galaxy swarming with monsters, you either become a monster yourself—or you learn to hide in shadows." He tapped on his control panel and picked up a mic. "Gunt! Gunt, you son of a bitch. I know you're still the gatekeeper, so answer your old pal. It's Luther. Big Blue. Don't tell me you forgot me."

For a long moment—silence.

Luther cleared his throat. "Gunt, it's me, damn it. Don't you remember that time we smuggled those star-nosed amphibians out of Beta Canopus? We wrote a song about it. I'll strum it if you like." He picked up his guitar and strummed a chord. "But you better hurry and pull back the curtains, cuz I'm flying in, blind or not."

For another moment, nothing happened.

And then—

Bay gasped.

"Impossible!" he said.

Yet it was happening before him. A planet was flickering into existence. Bay blinked and rubbed his eyes.

Luther laughed. "You look like you saw a ghost, son."

"Or a ghost planet," Bay muttered. "Bloody hell. I've never seen an invisibility cloak this large. I've seen small ones that could fit a person, even some that could cover a small starship. But a planet?" He whistled. "Must have cost a Ra damn fortune. More than an entire armada of warships."

Luther nodded. "Invisibility is worth more than warships when you make hiding from wars your business."

"I'd buy one for Earth," Bay muttered. "If only Xerka and every other damn lunatic in the galaxy didn't already have our coordinates."

They flew closer, and Bay watched the planet. It was a small world, smaller than Earth's moon. It had no oceans or rivers that Bay could see, and its landforms were black and deep blue, but charcoal clouds hid most of the planet. It seemed a sad place, dark and muted. Even without the invisibility shield, Niraya nearly vanished into the darkness of space.

"It barely seems habitable," Bay said. "Too cold for running water. Too small to have much gravity. I'm barely seeing an atmosphere. Not the kind of place you'd expect to find civilization. A mine or two at most."

Or a gulock, he thought with a shudder. The scorpions would have loved this place.

Luther nodded, uncharacteristically somber. "It was a hard home."

Bay looked at the old man. He realized that he knew nothing about Luther's past. Bay used to visit the starling's scrapyard as a kid. He had fond memories of those days—of Luther, who had seemed old even then, frying him pancakes and playing him songs on the guitar. Bay had imagined that Luther had always lived in his scrapyard aboard the Relic, that massive hulk of an ancient spaceship, converted into a hive for smugglers, bounty hunters, and arms dealers. But of course, Luther had come from somewhere. Must have had a proper home long ago. He had been human once, or close to it. But seeing the sadness in those strange eyes, Bay dared not ask.

They entered orbit. Many satellites and starships were orbiting Niraya with the New Orleans. Bay looked around in fascination. There were ships here from countless civilizations—ships that were spiky, smooth, long, boxy, some filled with air, others with thick mist, and many with water. Bay could recognize none of these species. The ships seemed cobbled together from scraps—a basilisk engine here, an Aelonian hull there, Meduzian cannons, and other parts from across the galaxy. Bay had spent years traveling between sin hives, mingling with mercenaries and gamblers, but he had never seen such a motley collection of machines.

"These are all pieces of junk!" Bay said. "These wouldn't last five minutes against a basilisk armada."

Luther snickered. "We're not here to buy starships, son. Couldn't afford them anyway. The lost have other weapons. They'll help us."

Buoys orbited the world, directing traffic. Bay took the helm and glided the New Orleans downward. Several hundred satellites were orbiting farther down, while an assortment of patchwork starships hovered around him. When the clouds parted below, Bay could see city lights. The cities were sizable considering how inhospitable the planet was.

"A hundred thousand aliens must live here," Bay said, wonder in his voice.

"Aliens?" Luther cocked an eyebrow. "Some might qualify. Most don't neatly fit the label. Any label. Bay, the beings who live here—they don't belong to any single species. Some are mutants, the result of radiation or medical experiments. Some are hybrids, maybe created in a lab, maybe in some night of passion on a distant world. Some are simply … unknown. They don't belong anywhere. So they come here." He nodded sadly. "Five million souls make their home in Niraya."

Bay's eyes widened. "Five million!" He pointed. "On that rock?"

"The lost can't be picky. They park their bones where they can."

Bay thought of his long years in exile. He nodded. "I think I know something about that."

The New Orleans entered a stable orbit, and Bay and Luther stepped into a shuttle. They descended toward the planet. Drones buzzed around them, pointing cameras, scanning the shuttle with sweeping lasers. As they entered the upper atmosphere, Bay saw lifeforms hovering around them. One was like a floating jellyfish the size of a hot tub, glowing blue and lavender. Another was humanoid, tall and slender like a dandelion seed, his wings feathery, his jaws filled with fangs. A strange bird flew below, body formed of raw bones, wings stretched with what looked like tarpaulin. No two creatures were alike.

Bay doubted these were the starlings, those human hybrids. They were aliens. But aliens without worlds of their own. The only or the last of their kinds.

Mutants, Bay thought. Experiments. Freaks.

Often, he had felt like that. After all, weren't humans the rejects of the galaxy?

He looked at his left arm. The prosthetic was carved of wood, inlaid with brass gears and gauges. Often Bay had felt like a freak—first with his deformed hand, then with the prosthetic that replaced it. Maybe Niraya was something of a haven for him too.

They dived closer to the city. It was night on Niraya, but the city lights shone as bright as day. Skyscrapers rose, some a kilometer high. Roads wound in a chaotic labyrinth, their traffic flowing like luminous blood through arteries. Shantytowns clung to the slopes of a jagged black mountain, shining with a million lanterns on cables. Chimneys pumped out smoke, machines dug into deep mines, and strobe lights flared over a gladiator dome. Countless shuttles were flying to and fro, some the size of whales, others smaller than his fist.

"Take us down to that industrial complex." Luther pointed. "See that hangar by the roundabout, the one with all those chimneys? That's our destination."

Bay cringed. He saw the hangar. It nestled between brothels, drug dens, and fighting pits.

"That's a baaaad neighborhood, Luther."

Luther nodded. "Ayep. Sure is. Why do you think I left?"

Bay began guiding the shuttle down. "You lived here? In this shithole?"

Luther barked a laugh. "For a while. Wasn't as bad back then. Had a family diner next door. Made the best damn chili you ever tasted. The place sells sexbots now. My friend Akira and I were partners here. Sold small arms together, mostly to smugglers and mercenaries. Sometimes to gangs. Truth is, I never asked."

Bay lowered the shuttle between chimneys. For a moment smoke covered the windshield.

"Why did you leave Niraya?" Bay said. "Hell, you did more than just leave. You traveled halfway across the galaxy. Your old scrapyard was all the way in another spiral arm."

A sigh rolled through Luther. "One day we sold guns to the wrong guys. It was on the news next day. Our clients gunned down fifteen schoolchildren. Sent a message to their parents. Gang war." Luther lowered his head. "After that, it was no more guns for me. I flew as far as my money could take me. I switched to selling tankers and freighters. And only to customers I trusted, customers I knew were noble. Customers like your father, Bay."

Bay placed a hand on the old man's shoulder. "You're a good man, Luth."

He laughed. "Man? Man implies human. Been a while since anyone's called me that. Why do you think I lived on Niraya in the first place?"

They descended toward the grimy street, their thruster engines scattering paper cups and cigarette stubs. The shuttle landed with a thump. A few hooded figures lurched aside, dropping their bottles of grog. One bottle shattered and the drunk wailed.

Bay shut off the engine. He slung Lawless, his rifle, across his back. Luther tucked a pistol into his belt, and the two men stepped onto the street. A cold wind moaned, billowing Bay's blue coat and rattling its buttons. He shivered and tightened the garment around himself. Empty grog cans rolled around his boots, and scraps of paper fluttered. Neon signs shone along the street, illuminating a dozen storefronts. Bay read a few of the signs.

The Wizard's Rug—Ride The Chemical Carpet!

Cheap Mortgages—No Credit Checks

Girls, girls, girls! Best species blends!

We Buy Your Guns! Real Scryls Paid!

Cop Lawyer: The Lawyer Who Kills

A boxy robot creaked toward Bay and Luther. Two glassy eyes focused on them, bugged out, then contracted again. The robot transformed, gears turning and parts folding and unfolding, becoming something vaguely resembling a woman. The mechanical woman limped closer, swaying so madly she nearly fell, and her joints sparked.

"Care for a trick, guvna?" the robot asked, voice shrill. Metal breasts extended from her chest, shedding rust.

"No thanks," Bay said.

The robot held out her palm. "Donate a few scryls to feed the children, guvna?"

Bay rolled his eyes and pulled a few scryls from his pocket. But instead of handing them to the robot, he tossed them at the drunk nearby. The hooded creature was still weeping over his shattered bottle, trying to lick the grog off the street, only to cut his tongue on broken glass. The drunkard gasped, collected the scryls, then looked up at Bay with three bloodshot eyes.

"Buy yourself another bottle," Bay said.

The drunkard nodded and retreated with the money. The sleazy transformer huffed and turned away in disgust.

Luther raised an eyebrow. "Not the best use of your scryls. You should have insisted he used the money on some hot soup."

"I could," Bay said. "But he'd buy grog anyway. That bottle was probably the only thing he owned in the world."

They walked down the street, stepped over an unconscious junkie, and approached a metal gateway. Behind the barred gates, a road stretched toward the hangar Bay had seen from the sky. From down here, the building seemed larger, a black monolith pumping smoke, its narrow windows staring like serpentine eyes.

A guard stood there, a hulking creature with stone skin. The brute stood nine feet tall, each arm the size of a man.

"Leave," the stony guardian rumbled, voice rolling with waves of bass. The voice was so deep and loud Bay felt the sound waves hit his body.

Luther leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "Pebbles? That you? My Ra, you were only a stone last time I saw you. No larger than a flower pot."

The humanoid boulder rumbled. "Leave! This place is forbidden."

"Pebbles!" Luther said. "Don't you recognize me? It's Old Luther. Well, I wasn't so old back then." He barked a raspy laugh.

Bay's jaw unhinged. "The giant, man-crushing, sentient boulder is named Pebbles. Perfectly sane, this place."

The living boulder rumbled. "Be gone!"

"Pebbles, really!" Luther said. "I'm good friends with Akira, your master. Call him over, why don't you?" Luther raised his voice. "Akira, you there?"

The stony guard roared. He raised stony fists and took a step forward, shaking the ground. The beast swung a fist the size of a Christmas ham.

Bay leaped forward and shoved Luther aside. The old man hit the ground, saved from the swinging boulder.

The stony fist slammed into Bay's arm—thankfully, the prosthetic arm. The gears bent, and the wood cracked. Bay yowled as the limb blasted electricity up his stump's nerves.

He raised his rifle, but the stone fist grabbed the barrel.

Bay fired.

His bullet embedded itself into the stone fist. Pebbles roared, grabbed Bay with both hands, and lifted him overhead. Bay grimaced. The stone fists were crushing him, creaking his ribs.

But surely this creature wasn't entirely made of stone. It had to be a living being, organic on the inside.

Sucking in air, Bay raised his prosthetic—or what was left of it. Despite the damage, it was still operational. Bay placed the metal hand against Pebbles and flipped a switch.

A bolt of electricity shot from the limb—and into the stone.

Stone that, thankfully, had a high metal content.

The giant roared and released his grip. Bay hit the ground, raised his metal hand, and fired another bolt. The electricity arced into Pebbles, knocking him back. The rock monster fell down hard, shaking the street. A crack raced across his stony body, confirming Bay's suspicion. Blood was leaking out.

Breathing raggedly, Bay cocked his rifle and aimed at the crack, prepared to finish the job.

A flash of green.

A shrill cry.

Something slammed into Bay, knocking him down.

"Don't you hurt him!" rose a high, feminine voice. "I'll blow out your mucking brains!"

Bay groaned and blinked, bringing the world back into focus.

A young woman was kneeling above him, holding a pistol. Her knee was digging into his belly, keeping him pinned down. The woman was young, perhaps twenty years old. She had olive-toned skin, slanted dark eyes, and straight black hair cut to the length of her chin. She wore green leggings, two bandoleers over a white shirt, and a dark overcoat with many pockets.

A human? Bay thought, looking at her.

No. On closer inspection, she was not fully human. When she snarled, she revealed fangs, and claws sprouted from her fingertips. A tail flailed behind her, long and leathery like a whip, tipped with a stinger like a stingray. Bat wings rose from her back. Her pupils were catlike, her face vaguely feline.

"A starling!" he said.

The starling sneered and pointed the pistol at his forehead. "Who the hell are you, human?" She spat out the last word as an insult.

"Starflare?" Luther rose to his feet, joints creaking, and limped toward them. "Starflare, is that really you?"

The young woman spun toward him, keeping her pistol fixed on Bay. Her eyes narrowed.

"Who are you?" she demanded. She drew a second pistol and pointed it at Luther.

The old man raised his hands. "It's me, Starflare! It's Luther. You know, Big Blue. Your pa's friend. I used to make you pancakes. Blueberry was your favorite. I taught you a few licks on the guitar."

The young woman's eyes widened. "Luther! It must have been …"

"Fifteen years." He nodded. "You were only a yea high."

Bay looked at the young woman and guffawed. "Starflare? Your name is actually Starflare? First Pebbles, now this. Does everyone on this world have a ridiculous name? So what are you—a superhero or a My Little Pony?"

She growled, looked back at Bay, and cocked her pistol. "Shut up, human!"

"Okay, Starflare," he said, swallowing another guffaw.

She bared her fangs. "I'm no human like you. I'm a starling. I don't need some silly human name. I'm outcast from society! Unwanted by both humans and aliens. A hybrid. A freak." She snorted. "Never had anyone to give me a real name. So I chose a name for myself."

"And you chose Starflare." Bay nodded. "Was Galaxyfire unavailable?" He looked at Luther. "Hey, Luther, you're a starling. Did you know you're not supposed to have a regular name? Maybe you can be Moonflower."

Luther sighed. "All right, all right, you two. Starflare, take the gun off the kid. He's got so little brains they ain't worth blowing out of his skull. Bay, you lay off the taunts. Starflare is good people."

With a grunt, Starflare holstered her pistols, then removed her knee from Bay's stomach. She turned toward the fallen Pebbles. The stone giant lay by the gateway, clutching his wound and moaning. Starflare's eyes softened, and she stroked the beast.

"My poor Pebbles," she whispered. "The bad human hurt you, didn't he?"

Bay sat up, groaning and rubbing his torso. "This bad human probably has a cracked rib from poor Pebbles' giant stone fists."

The starling ignored him. She pulled a canister from her pocket, shook it, and sprayed foam into the stone giant's wound. The bleeding stopped, and the foam hardened, sealing the crack. Pebbles rose to his feet, shedding dust.

"Always carry around mortar-in-a-can!" Bay said. "Useful for fixing potholes, castle fortifications, and homicidal stone giants."

Starflare looked at Luther. "Does the pup always talk so much?"

The old bluesman nodded. "He talks a lot when he's nervous. He gets nervous around girls."

Bay's cheeks flushed. "He gets nervous around golems who try to crack him like an egg!"

"Starflare." Luther stepped closer to the young woman. "Is your father …"

"Dead." She nodded. "Been dead for ten years now. The Ketsueki Klan murdered him. My mother too." Suddenly her eyes were damp. She dried them with her fists and raised her chin. "But I've kept the place going. We're stronger than ever, and we're still open for business. Come inside. We'll talk."

The young starling turned around. Tail swishing, she walked through the gate and into the compound. Bay and Luther followed.

They walked across a courtyard between guard towers and barbed wire. A host of starlings were here, each one different. One man looked human aside from his massive arms; they could have put Popeye to shame. He stood in the courtyard, pounding a boxing bag of solid iron, leaving imprints in the metal. Several youths with flaming eyes, forked tails, and horns leaned against a fence, smoking and grogging. One starling looked like a centaur; she had the upper body of a woman, the lower body of a quadruped. She was galloping around the courtyard, firing arrows at a target. A few other beings perched on the hangar's roof. Their skin was stony, and they sported fangs, claws, and wings, appearing to the world like gargoyles.

Bay leaned toward Luther. "What happened to them?" he whispered.

Starflare, who was walking several steps ahead, turned around. She gave Bay a strange look.

"We're all different," she said.

"I'm sorry," Bay said. "I didn't mean to pry, didn't—"

"Think I could hear?" Starflare smiled crookedly and pulled back her hair, revealing large, pointy ears. "I have good hearing. My masters gave my family this hearing. My father was a prisoner of war. A human once. Aliens captured him, experimented on him, tried to turn him into a super-soldier. A killing machine they could sic on their enemies. They gave him better hearing. Wings. Claws. Fangs. They tore through his DNA, not even caring that it weakened him, gave him years of cancer after cancer." Her fists clenched. "He passed his curse to me. I too am doomed to die young. But while I'm here, I'm strong. And I protect those I love." She gestured across the yard. "Look at them! They're all starlings. Part human, part … something else. Some are the products of genetic experiments. Others are mutants. A few have origins we don't know. Niraya is a world for the lost. And here, in this compound, are the most miserable among us. Those who are freaks with human blood. We are the lost among the lost."

A child tottered across the yard toward her. He had the body of a boy, but he moved on eight legs like a spider.

"Starflare, is Pebbles okay?" the child said. "I heard him cry. He's my best friend."

Starflare knelt and kissed the spider child. "He's fine. He was hurt, but I healed him." She glared over her shoulder at Bay. "Nobody will hurt him again."

Bay rolled his eyes. "If you're trying to make me feel bad, it won't work."

Starflare led them into the hangar, and Bay's eyes widened.

"By Ra," he whispered.

The hangar seemed even larger on the inside. Rows and rows of shelves stretched into the distance, all topped with weapons. There were rifles. Pistols. Machine guns. Boxes of grenades. Crates of bullets rose toward the ceiling. Other crates held artillery shells. There were laser guns, plasma guns, knives, swords, even a shelf with electric nunchucks.

"There's enough here for an army," Bay whispered.

Starflare nodded. "Yep. If it's small enough to lift, and it can kill an alien, we got it. We sell it. But not to you."

Bay was reaching for a bayonet. She grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away.

"Why not?" Bay glared at her.

Starflare scoffed. "I don't sell guns to idiots."

Bay bristled. "Then sell them to Luther! He's not an idiot." He turned toward Luther. "Tell her!"

The old man sighed. "Starflare, you still got your pa's old office around? Let's sit down. I've got a flask of good grog in my pack. Expensive stuff. Polarian ale. Worth more than I am. Let's have a drink and talk."

Starflare's anger left her eyes. Her voice was soft. "My dad loved Polarian ale." A sigh flowed through her. "Luther, I can't sell you guns. But come. Let's drink and talk. I want to explain why."

They entered an office. Ducts and pipes snaked across the ceiling, and the walls were raw brick. Starflare sat at her desk, while Luther and Bay took chairs across from her. A photograph of a family hung on the wall. The father had horns, claws, a jaw full of fangs, and leathery wings; he seemed more monster than man. His wife was a pretty woman in a kimono. A human woman. The child in the photo was only a toddler, but there was no mistaking Starflare, a child halfway between ghoul and girl.

"These belonged to my father." Starflare took crystal cups from her desk drawer. They were shaped like skulls. "He loved these cups. I always thought them gruesome. But he thought they looked like giant scryls."

"May I?" Luther said, opening his flask.

Starflare nodded, and Luther poured drinks. The liquid was deep amber and smelled beautiful, but Bay refused a cup. He had been off the grog for a few years now, and he wasn't about to fall back into that black hole.

It was a drink meant to savor, but Starflare downed hers. She put down the empty skull.

"Do you know how I've kept this place running on my own?" she said.

Luther shook his head.

"I stayed out of trouble," Starflare said. "I became very choosy about my clients. I loved my father. But he was never choosy. He never asked questions. If you had enough scryls, he'd sell you guns. And I'd hear stories." Starflare lowered her head. "Stories of dead children. Of rebellions crushed, villagers slaughtered. Of gangs butchering one another." She looked up again, eyes damp. "He never heard these stories. He didn't want to hear. Until a rival gang burst into this office. Until they made him hear. He was sitting in this very chair when they put a bullet through his head. They kept my mother alive for a few hours. They made me watch." Ghosts haunted Starflare's eyes. "Then she too was gone."

Luther's eyes softened. "I'm sorry. Your mother was a dear woman who deserved better. Your father was a good friend."

"But not a good man," Starflare said. "Does it surprise you to hear it? I know it. I loved him. I miss him. But I know it. So I try to be different. I try to be … good."

"We're as good as it gets!" Bay leaped to his feet. "We're fighting the good fight. For Earth! For humanity!"

Starflare turned her feline eyes toward him. Her tail flicked. "And what is humanity to me, boy? Humans see me as a freak. An alien. I know. My mother was human. After she died, her family disowned me. Don't try to sway me with talk of humanity." She clenched her fists. "Humanity means nothing to me."

"That's not true," Bay said. "If it were, your fists wouldn't be shaking. Your eyes wouldn't be damp. Humanity means a lot to you."

Now it was Starflare who leaped to her feet. Her chair clattered back.

"Humans cast me out!" she shouted. "Do you know what that's like? I was only twelve when my parents died! I went to my mother's family. They are human, yes. They lived in hiding. But they had a good home on a good world. A cave full of light and warmth. Locals who kept them hidden from the scorpions. Safety. Comfort. And they cast me out!" Tears flowed down her cheeks. "They said my mother married a monster. That she gave birth to a freak." She let out a roar. "But I don't care! Because I'm strong. I have a home—here, in this place my father built. I don't need anyone else. None of us on this world do! You would never understand."

She ended her speech. Silence filled the office.

Bay looked at Luther, who seemed very old and sad, then back at Starflare. The young starling stood with her head lowered, her fists clenched.

Bay spoke softly. "I'm sorry."

Starflare snickered. "Spare me. You're not the one who banished me."

"But I'm human," Bay said. "And so is your mother's family. I'm sorry on their behalf. On our behalf. We humans … we're not unlike the lost of Niraya. We too are treated as freaks, as monsters. We're hunted across the galaxy. Hated. Feared. And we should have known better. For humans to behave like your family …" Bay shook his head. "It's not right. I'm sorry that happened to you, Starflare. You deserved better. And we should be better."

Her jaw relaxed, and she uncurled her fists. She looked at Luther.

"Pour me another please," she said.

He poured. Luther and Starflare drank. Bay tried to ignore the intoxicating smell.

Luther looked at the photograph on the wall. "He was a damn fool, your pa. Now, now! Don't get angry. You know it's true. I loved him too. We both did. But I knew he was a fool. It's why I left, you know. Why I moved across the galaxy and started my own business. Because I didn't want to sell weapons to no killers. I didn't want any dead kids on my conscience." He sighed and leaned back in his chair, suddenly looking a decade older. "It ain't an easy thing, being an arms dealer. Not if you have a heart. Some days, working here, I thought my heart was hard. That it was pure iron, like that boxing bag in your courtyard. But then we'd hear a story. Maybe of rebels who mowed down a village. Or a child left orphaned in a gang war. Stories to make your blood run cold. And then I knew: I still had a heart. And that heart could no longer bear it."

Starflare nodded. "It's not easy."

"But there's also nobility in our profession," Luther said. "We do good in this cosmos too. The downtrodden. The weak. The hunted. We give them a way to fight back. The poor farmers, being butchered by invaders. The refugees, fleeing the predators. Those who cry out, helpless, their families and homes prey to the killers. We give them a gun, give them pride, strength, freedom. We make the weak strong. And that's noble, Starflare. Never forget that. Ours is a strange profession, for we deal in power. Great power can be used for great evil, yes. But never forget: It can also be used for good. Weapons can be used to kill. But they can also protect life. The best soldiers I know understand this. They carry guns so that they never have to use them."

Starflare reached across the table and touched Luther's gnarled hand. "That's why I do this."

"It's a funny thing, being a starling," Luther said, looking at the ceiling with his strange, star-shaped eyes. "We have no species. No homeworld of our own. It can be hard for us to understand. Concepts like patriotism, pride in your heritage—they're foreign to us starlings. But long ago, I met a man named Emet Ben-Ari. And at once, I understood. That he was a good man. A man who fought for a noble cause. So I sold him starships. Oh, they were just old tankers and freighters, and they had no cannons or shields. But that Emet—he turned them into warships. And he won battles. He united his people. He saved millions of lives." Luther gestured at Bay. "This is Bay Ben-Ari, his son. He's still young. He still has much to learn. But one thing I promise you, Starflare. Like his father, Bay is a good man. And he seeks to save lives. To give strength to the weak and downtrodden, and to see them rise tall."

Starflare's eyes hardened. "Humans! He wants weapons for humans!"

"The humans took me in," Luther said. "They ain't all bad. I've been living among them for almost three years now. And they're in trouble, Starflare. In real trouble. You heard about the war on Earth?"

Her eyes were still hard, but something in her armor was cracking. She nodded. "I heard."

"Starflare, if we don't help Earth, millions of humans will die," Luther said. "I don't want that on my conscience. Neither do you. Oh, I know, you're a businesswoman! I know. And we'll pay for these guns. But I know you only sell guns to good causes. And I promise you, Starflare. This is as noble a cause as I've seen in seventy years in this damn cosmos."

Starflare looked away, fists clenched. "If I sell to you, Xerka might come after me."

"Not if we win," Bay said. "Not if we kill her."

The young starling looked at him, eyes somber. "Can you do this, Ben-Ari? Can you win this war?"

"Yes," Bay said. "I think so. I hope so." He sighed. "It's a long shot. I won't lie to you. But one thing I'm sure of. We humans are mucking tough. We faced the scorpions—and beat 'em. We faced thousands of years of persecution—and we survived. Empires rose and fell. The centipedes, the marauders, the grays, the damn Hydrians … All these empires tried to destroy humanity. We're still here. They're all dead. So yes, I believe in humanity. That's why I still fight. And with your help—we have a real chance."

She slumped back into her seat. "I don't like betting on long shots."

Bay leaned closer. "Starflare, why do you live here? On this cold, forsaken world?"

"Why do you think?" She scoffed. "I'm a starling. A freak. I have no other home."

"And that's why I fight for Earth," Bay said. "Because I'm human. A freak. A pest. For thousands of years, we humans have had no home. Not even a place like Niraya. You want a noble goal? Help the freaks save their home."

Starflare took a long, deep breath. "I'm going to need a third drink."

She drank.

And then she nodded.

And then she sold them weapons.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Bombs kept falling aboveground. Booms echoed. The tunnels shook. Rowan stood in the bunker, hands behind her back, ignoring the racket. She faced her team of scientists, engineers, and programmers.

"Welcome to Antikythera Institute!" she said. "Or as I call it—the Nerd Squad. As you can probably tell from my Lord of the Rings brooch, I fit right in." She adjusted the silver leaf. "Our noble warriors fight bravely. We admire them all. They are the salt of the earth and the best of humanity. But they're also outnumbered a hundred to one. Right now, we nerds must save the world."

Another explosion sounded above, and the bunker trembled. The explosions never stopped. It was a week since the Galactic Council had voted, since Emet had declared independence, since the great war had begun. But it felt like a year. Rowan had barely slept all week. She had spent day and night fighting—firing guns from trenches, loading shells into cannons, and once even battling a basilisk who made it into the tunnels.

Xerka probably expected to conquer Earth by now, Rowan thought. She's surprised at how tough we are.

But the Human Defense Force was almost out of bullets and shells. Very soon, they would be fighting with sticks and stones, then tooth and nail. So Rowan had come here. She had assembled the nerds.

"I called you here because you're the brightest brains on Earth," Rowan said. "And we're going to use your big, juicy brains to win."

"Maybe we can challenge Xerka to a game of chess!" said an old, bearded man from the back of the bunker. Several people chuckled.

Rowan smiled thinly. "I'd prefer challenging her to a round of Donkey Kong. I'd actually have a chance of winning that way. But life is rarely that easy. I've outlined four primary projects for Antikythera Institute." She began writing on a wooden board. "Our first project is called the Babel Project. We must improve our communication network. The enemy consistently jams our electromagnetic signals. They've also cut our underground cables. We must have better communication with the Exodus Fleet and the other colonies. This is critical. We possess two ansibles. One here on Earth. One with the Exodus Fleet aboard the HDFS Byzantium. Ansibles are impossible to hack, impossible to jam, and have a range of half a light-year. Problem is, we don't really know how they work. The Babel Project will reverse engineer the ansible we have—and duplicate it. I want ansibles in every Earth colony and on every starship. If we can talk to one another, we can fight better. Who volunteers for this project?"

Several hands rose. Rowan pulled up their resumes on her minicom. Before the wars, some had been professors on distant worlds, teaching alien children. A few had even worked on communication networks, providing their services to mercenary fleets, the Peacekeepers, and alien cities. She chose six people for Operation Babel.

All were older than her. Some old enough to be her grandparents. As Rowan assembled the team, she felt very young and inexperienced. She was only twenty, after all.

But I'm still a major, she thought. I still outrank them. I've been fighting with the Heirs of Earth for four years. I led platoons in battle. I commanded starships and fleets. I killed Sin Kra himself, for pity's sake.

She sighed. None of that helped when she had to give orders to white-haired professors.

They think I'm some Mary Sue. Let them think it! So long as they win this war.

"Our next project, no less important, is called Hammer and Anvil," she said. "Bay and Luther have flown out to buy weapons. But we can't rely on others forever. Especially not with this damn embargo. Earth must develop its own weapons industry. We already have a factory that can make bullets. We need to ramp up operations. But most importantly, we need to build more rifles! We only have ten thousand guns on Earth. We need hundreds of thousands—and fast! We need more advanced weaponry too. Tanks. Planes. Starfighters. We need designers, chemists, mechanics, factory workers. And we need them now. Hammer and Anvil will be the branch of Antikythera that designs and builds weapons for the HDF. It will be the difference between a weak army, one dependent on alien aid, and a proud army that stands strong, fierce, and independent. Who volunteers?"

Many hands rose. Rowan chose people with experience in design and manufacturing. Several of them had worked in factories before the war. A few had been mechanics. Here was the true strength of humanity, Rowan knew. They had no scales like basilisks, no claws or fangs or whip-like tails. But they had human capital. Experience. Knowledge. Intelligence. And she was determined to harvest these for the war effort.

"Our third project is perhaps the most important," Rowan said. "I call it Project Talaria. Does anyone know what Talaria means?"

A bearded, shaggy-haired engineer nodded. "Of course. Talaria are the winged sandals from Greek mythology, worn by the god Hermes." He raised his hairy chin. "I happen to be an expert on folklore and mythology. And Monty Python quotes."

Rowan nodded. "We're kindred spirits. And you're right. Talaria Project is our attempt to build our own winged sandals, ones that can carry us to the heavens. The enemy warships are still besieging Earth. We've been able to send ships up and down, but only under heavy artillery cover. Even then, we lost many ships. And now that we're out of artillery rockets, the blockade is airtight. That means the Exodus Fleet can't land with new humans. Bay and Luther can't return with any weapons they buy. Leona and her companions can't come home. We need a technical solution to the blockade!"

"So we build more rockets," said an engineer. "Isn't that what Hammer and Anvil is for?"

"It'll be a while before our factories are up and running," Rowan said. "And even then, it'll take a while to scale up production, to give us enough munitions. I'm hoping we can find a parallel solution. A better solution. A solution involving portals."

"Portals?" said a chemist, frowning.

"When my friend Coral was alive, she could open portals between low orbit and deep space," Rowan said. "We were able to fly past the blockade. But Coral was our only weaver. And she fell. She fell fighting for Earth. I miss her dearly." Rowan took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. "We need to find another solution. In ancient Earth, humans knew how to open little wormholes. They were called Isaac Wormholes, named after Noah Isaac, husband of Einav Ben-Ari, the professor who invented them. They were only a few atoms wide, used as interstellar communication cables. But they were still essentially portals. They used azoth crystals to bend spacetime. We need to use similar technology to open wormholes from Earth to space."

A professor stood up and smoothed his white mustache. "But one cannot bend spacetime so close to a planet. Not with Earth's gravitational well." He spoke as if explaining to a child. "Did you neglect to read your physics books? That's why starships can't use their warp drives near planets. Isaac Wormholes are only a few atoms wide. You're talking about wormholes a starship can fly through. Impossible in a gravity well!"

Rowan nodded. "That's the problem we must solve, Professor Eberhardt. That is the Talaria Project. The scientists involved will find a technological solution. Who volunteers?"

Mutters rose across the room. A few scientists snorted.

"You're asking the impossible!" said the mustached Eberhardt. "You want a solution that would break the laws of physics."

"To bypass them, not break them," Rowan said. "We'll do the impossible. We're humans. That's what we do. Everyone who isn't already part of a project—you will work on Project Talaria. You will build us winged sandals!" She began heading toward the door. "All right, everyone—get to work."

"Rowan, ma'am?" said a boy, only fifteen but already renowned for his genius. "You described three projects. Babel—to build a better communication network. Hammer and Anvil—to develop new weapons. Talaria—to break the siege. But you said there were four projects."

Rowan paused at the doorway, turned around, and nodded. "The fourth project is mine. Mine alone. And it's classified."

And it might be the most important project of all, Rowan thought.

That night, she sat in her cabin, a small bunker she shared with several other officers. The others were out in the trenches tonight, fighting to hold back the aliens. Rowan sat here alone.

She had barely slept since the war had begun. Emet had ordered her to get a night's rest, cautioning that the war could last for months. But no rest found Rowan. Her mind raced. She worried about Bay, who had flown to buy weapons. About Leona, who had never returned from the Council. About Earth. And she worried about the weight of Antikythera on her shoulders.

The constant booms and rattling walls didn't help, either.

Instead of lying down, Rowan pulled a wooden box from under her bed. It was lovingly sanded and polished, its lid engraved with a silver rose. It had belonged to Coral.

Rowan stroked the box, tracing her fingers along the rose.

"I miss you, Coral," she whispered. "Every day."

Her tears fell onto the box. Rowan wiped them away. She imagined that she felt a warm touch, a hand stroking her hair. Perhaps a wisp of Coral's presence still in this world, comforting her.

"Before you died, you promised to teach me," Rowan said. "To mentor me. To help me become a weaver. You're gone now. But you left me a gift."

She opened the box. Inside were seven ancient books. Books made from actual paper, bound in leather. Humans had been reading from monitors for two thousand years now. Here was a relic from the ancient past. Here were the sacred Weaver Writs.

Gadriel the Good had written these books, Rowan knew. Over two thousand years ago. The Weeping Weaver himself, the great sage who had fled the destruction of Earth, who had gained enormous power, and who had avenged Earth by toppling the Hyrian Empire. Gadriel wasn't the first weaver. He had learned from masters who had come before him. But Gadriel was the mightiest, both warrior and sage. The forger of the Godblade. The writer of the Writs.

Coral is gone, Rowan thought, placing her hand on the stack of books. But Gadriel will teach me.

With weaving, Rowan could unlock a treasure trove of weapons. Coral had been able to fire bolts of aether from her silvery dagger, open portals, and heal wounds. All these could help the war effort—dramatically.

But mostly, Rowan thought about Elysium, the planet where Gadriel had built his guildhall. Bay had visited the place, seeking the Godblade. He had told Rowan the tale. A pristine, beautiful world, draped with forests and meadows. A world that would normally be swarming with aliens. A shield of aether had engulfed that world, defending it from the monsters.

"If I can weave such a shield around Earth," Rowan whispered to herself, "we'll be safe."

True, the scorpion fleet had eventually shattered the shield around Elysium. But it had taken a massive bombardment. A shield of aether around Earth wouldn't be completely bulletproof. But it would go a long way. And Rowan could perhaps learn to build an even stronger shield, maybe even several layers of shields.

She could already see it. She would place defensive satellites around the shield, a first line of defense. They would fire on any enemy that arrived. Fleets of warships would orbit behind the shield, ready to fire through narrow passageways like archers through arrowslits. A platoon of weavers—Rowan would train more, of course—would be ready to repair any holes in the aether armor.

If we had such a shield today, Rowan thought, we'd have saved Port Addison. We'd have cast back the enemy. We'd be winning this war. She took a deep breath and nodded. So I must learn how to weave such a shield. I must become as great as Gadriel.

This was her fourth project. The Elysium Project. The others would not understand. But Rowan knew the Earth depended on her success.

She lay down on her bed. It felt very cold and empty without Bay at her side. Emet had ordered her to sleep, but Rowan could not. She hugged a pillow, grabbed the first weaver book, and began to read.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Mairead limped onward through the pain.

It was an all-consuming pain, draped in weakness. Her head pounded. Her wounds ached. Invisible chains seemed to be dragging her down. She was suffering from blood loss, shock, maybe dehydration. Definitely shell shock. Her body screamed at her to lie down, to drown under these waves of misery, to crumple up into a bundle of suffering.

But Mairead forced herself onward.

She was a soldier.

Pain was irrelevant. She would fight through it. So long as she drew breath, she would fight. And pain be damned.

She trudged through the dark ruins of New York. She could barely see, partly because of the darkness, partly because her head still spun, and her eyes could not focus.

Fight.

She took another step.

Make your way home.

She thought of poker games with Ramses and the boys. She thought of Leona and Rowan, who had become like sisters. Of Emet, who had become like a father.

Keep going for them. You must live. You must see them again.

She lurched down an alleyway. A statue loomed to her side, leaning over, leering. It was shaped like a monstrous hybrid, half-human, half-serpent, its tongue obscenely extended and black with mold. To her left, a pile of snake eggs quivered inside the burnt shell of a building. The translucent shells revealed the spawn inside—monsters the size of cats, their jaws working silently, trying to tear free. Mairead limped onward before the alien nurse, a white basilisk with red eyes, could see her.

Engines rumbled. Firelight flared ahead. A few hundred meters away, a Copperhead roared upward, leaving a trail of fire.

Mairead pressed herself against the alley wall, watching it rise. The tubular vessel was even smaller than a Firebird. A single basilisk was flying it, stretched out inside the narrow fuselage. The machine was barely a starfighter at all, little more than a suit of armor mounted with engines and cannons.

But Mairead knew that she could fly one.

Two years ago, Leona Ben-Ari had commandeered the Snakepit, a massive basilisk armaments ship. The human crew, Mairead among it, had captured several Copperheads inside, had flown them to Earth. Those Copperheads had been destroyed in the war. But not before Mairead had studied them, had learned to fly them. She had clocked quite a few hours inside these cramped machines, lying on her belly, gripping the alien controls, streaming over fields and oceans and breaching the atmosphere.

They're a bitch to fly, she thought. Not nearly as nice as a Firebird. But a Copperhead can still get me home.

Yesterday, she had planned to use a hijacked Copperhead to attack Xerka.

But then Mairead had seen the deformed bats. Had battled Naja in the pits. Had been wounded, bloodied, burnt.

For the first time in her life—the fight was knocked out of her. And she was afraid. Mairead no longer dreamed of a grand assault, of taking on the alien empress with a single ship. She just wanted to go home. To return with reinforcements, yes. To still fight this war, certainly. But not now. Not alone.

Mairead was too hurt. Too haunted. Too broken. And those bats still flew in her mind. She knew they would never leave her.

She walked down the alleyway, determined to survive. The spaceport was just a few blocks away. Mairead had no bullets left, but she still had explosives. She could create a distraction, steal a Copperhead, and fly back to Port Addison.

Her eyes dampened.

I can see you again, Ramses. I can see all of you. I don't have to die alone.

She had taken several more steps when she heard the hissing behind her.

She spun around.

A creature was wriggling toward her across the filthy alley. At first Mairead thought it a young basilisk. It was barely larger than her. She could hardly see anything in this darkness. But as it moved closer, the creature entered the light shining through the nursery window.

Mairead cursed. She took a step back, nausea rising inside her.

It was some sort of hybrid. The face was human—the face of a man, bearded, oily. But the arms had been removed, the legs morphed together, the body covered with scales. Whether the creature was genetically engineered or surgically created, Mairead could not tell.

But one thing she knew. There was hunger in those bloodshot eyes.

The monster lunged toward her, hissing, baring rotten teeth.

Mairead stumbled backward. Normally she would have dodged the creature easily, but she was too weak, too hurt. The hybrid slammed into her, knocked her down, and sank brown teeth into her shoulder.

Mairead bit down on a scream, not wanting to alert more enemies. She punched the creature's head again and again, bloodying her knuckles. It wouldn't release her. She drew her gun. She had no bullets, but she pistol-whipped the beast with all her strength. The skull cracked, and the creature finally released her, blood in its mouth. Mairead scrambled to her feet.

"What are you?" she whispered. "Do you need help?"

The creature shrieked. It leaped toward her again.

Mairead stepped aside faster, and this time she dodged her enemy. She swung her gun, knocking the butt against the beast's head. The chimera thumped to the ground, twitched, and rose no more.

But the shriek had alerted its friends.

They came slithering down the walls, through windows, from storm drains. Hideous creations. Snakes with human heads. All hissing, staring with rheumy eyes, zombies of scales and mindless hunger.

The creatures surrounded Mairead, closing in.

"What are you?" she cried. "Who did this to you?"

The hybrids attacked.

One leaped from her left. Mairead spun and pistol-whipped it, knocking it back. Another creature landed on her back and bit her shoulder—the same place where the last creature had bitten her. Mairead yowled, tore it free, and hurled it against two other beasts.

They were everywhere. Nipping her heels. Lunging from above. More emerged onto the rooftops.

"Help us," one whispered, only a girl, a girl with tears in her eyes and scales on her limbless body. "Please … Help …"

Yet when Mairead stepped closer to the girl, the creature leaped toward her, screeching, eyes mad with rage. Teeth sank into Mairead's arm.

She fought them. She fell to her knees, and they slammed into her, covered her, bit her, but Mairead kept fighting, kept howling.

I always knew I would die in battle.

A hybrid drove into her chest, and Mairead fell onto her back.

I always knew I would die young.

The pain was fading now. Maybe she was almost gone. The twisted, hungry faces crowded above her, but Mairead saw the stars. The beautiful cosmic ocean, glittering and endless, filled with light and peace. The home she had known for so long.

But the stars were never my home. I was always sailing to a distant world. To this world. To Earth. I always knew I would die on Earth.

As they bit her, Mairead wept. Because she had always dreamed of New York City. Of entering that poster above the poker table. Of walking among glittering skyscrapers. Of living like in the days of old. Her dream had become a nightmare. This had become a city of monsters. Earth had become a world of aliens and death.

Despair flooded Mairead. So long, she had fought in the beauty of space. Why should Earth be monstrous while the realms above were so fair?

A thought arose from the shadows

Because this war is more noble.

Mairead understood.

Our first war was fought along the path home. But now we are home. Now we fight a war of rededication. Now we fight upon hallowed ground. This war is fought in a pit of demons, but it is holy.

Mairead realized that Earth had never been meant for her, for her generation. She had been born in space. They all had. They would forever be the generation of exile, haunted by the demons, their hands bloodstained, their souls scarred.

But they were the greatest heroes.

They were the bloodied, broken pillars upon which a great civilization would rise again.

And bloodied, broken, Mairead rose.

She stood in the alleyway, and she cast off the demons.

She lifted a storm drain cover, and she swung it with all her strength, knocking the beasts back. The metal bars scattered their teeth across the alleyway. Shattered their skulls. Tore into the human faces. And as they died, she saw relief in their eyes.

"Thank you," they whispered as she slew them. "Thank you …"

She could not kill them all. But she could kill a few. She could deliver mercy to some.

Swinging the grate, she retreated toward a doorway and backed into a shadowy building. She slammed the door shut, sealing the monsters outside. They screeched, clawing at the door, at the walls. Perhaps desperate to kill her. Perhaps desperate to be killed.

Mairead had no more strength. She fell to her knees in the dark room, struggling for air.

Blood dripped down her fingers. She took deep breaths, trying to steady herself. Her hands trembled, and she tried to open her medical kit, but spilled it across the floor. She wrapped gauze around her wounds. She gritted her teeth, then slammed a needle into her thigh, giving her a dose of morphine.

I'm dying, she thought. I have to get to a hospital. I have to get home.

Port Addison was a thousand kilometers north. Walking, the journey could take weeks. But if she could still steal a Copperhead, she could be in Port Addison within half an hour. Cindy could patch her up, save her life.

Mairead trembled.

Half an hour, she thought. I'm just half an hour from home. I just have to make it a little farther.

The morphine parted the haze of pain. She looked around her. She was in a grimy chamber with brick walls, perhaps an ancient brownstone from New York's human era. There was a shed snake skin in the corner. A pile of bones lay nearby, vaguely—yet not quite—human. Tools hung on the wall: hammers, knives, rib spreaders, meat cleavers. Vials bubbled on a table. Human hands floated inside jars of green liquid.

Mairead stared at this morbid collection.

"What the hell?" she whispered.

A flash of movement caught her eyes.

A reflection in one of the cleavers on the wall.

Mairead grabbed the cleaver, spun around, and hurled the blade.

The cleaver slammed into a rearing basilisk, splitting the creature's head open.

The creature screeched, still alive, and pounced.

Mairead leaped back, and the basilisk slammed into the wall of tools. Hammers and blades fell across the alien, scratching his scales.

This was no ordinary basilisk. The creature seemed ancient. White whiskers grew around his jaw, and his eyes drooped, oddly human. Alien letters were etched into his white scales.

The basilisk was old, yes. Yet when he lunged toward Mairead, his fangs seemed sharp enough.

"You will not hurt your children!" the basilisk screeched. "They are no longer yours!"

Mairead dodged the snapping jaws. She knelt, grabbed a hammer, and swung it.

The hammer slammed into the jaws, shattering teeth. The elderly basilisk gurgled on blood, screaming.

"You will not kill your children!"

Mairead swung the hammer again and again, shouting wordlessly, knocking out teeth, cracking the jaw, until finally the creature fell. The basilisk lay on the floor, his jaw all but gone, but still gurgling, trying to speak.

"My … creations …"

Mairead was weeping now. Yet she slammed the hammer down again, driving it into the skull, and finally the basilisk lay still.

For long moments, Mairead shuddered. Blood covered her, half her own, half the blood of her enemies. Her fingers were shaking again. She pulled out another needle, jabbed it into her thigh. She gritted her teeth, waiting until the morphine kicked in.

Outside, the strange hybrids had crawled away. The house trembled as another Copperhead soared outside, and for a moment firelight filled the room. Mairead swallowed with a dry throat.

The spaceport is only a block away, she thought. I can be home in half an hour. I can make it to a hospital. I can survive.

She tore the cleaver from the dead basilisk. She hefted her weapons—cleaver in one hand, hammer in the other. She was about to step outside when she heard the voice.

"Help … us …"

Mairead froze halfway toward the doorway.

The voice rose again, weak and trembling.

"Please … help …"

Mairead turned back. The voice came from below. She shoved aside the dead basilisk, revealing a trap door. A heavy lock kept it shut.

"Please …" Something scratched at the trapdoor from below. "Help … Please …"

Mairead wanted to run. To make to the spaceport. To hijack a Copperhead and get out of Dodge.

But the words of the Heirs of Earth returned to her.

Wherever a human is in danger, we will be there.

Was a human trapped below?

I'm no longer an Inheritor! she told herself. I'm a soldier in the Human Defense Force!

Yet she had made a vow. And that vow bound her for life.

She swung her hammer, hitting the lock again and again. It took long moments of work, and each swing hurt. But finally, Mairead broke the lock and pulled the trapdoor open.

Whoever had scratched on the trapdoor was gone. A rickety staircase led down into darkness. A stench rose from below, so thick and foul Mairead could taste it.

"Hello!" Mairead said, hating that her voice trembled. "Who's down there?"

No voice replied. For a long moment—silence. Then a scrape. A clatter of metal. Silence again.

Mairead looked at the staircase.

Don't do it, Mairead told herself. Rowan showed you horror movies from the Earthstone. You know you should never walk into a dark basement!

"Wherever a human is in danger," she whispered to herself, "I will be there. I am Mairead McQueen, an officer of the Human Defense Force. I fought in the Battle of Aeolis. I charged with the Corvette Company at Terminus. I fear nothing."

She took a step onto the staircase.

She gulped and took a few more steps.

Above her, the trapdoor slammed shut with a boom, sealing her in darkness.

Mairead froze. The darkness was complete now.

From below—another scrape. A deep, ragged breath.

"Who's there?" Mairead demanded. But nobody answered.

She had no flashlight, no more flare, so she pulled out her minicom. She had been using it extensively, tracking Naja across the wilderness. She was on her last spare battery, and even it was down to 5%. It would have to do. She held up the pocket-sized computer, casting its soft light.

Something scurried below. Mairead's heart seemed to stop. But no—it was only a shadow. Wasn't it?

You're a mucking idiot, Mairead McQueen, she thought, taking more steps down.

The stairs creaked. Dust scattered. She kept walking, finally reaching the basement.

She raised her minicom, casting pale light. The basement was filled with bones. They covered the floor. Countless bones. Human bones. Insects scurried inside skulls. Rib cages formed diminutive temples. But the bones were picked clean, old and dry. The stench came from piles of excrement that lay between the bones.

Mairead slowly raised her head and looked at the ceiling.

She clenched her jaw, struggling not to pass out.

My Ra.

They covered the ceiling. A dozen or more, collared and chained. At first, she thought them more harpies, the same creatures from the tunnel. But no. These creatures had long, scaly bodies like basilisks. Instead of arms, they had leathern wings. The worst part, however, was their heads.

Each creature had a human head. Red hair. Green eyes. Freckled skin.

They all had Mairead's own face.

"We are your daughters," one of them said, eyes damp. "Kill us. Please. Kill us …"

Across the ceiling, the others all spoke too.

"Kill us … Please … Kill us."

"Who are you?" Mairead shouted.

They looked at her, reaching down with twisting tails. "Your daughters … Please … Help …"

Mairead began to pant. Her head spun.

They took my blood.

Cold sweat washed her.

At some battle. In space. Or here on Earth. They took my DNA. They grew them. My daughters.

Mairead wept for them.

"Please," they whispered. "Help us … Kill us …"

Mairead looked up at them, sobbing now. At her children.

"Wherever there is a human in danger," she whispered, "I will be there."

She climbed out of the basement. And they followed. Mairead emerged onto the street, holding their leashes. They flew behind her on their leathery wings like lurid balloons. Thirteen daughters. Thirteen scaly, winged demons. Thirteen humans.

She walked out of the alleyway and toward the spaceport.

Copperheads were soaring ahead, rumbling with fire. The firelight painted the decaying skyscrapers. In the distance, peering over a sea of smog, the Statue of Liberty stared with serpentine eyes, her scaly face twisted with malice.

Mairead walked over piles of bricks and bones, heading toward the spaceport.

A gateway rose before her. Mairead tossed an explosive, and the blast shattered the gateway, tore apart the basilisks guarding it. She walked over their corpses, entering the port.

A hundred Copperheads were here on the tarmac. A hundred more were flying above.

Many basilisks were here too. The serpents reared and shrieked, then charged toward Mairead.

She watched them coming, and a tear flowed down her cheek.

"I'm sorry, my children," she whispered.

She released the leashes.

Her deformed, beautiful daughters flew toward the enemy.

Creatures of wings. Of scales. Of red hair and sad green eyes. They wept as they died.

They were weak creatures. Experiments. Rejects. They had no claws, no fangs. No way to kill. But they launched themselves onto the basilisks, beating their wings madly, blinding the serpents.

"Thank you, Mother!" they cried. "Avenge us! Avenge us! Peace … Peace . . ."

Mairead ran.

She ran through the battle, weeping for their loss. As basilisks pounced, her daughters swooped and held them back. As a Copperhead tried to fire its cannons, several daughters slammed into its engines, and the starfighter exploded above.

Mairead reached one of the Copperheads on the tarmac. A basilisk lunged at her, and she swung her hammer, destroying the alien's eye. Behind her, her daughters were dying, and the spaceport was burning.

Mairead crawled into the Copperhead.

Half an hour to home.

Inside the narrow tube, Mairead lay down on her belly. Her blood kept seeping through her bandages, dripping across the floor. She stretched out her arms and grabbed levers. Through the windshield, she saw the last of her daughters die. The corpses of the creatures lay strewn across the port, torn apart, finally free from pain.

Basilisks undulated toward Mairead, jaws opening wide.

She pulled a lever, firing the Copperhead's guns.

Lasers beamed out, tearing through the basilisks, ripping up the tarmac.

She pulled another lever, and fire roared from her engine, and the small vessel rose.

Other Copperheads were firing up their engines below her. Mairead soared, swooped, and strafed the spaceport with her lasers. The green beams tore through the other vessels, ripped open a tower, carved up the basilisks on the ground.

Her daughters burned.

Her sweet, dead little girls.

Mairead rose higher and fired again. Laser bolts scoured the alleyway. The buildings crumbled. The alley burned.

Let there be no memory of this place, Mairead thought, burning it, tearing that dark building down.

But she knew that the memory would always live inside her. That she would never forget those voices calling for mercy.

Mairead rose higher and shoved down the throttle. She blasted forward, rising between skyscrapers. The Freedom Tower. The Empire State Building. The Chrysler Building. They rose before her, draped with scales, swarming with basilisks. Somewhere inside them, Xerka was lurking. Watching. Mairead could feel it.

I will come back for you, Xerka. I swear. You won this round. But it's not over between us.

She switched on the afterburner, and she cracked the sound barrier. Windows on the skyscrapers trembled. And within seconds, she was out of New York, flying over the ravaged plains of Earth, hearing north. Heading to Port Addison. Heading home.

But Mairead knew that a part of her would forever remain behind, as surely as the ashes of her daughters. The city of her dreams had become her nightmare. She could fly for light-years, she knew, but she would never truly escape New York.

Near Port Addison, the colony's artillery cannons turned toward her. Humanity's few vessels—just a handful of Firebirds and dropships—flew to meet her. Their cannons heated up.

"It's me," Mairead whispered into her comm, voice shaky. She was so tired. She could barely speak. "It's Mairead …"

Her hand slipped from the controls. Her Copperhead wobbled.

"Mairead!" rose a voice through her comm. "Mairead, is that you?"

"Ramses," Mairead whispered. "Ramses, I'm home … I'm home …"

She landed in the colony, ripping up soil and stones. She lay on her belly, bleeding, crying.

I'm sorry, my daughters. I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm sorry.

Somebody opened the hatch. Strong hands grabbed her, pulled her out, placed her on a stretcher. Mairead blinked, and when she opened her eyes again, she was in a field hospital. Cindy was scanning her wounds, and Ramses was holding her hand.

"I had to come back," she whispered to him. "I saw it, Ramses. The city from our poster. The poster over our poker table. I saw New York …"

He stroked her hair, and she smiled at him, and she closed her eyes. She fell into a dark tunnel. Her arms turned into wings. She was collared and leashed. She clung to the wall, crying out, trying to find her way back to the light.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"Wait for it," Emet whispered. "Wait … wait …"

His soldiers stood around him in the tunnel. The walls were shaking. Dust fell from the ceiling. Outside, they heard them. The monsters.

"Wait," Emet mouthed, daring not even whisper.

He stared through the periscope. The other end extended aboveground, hidden among the bushes.

He could see them. Nausea rose in him.

Ugly bastards, he thought.

Seven races had invaded Earth, but the Upidians were the ugliest. They looked like caterpillars the size of pythons. Their bodies were naturally armored and bristly with spikes and hooks. Human heads were impaled upon these cruel horns. The aliens' own heads were bloated, black around the edges, flowing into red maws. Three red eyes stared from each face, filled with bloodlust. Around their massive heads, the caterpillars grew rings of seven arms tipped with claws. With these limbs, they could grab prey and pull it toward the hungry jaws.

The Upidians were not only hideous, deadly, and hungry. They were also fiercely intelligent. They built starships. They colonized worlds. And they loved nothing more than devouring human flesh.

Now they were crawling across the wilderness, heading toward Port Addison.

Emet had been fighting for two weeks now, barely sleeping or eating. Xerka, he knew, had imagined she could conquer Earth within a day. But for two weeks, humanity was resisting. Driven into a corner, humans fought with desperate courage.

Emet wasn't sure how many humans had died in the battles so far. Thousands. But the survivors fought on. Men, women, children. The healthy and wounded. They fought with their last few bullets. They fought with spears and arrows. With sticks. With stones. Sometimes with nothing but bare hands and bravery.

"Wait," Emet whispered, watching the creatures crawl closer … closer …

One of the Upidians sniffed. The monstrous caterpillar swung its massive head around and stared directly at the periscope. Directly into Emet's eyes.

"Now!" Emet shouted.

He grabbed a rope and pulled. Across the tunnel, soldiers pulled a dozen more ropes.

Hatches opened across the ceiling.

Soil, grass, and Upidians tumbled into the tunnel.

The carnivorous caterpillars slammed onto spikes that rose from the floor. The metal drove through their armor, pumped their body full of poison. The giant aliens screeched and writhed. Human heads fell from their spikes and rolled across the trench.

"Fire!" Emet cried.

Standing against the far wall, the soldiers fired their guns. Bullets slammed into the flailing aliens. The monsters' screams were even louder than the rifles.

Yet even pierced with bullets, impaled with spikes, and full of poison, the Upidians still lived. The beasts tore themselves off the spikes, leaving globs of flesh, and advanced into the gunfire.

One Upidian lunged. The ring of arms around its head extended, blooming like a fleshy flower. The claws grabbed a soldier. The arms folded inward, pulling the young private toward the alien jaws. Teeth ripped through the flesh. The private screamed as the alien devoured him alive.

Another Upidian leaped onto two corporals and tore them apart, digging with claws like daggers. More of the flesh-eating aliens were crawling into the tunnel, undeterred by the hailstorm of bullets.

"Fall back!" Emet cried. "Back!"

The troops retreated into deeper tunnels, then pulled down iron portcullises, trapping the Upidians ahead.

"Burn them!" Emet shouted.

Across the tunnels, the soldiers grabbed flamethrowers—and filled the upper tunnels with fire.

The Upidians screeched.

The demonic caterpillars slammed themselves against the bars, desperate to reach the soldiers. But the humans kept firing. Emet stood before them, roaring, holding a flamethrower, filling the chamber ahead with an inferno.

The Upidians burned. Their armor peeled back, their flesh sizzled, and their eyes melted. They could have retreated. But Upidians knew no such concept. They kept slamming themselves against the bars again and again, desperate to break through, to reach the humans. And still they burned. They burned until they fell and screamed no more.

Emet lowered his flamethrower, arms shaking. Around him, wounded soldiers twitched, screamed, wept. This battle was over. Soon a new battle would begin.

Emet returned that night to his bunker, bearing new wounds, a new weariness in his bones and soul.

His bunker was small, and he shared it with several war orphans. The young ones were sleeping, even as explosions still sounded above, as the booms rocked the tunnels. Emet stood for a moment, looking at the sleeping children, wondering what sort of damage this war was doing to them. Wondering if they would grow up broken, haunted, forever suffering the nightmares. These children were not only surviving this war on Earth. They had survived the horrors of the gulocks, had seen their families skinned and burned.

I don't know if they can ever know joy, Emet thought. I don't know if I can still save their souls. And maybe their own children, someday, will be broken too, will grow up in homes of secrets and tragedy. But maybe the third generation can find some joy, some healing. Or the fourth. Or the fifth. Even if we survive this war, it might be generations before we outlive the trauma. But for that future generation, I fight.

The door opened. Cindy entered the bunker. She was still wearing her scrubs, and deep weariness filled her eyes. Her shoulders were slumped, her head lowered, and the weight of the world seemed to crush her. Yet when she saw Emet, she straightened, and the fire returned to her eyes.

"You're wounded!" she whispered.

"It's nothing serious," Emet said, but he winced in sudden pain, and his blood trickled.

Cindy pulled him into the washrooms, and she tended to his wounds. Cleaning. Stitching. Bandaging.

The nurse Emet had fallen in love with was now a doctor. For the past two weeks of war, she had barely slept, had been tending to the wounded, the dying. She commanded five hundred medical professionals, perhaps the hardest working soldiers in this war.

As she bandaged his wounds, Emet looked into her blue eyes.

And what damage is this war doing to you, Cindy? he thought. You have tended to soldiers torn apart. Their limbs ripped off. Their bodies sliced open. Their skin burnt. You guided hundreds into death. Some only children. And I know that every wound, every death, is another scar on your soul.

She slapped on the last bandage.

"You're done," she said. She looked away, tightened her lips, and took a deep breath. Then she looked back at him, eyes damp. "You can't keep doing this, Emet."

He stroked her smooth black hair. "I must. I must fight for Earth."

She shoved his hand away. "You are no longer our admiral! You are no longer commander of the Heirs of Earth. You are now the President of Earth. A president, not a soldier! You should be leading from bunkers, not fighting in the battlefield. You should be wearing a suit, not a uniform. You …" She lowered her head. "You shouldn't keep getting hurt. I can't bear to see you come home to me every day, bleeding and torn. Because I know that someday, you won't come home at all. And I can keep healing our boys and girls, Emet. I can keep healing even as I watch thousands die. But I couldn't bear to lose you."

Emet held her hands. "Cindy, you are beautiful."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't try smooth talking your way out of this."

He stroked her hair. "I love you, Cindy. And I would never do anything that hurts you. Other than this. This war …" He shook his head sadly. "This is no ordinary war. In the old days of Earth, the leaders would sit in palaces, wearing fineries, while civilians sought shelter behind the walls, while youths died on the battlefields. But this is different. Today, our entire species is an army. Every last human must fight, from the youngest child to me, this old president."

She embraced him. Her tears wet his chest. "Emet, I love you too. But Ramses and Tom are back on Earth now. You have capable officers who can go out there and lead the troops. Please, Emet. Be careful. If we lose you … If I lose you …" She let out a sob. "I've dedicated my life to my work. I'm almost fifty, and I've never married, never had children. Our soldiers have always been my children. But now, an old woman, I am finally in love. And I finally know true fear."

Emet smiled. "Cindy! You're not an old woman. Wait until you're fifty-nine like me." He frowned. "What date is it?"

"May fourteenth," she said.

Emet nodded. "By Ra. I turned sixty yesterday."

She let out a weak laugh. "Old man." She kissed him. "Old Lion. You're still the strongest man I know."

An explosion rocked the bunker. The children stirred but fell back asleep. Emet lay down by the wall, and Cindy curled up against him. They slept embraced. But Emet found no rest, and in his sleep, the aliens still screamed and burned.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"All right, Nerd Squad!" Rowan said, pacing the bunker. "We've got ships to bring home. The Exodus Fleet is back in our solar system, carrying fifty thousand human refugees—many of them of fighting age. Bay and Luther contacted us from the heliosphere. They're only hours away, flying a freighter full of rifles and ammunition. We need those humans and those guns here on Earth, fighting the goddamn aliens. Thousands of enemy warships are still blockading Earth! How do we bring our guys home?"

Fifty people filled the room—scientists, engineers, or simply geeks with more brain than brawn. The nerds had been toiling day and night, working on Project Talaria, the mission to solve the embargo.

One man stood up—a slender, balding engineer. "The best plan is what we've already done. We fire rockets into the sky. We form a corridor of artillery fire. It worked for the Porter Evacuation."

Rowan rolled her eyes. "But we have no more rockets on Earth! All our new rockets are with Bay—in space!"

"We can produce more," suggested another man. "Project Hammer and Anvil has been building a munition factory."

"A factory that won't be ready for weeks!" Rowan said. "We need something to work now."

A young woman stood up—a wispy little thing with goggles in her hair. Rowan pushed her own goggles farther up her head. She noticed that many in the HDF had been emulating her style.

Great, I'm a trendsetter, Rowan thought.

"What if we can harness Bay and Luther's rockets from space?" the woman asked. "They and the Exodus Fleet can fire them from above, forming a reverse corridor."

Rowan pursed her lips. "That's an option. But I don't like it. First, I don't want any rockets firing at Earth. Even if we fire them at unpopulated areas, it gives me the willies. Also: We lost ten percent of our shuttles during Operating Exodus, which used artillery cover. That's too high for me. Also, warships are more vulnerable than ICBM silos. If the Exodus Fleet hangs around, firing missiles, the aliens will be on them like syrup on pancakes." She turned toward a group of elderly professors. "What about the Talaria cannons? How is that project coming along?"

The professors shifted uncomfortably. Rowan knew they disliked the project. She had come up with the concept, had been pushing it hard. She would have built the damn contraption herself, but she didn't have the necessary physics. She was a good inventor, a good programmer, and a decent mechanic—but not much of an engineer.

Professor Eberhardt crossed his arms. "It'll never work. We wasted valuable resources building your ridiculous Talaria cannon. A waste of time! A waste of azoth crystals."

Rowan glared at the man. "Those azoth crystals came from fallen starships. They were never wasted. We've been over the math." She pointed at her board. "We place the azoth crystals into cannons on Earth. We bend spacetime. And—"

"And crack open the planet," said Eberhardt. "Damn it, Emery, there's a reason why starfighter pilots are trained to never use azoth drives near Earth. If you bend spacetime near a gravitational well, you also bend everything near you. Including the planet!"

"Not with my cannon design." Rowan pointed at her board, where she had drawn blueprints of the Talaria cannons. "We can concentrate the warp of spacetime. Normally, pilots bend spacetime into a bubble around their starship. But we can bend spacetime in a beam. We fire the beams upward toward space. And we form a tunnel. A tunnel between outer space and Earth's surface."

For the past three weeks, Rowan had insisted on building the project. She had commandeered three artillery emplacements, converting the artillery cannons into Talaria cannons—azoth beam generators. Of course, they had never actually tried using them. It was all theoretical. Rowan thought she understood the math, but …

What if Eberhardt is right? She thought. What if I drill a hole through Earth?

"Rowan." Eberhardt's voice softened. "I know you mean well. I know you're intelligent. I know you care about Earth. But I'm telling you. This is too dangerous. If this backfires, we could cause an earthquake large enough to devastate the colony. Maybe even the entire continent. Every tunnel will cave in. We'd kill hundreds of thousands of people. I'm sorry, Rowan. It's too risky."

Rowan's eyes stung. She took a deep breath.

"But can it work?" she said. "You've seen the math. You've run the numbers. Is there a chance?"

The professor pursed his lips, then finally nodded. "Yes. But a small chance. Too small."

Rowan turned toward the board. She stared at her designs. At the mathematical formulas. At a chance to save Earth—or destroy it.

Another explosion sounded above. The board trembled. Aboveground, more soldiers were dying. The war was everywhere now, spreading across the continent, across the entire globe. Here at Port Addison and at every other colony—humans were dying. Thousands of them.

Rowan spoke in a low voice, her back to the crowd.

"Word came in yesterday." Her voice shook. "The basilisks are not only attacking Earth. They're mounting attacks on humans in space too. There are still five hundred million humans out there. Refugees who need to come home. If we can't bring weapons to our army—we're dead. All of us. Half a million humans here on Earth, and the millions still out there." She took a deep, shaky breath. "I've listened to everyone. And I've decided." She turned back toward them. "We need a permanent solution. Not just a way to bring this shipment of refugees and weapons over—but many shipments for months ahead. The Talaria cannons give us our best chance. So we will take this risk."

Eberhardt's face flushed. "And if we destroy Earth?"

"Then we die sooner rather than later," Rowan said. "Either way, if it fails—we're dead. So it will work. Because it has to work."

That night, Rowan and her team stepped into the cannon battery.

Their gear was set up. Normally, such a project could take months, even years. Yet within three weeks, under constant assault, Antikythera had built this installation in the heart of Port Addison. The cannon rose through an underground silo, as tall as an oak, into the night sky. Gears, winches, and levers rose across it, recycled from crashed starships and shuttles. Computers filled the room, their cables running toward the cannon.

In other locations in Port Addison, two more cannons were similarly modified. The three would triangulate, forming a single corridor of warped space.

Rowan grabbed rungs screwed into the cannon's bore. She climbed to the top, then peered into the muzzle.

Calibrators and lenses filled the bore, running all the way down. At the bottom, arranged into a ring, the azoth crystals shone.

Crystals that could refract spacetime itself. Rowan gulped. That could crack Earth like an egg.

She suddenly felt dizzy and nearly fell into the cannon.

She climbed back down with shaky hands. At the bottom, her team took position at their computer stations. Rowan turned on her minicom, then plugged it into a cable.

"Exodus Fleet, do you read me?" she said.

Her minicom connected to the ansible under Port Addison—via cable, protecting it from eavesdroppers over the airways. The second ansible was aboard the Byzantium, serving the Exodus Fleet.

She was expecting the voice of Mary Sage—once the captain of the HSS Porter, today the commander of the entire Exodus Fleet. But a different, younger voice answered.

"We read ya, hobbit! How's it going?"

Tears leaped into Rowan's eyes. "Pancake!"

"It's me!" Bay said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "All snug and cozy with the Exodus Fleet. The Porter's got a bunch of refugees anxious to see Earth. And Luther and I, well—we come bearing gifts."

Rowan's tears flowed. "Muck, I love you, Pancake. We're gonna try something new to get you guys home, all right? No more artillery fire. I'm going to open a sort of wormhole for you. This gets technical, so you'll want to grab a pen."

She began explaining how the Talaria cannon worked. Once she fired it up, it should—in theory—form a tunnel of warped spacetime. The wormhole would stretch between Earth's sky and Pluto's orbit, where the Exodus Fleet awaited.

If all went well, the fleet would be able to send shuttles through the tunnel—and be inside Earth's atmosphere within minutes.

"Uhm, babe?" Bay said. "It sounds great, but … what if the basilisks blast the tunnel apart?"

"They can't," she said. "The wormhole will exist in another plane of reality. You'd have to be inside the tunnel to destroy it. It's like communicating with ansibles, completely secure. Trust me."

"Famous last words," Bay muttered. He sighed. "All right, fine! I've followed your crazy schemes so far. No point in quitting now. We'll begin loading up our shuttles. We'll need a few trips. We've got a lot of weapons to deliver. We'll have the first batch ready in a few minutes."

"Love you, Bay. Can't wait to see you and squeeze you and kiss you."

"Love you too, my little hobbit. Can't wait."

She heard Luther speaking in the background. "Aww, you two little lovebirds melt an old man's heart."

Rowan grinned. "Can't wait to see you too, Big Blue. Now let's rock and roll."

Gunfire sounded nearby. Aliens screeched. A fresh battle was raging aboveground. Trying to ignore the sounds, Rowan ran last-minute calculations, then nodded. She was ready.

"Let's take her up!" she said.

She turned a winch. The cannon began to rise, meter by meter. Below, her team was working on their computers, calibrating the crystals. Within a few minutes, the cannon was aboveground.

Rowan stood at its base, standing unprotected in the night. The ruins of Port Addison spread around her, a field of fallen buildings and shattered walls. Scattered fires burned, and battles still raged on the colony's borders. Soldiers were firing from inside trenches, pounding an advancing line of basilisks. An armored troop carrier rumbled forth, shaking the Earth, and plowed into a line of the serpents. In the northern quarter, Rowan could make out a group of Esporians. The foul mushrooms were casting their spores into a trench. Soldiers rose from below, wearing gas masks and wielding flamethrowers, and the Esporians screeched as they burned.

These battles rage across the continent, Rowan thought. Many colonies are already gone. But I can still save our home.

She began typing on the cannon's control panel. But not before loosening Lullaby in its holster.

The cannon was calibrated. Rowan took a deep breath and lifted her minicom.

"Pancake, you ready?"

Bay's voice came all the way from Pluto. "Ready to rock."

Rowan took a deep breath. "Giddy up."

She flipped a switch.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Rowan frowned. Had she missed a number? Was the cannon faulty? Or—

There!

A digit moved on her monitor. Just a single 0 turning into a 1. But it was the most exciting thing Rowan had ever seen. She bit her lip, watching with bated breath.

Another digit changed.

The cannon began to thrum. A lavender glow gathered around the muzzle. Rowan bit her lip and wrung her hands.

Come on, come on …

A purple beam blasted out from the cannon, soaring skyward. Rowan gasped and stumbled back a pace.

"Holy shit," she whispered.

The beam crackled and buzzed, splitting the sky.

From two other silos across the city, two more beams emerged.

The three pillars met a kilometer above the city, forming a glowing sphere. From the tip of the triangle, a central beam blasted upward, reaching toward the stars.

Around the three lower beams—the triangular foundation of the wormhole—reality was morphing. Starlight streaked toward the central pillar. Clouds were sucked up, then thrust upward. The light bent, distorting Rowan's perception of the ruins. Across the ground, pebbles thrummed, and a boulder cracked. Earth was shaking.

I'm bending spacetime, the very fabric of the universe, she thought. Oh God. Oh God above, what have I done?

"Bay!" she cried into her comm.

"I see the portal!" he replied. "We're flying the first shuttle through! This one has refugees. Weapons later."

Rowan stood, waiting, chewing her lip. She gazed up at the glowing sphere in the sky, the intersection of the three beams.

Come on …

And from the sphere, it emerged.

A shuttle.

Rowan leaped and yipped in triumph.

"It worked! It worked!" She danced a jig. "Bay, it worked!"

The shuttle descended and landed amid the ruins. The hatch opened, and refugees emerged. They fell to their knees on the soil of Earth, laughing and weeping. It was their first time home. Soldiers raced toward them, wrapped them in cloaks, and guided them into the tunnels.

Within hours, Rowan knew, they would be fed, clothed—and ready to fight.

Another shuttle flew through the wormhole.

A third.

A fourth.

From each emerged fifty refugees. They were hungry, some starving. Many wore only rags. Many were wounded. They all had tales of trauma, Rowan knew. They had all lost loved ones. They had all survived the cruelty of space—the scorpion gulocks, the basilisk assaults, the generations of trauma. And Rowan had brought them here for more conflict, for more pain and loss.

But this was their home. And every refugee who stepped onto Earth laughed or wept with joy.

The fifth shuttle carried weapons.

Rowan ran over, calling for a squad of infantrymen. The soldiers arranged themselves in a defensive ring around the shuttle, guns pointing outward. Other soldiers—these members of the logistics corps—began pulling crates out of the shuttle. They cracked open one crate, revealing piles of rifles. Another crate held bullets. A third crate contained artillery shells. Dozens of crates filled the shuttle.

"Christmas came early," Rowan said, patting a crate.

Then another shuttle arrived through the portal, carrying more crates of weapons and ammunition.

"Row, you there?" Bay's voice emerged through the minicom. "We're running low on shuttles. Can you start sending back the empties?"

"Will do," she said. "Thanks for the goodies. Better than flowers and chocolates. Guns, bullets, and bombs! You sure know how to woo a lady."

"You deserve it, babe."

The empty shuttles rose. More shuttles descended, ferrying refugees and weapons. For several hours, they worked, bringing in more refugees and weapons. By dawn, they had smuggled only a small portion down to Earth. But hope filled Rowan.

I did it, she thought. We did it. We bypassed the blockade. We built hope.

She was walking back to her cannon, ready to check the calibration, when the basilisks swarmed.

There were a dozen at least. They came scurrying across the ruins, heading toward the Talaria cannons.

"Basilisks!" Rowan shouted, knelt, and fired her gun.

Lullaby's recoil pressed hard against her arms, hurling bullets at the aliens. One basilisk fell. The others raced toward the cannon.

"Soldiers!" Rowan cried, firing. "Protect the cannon!"

One basilisk reached the cannon controls. Rowan ran, leaped, and slammed herself into the beast.

They hit the ground and tumbled over the edge of the silo. Rowan grabbed the rim, screaming. The serpent fell into the pit, and the technicians below cried out. More basilisks lunged, wrapping around the cannon's bore.

Gripping the silo's edge with one hand, Rowan fired with the other. She hit the basilisk below, but her bullets skipped and shattered a monitor. The basilisk reared in the pit, tearing into technicians, ripping flesh. Rowan fired three more bullets, finally hitting the alien in the face, shattering its jaws and eyes. It slumped down dead, burying a dead soldier.

Rowan leaped back into the ruins. Three basilisks were wrapping around the cannon, tugging it down. Soldiers were firing on them from all sides, cracking through scales. Rowan stumbled forward, bleeding, gasping for air. A basilisk slithered toward her, and Rowan fell to her stomach, aimed, and took out its eye. The alien thumped down dead, centimeters away from her.

Rowan flipped onto her back and gazed upward.

The cannon was still working, but the basilisks had tilted it. The purple beam was crooked. The wormhole's foundations were no longer triangulated. A shuttle was streaming down the tunnel, wobbling, madly careening toward the portal, and—

A basilisk grabbed the winch and spun the beam aside.

The corridor of spacetime shattered like a broken limb.

A kilometer above, the shuttle exploded.

It was an ammunition shuttle. Shells. Bullets. Grenades. They were all bursting above.

The explosion was deafening. Shock waves slammed into soldiers and aliens below. The night sky lit up, as bright as noon.

Two more shuttles came diving down and crashed into the explosion.

These were shuttles full of refugees, and Rowan watched, tears in her eyes, as fire and death spread across the sky.

"Stop all shuttles," she whispered into her minicom. "Bay. Bay, stop sending them." Her voice trembled. "Stop. Please."

More explosions boomed above. Thousands of weapons were lighting the sky. Chunks of metal hailed down. With them rained body parts. Blood. Human remains.

And the spacetime beams were still firing.

The Talaria cannons were thrumming. The earth was shaking. Cracks raced across the ground. Pebbles and stones began to levitate, to swirl around the beams.

And Rowan realized with horror: We're bending spacetime wrong. We're bending the ground.

"Shut them down!" she shouted, racing to the control panel. "Shut the beams! Shut them all down! Shut them d—"

The ground below her feet trembled and cracked. The purple light of azoth filled the cracks, bending the ground, bending reality.

Rowan leaped over a crevice, grabbed the control panel, and shut down her beam. A kilometer away, the second beam shut down. The third still rose, and Rowan saw basilisks attacking it in the distance, and—

An earthquake shook the ruins.

A massive sinkhole tore open, a hundred meters wide.

Boulders and soil rained into bunkers below—crushing refugees.

The third beam finally shut down. And Rowan wept. Because she had heard the screams—briefly, so briefly. Then silence.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

For a moment—Rowan could only lie on the ground, tears in her eyes.

Then she tightened her lips, rose to her feet, and ran.

She worked for hours, helping dig out the rubble, helping find survivors. But mostly bodies. The cave in had killed tens of people. Maybe over a hundred. A hundred more had died in the shuttle explosions.

As she worked, Rowan couldn't stop feeling it. The eyes staring at her. Judging her.

It's my fault. She kept digging, pulling out stones, seeking survivors in the rubble. I'm so sorry.

She toiled all day, refused to stop working until Emet himself arrived and pulled her away. The president held her arm, silent, face expressionless. He guided her to his own bunker, and Rowan stood before him, head lowered, tears on her cheeks.

For a long moment, Emet stared at her in silence.

Rowan's tears fell around her feet.

Finally she could bear the silence no longer. She blurted out, "Sir, I take full responsibility for what happened." She raised her chin and stared into his eyes, even as tears flowed down her cheeks. "It was my fault. My scientists warned me this could happen. That we needed more time to test the technology. But I thought I knew better. That I, a twenty-year-old girl, was wiser than they are. I insisted we launch Project Talaria too soon. And now two hundred people are dead." She let out a sob. "And it's my fault. Sir, I resign my position. Please strip me of my commission. I don't deserve to be an officer. I can fight in the trenches as a private. Or if you sentence me to the brig, I deserve it. I—"

"Rowan."

Emet's voice was soft and low.

She rubbed tears from her eyes. "Sir?"

The orphans who shared his bunker were in the mess hall now, eating with the other children. Emet stared at their empty beds, at the homemade teddy bears and building blocks. He spoke softly as if lost in memory.

"These children who share my bunker … I killed their parents."

Rowan gasped. She remained silent, not sure what to say.

Emet continued. "It was during the Battle of Helios. Just after Jade captured you. I was mad with fear and fury. So I launched an assault on an imperial dreadnought. I led a platoon on a suicide mission, maybe wanting to die myself. I felt hopeless. I thought we would die in glory. The mission succeeded. We commandeered the dreadnought, and we used it to destroy many scorpion warships. Yes, a military success. But one with little strategic importance. The scorpion empire barely noticed the losses. But our losses …" Emet exhaled slowly. "I lost most of my platoon that day. I nearly lost my life. I survived, but my soldiers never came home. I could have avoided the mission. We needed our soldiers more than the scorpions needed theirs. I made a mistake. And it cost the lives of forty soldiers. Men and women who had families. Who left children behind. I remember the fallen, every one. Their names and faces are carved into my memory. And every day, I feel the weight of their loss."

Rowan lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry, sir."

"I've been fighting for nearly half a century now, Rowan," Emet said. "For decades, I've been leading humanity. And I've led many young men and women to death. Countless thousands. Some lives were worthy sacrifices that helped our goal. But some deaths could have been avoided. Were mistakes. Miscalculations. Deaths because of my pride, arrogance, or short-sightedness. And every one is a scar inside me."

"You don't have to tell me this, sir," Rowan whispered.

He looked into her eyes. "I do, Rowan. Because you are a leader now. And you will be a leader for many years. Maybe after I'm gone, you—or Leona, or Tom, or somebody else—will even lead Earth. And people will die on your watch. This is something you must learn to accept, to understand."

Rowan blinked tears out of her eyes. "So you won't demote me, sir? You won't court-martial me for manslaughter?"

"I'm going to give you a list, Rowan. The names of the people who died. Their photographs. You don't have to read the names. You don't have to look at the faces. But you will keep the list. And that is far worse punishment than a demotion or the brig."

Fresh tears flowed. Rowan nodded. "Yes, sir."

"I don't do this because I'm cruel, Rowan," Emet said. "But because I want you to learn the value of life. To learn caution. I want you to become a better leader than I am."

"Sir, I can never do what you do. You brought humanity home. You led us through the darkness. We followed your pillar of fire through the night, and you took us to the holy land. Who am I? Nobody but the girl from the ducts. Nobody but a broken woman."

"Steel is hardened in fire," Emet said. "Right now, you are going through the fire. Yes, you are breaking. So that you can be reforged, stronger than before. You are more than the girl from the ducts. You are the officer who defeated Sin Kra. You are the leader who heads Antikythera Institute. You are a woman I am proud of. A woman I love as a fellow warrior. And as a daughter."

Now a great sob escaped Rowan, and she embraced him. "I love you too, Emet. I barely remember my father. But you're like a father to me."

He held her in his wide arms, his callused hands on her back, and her tears wet his beard of silver and gold.

"Rowan, I want you to continue the Talaria Project."

She gasped and stepped back. "Sir! Even after what happened?"

"What you did, Rowan, was careless, and it resulted in two hundred deaths. But it was also brilliant. You invented something new. You did something that has never been done. Something that can become our most valuable asset. Going forward, you will do it right. You will move the Talaria cannons outside the city, where they cannot damage our tunnels. You will build high walls around them, and defend them with gun turrets, preventing any further sabotage from basilisks. You will wait until the system is ready and secure. And then, Rowan … the Talaria Project will win us this war."

She returned to her bunker. She curled up in her bed, which she used to share with Bay. He was still up in space, far away at Pluto, and Rowan felt very alone and afraid.

On her minicom was the list. The names and photos of the died. Those who had left families behind. And every name was a weight on her shoulders. Every photo was a scar on her soul. Rowan did not know how she would bear it, how she could live after so many had died.

She pulled out her minicom. But instead of looking at the list, she called Bay.

This time, she initiated a video call. And as soon as his face appeared on the monitor, Rowan couldn't help it. She burst into tears. Not just silent tears like at Emet's bunker, but ugly weeping. Her entire body shook.

"I wish you were here, Bay," she said between sobs. "But you're stuck out there in space. Because of me. I wish you could hold me."

"I wish I could too," Bay said. "I'm billions of kilometers away. And I can't hold you. But I'm here with you, and I love you."

"Bay," she whispered, "am I a bad person?"

"Rowan, you are the kindest person I know. You have a good heart. I knew that from the moment I met you."

She smiled softly and wiped away her tears. "Can you believe it's been five years? Five years since that day you came to Paradise Lost, since we met in the ducts … How things have changed. How we've changed."

"But we're still the same old geeks at heart," Bay said. "Remember our first date? Watching The Lord of the Rings in the ducts?"

She gave a weak laugh. "That was a date?"

He nodded. "Damn straight. What say you? Another round of Lord of the Rings? For old time's sake? We can just watch half an hour together—me on my minicom, you on yours—before bed."

"More than half an hour," Rowan said.

He nodded. "As much as you'd like."

They streamed the movie together, and talked while watching, and Rowan almost felt like he was here with her. And she knew that she had to bring him home. That she had to bring everyone home. That she had killed hundreds, so she would have to save millions.

At dawn, she got to work.

She moved out of the city. And she dug new silos. And she fought the war. And she kept the list in her pocket, knowing that every name would forever be with her. A weight of death. But also a sacred promise to fight for life.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"Come, Ram. Poker game. Now! I'm going to kick your ass."

Mairead grabbed him and began pulling him down the tunnel.

"Hey, Firebug, lay off!" The Pharaoh squirmed, trying to free himself. "I was in the middle of cleaning my rifle."

She sneered, tightened her grip, and kept pulling him. "What are you, a cleaning lady? Let's play poker, man! Come on. Or are you chicken?"

As she mocked him, there was something hard in her throat. Something tight in her chest. Something that stung her eyes.

Shadows stirred in the tunnel above.

Wings creaked.

Mairead gritted her teeth, banishing the visions, and tightened her grip on Ramses's hand. She kept pulling him down the hall.

They entered her bunker, which she shared with Rowan and a few other officers. The others were away now, fighting the war. But Mairead needed an hour off. Just an hour, damn it! Just an hour away from fighting. Away from killing. Away from monsters in the shadows, and her face on hybrid bats, and a decaying city where her daughters—

Enough. Mairead shoved clothes and guns off the table.

"Deal," she said to Ramses. "Sit down and deal!"

She slapped a deck of cards onto the tabletop.

Ramses sat. He looked at her for a moment in silence. Then he spoke softly.

"There are only two of us here, Mairead."

"So?" She snickered. "What are you, a wuss? Too scared to play me alone? Come on! Deal!"

Ramses looked at her, sadness in his eyes. She stared back, chin raised. He dealt the cards. They played a hand.

"Boom!" Mairead said. "Muck yeah! Beat your ass. Again!"

She dealt this time. She won again.

"Hell yeah!" She lit a cigar. "Kicking your ass all over town. Go on, deal, buddy." She shoved the cards at him.

"Mairead—" he began.

"What, wanna whine about how you're losing?" She forced a laugh, tried to stop the tears. "Come on, another hand. Hey, where's the grog anyway?"

"Mairead." Ramses stepped around the table, reached out to her. "How about we sit down. We can talk. We—"

"Wuss!" She laughed. "Hey, come on! Have a cigar. Cheer up, buddy. It's a poker game. You know, like in the old days!" She forced herself to grin, to ignore the tears on her cheeks. "Like we all used to play together. Before the others died. Hey, remember that poster we had over the old table? Of New York City? Damn, those were good days, right? But hey, enough reminiscing. I have a game to win. I'm kicking you all over town, and …"

She realized tears were flowing into her mouth now. Ramses reached out to dry them. She tried to push him away, but she ended up in his arms. He embraced her, and she wept against his shoulder as he stroked her hair.

"It's all right, Mairead," he said softly. "I'm here for you."

She sniffed, ashamed of her tears. She held him close.

"None of this is all right," she said. "Not this war. Not all the shit that happened. Not the things I saw in New York. I want to tell you about them. But I can't. I never will. I can never tell anyone. And I'm scared, Ramses. I feel so alone and so scared all the time."

He stroked back strands of her hair and kissed her forehead. "I am too."

She looked at him through her tears. "You? The handsome, heroic Pharaoh? You're a legend, man. A war hero. How can you be scared?"

"I'm scared every battle," he said softly, gazing at some distant vision. "Every day. Not of dying. I lost my fear of death long ago. But of losing this war. Of losing Earth. Of losing those I love." He looked into her eyes.

Mairead looked back, and her trembling eased. Ramses was a handsome man—his cheekbones high, his skin dusky and smooth, and his elegant beard tapered to a point, scented with aromatic oils. Here was the hero, the famous pilot who had fought so many battles. But to Mairead, he was something more. He was a friend. A pillar of strength. A man she realized she loved. A man she had loved for years.

She kissed him, softly on the lips, then more deeply, passionately.

They kissed for a long time. Then Mairead paused, took a step back, and undressed. She faced him, naked, vulnerable. All her life, Mairead had worn armor, literally and figuratively. Here, with him, she was bare.

"Make love to me," she said. "Because I love you, Ramses. I've loved you for a long time."

He caressed her cheek. "Are you sure you want this? That it's not just the fear of death?"

"I don't fear death either," she whispered. "Just to lose those I love."

She pulled off his clothes, and she took him into her bed, and they made love. She had expected it to hurt. But it felt … ethereal. She floated above her body, watching them move together, seeing her back arch, his lithe body move above her.

I'm a ghost, she thought. This is ghost love. I float and nothing can hurt me.

She felt like a ghost since coming back from New York. Disembodied. Watching from above but trapped. Unable to escape the flesh. Trying to rise like a tethered bat.

"I died in New York," she whispered to him afterward, lying in his arms.

"You're here, Mairead." Ramses held her so tightly. "You're here with me. And I won't let anyone hurt you again."

"You're a poor liar. But right now, I'm happy with you. Right now, in your arms, I feel safe. In an hour, we'll fight again. We'll watch friends die. And I'll act all brave and strong. I'll curse and laugh and smoke cigars. But I'll be so scared. Until then, just hold me. Make me feel safe and loved."

"You are safe," he whispered and stroked her hair. "You are loved."

Mairead closed her eyes, nuzzling his neck. "I was a virgin, Ramses. You're the first man who made love to me. The first man I loved. I want this war to end. I want to be happy with you."

He brushed back her hair, and he looked into her eyes. "Mairead, if I have to burn the whole galaxy down, I'm going to win this war. For Earth. And for you."

She kissed him. "We're going to win it together."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Rowan was flying toward Santa de la Rosa, the most remote human colony on Earth, when she saw the mushroom cloud.

She was still a hundred kilometers away. But the light blinded her. She was flying a heavy armored transporter, a floating tank. It shook like leaf in a storm, nearly yanking the yoke from her hand.

"Bloody hell," Rowan whispered, staring at the mushroom cloud rising ahead.

Ten soldiers shared the transporter with her. They crowded behind her, staring through the windshield, the light painting their faces. They were carrying a new ansible, created in Antikythera's labs, to the distant colony.

But that colony was now gone.

"There were a thousand people in Santa de la Rosa," Rowan whispered. "A thousand lives—wiped out."

Her eyes dampened, and her fists trembled around the yoke.

Thanks to her Talaria cannons, more refugees kept arriving on Earth. Nearly a million humans lived on Earth by now, and they had been spreading across the continent. Santa de la Rosa had been an oddity, isolated from the other colonies, a town on the west coast. There were no wild basilisks there—a perfect place to build a grand city, a jewel of Earth.

No basilisks on the ground, perhaps. But basilisk warships still orbited Earth.

And now a thousand lives—gone.

"They nuked it from orbit!" said a sergeant, teeth bared. "The bastards nuked the entire town from orbit. There were no military bases there. No strategic importance. Those damn cowards! I'm going to kill them. I'm going to kill every last—"

"Soldier, control your emotions!" Rowan said. She increased speed, flying the transporter toward the mushroom cloud. "Our task is no longer to deliver an ansible. It's to search for survivors."

She flew closer, streaming near the speed of sound across the wilderness.

"You're crazy, Major!" said the sergeant. "With all due respect, ma'am! Flying into a nuclear blast? We'll be toast! The radiation will fry us, give us cancer in the balls! We—"

"Soldier!" Rowan snapped. "We're flying a T-class heavy armored transporter, built to move troops through the darkness of space. There's more radiation up there than here. Your balls are safe inside this vessel. There might be survivors down there. We have to look."

They reached ground zero. Rowan circled the mushroom cloud, searching for any sign of life.

There was none.

The jewel of the west. A precious colony, named after Lailani de la Rosa, a heroine from ancient Earth. It was gone. Nothing but ashes remained.

"There aren't even any skeletons to bury," Rowan whispered. "A thousand lives. Civilians. Woman and children. Families. Gone."

"We gotta get outta here, man!" said the sergeant. "The bastards might hit us with a second nuke!"

But Rowan wasn't worried about a second nuke hitting this pile of ash.

She was worried about Port Addison. About a dozen other colonies. About a million humans trapped in a war whose rules just changed.

She tightened her lips, spun the transporter around, and flew east.

A few hours later, she was back in Port Addison.

For the past six weeks, since Xerka had destroyed humanity's fleet, the Human Defense Force had operated on red alert—the second highest emergency state. Today, for the first time, Emet declared a state of white alert. A state Rowan had hoped would never be used.

White alert.

Eminent extermination.

In the bunkers below Port Addison, the high command gathered.

Emet stood at the head of a table covered with maps. His generals and closest companions stood with him. Tom, tall and stern, a silver beard adorning his bronze face. Ramses, his eyes hard, his mouth a straight line. Cindy, her shoulders squared, her head raised despite the terror. A dozen other generals and leaders.

Rowan stood here with them, the youngest in the room. She felt very alone and very afraid. More than ever, she missed Bay. But he was still in space, gunrunning with Luther.

When you arrive with your next shipment, Bay, will there be an Earth waiting for you?

Everyone stared at Emet, silent. Waiting. He placed his hands on the tabletop, leaned forward, and stared back. Finally the president spoke, and his voice was low, carefully controlled, evincing no fear.

"It is six weeks since the Galactic Council voted to grant Earth to the basilisks. Six weeks since Xerka launched her assault, destroying our fleet, and plunging us into a brutal war for survival. Xerka expected to wipe us out within days. That I don't doubt. The force of our resistance surprised her. At first, we suffered heavy losses. Eight hundred warships, the bulk of our fleet—gone within the first day. Ten thousand refugees from aboard the Porter—slain that same week. Our colonies aboveground—reduced to rubble in her campaign of shock and awe. Yet from that fire, we rose stronger! We fought back! Our brave Exodus Fleet continued to bring refugees home. Operation Bootstrap brought us many more weapons. Our fireships ravaged the enemy fleet, destroying hundreds of Rattlers. On the ground, our scientists developed new technologies, and our brave infantry fights the invaders for every centimeter of ground. We proved our might!" Emet's eyes darkened. "So Xerka escalated the conflict. With a nuclear blast earlier today, she destroyed Santa de la Rosa, slaying a thousand civilians. A thousand lives whose only sin was being human."

Silence fell across the room. They all lowered their heads, remembering the dead.

Suddenly, in the silence, Ramses slammed his fist against the tabletop. It was so sudden that Rowan jumped.

"I say we nuke her back!" Ramses said. "We build more fireships. This time we send them to her own homeworld!"

But Emet shook his head. "We barely have any ships left. All the ships we do have—they must continue smuggling refugees and weapons down to Earth."

"We must do something!" Ramses said. "We can't let this slide."

"We won't. There's a reason why Xerka nuked only Santa de la Rosa. That colony was unique. There were no basilisks there. But here, Port Addison? This land is swarming with them. All our other colonies, across the continent, are also among feral basilisk communities. Xerka can't nuke us again. Not without killing her own people. Oh, she can bomb us with conventional weapons. Her basilisks have tunnels, same as we do. But nukes that can destroy tunnels, that would bathe the land with radiation? No. So long as basilisks are here, we're safe."

"So what's to prevent the basilisks from leaving?" Ramses said. "Xerka can give the order, evacuate Ontario of basilisks. Then it's nuke time."

"We'll make sure the basilisks stay. We'll trap them." Emet pointed at a map that covered one wall. "This is a map of our land, the valley containing Port Addison and several smaller communities. Thousands, probably millions of basilisks share this land with us—not just soldiers but feral snakes too. We'll keep them here." He pointed. "See this gap between the mountains? We'll flood it. This river? We'll block it. These plains? We'll patrol them from the air. If Xerka is blockading Earth, we'll blockade this valley and keep her snakes trapped."

Ramses frowned at the map. "What if they dig their way out?"

"Basilisks can't dig any faster than humans," Emet said. "They could dig their way out eventually, yes. But slowly. It would take them months to evacuate their entire community. If they try it, we'll find out. Rowan will invent a sonar machine to detect tunnels. And we'll destroy any snake tunnel they build."

The generals in the room were nodding. They already began to discuss plans to blockade the land. Ramses and Tom talked about blowing up a mountainside, causing an avalanche to spill across a valley.

Rowan took a deep breath. She stepped closer to Emet, and she spoke for the first time.

"Sirs! Isn't this … immoral?"

The men all paused. They turned toward her.

Rowan was young enough to be their daughter—even granddaughter, in Emet's case—far smaller and weaker. But she stared back steadily.

"What do you mean, Rowan?" Emet said.

"I mean, this sounds an awful lot like using a human shield," she said. "I mean, well—a snake shield. But still! It's unethical. We're talking about civilian basilisks here."

Ramses glared at her. "If you recall, Rowan, these so-called civilians spent two years attacking Port Addison. They're not innocent. They're killers. Animals! Every last one of them."

Rowan placed her hands on her hips. "Isn't that what they say about us?"

Ramses inhaled sharply. "That's not the same and you know it, Emery!"

"I don't know anything of the sort!" Rowan said. "Listen to me, Pharaoh. Emet. Tom. All of you! If we stoop to their level, what we have accomplished?"

"Survival!" Ramses said.

Rowan shook her head. "That would not be survival. To me, survival is not just staying alive. It's staying human."

Ramses stared at her, eyes cold. "I understand, Emery. You made a mistake with the Talaria cannons. People died. And now you're trying to atone for that, to prove your morality, even if it means more deaths, and—"

"Enough!" Emet roared, his voice so loud everyone jumped. "Ramses, you go too far. Rowan's Talaria cannons are bringing us new soldiers and new weapons every day. Without Rowan, without her ingenuity, we wouldn't survive at all." Emet turned to stare into Rowan's eyes. "And we're all grateful."

Ramses lowered his head. "Of course. I spoke in anger." He knelt before Rowan. "I'm sorry, Rowan. I didn't mean what I said. I'm angry. And … scared. And I misspoke."

Rowan placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know, Ramses," she said. "I understand. I misspoke too. I shouldn't have passed judgment on you or your intentions." She looked at the rest of them. "I'm sorry, everyone. I acted like a brat."

Ramses straightened. "All right, everyone. Do we want a group hug, or do we make a decision?"

They all turned to look at Emet. They knew the choice was his.

And Emet made his choice.

"We'll proceed with Operation Snaketrap. We'll trap the civilian basilisks in the valley. Rowan, I know you object. That has been noted. But we'll proceed with the plan nonetheless." He stared into her eyes. "Is that going to be a problem?"

Rowan took a sharp breath, tightened her lips, and finally shook her head. "No. I won't cause problems. I don't agree with the plan, sir. But I will respect it. I will follow your orders. So long as we avoid civilian casualties."

"With this plan, we will," Emet said. "But we must do more! Operation Snaketrap isn't enough. Even with basilisks in the valley, we cannot predict the depths of Xerka's cruelty. It's possible she will nuke Port Addison nonetheless, willing to sacrifice a million basilisks in order to kill humans. We cannot keep placing all our eggs in one basket. We must expand outward. Operation Exodus is still bringing us new refugees every week. We must settle them far from here. In Europe. Africa. Asia. In every corner of the globe. Everywhere that basilisks live, we must live too. If one location is nuked, the other colonies can continue the fight."

More basilisk shields, Rowan thought.

But perhaps Emet was right. Rowan didn't like it. In fact, it made her queasy. Yet the survival of the human race depended on it.

She thought back to Emet's words following the Talaria tragedy. He had told her that leaders must sometimes kill for the greater good. Perhaps that was the curse of being a leader.

And I'm a leader now, Rowan thought. In times of war, all leaders have bloody hands. And I don't know if I can ever wash mine clean. She took a deep breath. So be it. I will bloody my hands so that others, some generation from now, may live a purer life than mine.

She looked at the generals.

"So far, we've only been talking about defense," Rowan said. "But I propose that we do more. We cannot let the attack on Santa de la Rosa go unpunished. We must retaliate. With something new. Something devastating. Something that will hurt Xerka—badly."

Ramses raised an eyebrow. "We have no more fireships, remember?"

"I don't need fireships," Rowan said. "I just need one ship."

She turned around to face Mairead.

The young pilot stood in the corner, cloaked in shadows. Officers in the room gasped. Some had not even noticed Mairead until now.

The Firebug had always been the loudest, brashest soldier in the corps. A wunderkind, she had been flying Firebirds in battle at thirteen. Within a decade, she had risen to command the Firebird Fleet, becoming the youngest Inheritor to reach the rank of commodore. She was now a lieutenant colonel in the Human Defense Force, only in her twenties but already a senior officer. She could normally be found smoking and grogging at the poker table, getting into fistfights with fellow officers, and making a whole lot of noise—belching, cursing, singing, bragging. Her personality had always been like her hair: fiery and untamed.

Yet Mairead had spent this meeting in the shadows. Silent. Hiding that hair within a hood.

Rowan looked at the older woman.

What horrors did you see in the ruins of New York? she thought.

"Mairead." Rowan stepped closer. She took her friend's hand, then gasped. Mairead's hand was ice cold.

"Rowan," Mairead whispered.

We are very much the same, Mairead, Rowan thought. We both became soldiers at such a young age. We both rose too fast in the ranks. We both saw too much.

"That Copperhead you brought back from New York," Rowan said. "Do you think I can have a look at it?"

Mairead nodded. "Yes. Take it." Her eyes dampened. "I never want to see it again."

"What is your plan, Rowan?" Emet said.

Rowan turned toward him. "Every Copperhead must have a computer system. I'm going to hack into this one. And if I'm successful …" She smiled. "You're going to see some serious shit."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"All right, Fill, we've got a new project to start."

Rowan stood in the underground hangar, speaking into her minicom. She faced the charred, dented Copperhead. This was the machine Mairead had commandeered and flown here from New York. Mairead's blood had been cleaned from the fuselage, but Rowan still shuddered to think of how her friend had nearly died in here.

"Oi, Row, how many projects you got ongoing already?" Fillister said, speaking through the minicom's speaker.

She sighed. "Yes, yes, quite a few. I'm still refining the Talaria Project, working on a new algorithm to calibrate the azoth tunnel. And I've been working on the Babel Project to increase the reliability of our communication network. Oh, and of course, there's the Elysium Project, my attempt to learn the secrets of weaving. I'm already two books into the Weaver Writs! And of course, I've been helping out with Operation Rapid Expansion, to move more colonists to other areas, and Operation Snaketrap, to prevent the basilisks from fleeing the land, and—"

"Row!" Fillister said. "A lot of projects. I get it. And you want to start another one?"

She nodded. "I do! Multitasking, baby. But this is a real exciting one! I call it: Operation Troy." She grinned. "We get to play around with our very own basilisk starfighter. A real Copperhead, one of the newer models too! How awesome is that?"

The minicom shuddered—it actually shuddered in her hands.

"I hope you're not thinking of installing me into it," Fillister said.

"I wish I could," Rowan said. "But its operating system is so alien you'd never work there." She snickered. "How would human code work on an alien computer? This isn't some Hollywood movie."

"Well, what about installing me into a proper body?" Fillister said. "You promised, you did!"

By now, Rowan could barely keep track of Fillister's copies. At first, he had lived contentedly inside a robotic dragonfly—until Jade had smashed him. Rowan had resurrected her friend from a backup, which had run aboard the HDFS Jerusalem for a while. Then the basilisks had destroyed the Jerusalem. After that, Fillister ran aboard the Byzantium, but that starship was now flying with the Exodus Fleet. Fillister now ran on Rowan's very own minicom. There were other backups of him, dormant, on other computers.

Which one is the real Fillister? she wondered.

She didn't know. In a sense, whenever she rebuilt him, she was creating a new being. A new life. True, Fillister preserved some of his memories from build to build. But not all of them. His database was still missing chunks of memory, the days between his destructions and resurrections.

And what of the Fillister clones Rowan had made, those she had installed into fireships? Each had been a living Fillister—with memories, personality, consciousness. They had all died in the war. Rowan had sacrificed them, and she still mourned them. Each had been as true a Fillister as any.

She no longer knew how to think of her friend. Was he merely lines of code, mimicking consciousness, a perfect illusion? Just a glorified app? Or was he a living individual, a self, that she moved from shell to shell like a ghost? Was he a living being, as much as she was, or merely software, no more alive than an arcade game character? Rowan didn't know.

One day, when I get him a proper body, this will all be less confusing, she thought.

"I know, buddy," Rowan said. "That's one of my upcoming projects. You know how busy I am! I promise you: Operation Fillister's Bangin' New Body is on my to do list." She sighed. "My ever-expanding to do list. Anyway, let's get to work! We've got alien code to learn."

She put on some music—"Taking Care of Business" by BTO—and got to work.

Aboveground, the war still raged. The Human Defense Force had expanded to a hundred thousand soldiers—all armed now, thanks to Bay and Luther's gunrunning. The troops were fighting around the globe, great battalions clashing in battle, warring for mountains, valleys, rivers, for every square centimeter of this world. But down here, deep underground, Rowan was in her own little world.

She climbed into the Copperhead. The alien vessel felt oddly familiar. The tubular fuselage was no larger than the ducts back on Paradise Lost. For a moment, Rowan panicked. She felt like a girl again, trapped, alone. She took several deep breaths, calming herself.

You're no longer that girl, she thought. You're a woman. An officer. And you're not here hiding. You're fighting a war.

When her pulse was slower, she reached toward the controls. She flipped a few switches, turning on the alien computer.

Thankfully, Rowan had some experience hacking alien code. Back in the ducts of Paradise Lost, she had spent years tinkering with alien technology. She had often visited the pawnshop near the exhaust vents—well, sneaked in after dark, to be honest. But she had once visited during the day, and the owner had beaten her with a stick, so she felt no qualms about breaking in. From the pawnshop, she had pilfered monitors, keyboards, and processors, then assembled them into an entertainment system. She had spent long hours coding an interface between the Earthstone's human protocol with the alien electronics.

This was similar—though much harder. The basilisks didn't use transistors like most civilizations, including humanity. They didn't rely on binary electronics. Instead, their computers seemed to use quantum entanglement, an entirely different framework.

This wouldn't be like translating English to Chinese. More like translating English into pheromones.

Rowan sighed. "We won't be able to do any low-level programming here, Fill," she said. "Not unless we want to spend a year studying quantum engineering. But there might be an API we can tap into. Something higher level we can understand."

"How are we gonna find it?" Fillister said.

Rowan chewed her lip. "The Copperhead can broadcast on electromagnetic waves. It's how Mairead was able to contact us during her flight." She nodded. "If we can send radio signals, we can sniff those packets. We can analyze them."

Yesterday, Mairead had spent a while explaining the controls. Rowan was able to switch on the communication system, to broadcast a signal.

"Ahoyhoy!" Rowan said into the Copperhead's microphone. She looked at Fillister. "Did you pick that up?"

"Sure did, Row," he said. "Got a nice packet of info coming in. Wireless, as you said. And good news—it doesn't just include your lovely voice. It also includes a snippet of alien code."

"Excellent." Rowan steepled her fingers. "Now let me see if I can hack into the computer. I want to broadcast more data. Not just my voice but functions of local code. I'll send you everything I can. Hopefully enough for us to work with."

She worked for hours, trying to hack into more code, to stream more and more packets over to Fillister. Her minicom soon filled, and Fillister began offloading data into a development computer Rowan had running in the hangar. It was slow work. And after ten hours, Rowan was exhausted.

But they had begun to make progress. They had begun to assemble the alien computer's API, to understand its functions, its basic commands.

When her limbs were cramping, Rowan exited the Copperhead, stretched, and sat on the hangar floor. She adjusted the goggles on her head, cracked open a bottle of juice, and began reviewing the data.

"Soon we'll be able to dig deeper," Rowan said. "And then, Fill—then we'll create our weapon."

"What weapon, Row?" Fillister said. "All this work, and you haven't shared its purpose."

She chugged down the juice, wiped her mouth, and smiled. "Why, my friend, haven't you figured it out yet? We're going to code a virus." She grinned. "This Copperhead will become a fireship. But not one delivering a nuclear payload. This ship will deliver a virus. A virus that will infect Xerka's fleet. A virus that will make the Black Plague look like the common cold."

"You're a psychopath," Fillister said. "I love it."

The door opened.

Footsteps sounded.

"Rowan?"

He walked around the Copperhead, approaching her.

Rowan leaped to her feet.

Her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

"Bay!" she cried.

He smiled. "I'm on shore leave. Hey, after weeks of gunrunning, I've earned it. My dad told me you're down here, and I figured I'd surprise you, and—"

She leaped onto him, crushed him in her arms, and silenced him with a thousand kisses.

"You're back! You're really back!"

Bay laughed and lifted her in his arms, kissing her. "I'm back. For a day."

She gasped. "Such a short time!" She squeezed him tighter. "I'm going to squeeze you and kiss you and love you the whole time."

They kissed again, and all the fear, the horror of this war—for a moment, it all faded. And there was only him and her. Only joy.

"Can you take a day off?" Bay said. "You've been working since the war began. Hell, I don't think you've taken a day off since you left Paradise Lost five years ago. Tonight, can you—"

"Shut up!" she said. "Shut up and make love to me!"

She began tugging at his clothes. He barely managed to carry her out of the hangar and into her small cabin. She shoved him onto her bed, ripped off the last of his clothes, and made mad love to him.

Ten minutes later, they lay side by side, sweaty, breathing heavily.

"Wow," Bay said.

"Again," Rowan said. "You go on top this time." She bit her lip and grinned. "And after that, I'm making pancakes. You're going to need your strength for the next twenty-four hours." She pulled him onto her. "You're gonna be working harder than you've worked all this war."

He kissed her. "I love you, Rowan Emery. I love you so mucking much."

"Silence, slave! Less talk, more sex!" She winked. "I love you too, Pancake. You know it."

As poor Fillister kept working on Operation Troy, Bay and Rowan spent the next twenty-four hours in their cabin. They curled up together, watching Simpsons episodes on the Earthstone—only between seasons three to nine, of course, the golden age. They made love again, then slept for an hour, embraced. Rowan left the bed only to make pancakes, and they had a food fight, tossing maple syrup and batter and laughing hysterically, then embracing and kissing for a long time.

They put on old musicals—Miss Saigon and Phantom of the Opera—and Rowan was dozing off in his arms, and he was stroking her hair over and over again.

"Rowan," he finally said, voice soft.

"Bay?" she mumbled, half asleep.

He kissed the top of her head. "When this war is over, will you marry me?"

She woke up at once.

She looked up at him.

"Yes!" she said. "Of course! But …" She deflated. "You said when this war is over. Oh, Bay. What if it's never over? What if we lose?"

He held her tightly. "I don't believe that. Not for a second. We've been through so much. We've faced so many enemies, so many nightmares. But we beat them. And we'll keep beating them. Together."

She caressed his cheek and kissed his lips. "Of course I'll marry you, Bay Ben-Ari."

He winced. "I don't have a ring. I'm sorry. With all the gunrunning and battles, I didn't—"

She pressed a finger to his lips. "Wait."

She pulled on Bay's shirt, covering her nakedness, and ran into the hangar. She returned a moment later.

"Hold out your hand," she said.

He did. She slipped a sprocket onto his finger. "Here's my ring for you."

Bay grinned. He too ran into the hangar, then returned and slipped a sprocket onto her finger.

"My ring for you."

She twirled the sprocket on her finger.

"It's a little big," she said. "How about we wear these sprockets on chains around our necks?"

Soon they both wore their rings on chains. Rowan looked at him. At her fiance. She remembered meeting him five years ago—the lost boy, hiding his deformed hand, drowning in grog. He was a man now, wearing his prosthetic arm proudly, a blond beard defining a strong jaw. He was beautiful, and Rowan lowered her head, tears in her eyes.

"Hobbit!" He held her. "What's wrong?"

"We have only a couple of hours left," she said. "And then you'll be back to gunrunning with Luther. And it might be weeks, even months before we meet again. And I'll be so worried for you when you're away." She smiled shakily. "But hey, I'm being a downer now. Let's make the most of these last two hours." She pulled off her shirt. "Ready?"

His eyes widened. "You're an insatiable beast!"

She nodded. "Hey, you chose to marry me, so live with it!"

"Gladly. Today and for the rest of our lives."

"May they be long," Rowan said.

When he flew back into space, Rowan stood aboveground, watching his shuttle rise through the Talaria wormhole. The ruins spread around her. On the outskirts of Port Addison, soldiers were still firing from trenches. Distant explosions rocked the horizon. Great battles were being fought there, the hosts of humanity clashing against the alien hordes.

The world was ugly now. A desolation of ashes, shattered walls, death and despair. Smoke hid the sky. But Rowan knew that beyond that smoke were the stars. That they were still beautiful. That Bay was out there, fighting for her, for all humanity.

We're going to win, she thought. Because we have to win. Because I have to marry you, Bay. Because everyone who still lives deserves happiness, because everyone who fell deserves memory.

She placed her hand around her sprocket. It hung from her chain by her dog tags and the Earthstone.

So I'm going to kill you, Xerka. I'm going to beat every enemy of Earth. This is our world. This is our love. This is our future. Earth will rise.

She entered the hangar.

She got back to work.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

It appeared ahead in the darkness: Menoria, a watery world, deep blue and glimmering. Homeworld of the Menorians, wise mollusks and ancient allies to humanity. A world halfway across the galaxy. A world that could bring Earth hope—or dash that hope like a raft against the rocks.

Leona stood inside the Oceanborn, the geode starship that had been her home for the past few weeks. She gazed through the crystalline porthole at the planet rising ahead. From here, Menoria appeared in crescent form, waxing and brightening as the starship glided closer.

"It's beautiful," Leona said softly. "Aurora, your world is so beautiful."

Her friend extended several tentacles and pulled herself closer. Her body changed from yellow to the deep blue of her homeworld. Purple dots appeared across her skin. Leona's minicom picked up the color shift, translating the words.

"Thank you, Leona," Aurora said. "I have not been home in many turns of the tide. I miss the blue oceans and silver islands of Menoria, world of peace and plenty."

Yes, this trip had taken many turns of the tide. Normally, Leona might have found the journey peaceful. But she had spent the past few weeks pacing the starship, anxious, constantly worried about Earth. She had no way to contact home. No way to know if her loved ones were alive. The Menorians were semi-aquatic, and most of their ship was flooded. Leona kept to the few dry decks, a lioness in a cage, wanting to fight but trapped behind bars.

It'll be worthwhile, she told herself, if I can buy starships here. If I can fly home with a fleet. Just hang on, Earth. Hang on a little longer.

"You are worried," said Aurora, reaching with a tentacle. "I can see it in the color of your cheeks. Your kind too communicates with color, though you aren't always aware of it."

Leona smiled thinly. "Humans mostly communicate with body language, not words. I suppose color is a part of that. Yes, I'm worried, Aurora. What if the Menorian elders reject me?"

"The elders are wise," said Aurora. "They have seen many tides rise and fall, many coral reefs grow, and have even seen islands born and drown. You will speak well on behalf of humanity. They will listen."

Leona sighed. "That's what I told myself when speaking to the Galactic Council. And they tossed me out."

Aurora flashed an angry red. "The Galactic Council? A group of barracudas and spiky urchins that leak venom! Foul, broken, sharp rocks that litter the seabed! They are bottom feeders and worms who burrow in sand. We Menorians are wiser and kinder. Three hearts beat inside each Menorian's body. And they are hearts of compassion."

Leona smiled at her friend. "Aurora, we humans and Menorians could not look more different. We are bipedal vertebrates, mammals who live only a few decades. You are mollusks, wise beings who live for thousands of years. But I think that we, among all the species of the galaxy, are the most similar. We both have kind hearts."

Aurora turned a deep grayish blue. "Our hearts were not always kind. In our past, we Menorians often fought one another. We tainted our oceans with blood."

"We humans were the same," said Leona. "Perhaps all intelligent species must go through a violent adolescence before reaching wise adulthood." She thought for a moment. "No, that's wrong. Most species in the galaxy, even the most advanced ones, are still cruel, still violent. Maybe that's the nature of evolution. The cruel survive. The cruel rise in their own worlds, clawing their way to the top of their food chain, slaying the weak. They then spread to the stars and compete there—with the same viciousness. Maybe we humans and Menorians are rare in the galaxy. Maybe even unique. We started out cruel—then among the stars, we found redemption." Leona sighed. "Maybe we humans needed two thousand years in exile. Maybe it was our Noah's Ark. Maybe in our long suffering, we became kinder, nobler, more deserving of Earth. Maybe our exile was our curse, our banishment from Eden for our sins."

"Noah's Ark?" said Aurora.

Leona smiled thinly. "An old story from Earth. The last human family survived a great flood. A dove brought them hope."

"Then I hope that we are your doves," said Aurora.

They entered orbit around Menoria. The planet was among the fairest Leona had seen in all her travels. It was mostly water, glimmering in all the shades of blue. Thousands of silvery islands shone like jewels. Several moons, pale as pearls, shone above.

Aurora and Leona took a shuttle down to the planet. The round vessel plunged into the atmosphere and descended toward an island. Hundreds of Menorians were lounging on the rocky shores.

"They breed on the islands," Aurora said, piloting the shuttle. "Predators once filled our oceans, and the islands were safe. So we evolved the ability to breathe air, and we began to lay our eggs on the silver sand. Today the predators have been tamed, and we are masters of these oceans. Yet our old ways remain. You gaze upon hundreds of new mothers."

As the shuttle flew closer to the island, Leona saw the mollusks digging in the sand and laying eggs. Some of the mothers raised their tentacles and turned orange, a color of greeting.

The shuttle flew over the island, then dived into the ocean. They descended through the depths.

Leona gazed through the portholes in fascination. From above, the planet had seemed pristine, a virgin world. But underwater she saw a grand civilization. Thousands of other round vessels filled the ocean, traveling to and fro. Buoys hovered in the water, lights flashing, directing traffic. Towers rose from the seabed, windows gleaming. Terrariums contained forests of seaweed and fish farms. Coral reefs grew everywhere, kilometers long, providing homes for millions of Menorians.

A glimmering white building rose in the city center. It was shaped like a sea anemone, its many towers flexible and swaying with the currents. Each of those towers was the size of a skyscraper, built of silver and glass, yet they seemed organic, dancing in the water. Between the moving towers shone the heart of the building, a dome of lavender crystals, filled with light.

Leona gazed at the building in awe.

"It's beautiful," she said. "I've never seen a place so beautiful."

Aurora turned a deep, solemn blue and gold. "We gaze upon the Water Palace, the heart of our homeland. Here is the home of our king."

Leona raised an eyebrow. "You still have a king? You're a monarchy?"

"Of course we are!" Aurora said. "We're not barbarians."

The shuttle traveled between the swaying towers of the Water Palace. The towers' rounded walls were transparent, and Leona saw thousands of Menorians swimming inside, bustling to and fro, busy running their watery kingdom.

Aurora directed the shuttle toward the central dome. They glided into a room full of other round shuttles, and Aurora landed among them. The crystal walls soared. The ceiling was transparent, revealing the swaying towers. The sun was barely visible this deep, but lanterns floated through the Water Palace, filling it with light.

They stepped out of the shuttle. Leona frowned and turned toward Aurora.

"The inside of the Water Palace … is dry?"

Aurora turned yellow. "The swaying towers are filled with water, and that is where most of the administrators swim. But this central dome is where the royal family lives. There is holiness to air, Leona. In air, we lay our eggs, raise our young. Water is secular, but air is sacred. We keep the most precious of our halls and temples dry. It is a great honor to breathe air. An honor for kings, queens, and mothers."

Leona bowed her head. "I'm honored."

Aurora's eyes shone. She touched Leona's hand with her tentacle.

"Long ago, Leona, I served your ancestor, the blessed Einav Ben-Ari."

Leona smiled. "I know. It still amazes me that you knew her. That was two thousand years ago. For us humans, that was eras ago."

"Yet for me, a clear memory," Aurora said. "Einav was wise and brave and kind. I served as navigator aboard her starship, the HDFS Lodestar. Most Menorian ships are filled with water. But the Lodestar was filled with air. It was a human ship, after all. They are all filled with air. But I was very young, and to me, it seemed like a great honor—to breathe air among the stars!" Her body silvered, making her look older. "But enough memories for now. We will go speak to the king."

Leona took a deep breath. "I hope he listens."

They walked down a corridor. Crystal columns rose at their sides. Between them stood statues of the Menorian pantheon. Some gods were shaped like fish, beautiful and gleaming, forged of silver. Other gods were shaped like barracudas, their teeth forged from steel. Some gods were sculpted of gleaming stone, shaped like nautiluses. Some looked like nothing Leona was familiar with. They had strange forms, some horned, some tentacled, some scaled, some too bizarre for Leona to comprehend. The laws of physics and chemistry were the same everywhere. Evolution on most worlds took similar paths—but there were always exceptions.

They reached grand doors carved of stone. They rose two stories tall, engraved with mythological scenes of ancient Menorian warriors battling the monsters of the deep.

"These doors have stood here for hundreds of thousands of years," Aurora said. "Since before we became a technological species. Back when humans were still living in caves, these doors held behind them great kings."

"Yeah, well, you should see our cave paintings," Leona said.

Menorian guards approached, wearing elaborate armor formed of seashells, their tentacles tipped with iron claws. They turned winches, and the mighty stone doors opened.

Aurora and Leona entered the throne room.

The vast dome was carved of crystal and filled with floating lanterns. Nautilus shells the size of grand pianos rose in the center, their spirals glimmering. Several Menorians sat on these shells. Three were podlings, their bodies no larger than shoes, their tentacles short. One was a grand female, her tentacles heavy with silver bracelets inlaid with gemstones. On the largest shell sat a male, twice the size of the female, his body covered with barnacles and scars. In one of his mighty tentacles, he held a triton. Upon his large boneless head rose a coral crown.

"Behold Poseidon, King of Menoria!" Aurora said, bowing before him. "I bring with me Leona Ben-Ari, daughter of King Emet, Princess of Earth!"

Of course, the Menorians communicated with colors, not words. The king's name was actually a shade of deep blue. But Leona's minicom translated it as "Poseidon," the closest human analogy. She supposed that the shade of blue meant something like "Legendary King of the Ocean." Poseidon was close enough.

She considered bowing too, then decided against it. She was not truly a princess. But her father was Earth's president, and she supposed that was close enough to king. She came here as a leader of her own world. She would not bow before a foreign ruler. But she nodded respectfully.

"Greetings, Your Majesty," she said. "I'm honored to visit your hall."

"The honor is mine, Leona, daughter of lions," said Poseidon. "When my daughter Aurora called me yesterday, announcing your imminent arrival, I was much pleased."

Leona frowned. She turned toward Aurora.

"You are … his daughter?" Leona tilted her head. "You, Aurora. My friend. You're the Princess of Menoria? And you never told me?"

Aurora raised several tentacles in a shrug. "I didn't want to brag. We Menorians are humble beings."

Leona's jaw unhinged. "You bragged about the doors!"

"For they are not my creations," said Aurora. "We Menorians are proud of our world, but are humble regarding our own small roles in its glory." She turned back toward the king. "Father, Leona has come from afar to speak with you."

The king raised his tentacles. "We will feast! All the bounty of the sea will fill our bellies. And we will speak and listen to many words."

They moved into another room, just as large and grand. Murals of ancient kings and queens covered the domed ceiling—purple mollusks bedecked in gilded seashells. Several living Menorians draped across mezzanines, blowing conches, playing beautiful melodies. Sand covered the floor, and nautilus shells served as furniture.

Leona sat on one of the spiraling shells, joining the royal family for dinner. Servants approached, tentacles raised, carrying platters of seafood: a wide array of fish, clams, and bowls of plankton. These prey animals were served live and wriggling to the Menorians. But Aurora, who was familiar with humans, arranged for Leona's food to be butchered and cooked.

Some of the younglings turned green at the sight.

"You mean she eats her food dead?" said a prince. "Like a scavenger?"

Aurora slapped the young one. "Quiet, little brother. Where are your manners? Alien ways are not to be mocked. Our ways seem just as strange to them."

Leona ate politely, hoping she didn't look too much like a bottom feeder, then told her tale. She spoke for a long time, recounting humanity's attempts to resettle Earth, the travesty in the Galactic Council, and the ongoing war against the basilisks.

As she spoke, Poseidon listened intently, his body white with concentration, sometimes turning blue in sympathy, red in anger, and black in mourning.

"And so I've come to ask for aid," Leona said. "Humans and Menorians have been allies for thousands of years, ever since the days of Einav Ben-Ari when our species fought united against evil. I don't ask that you fight the basilisks. This is Earth's war. But I ask, as a friend, to buy some of your mighty warships. Xerka destroyed humanity's fleet. But with your help, I can fly back with a new fleet—mightier by far. And Earth will stand."

Colors and patterns flashed across Poseidon's body. "Our species are indeed old friends. We first united to fight the marauders, wicked spiders who attacked your world. We fought united against the scorpions." He reached out a tentacle to stroke Leona's shoulder. "I know how much humanity suffered. How for thousands of years, you were lost. How millions of you burned in the gulocks. And I know you suffer still, that you fight for survival, that the cruel Xerka seeks to exterminate you. Menoria is still a friend to Earth. It always has been. It always will be."

Hope kindled in Leona. "So you'll sell me warships?"

Poseidon turned a deep, sad blue. "That I cannot do."

Leona gasped. She rose to her feet, scattering empty shells. "Your Majesty! I . . ."

She was speechless. After all this—the long journey here, her words of friendship, her tale of woe—to be denied?

Humanity will fall. The thought came unbidden into her mind. Without a fleet, we'll all die. Xerka will destroy my world, if she hasn't already. After everything—defeating the centipedes, the spiders, the scorpions—to die now . . .

Her head spun.

"Leona." Poseidon's hues were sad. "I know my words hurt. I grieve that I must color them. But we Menorians suffered greatly in the war against the scorpions. A million of our brave soldiers perished. Thousands of our warships burned. Millions of our mothers and podlings fell. We were once an empire, ruling twelve glimmering worlds and seventeen moons. Today we have only this planet, our homeworld. The scorpions destroyed the rest. Menoria is no longer the great kingdom you once knew."

"I know," Leona said. "But I saw thousands of your warships in orbit. And I know you're building more. I don't need many. Even a hundred would help."

"That is true," said Poseidon. "But news has arrived from the great empty dryness. We received the colors only this turn of the tide. The Galactic Council has announced sanctions on Earth. It is forbidden to sell you any supplies, even food, certainly not warships. If I sell you even a single bullet, I risk open war with the Galactic Council. Menoria cannot withstand another war." The king's colors deepened, becoming a blue so dark it was almost black. "I am sorry, Leona. I wish I could help. I wish I could fly to war with you myself, fight again at humanity's side. But Menoria is past its golden age. The scorpions nearly broke us. If the basilisks and their allies attack us—we will fall."

"Like Earth will fall," Leona whispered, and her eyes dampened.

Poseidon touched her knee with a silver-tipped tentacle. "I can offer you sanctuary here. We have room for hundreds of human refugees in our dry halls. Maybe even a thousand. You don't have to burn with Earth."

Leona took a step back. She shook her head, for a moment unable to speak.

"I won't hide while my people burn." She took a deep, shaky breath. "I will fight. Even if I die. Even if I die with Earth, with humanity." She gestured around her at the hall. "Will you hide here, Poseidon? Will you hide in this wondrous hall while humanity burns? Is that what friendship means to you? So the Galactic Council embargoed us." She barked a laugh. "Defy them! Honor your ancient alliance with Earth. Yes, we are weak. Yes, we are only one species, while they are ten thousand. But we are your true friends!"

"Leona—" Aurora began, turning gray with concern.

But Leona plowed on. "And if our friendship isn't enough, think of your own future! If the basilisks destroy Earth, they will turn to conquering other worlds. They will become another cruel empire like the scorpions. You need Earth strong! You need the basilisks defeated! I won't leave without ships, Poseidon. Because I know you care. I know you won't let Earth fall."

She was begging now, Leona realized. And maybe it was ugly. Maybe it was undignified, even pathetic. Yet how could she simply give up now? How could she just return home empty-handed? How could she watch her species perish?

"You're our last hope," Leona whispered.

The Menorian royal family looked at one another. The musicians on the balcony stopped playing. The servants froze.

Poseidon lowered his bulbous head. "Leona, I am sorry. You have spoken with true passion and courage. But—"

A new voice rose.

"But you did not hear me speak!"

They all turned around.

A woman stepped into the dining hall.

A human woman.

She was elderly, easily in her nineties, but still walked straight. Her white hair was braided, she wore a white gown, and a string of seashells hung around her neck.

Leona took a step toward her. "You look familiar," she whispered. "I've seen you before. In photographs. In old films. I …" She tilted her head. "But it's impossible."

The old woman took Leona's hands and smiled—a smile of purest warmth and wisdom.

"Hello, Leona. I am Einav Ben-Ari."

CHAPTER TWENTY

Leona gasped and rubbed her eyes.

"How is this possible?" she said. "How can you be Einav Ben-Ari, the legendary Golden Lioness? You died two thousand years ago!"

The old woman smiled sadly. "Ah, I lived two thousand years ago. Died? The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

"But …" Leona's head spun. "How …?"

Words failed her. Before her stood a living legend! A figure humans mentioned in the same breath as Moses, King Arthur, and Churchill. The Golden Lioness herself! The mythical ruler of Earth! Einav Ben-Ari had led humanity in its golden age, smiting its enemies, exploring the stars.

And now she's standing before me, Leona thought.

"Is this a trick?" Leona whispered. "Some illusion conjured for my benefit?"

Ben-Ari brushed back one of Leona's dark curls. "All will be explained, my child. But first, I will speak to my old friend."

As Leona watched with wide eyes, Ben-Ari approached Poseidon. The elderly woman sat on the nautilus shell beside the Menorian king.

"My dear Poseidon," Ben-Ari said. "How long have we been friends?"

Colorful patterns appeared on Poseidon's body. Leona read the translation on her minicom, but Ben-Ari seemed to understand on her own.

"Many turns of the tide, old friend," Poseidon said. "Since the days when we were both young rulers of our worlds."

Ben-Ari nodded. "And now we are old. I am ninety. Not many years for a Menorian, but ancient for a human. I'm nearing the end of my life. You too are ancient by the count of your people."

Ninety years old, Leona thought, frowning. Not two thousand? She had so many questions, but she dared not interrupt the two leaders.

"May we both live for many more turns of the tide!" Poseidon said.

Ben-Ari sighed. She placed a hand on Poseidon's soft, boneless body.

"I've lived for a long time, my friend. And most of my life, I fought. I joined a fledgling Human Defense Force at age eighteen, back during the centipede invasion of Earth. I rose to lead our armies against many foes. I turned Earth from a ravaged, frightened world into an empire. For long decades, I built—and I fought those who came to destroy. I lost many friends. Many loved ones. I saw many horrors …" Einav Ben-Ari's eyes glazed over for a moment, but then she smiled. "But I saw wonders too, Poseidon. Your daughter and I explored the stars, and we beheld beauty that still warms my heart. When I look back, I don't see a life of tragedy. I see a life of adventure."

Poseidon placed a tentacle on her knee. "That warms my three hearts."

Ben-Ari sighed. "Yet if Earth falls now, after all my wars, after all the struggles of humanity … Poseidon, we are old. We might not live to see if Earth survives or falls. It will be the next generation—Leona for humanity, Aurora for the Menorians—who will lead our worlds after us. Who will face the consequences of decisions we make today in this hall."

Poseidon turned to look at his daughter, then back at Ben-Ari.

"It is a hard thing, is it not?" the king said. "We struggle to leave good worlds to our children. A good cosmos. Often I worry about what we leave behind. Can I truly leave Aurora a world at war with the basilisks? Or should I leave her a world isolated from the cosmic ocean, an island of peace as a ring of fire spreads toward us?"

"A hard choice," Ben-Ari said. "For my own heiress—hope or despair. For Aurora too, a hard outcome. She will inherit Menoria, a world in conflict with the basilisk empire, or a world that abandoned Earth to destruction, a guilt that can last for generations. And perhaps even worse—a world left to contend with a rising basilisk empire. These are hard choices for us, leaders at the end of our lives. They are tenfold more monumental for those who will follow."

Poseidon turned deep blue. "I did not want this. I wanted to leave Aurora the kingdom I inherited from my father—a proud, noble civilization spanning many stars. Not this relic of a glorious past."

"Our heirs will face their own struggles, but it's in fire that steel is hardened." Ben-Ari smiled sadly at the old king. "Perhaps it's right that they decide. Perhaps Leona and Aurora should choose the fate of the worlds they will inherit."

Warm purple rose across Poseidon's body, love blending with sadness. He looked at his daughter, then back at Ben-Ari.

"Once more, my friend, you prove your wisdom. I am older than you, but you are far wiser."

Ben-Ari kissed the Menorian king. "I learn a lot from the young."

"Very well then!" Poseidon announced. He rose straighter. "It will be Aurora and Leona who decide, not this old fool."

Aurora extended her tentacles and pulled herself closer. She looked at Leona, then at the king.

"You know my decision, Father," Aurora said. "Einav is my oldest, dearest friend. And Leona has become very dear to me too. I grew up among humans. I love them like I love the rising tide, a warm current full of plankton, and beads of light on the water. Should Earth fall, I would be like a chasm where no light shines, where no colors can sing. I will give Leona ships, and I will ask nothing in return, only for her to save her people, to remain my friend." She turned yellow, an ancient warning to predators. "It is possible that this will irk Xerka. That she will attack our world. That Menorians will die. I will take that risk, because I saw Earth in her golden age, and she lit the cosmos. I would rather live in a galaxy where Earth is strong and Xerka is weak. Not a galaxy where humans are gone and basilisks slither. I will do whatever I can to restore Earth's light."

Leona fell to her knees, relief flooding her, and embraced her friend.

"I don't understand what happened," Leona whispered. "But I'm grateful."

Aurora held her close. "I would not have let you fall, my friend. Not so long as my hearts beat."

Leona stood up and turned toward the white-haired woman who claimed to be Einav Ben-Ari.

"Who are you?" she whispered. "Are you truly her?"

Einav smiled and took her hand. "Come, Leona. To my chamber. Let us talk over a nice pot of chamomile tea."

* * * * *

Einav lived in a round chamber in the Water Palace. The dome was transparent, affording a view of coral reefs, alien fish, and swaying forests of algae. On the inside, the chamber trapped a memory of ancient Earth. There was a rocking chair and an embroidered blanket. A fireplace, the hearth topped with framed photographs. Several hundred books—actual paper books—graced shelves and tables.

For a woman of ninety, Einav was impressively spry. She bustled about her quarters, brewing chamomile tea, then setting a table with cups and cookies.

"The cookies are made of algae," Einav said. "But I've been experimenting with spices, and I got them to taste almost like chocolate chip. Try one!" She poured two cups of tea. "And I found a marine plant that tastes almost like chamomile. I wish I still had real chamomile from old Earth. It's one of the things I miss most."

Leona stood, silent, staring.

"You're real," she said. "You're actually real. Not a hologram or android or hallucination."

"Of course I'm real." Einav bit into a cookie. "Well, my teeth aren't. But I assure you, the rest of me is. Otherwise, how could I be eating this delicious cookie? Try one, Leona."

Leona blinked. In the old legends, Einav was a great warrior. She had led armadas with a hundred thousand starships to battle. She had stormed alien worlds, leading the charge. She had fought the great villains of history, saving Earth again and again. And that mythical warrior was now brewing tea and baking cookies, a sweet old lady with an armchair and framed photos of her grandkids.

Leona approached the fireplace mantle and looked at the photographs. Most seemed to be of family. But Leona focused on one in particular. The photograph showed Einav as a young lieutenant of twenty, wearing a dusty military uniform, holding a rifle. Her platoon stood around her.

Leona's eyes widened.

"I recognize these faces from the history books!" She lifted the photograph. "This young man is Marco Emery, the famous Poet of Earth! And beside him is Addy Linden, the heroine who raised Earth in rebellion against the marauders. And she's giving Marco bunny ears!" Leona laughed. "And this is Lailani de la Rosa. She's one of my childhood heroines." She looked at Einav. "Everyone in this photo, the entire platoon—they're legends now. Parents name their children after them. We have colonies named after them on Earth."

And suddenly Einav looked a decade older. Sadness filled her eyes. She swayed and nearly fell into her armchair.

"Ma'am!" Leona rushed toward her and held her hand.

"I'm all right," Einav said. "Just … I need to sip my tea." She took a few sips, hands shaking, and color returned to her cheeks. "I'm all right now. Sometimes the memories, the loss …"

Leona sat beside her, still holding her hand. "How are you here?"

Einav looked into her eyes and smiled wistfully. "It's been so many generations. But I see myself in you. My hair was once straight and blond, and yours is dark and curly. My eyes are blue and yours are brown. And you're taller than I ever was. But I see myself in you."

Leona's eyes dampened. "I'm honored. My family has always been proud to be Ben-Aris."

Einav took another sip of tea. "For decades, I ruled Earth. For the first years, I fought. But for decades after that, I built. I inherited a broken planet, and I healed it. I took a haunted, frightened civilization, and I built an empire. When I turned eighty, I retired. And I decided to do what I loved most. To explore." She smiled wistfully. "So I left Earth. I joined Aurora, my dear friend, who served with me aboard the Lodestar. The Menorians had built an experimental starship, one far faster than any other. Aurora and I went on an amazing journey. We traveled to another galaxy."

Leona gasped. "Another galaxy? But … that would take millions of years!"

Einav smiled. "Two thousand years, to be exact. With the fastest ship ever built. Her azoth crystals were the size of redwoods. I had never seen a sight more beautiful—the crystals contained the multitude of the cosmos in their glow. We traveled to the Andromeda galaxy. And such sights we saw! I became the first human—and so far, the only human—to reach another galaxy. Oh, for us the journey was shorter. From my perspective, it took only a year to reach Andromeda, another year to come back. But at such speeds, even with warped spacetime, time dilation does its job. I returned to the Milky Way, to this beautiful ocean world, to find that while I had been away for two years, two thousand years passed for everyone else." She gave a little laugh. "Now, Menorians can live for thousands of years. Aurora's friends and family were still alive. For me, a human? Yes, quite a long absence."

Leona understood the implication at once. Her heart shattered.

"You left Earth an empire," she whispered. "You came back to find it destroyed."

"All my work undone," Einav said. "All my long years of fighting and building, of breaking and healing—wiped away by the waves of the cosmic ocean. I left a world of hope and promise. I returned to find a barren world, bereft of humanity, overrun with serpents."

Leona shed a tear. She embraced her ancestor.

"No longer barren. My father and I have been bringing the lost remnants of humanity home. Hope shines again."

Einav stroked her hair. "You are like I was. Brave, strong, a wise leader. And that gives me hope. Hope that all my work was not in vain. Hope that humanity can still light the unbearable darkness."

"I carry your torch," Leona said, tears on her cheeks. "I always did."

"Then there is hope," Einav said.

"Come with me, Einav!" Leona said. "Fly with me back to Earth. I need your wisdom. And you deserve to see Earth reborn."

Sadness filled Einav's eyes. She sighed. "Leona, I would not survive the journey home."

Leona frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I can no longer fly through space." The old woman smiled sadly. "I've flown too much, too fast, too far. Flight within our own galaxy, kept within a warp bubble, does not dilate time very much. But it would be too much for me. Every cell in my body would rapidly age. I'm already ninety. A flight to Earth, crossing half the galaxy? I would age too fast. I would barely make it a light-year away from Menoria. No, Leona. I realized it once I returned from Andromeda. Once I learned the side effect of our experimental starship. I will die here on Menoria." A smile tickled her lips, and she winked. "Though hopefully not for another few years."

Leona embraced her. "Then after the war, I will return here. And I will keep you company."

Einav gave a soft laugh. She caressed Leona's cheek. "May I give you advice, from an old woman to a young one?"

Leona smiled thinly. "Not so young anymore, maybe. I'm in my thirties now."

"Oh, to be in my thirties again!" Einav said.

Leona laughed. "Fair enough. What is your advice?"

"Don't dedicate your entire life to war, Leona. Marry if it makes you happy. Have children if that would bring you joy. And if not, find other things to love. Literature or painting or cooking or music. Fill your life with love."

"Even at times of war?" Leona asked.

"Especially at times of war. Otherwise, what the hell are we fighting for?"

Leona smiled wistfully. "Well, there is a man … His name is Tom."

Einav leaned forward in her armchair, and a mischievous light filled her eyes. "Is he very handsome?"

Leona laughed. "Very."

Tears suddenly flowed down Einav's cheeks. "My husband died when I was seventy. My dearest Noah. By the time I came back from Andromeda, my children and grandchildren had died of old age."

"I'm sorry," Leona said. "If it's any consolation, I'm still here. I'm your great-great-great …" She thought for a moment. "There are a whole bunch of greats there. But eventually they lead to granddaughter."

"There are as many generations between you and me, Leona, as between me and Christ. But you are my family. And I love you. And now I've given you advice. And I would like to ask three things of you in return."

Leona nodded. "You can ask a million things. I'll do them all."

"Just three would suffice. First—win this war."

"I will!" Leona vowed.

"Second, when I die someday, bury me on Earth. Aurora knows to take my bones home. But I ask you to bury them, and to remember me."

"Of course," said Leona. "It grieves me to think of that day. But when it comes, if I'm still alive, I will honor your request."

"And third," Einav said, "eat one of my cookies, darling."

Leona laughed. "All right." She took a bite.

"Well?" Einav leaned forward expectantly.

Leona swallowed. "It's … interesting."

Einav slumped back with a sigh. "I knew it. This damn world of seaweed. If you ever visit here again, Leona, bring me some real chocolate."

* * * * *

Next morning, Leona took a shuttle into space. She orbited the ocean world, gazing at a Menorian fleet.

"Five hundred geode warships," said Aurora, piloting the shuttle. "They are yours."

Leona had always thought the Menorians flew the most beautiful starships in the galaxy. They indeed looked like geodes. Each ship was semicircular, its exterior rocky, its interior inlaid with azoth crystals. Every human warship worth its salt had a small azoth crystal inside its warp engine; it was the only sensible way to bend spacetime. But there was more azoth in a single Menorian geode-ship than an entire human armada.

No wonder they were able to fly to another galaxy, Leona thought.

The ships were not only beautiful but deadly too, built for war. Those crystals could do more than warp spacetime. They could fire beams of light and sear through enemy hulls.

There was only one problem.

"Aurora, I'm grateful," Leona said. "But you told me that no Menorian soldiers will fight with Earth."

Aurora turned a somber silver. "That is true, my friend. We cannot risk open war with the Galactic Council. Even by arming you, I risk retaliation from Xerka. If I supply soldiers too? The basilisks will attack us. Their allies on the Council will too. I don't doubt that."

Leona winced. "So I have five hundred geode-ships. And no pilots."

"You will have to fly one back to Earth," Aurora said, "then return with human pilots."

Leona shook her head. "I can't spend that much time. Earth is halfway across the galaxy, and every day counts. Even if I fly insanely fast, time would pass normally for Earth. Time dilation."

Aurora thought for a moment. "You need Earth to send you pilots right away. You could call Earth using an Isaac Wormhole."

Leona frowned. "An Isaac Wormhole? That sounds familiar."

"Professor Noah Isaac invented them," Aurora said. "A human. He was my friend. And husband to Einav Ben-Ari. An ancestor of yours."

"Of course!" Leona nodded. "I've read about them in Einav's memoirs. They involve using azoth crystals to create a thin tunnel through spacetime. Not wide enough to fly a starship through. But wide enough to send information between stars at breakneck speed."

"We have such technology," Aurora said. "Call home. Have your father send a ship of pilots over right away."

Leona sighed. "I could. And that's better than me flying all the way back and forth. But even so, Earth is so far. Even if they can muster five hundred pilots—which I doubt—it would take them months to arrive here. Then months to fly back. Earth might not last that long. Unless …" Leona gasped. "Aurora, I have an idea. I don't need to call my dad. I need to call Rowan."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Rowan sat cross-legged on the floor, closed her eyes, and tried to meditate.

It wasn't easy when bombs kept exploding above, shaking the bunker.

"Come on, Row," she told herself. "You gotta do this. Focus."

She had never meditated in her life. But Coral had. And the Weaver Writs, which Rowan had been studying, taught that meditation was the path to power. If Rowan wanted to become a weaver, here was the first step.

She looked at her hands. With a silver marker, she had drawn runes on her palms, following the books' instructions. These were not true weaver runes, of course. They had not been inked with aether. But if the books were right, these sigils would open a gateway. They would lead Rowan to the wise ancients, the guardians of weavers.

But only if I can mucking concentrate, she thought.

She took a deep breath and tried to focus.

Another bomb fell aboveground.

The bunker trembled.

Rowan groaned and leaped to her feet.

"This is so stupid! I should be up there, fighting in the trenches! Not sitting here alone in a dark bunker."

Fillister's voice rose from the minicom in her pocket. "Oi, Row! You wouldn't be no good up in them trenches."

She pulled him out and glared at the monitor. "Why the hell not?"

"You're too tiny," he said. "All brain, no brawn, you."

"I've got big guns!" She flexed a muscle. "I've been working out."

"Row, I've got bigger muscles than you, and I'm a disembodied AI," he said. "Look, love. There are thousands of human soldiers who can fire a gun. But how many can become a weaver? Coral saw something in you, she did. And you promised you'd follow in her path. The power of weaving, well, that's worth more than ten thousand infantrymen."

"I don't know about that," Rowan said. "But yes—Earth needs a weaver. With Coral gone, it's up to me." She sighed. "I'll be honest, Fill. I was hoping to have become a weaver by now. But all these other projects have kept me busy. Building the Talaria cannons, building the Babel network, helping with Operation Snaketrap and Rapid Expansion, and—"

"I get it, Row!" Fillister said. "You've very useful. Not very useful at building me a new body, mind you, but the rest is splendid. Now make yourself even more useful and get to meditating."

She rolled her eyes. "If you'd ever shut up!" She switched him off.

She sat down, took a deep breath, and tried again.

According to the Weavers' Writ, there was a higher plane of reality. The Empyrean Firmament existed above the physical world. Instead of matter, it was woven of aether, a mysterious and luminous substance. Evidence of aether was all over the universe; dark matter was its shadow.

And in that Empyrean Firmament lived the ancients.

They had once been organic beings, not very different from humans. They had lived in the Milky Way galaxy long ago. Remnants of their civilization remained; they had built the Tree of Light, also called the Wormhole Road, a network of wormholes that crisscrossed the galaxy.

A million years ago, they had transcended, becoming beings of pure consciousness. They now lived in the realm above. Weavers could talk to the ancients. Through their runes, they could receive gifts of aether.

And I can use aether as a weapon, Rowan thought. I can use it to kill Xerka.

She realized that for the past few moments, her mind had wandered. She had been thinking about the ancients and their power—when she should have been focusing on her breathing.

She tried again.

Just think about breathing, Row. Breathe in. Breathe out. That's it.

For a few breaths, she managed to focus, to keep her awareness on the air entering and leaving her lungs.

Then her mind strayed. She found herself thinking about the goings on at Antikythera Institute. They had been building tanks lately, part of the Hammer and Anvil Project, and Rowan had some new design ideas. If she could create a bubble turret on top of the tank, that would resolve the optics issue. Sure, the tank might look like that car Homer Simpson had designed, but it would give the gunner a better view, and—

No, Rowan! she told herself. Focus on breathing. Breathing!

She screwed her eyes shut as tightly as she could. She clenched her fists in her lap.

Breathe in.

She focused on the air entering her lungs.

Breathe out.

She focused on releasing the air.

Of course, building the tanks was secondary to Operation Rapid Expansion. She was helping out with that project too—finding new locations for humans to settle. Xerka had already proved she was willing to use nukes. So Rowan had been scouring maps, seeking out locations for colonies in Europe, Africa, and Asia. If Xerka nuked one continent from orbit—Aliens style—maybe the others—

She groaned and slapped her head.

"Why the hell can't I focus?" she cried.

She wanted to turn on her minicom, to talk to Fillister. She forced herself to breathe again—and not to think.

Don't think about Operation Snaketrap! she told herself. I know it's important to trap feral basilisks near our colonies, so that Xerka can't nuke us. But you'll think about that later! And stop thinking about how Operation Exodus is going! Colonel Sage is perfectly capable of carrying out that operation herself. She's bringing in thousands of refugees a week, so you don't have to worry. You can also stop thinking about how Bay is doing. He's perfectly safe with Luther, so—

It was useless.

Now she was thinking about not thinking.

Absolutely useless.

Rowan opened her eyes, stood up, and paced the room. Until now, she had never realized what a holy jumbled mess her brain was.

"Is it always so full of thoughts?" she wondered aloud. "No wonder I struggle to fall asleep at night."

For the first time in years, she had actually tried to stop thinking. To just breathe. And she had discovered a mind as chaotic as a disturbed ant hive.

She switched on her minicom.

"Oh, Fill, I can't do it. I can't even take two breaths without losing focus. My brain wanders off, and I start thinking about all my projects, and about how I need to build tanks, and about how Bay is doing, and—" She groaned. "And I'm doing it again! I'm bloody doing it even when I'm talking! What the hell is wrong with me?"

"You're a loony," Fillister said. "But I've always known that."

Rowan flounced onto her bed. "I don't know how Coral did it. I've seen her meditate. She would go into a trance. Muck me, I can't take two breaths without thinking about the war—or some damn movie scene. My God. Mister Miyagi would have given up on me in ten seconds flat." She tugged her hair. "And there I go again!"

"Well, just do whatever Daniel-san did in that movie," Fillister said.

She tilted her head. "You mean steal another man's girl, then use an illegal move to win a trophy?"

Fillister groaned. "Not this again!"

"I keep telling you, Fill, Daniel-san is the villain! Not only does he steal Johnny's girlfriend, he constantly antagonizes him—crashing his dojo, ruining his Halloween costume—and then he cheats at the championship, and—"

"Rowan!"

"Fine, fine!" She sat down again and took a deep breath. "Wax on, wax off, I get it."

She closed her eyes and held out her open palms.

She moved one palm in a circular motion.

Wax on.

A deep breath. She moved her second palm, mimicking the same circular motion.

Wax off.

More deep breaths. More movements of her palms, drawing circles in the air.

Wax on. Wax off.

And the damn thing was working.

It was working!

I'm doing it! I'm actually focusing! I—oh, crap, back to waxing, Rowan-san!

She gulped and focused on a few more breaths.

She raised her hands, palms open to display the runes she had drawn, trying to open a gateway to the Empyrean Firmament.

A few more deep breaths, and she felt something.

Warmth on her hands.

A prick on her forehead.

It vanished. She kept breathing. Opening up.

Her consciousness seemed to rise, to fill the bunker. She was no longer confined to her body. She was everywhere, everything, untethered, merely experiencing.

Above—she glimpsed it.

An expansion of consciousness. All thoughts and feelings—fading away. Just awareness, ballooning. And it was there. No, not above her. But in parallel to this universe. A universe beyond. Far vaster. A universe of pure mindfulness, of gentle light.

Figures were here, figures with no forms, but real nonetheless, observing, experiencing, turning toward her, and—

Her minicom rang.

Her body sucked up her soul like a glutton sucking up a noodle.

She slammed back into her skull and blinked.

The minicom kept ringing.

"Ferkakte!" she cried. "I had it! I actually had it!" She glanced at the minicom. "What the hell do you want, Leona?"

Rowan froze.

She rubbed her eyes.

She stared again at the buzzing minicom.

It displayed the caller: Colonel Leona Ben-Ari.

Leona who should be halfway across the galaxy.

Rowan blinked and accepted the call. "Ahoyhoy."

And Leona answered. "Rowan! Thank Ra. I wasn't sure if anyone on Earth was still alive." She breathed shakily. "Ra, it's good to hear your voice."

Rowan's voice was suddenly hoarse. "You too, Leona. I'm so glad you're still alive."

For a long time, the two spoke, recounting their past few months. Rowan spoke of the war on Earth—the battles on all continents, the embargo, the gunrunning, the flood of refugees, and the growing fear of defeat. Leona spoke of her long journey to Menoria, of her gift of ships, and her need for pilots.

"I don't have time to wait for human pilots," Leona said. "I'm calling you through an Isaac Wormhole. Over this line, you can transfer code. Rowan—I need you to transfer me copies of Brooklyn. Of Fillister too, if he's up to the task. I need hundreds of them. I need their clones to fly my ships."

Rowan was silent.

After a moment, Leona said, "Rowan? Are you still there?"

"I am. I just …" She sighed. "Remember how I told you that we used fireships?

"I do. It was brilliant!"

"I used copies of Fillister and Brooklyn on the fireships," Rowan said. "And they died. I heard them scream." She blinked tears out of her eyes. "If they fly the geode fleet, they'll die again and again. Hundreds of times. I don't know if I can doom my friends to hundreds of deaths."

"Rowan." There was impatience to Leona's voice now. "They're software."

"So are we!" Rowan said. "What are humans if not software made out of meat? Fillister and Brooklyn are alive. They're my friends. It's bad enough for a friend to die once. But to die so often?" Rowan shuddered. "It would shatter them. To break their souls apart, install them into five hundred ships, send them off to battle … I can't even imagine anything more nightmarish. I did this once. And it still haunts my nightmares. I don't know if I can do this again."

"Are Fillister and Brooklyn alive?" Leona said. "Maybe. Or maybe they're simply an illusion of life, and beneath that illusion there is nothing but cold numbers, no consciousness or feelings or true thoughts. They might be no more alive than a character in a book, no matter how real that character's emotions seem. But that's a philosophical debate we don't have time for. Suppose they are alive. That doesn't change my decision. Would it be less ethical to send human pilots to battle?"

"I don't know," Rowan confessed. "I don't think so. But this is more than just killing life. It's about splitting life apart. Treating them as disposable."

"Is that any different from human soldiers?" Leona said. "You and I are commissioned officers, Rowan. Enlisted soldiers are, in a sense, disposable to us. We split them apart too—we tear them away from their families, their previous lives, we break them and remold them. That doesn't mean it's easy. It's heartbreaking. But being a good leader isn't about avoiding pain. It isn't about being nice. It's about doing what must be done. Being a leader is about taking terrible action. About dooming many to death—so that others can thrive. Gentle people make poor leaders. Leaders capable of monstrosities are those who can fight monsters. That is one of the most disturbing truths I know. It's a truth I've accepted. A truth Einav Ben-Ari understood during her wars."

Rowan shivered. "So we must become monsters to kill monsters?"

"No, we don't have to become monsters," Leona said. "But we must have a monster leashed inside us, always hungry and ready to bite. And sometimes we must loosen that chain."

"That scares me," Rowan said. "It mucking terrifies me, in fact."

"It should," Leona said. "It terrifies me too."

Rowan lowered her head. Finally she said, "I'll ask them."

"No," said Leona. "You will order them. As I'm ordering you. Do you understand why that matters?"

"Leadership." Rowan sighed. "Blimey, writing alien code, designing tanks, and meditating is easier."

"The difficulty of a task is irrelevant. Only its importance matters."

Rowan rolled her eyes. "Well, aren't you a well of wisdom today, Master Yoda. Hang on. I'll relay your orders."

But as it turned out, both Fillister and Brooklyn—installed into the very minicom Rowan was speaking into—had been eavesdropping.

"We'll do it," they said in unison.

Rowan's heart broke. For a moment, she felt so devastated she couldn't move.

"Rowan, initiate the transfer of code," Leona said.

Rowan's eyes stung.

Loosen the leash.

She raised her hand, hesitated.

Be an officer. Be a leader. Be a soldier.

A tear flowed down Rowan's cheek. But she initiated the transfer.

A copy of Brooklyn began to flow through the tiny wormhole, heading toward Leona thousands of light-years away.

Rowan was about to send Fillister over too when a massive explosion hit the bunker.

The floor cracked. The walls trembled. Rowan fell, and her minicom flew from her hand. Its monitor shattered.

For a moment—silence.

"What the hell?" Rowan whispered.

And then the wall burst open with a shower of rocks and dust and soil.

Basilisks sprang through the opening, entering the bunker. They tossed back their heads, screeched with fury, and lunged at Rowan.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

"Reports are coming in from all colonies!" Ramses shouted as the bunkers trembled. "A massive basilisk assault—everywhere! They're burrowing into every damn bunker we have!"

Emet stood in his war room—the deepest, most defended bunker below Port Addison. He stared at his monitors. One monitor showed a map of Port Addison's labyrinth of tunnels. Basilisks had breached the tunnels in three locations. The aliens were now moving from chamber to chamber, slaying everything in their path. Other monitors showed humbler labyrinths—the tunnels beneath other colonies, some here in North America, others across the Atlantic. There too, the basilisks were breaking in.

"So that's what the bastards have been doing the past few months," Emet muttered.

The basilisks had been unusually quiet lately. Their attacks on the trenches had continued, but it had felt more like a war of attrition, less like a blitz.

They had been buying time, Emet now realized. They had been digging.

"They're moving toward the food stores!" Ramses said, staring at a monitor with wide eyes.

"They're near the nursery!" Mairead shouted, pointing at another monitor.

Tom turned from a control panel. "Emet, reports are streaming in from refugee camps outside the solar system—those the Exodus Fleet hasn't evacuated yet. The basilisks are bombarding them. They're slaughtering human refugees!"

Emet inhaled sharply. He unslung his rifle off his back.

"Mairead—lead a team to the storerooms. Protect our food. Ramses, lead a platoon to the Antikythera Labs. Don't let them fall to the enemy. Cindy, send a message to the Exodus Fleet—tell them to defend the refugee camps. Tom, you come with me. We're going to fight for the nurseries."

His officers nodded and loaded their weapons.

Cindy grabbed Emet. "Remember what you promised. To lead from your bunker!"

"The enemy is in the bunkers now," Emet said. "Cindy, you have the war room while I'm away. If something happens—you have Earth."

She kissed him. "Godspeed, Emet."

The officers ran.

"Latona Company, with me!" Emet shouted, running past their barracks.

The infantry company joined him. Tom ran by another barracks, summoning his own company. Soon four hundred soldiers were racing through the tunnels, heading upward toward the breach.

In the distance, Emet could hear the sounds of battle. Phoenix Company was already there, fighting off the basilisks. He heard them screaming. He heard the enemy shriek with bloodlust.

He ran as fast as he could, but thousands of refugees crowded the tunnels. Women, children, elders, and the wounded filled these bunkers, clogging their path. At times, Emet was forced to slow to a walk, to worm his way through. The civilians pressed themselves against the wall, shivering, praying.

It seemed ages before Emet reached the northeastern tunnels, where the nurseries were located.

The smell of blood, gunpowder, and offal greeted him.

Several dead soldiers lay around a basilisk corpse. Emet and his troops ran over them. Blood sluiced around their boots. Ahead, shadows stirred. Gunfire echoed. Children were fleeing the slaughter, screaming. Nurses and teachers ran close behind, holding babies. Blood covered everyone. Emet and his soldiers raced by them, guns raised.

"For Earth!" Emet cried, leading the charge.

He burst into a wide bunker—a schoolroom—and beheld the enemy.

The basilisks were rearing, screeching for war. They wore plate armor, and cannons were mounted onto their backs. A handful of human soldiers were already here. They stood by the blackboard, firing their guns. Colonists lay dead at their feet—soldiers and children alike.

The Old Lion sounded his roar. Emet leaped into battle.

His bullets dented the enemy's armor. They bellowed, and Emet kept firing, hitting the armor again and again until it cracked. His soldiers joined him, delivering a hailstorm of bullets. Chairs and desks shattered under the barrage.

Several basilisks fell. The others aimed the guns mounted on their backs and fired.

Bullets the size of saltshakers slammed into human troops. They tore off limbs, pulverized faces, sent mutilated corpses flying. One bullet glanced off a wall and slammed into Emet's armored vest, knocking him down. He hit the ground, and a basilisk reared above him. The creature's lower jaw unhinged, revealing a maw full of teeth, ready to feast.

Emet raised Thunder. The rifle filled the hellmouth with lead.

The basilisk fell, jaw gone, brains splattered against the opposite wall. Emet rose to his feet and fired Lighting, an electric pistol the size of a drill. The bolts slammed into another basilisk, knocking it back.

A few of the creatures were constricting soldiers, hissing as bones cracked. One basilisk was devouring a man alive. A few basilisks had lumpy bodies; they had already feasted, eating schoolchildren.

Emet ignored the pain, the blood. He loaded fresh magazines and kept firing. More of his soldiers burst into the classroom, adding to the fusillade. They fought until every basilisk in the room lay dead.

Then they continued to the next classroom.

And the next.

Over the past few weeks, ensconced in his bunker, Emet had taken a respite from the horror of war. He had spent decades fighting on the frontline. Lately he had become a desk soldier.

Not today.

Today that horror rushed back into him on a tidal wave of blood.

Deeper in the tunnels, they reached the first nursery.

A teacher stood in the corner, firing an automatic weapon, desperate to hold back three screeching basilisks. Toddlers cowered behind her, screaming. Across the room, beds were overturned, some bloodied. Two teachers lay dead, bones crushed. Emet didn't know how many toddlers had survived—and how many filled the bellies of the beasts.

He opened fire. Tom burst into the room, firing too. The basilisks fell. One of the aliens gagged as it died, regurgitating a dead child.

"First squad!" Emet said. "Get these children into the lower bunkers—then rejoin us here. Go, go!"

He moved into the next nursery, this one for infants. Here too the basilisks were feasting. Emet fired again. The snakes fired back. Emet took a blast to the chest. His armor cracked, and he felt a rib crack too. He ignored the pain, kept killing. A claw lashed his arm. His blood spurted. He had to lower his pistol, but he kept fighting with his rifle.

The farther they moved, the more basilisks they encountered. They were only several bunkers from the breach now. Only a hundred meters from where the basilisks had burrowed in. Many of the beasts were swarming here. They filled the rooms, piling up, writhing, a scaly mass of alien flesh.

"We can't kill them all," Emet said. He paused for breath in a narrow tunnel. Several soldiers stood ahead, firing their machine guns, holding back the enemy.

"We must!" Tom said. "There are more bunkers to save."

Emet grunted. He turned toward his troops. "Second and third squads! Secure this doorway. Fourth squad—place explosives across this tunnel. We're bringing it down."

Tom grabbed his arm. He leaned in close and spoke in a low, harsh voice. "Emet, there are still living humans up there. I hear them."

Emet clenched his jaw. He heard them too. Beyond the squirming walls of basilisks—human screams. Some of soldiers. Some of children.

He knew every bend and bunker underground. There were still two classrooms ahead, a nursery, a teacher's lounge, a platoon's barracks.

But between Emet and them—hundreds of basilisks. Too many.

"We can't save them," Emet said.

Tom inhaled sharply. "Emet, there might be hundreds of humans still alive up there."

"Not hundreds," Emet said. "Not anymore. We will cut our losses, Mister Shepherd."

A mound of basilisks was squirming ahead, moving closer, a hellish monster that filled the tunnel, a mass of fangs and claws. It seemed like a single living beast. Human soldiers were firing on it, but the basilisk guns emerged from the wall of flesh and scales, firing back. Soldiers were falling, dying. People Emet knew. Some were barely more than youths, not even old enough to shave.

"Squad Four!" Emet said. "Hurry!"

They were busy gluing explosives to the tunnel wall and ceiling.

"Sir—done!" announced their commander.

"Emet, we can't just abandon those people," Tom said, eyes wide.

"Mister Shepherd, you forget yourself. I've given my orders." Emet grabbed the man's shoulder and leaned in. "Dammit, man, don't you see we have no choice? If these beasts break through—we all die. There are two hundred thousand refugees below us. If we keep fighting here, if we try to save the nurseries above—we die. And nothing will hold back the basilisks. They will swarm deeper. They will kill everyone below. We must sacrifice a hundred lives above to save hundreds of thousands below."

Tom's eyes were red with grief and fury. But the tall, gaunt warrior nodded.

Yes, Tom understood. Tom had led people to death before. Tom too had left people behind.

Yet there was agony in the shepherd's eyes. And the same agony tore at Emet's heart.

"Company—fall back!" Emet cried. "Fall back to the lower level!"

They fell back—and the mass of serpents followed. Writhing, hissing, screeching, a scaly bundle that filled the tunnel from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, gushing forth like a river. The soldiers fled before it, heading into a lower bunker.

Emet grabbed an iron blast door and slammed it shut.

"Fire in the hole!" he shouted.

One of his soldiers hit a button.

The cosmos seemed to crack.

The bunker shook so violently they all fell. The walls were concrete poured over metal, but they cracked. The blast door trembled and bent. The sound rolled over Emet, wave after wave of agony. He covered his ears, and he felt the shock waves pounding his chest. He nearly passed out from pain. Dust rained from the ceiling. The blast door curved inward like a blister.

And then it was over.

No more shrieks sounded.

Emet rose, head reeling. For long moments, he and his soldiers stood, waiting.

Nothing.

The basilisks were gone.

The bunkers were sealed.

In the classroom, soldiers lowered their heads. A few were weeping. But Emet refused to lower his head, to shed tears, to show weakness. These soldiers depended on him to be strong. In a world of chaos, a world falling apart, a world of nightmares—they needed order. A pillar of strength.

My insides are falling apart, Emet thought. But I will be strong for them.

"Soldiers, you fought well," he said. "We saved many lives. Remember that. Hundreds died. But we saved hundreds of thousands. Lieutenant Taylor, you and your platoon remain here. Guard this blast door. The engineering corps will be here soon to reinforce it. Everyone else—come with me. We've got more tunnels to secure."

The pain was agonizing. When nobody was watching, Emet jabbed morphine into his leg. And he ran onward.

They fought in the southern tunnels, where basilisks had broken into the storerooms and had begun to devour the food. They fought deep in Antikythera Labs, where the basilisks had taken over several rooms, stealing valuable computers. The soldiers demolished more tunnels. They secured more blast doors. They retreated.

They watched people die.

They heard the screams of those trapped beyond the doors.

Of those left behind.

They fought for hours, and from across the world, the reports kept coming in. Basilisks digging into every colony. New Busan, a town of a thousand—gone. Lindenville, a colony in Europe—it went dark.

They caught us by surprise, Emet thought. They're devastating us. We might never recover.

The terror grew inside him. They barely had a fleet in space. They had no power in the air, land, or sea. They had been fighting from underground.

And now they were dying underground.

Ten hours after the assault began, the HDF had blocked all the breaches, and the high command gathered in the war room.

"Give me a full report," Emet said.

His officers reported from their monitors. Gradually, the picture emerged.

Emet's heart sank.

The basilisks had destroyed several human colonies. Thousands of humans were dead or missing.

Here below Port Addison, the enemy had overrun several tunnels and chambers. Hundreds of lives—lost or missing.

Reports were slower to come in from space. But refugee camps with ansibles were sending dire news. The basilisks were hitting them hard, and the Exodus Fleet was still fighting.

"The basilisks are calling it the Wrath Offensive," Tom reported, pouring over data. "They're calling it revenge for our fireships. They vow this will be the end of humanity."

"Why now?" Emet said. "Why today of all days?"

Tom stared into his eyes—and there was a deep, cold terror there.

"The basilisk signals mention Leona."

Emet inhaled sharply. "Leona …"

Tom nodded. "She's at Menoria. She purchased hundreds of warships. Xerka is afraid—and wants to win the war before Leona returns."

And there it was again—the terror. It filled Emet's chest, wrapping around his heart, creaking his broken rib.

Leona and Bay. Both his children—out in space, alone in the darkness.

Him and his people—trapped underground, the basilisks slamming at the gates.

Emet looked again at the map of the tunnels. The upper nurseries—gone. The food pantries—gone. Antikythera Labs—gone.

The Menorian starships—still weeks away.

"Where is Rowan?" he asked, trying to hide the fear from his voice. "Did she make it out?"

Tom looked steadily into his eyes. "Emet, we haven't heard from Rowan. Her minicom is offline. She was in the labs. I'm sorry."

Those words hurt Emet more than a basilisk cannon.

He looked around the room. Everyone stared back. They were silent. Their eyes were hard. But he saw it in everyone, bubbling beneath the surface.

Panic.

In the distance, basilisk screeches rose, and drills whirred.

Emet loaded another magazine, and he knew: This might be the end.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Rowan knelt, her electromagnetic blanket pulled over her, as a hundred basilisks clawed and bit and shrieked for her blood.

"Kill the human!"

"Break her bones!"

"Devour her flesh!"

"Digest her alive!"

Rowan crouched lower, pulling the blanket more tightly around her. It exerted an immense force, powerful enough to hold off the basilisk claws and fangs.

You ain't breaking through, assholes, she thought. I used this blanket to withstand missile blasts.

Memories of that day returned to her—her battle against Emperor Sin Kra on a distant world. The blanket had saved her life then. The missiles had pulverized the scorpion emperor. They had broken every bone in Rowan's body, yes, but the blanket had saved her life.

And it had saved her now.

Or at least—for now.

"Tear her skin!"

"Drink her blood!"

"Crack her skull!"

"Crush her eyes!"

The basilisks kept slamming against the blanket, unable to break through. Rowan winced. Their weight nearly crushed her. She was still in her lab—her little underground kingdom. It was here Rowan had been studying the Copperhead starfighter, coding a virus, and practicing her meditation. Now a hundred basilisks filled the room, maybe more, a mass of wriggling flesh, burying her.

How the hell do I get out of this one? she thought.

She still had Lullaby, her loyal gun. But only one magazine, enough to kill maybe one or two basilisks. There was no way she could fight her way out.

Holding the blanket up with one hand, she lifted her minicom. The monitor had shattered in the assault. The device sparked in her hand, shocking her. But it wasn't completely dead.

"Fillister?" she whispered, speaking into the little mic. "You there, buddy?"

Static emerged through the cracked speaker. Then a faint voice.

"Oi, Row!"

She exhaled in relief.

"Thank God. You all right?"

"No, I ain't bloody all right! I'm blind! What the hell happened?"

"Basilisk assault," she said. "A hundred of those buggers tunneled into the lab. I'm hiding under my electric blanket. I'm stuck. There are about ten tons of basilisks sitting on top of me."

"Blimey," Fillister said.

Rowan nodded. "Fill, your monitor is broken, and your camera is busted, but I think your wireless antenna still works. Can you connect to the war room's mainframe and let me know what's up?"

"Can do," Fillister said. He hummed, buzzed, and suddenly sparked. "Ouch! Me gears are all busted!"

Rowan winced. "Can you reach out at all?"

"I can," he said. "Smarts a bit. But I'm on the mainframe. Oh dear, oh dear. Things are a proper mess. Them bloomin' basilisks breached the colony at three locations. Took several rooms. The storeroom, some nurseries, the labs. But it's all right, Row. Emet and his boys sealed 'em off for now. Crashed down some tunnels, and they're reinforcing the blast doors."

Rowan cringed. "Let me guess. We're outside the safe spaces."

"Sorry, old girl," Fillister said. "We've been abandoned. The bastards!"

Rowan shook her head. "No, they did what they had to do. They had to save the refugees, even if it meant giving up the labs." She sighed. "We're gonna have to make our way back ourselves."

The blanket suddenly pressed down against her. The basilisks were attacking with new fervor, desperate to break through. The electromagnetic force kept them back for now—but how long before they brought drills? Rowan wasn't sure her armor could stop drills.

"Row, there ain't no way we can get outta this one," Fillister said. "Bloody hell. Not unless you can burrow through a hundred meters of solid stone, concrete, and metal. Not to mention them snakes."

"Fill, if there were truly nothing but stone, concrete, metal, and snakes between us and the others, your wireless wouldn't make it through either. There's another way. One I know something about." The smiled shakily. "The ventilation ducts."

From here under the blanket, Rowan couldn't see much. But she knew there was a vent on the wall, only a few meters away. The duct could take her to her safety. It would be like any old day back in Paradise Lost.

"Just like good old times," Fillister said. "But how we gonna reach the vent? There are a hundred bloody basilisks squishing us."

"Fill, you know that Copperhead we've been studying? It's here in the room with us, covered in basilisks. I need you to connect to its computer."

The minicom sparked and hummed in protest. "Row, that Copperhead is alien tech! You know that. I can't live in some bloomin' alien computer."

"You're ready, Fill. We've spent weeks studying the Copperhead's API. You know the code like I do. You can do this. I believe in you."

Above them, drills whirred.

The blanket twisted.

The tip of a drill tore through, spinning madly, showering sparks.

Rowan screamed.

"Fill, hurry! Get into that Copperhead!"

She yanked the blanket, redirecting its magnetic field. The drill jerked outward, whizzed, and a basilisk screeched. Blood spurted through a hole in the blanket. She could see cracked basilisk scales. The creatures clawed at the hole, reaching in.

"Hurry, Fill!" she said.

Her minicom vibrated. "All right, I'm in!"

A fang poked through the hole and sliced Rowan's arm. She screamed and shoved on the blanket, knocking the basilisk back. But that raised the other end of the blanket. Claws reached under it.

"Fill, fire the Copperhead's cannons!" she cried. "And its afterburner! Fill this room with flame!"

A drill tore another hole open.

More claws reached in.

Rowan fired Lullaby, and the bullet exploded against a claw, and fragments stung her arms. She screamed. The drill tore another hole. A basilisk claw reached under the blanket and grabbed Rowan's ankle, and another claw grabbed her hand, and—

Fire roared.

An inferno bathed Rowan.

Outside the blanket, the basilisks screeched—an agonized, demonic sound.

The Copperhead's engine is blasting on full afterburner, Rowan realized.

She winced, the insane heat flowing under the blanket, singeing her clothes, blistering her skin.

"Stop," she whispered. "Fillister, sto—"

An explosion rocked the chamber.

Another.

A third blast.

Fillister was firing the Copperhead's guns.

She grabbed the blanket and pulled it down as tightly as possible, folding the holes shut. She screwed her eyes tight, clinging to the electromagnetic blanket, such a thin shell between life and death.

For what seemed like ages, the inferno raged. The basilisks kept screaming. No longer screams of fury. No longer monstrous screams. Their voices sounded almost human to her. Almost begging.

They're evil, Rowan reminded herself. They're monsters.

Yet still those screams tore at her. She knew they'd forever echo in her mind.

The fire died.

For a moment, Rowan took deep breaths. The Harmonians were already working through her body. The tiny, lavender beings were healing her burns, closing her cuts.

Rowan shoved off the blanket and stared across the room.

"My God," she whispered.

The Copperhead's afterburner and cannons were still smoking. They had devastated the bunker. The walls had shattered. Charred basilisks were piled up, scales melted, flesh seared, bones exposed. Half were dead. The others were writhing, mewling, dying. The broken walls exposed more snakes in deeper chambers.

"Row, hurry!" Fillister cried from her cracked minicom.

She took a step toward the vent, and pain flared in her wounded leg. She fell onto a charred basilisk, burning her hands against the sizzling scales. She yowled, rose, stumbled forward.

Another basilisk slithered over shattered concrete into the tunnel.

"Row!"

She aimed over her shoulder and fired, taking out an eye. The basilisk fell, revealing more behind it. She took several pot shots at them, then leaped over the dead basilisks and reached the vent.

The metal grate had melted. She grabbed what remained of the bars, then screamed as they burned her hands. Cursing her stupidity, she pulled off her vest, then used it to pull the molten grate free.

"Row, more basilisks!" Fillister cried.

She could barely hold Lullaby. Her hands blazed, blistering. The Harmonians couldn't keep up with her wounds. Through the pain, she fired again and again, emptying her magazine, then turned back toward the vent.

She leaped into the duct.

She hadn't crawled through a duct in years. But it was like riding a bike. She wriggled forward.

The basilisks screeched behind. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw them slithering toward the vent.

"Fill, if you please?"

Back in the bunker, the Copperhead fired again.

Fire blazed.

The basilisks screamed.

Rowan crawled faster, even as the flames burned her feet.

"Fire everything she's got, Fill!" she said. "Missiles, bombs—the works. Make the labs collapse behind us."

"But all our work!" he said.

"We have backups of the important stuff. Do it! We can't let the rest fall into their claws. Fire every damn missile on that Copperhead, and overheat its engine until it blows!"

She wriggled forward, crawling as fast as she could.

Behind her, the Copperhead released its full arsenal of missiles, lasers, and fuel.

Fire filled the duct, racing toward Rowan. She reached a shaft, grabbed the walls, and scurried upward. The fire rushed beneath her like a river of lava. Her feet were burnt but already glowing lavender. The Menorians were doing their work.

Thank you, little buddies, she thought.

When the fire died, the basilisk screams were gone.

As were the labs. Her tank designs. Her engineering projects. Several costly azoth crystals. Dozens of computers. The holy Weaver Writs.

But the important project—her Troy Virus—still existed in her minicom. As did Fillister and a dormant backup of Brooklyn.

She crawled for a long while. As the adrenaline faded, the pain rose. The Harmonians could only do so much. They had saved her life, but her skin was still charred, and her wounds still ached.

Finally she reached another vent—the entrance to the war room.

She removed the grate and crawled inside, covered in blood and ash.

Earth's generals spun toward her.

"Rowan!" Emet cried.

She stood up, legs shaky.

"I'm sorry, sir!" she said. "I had to destroy the labs. I had to. I lost some projects, but—"

The president pulled her into a crushing embrace.

"Thank Ra," he said, holding her against his barrel chest. "I thought you were gone."

She looked around her. Everyone was somber. Eyes dark. Fists clenched. On monitors, Rowan saw stats from across Earth.

Colonies fallen.

Thousands dead.

In space—the basilisks pounding refugee camps.

The Wrath Offensive.

Rowan looked at Emet and raised her minicom. "Sir, I was just able to get my Copperhead to fire its missiles." She peeled back her lips in a snarl. "By God, I say we get them all to fire."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Bay swooped in his Firebird, strafing the enemy positions. His bullets tore through their lines, casting up clouds of shattered scales and chunks of ice. The basilisks screeched below and tried to flee. Bay rose higher, spun his Firebird around, and swooped again. His rotary cannons pounded the enemy.

Above him, the Exodus Fleet—what remained of it, at least—was bombarding basilisk warships. The sky rained fire and metal.

Bay took another strafing run, hammering the basilisk infantry swarming toward the human refugee camp.

The camp was massive. Tens of thousands of human refugees were here, shivering on the ice, only thin tents and rags shielding them from the cold. Some had been here for a year. Others had only arrived, fleeing basilisk assaults across the galaxy.

I'll get you home to Earth, Bay vowed.

He struck another line of basilisks, sending them fleeing.

"Get the dropships down here!" he cried into his comm. "Quick, before the enemy reinforcements arrive."

The boxy, armored shuttles descended toward the icy plains. Human soldiers emerged, firing machine guns at the last lingering basilisks. Refugees ran across the bloody ice, entering the dropships.

The evacuation continued for hours. The Exodus Fleet had been doing this for nearly two years now. They had become professionals. By nightfall, the fleet was blasting away. Twenty warships—the last remnants of humanity's fleet. The HDFS Porter—a massive cruise ship, filled with a hundred thousand shivering refugees. A handful of Firebirds and freighters.

We bought a million people home so far, Bay thought. But was it all for nothing?

The news had been coming in for days. It was spreading across the galaxy.

The Wrath Offensive was underway. A turning point in the war.

"Xerka is at a state of full war now," Bay muttered the next morning, reviewing reports. "The snake has gone berserk."

He stood on the bridge of the HDFS New Orleans. Bay and Luther had been using it for gunrunning for months now. The freighter was heavily armored and massive, large enough to carry many weapons and bombs to the troops. It also came with a handful of sturdy shuttles, used to deliver those armaments down to the planet through the Talaria tunnels. The ship wasn't particularly comfortable. The freighter was decades old, a rusty old floating warehouse. But she did her job. She had become, in Bay's opinion, the most important ship humanity owned—alongside the Porter, at least.

The HDFS Porter delivered refugees. The New Orleans delivered weapons. Bay had hoped that together, the two ships could win this war.

But that was before this. Before the Wrath Offensive.

"She's throwing everything at us," Bay said. "So are her allies. Port Addison is under siege. Many communities on Earth and space—wiped out. My Ra. How many died?"

Luther sat beside him, face stern.

"We must return to Earth," the old starling said. "They can use our ships."

Bay sighed. "Twenty warships won't make much of a difference against thousands. But you're right. We'll head back now. We're done smuggling. We must fight for our soil."

He shoved down the throttle, activating his azoth drive. The New Orleans blasted toward Earth, the stars streaking. The other ships followed.

They flew for days—and every day tore at Bay. Every day he paced the bridge, thinking of Rowan, wanting to be there with her, to hold her, protect her. Every day he knew countless humans were dying.

He was ten light-years from Sol when Bay replotted a course. The ship turned in space, heading toward a smaller, colder star.

Luther raised an eyebrow. "We're not going to Earth?"

"A detour," Bay said. "To Epsilon Eridani."

"I thought we were done gunrunning for now," Luther said.

"Oh, we are," Bay said. "I'm not flying to Epsilon Eridani to buy guns." He smiled crookedly. "We're out of money, as it is."

The rest of the Exodus Fleet followed. Good. Bay didn't want them flying to Earth without help.

"I know what you're thinking, kid," Luther began. "It won't work."

"We're only twenty warships, Luth," Bay said, flying toward the nearby star. "Not enough to protect the Porter. Not enough to help Earth. We need more ships."

Luther leaned back in his seat, looking very old. "Starflare won't fight with us."

Bay gave him a thin smile. "She might not. But she's just one starling. You fight with us. When it comes to starlings, I'm batting fifty-fifty so far. Hey, if half the starlings at Epsilon Eridani add their starships to ours? Well, my friend, we'll have an armada."

They had flown between Epsilon Eridani and Earth many times by now—buying weapons from the former, smuggling them to the latter. Salvage crews on Earth had been scouring the plains and oceans, seeking azoth crystals from their fallen fleet. Each azoth crystal, even just a shard the size of a fingernail, could buy more guns. Xerka might have shattered Earth's fleet, but with the remains, Earth had funded the Human Defense Force.

The days of paying with crystals were over. Xerka's troops had claimed nearly all of Earth, making azoth retrieval impossible. Humanity was broken, hungry, and facing extinction.

But there is more than one kind of humanity, Bay thought. We might still have some friends.

He flew toward Niraya, this dark, rocky planet of outcasts. Thousands of starships orbited the world: bounty hunters, smugglers, gamblers, mercenaries. Bay was unique here: he had a species. Most who came here had no species of their own, let alone a homeworld. Mutants. Genetic experiments. Freaks.

And starlings, Bay thought. Humans mixed with alien DNA.

He took a shuttle through the dense, smoggy atmosphere. He flew over a rotting metropolis, a hive of chimneys, brothels, fighting pits, and shanties. This world was awash with money, yet rife with decay. There was not a blade of grass in Niraya, not a flower or clear view of blue sky. It was a place of needles in dingy alleyways, of knives in your back, of graffiti on filthy washroom walls, or two-scryl whores who would give you pleasure for a night and bacteria to last a lifetime. Bay had been to some sleazy worlds in his time. He had never seen a place of such misery.

Whenever Bay flew here, he had the same thought.

Why did they live here? The people of Niraya had money. They sold weapons, drugs, sex. Why did they stay in such wretchedness?

But he knew the answer.

They had no other home. They were the freaks of the galaxy. So they hid in the galactic sewer.

He flew his shuttle between several chimneys, descended, and landed at Starflare's compound. The guards recognized his shuttle and waved. After all, Bay had been paying their salary all year.

Starflare met him in the courtyard outside her warehouse. As always, the arms dealer wore black boots over green leggings, and grenades and magazines draped her vest like badges. Her smooth black hair, cut the length of her chin, blew in the smoggy wind, revealing pointy ears and horns. She bared her fangs at Bay.

"Why are you here?" Her tail stuck out straight, a sign of aggression, and she extended her bat wings. "I thought you were broke."

"And you're now a wealthy woman," Bay said.

She glowered, hands on her hips. "Woman?" She snorted. "I ain't no woman. That implies I'm human. I'm a starling, boy. We all are in this place. Unless you come here with another azoth crystal—leave. Humans are unwanted here."

Across the courtyard, starlings turned toward them. Two boxers paused their fight in a sandy ring. Guards stepped closer. Several starlings rose from a table, abandoning a game of dominoes.

No two were alike. Some were only vaguely human. They were creatures of fangs, wings, tails. Some had scaly skin. Others boasted skin of stone. Some were mutants. Others were hybrids, humans spliced with alien DNA. A few were the product of medical experiments—creatures of stitches, alien body parts, and terrifying power.

All were miserable. The dregs of the universe.

"Yes, you are starlings!" Bay said. "You are monstrous. You are mutants and freaks. You are creatures of shadows, lurking in the sewer of the galaxy."

They stepped closer, sneering, raising weapons.

Starflare drew a pistol. "Watch it, boy, or—"

"But you are also human!" Bay cried, voice echoing across the courtyard.

More starlings now appeared—emerging from doorways, leaning over rooftops, peering from the compound's windows. Some stared with human eyes, others with alien or mechanical eyes.

"Yes, you are human!" Bay said. "Not fully, maybe. But so what? Human blood flows through your veins, and that's good enough for me. I come to offer you a home. I come to offer you citizenship on Earth. Join me, starlings, and become Earthlings!"

They stared, silent.

The silence stretched on awkwardly long.

Finally Starflare laughed—a cruel, mirthless sound.

"Go home, boy." She turned to leave.

"At least I have a home!" he called at her.

She spun back toward him, pistol raised. Her face was a mask of fury. "We have a home! Niraya is our home!"

Bay snickered. "You call this a home?" He gestured around him. "I've seen refugee camps in better shape. This isn't a home, Starflare. It's a leper colony! It's where the rest of the galaxy sends the freaks to rot."

She cocked her pistol. She aimed at him. "You've been a good customer. But if you don't shut up, I'll put a bullet through your head."

"No you won't," Bay said. "Because you need to save your bullets for the basilisks. You all do!" He looked around him. "Every starling here—come with me to Earth. Fight with me for Earth! For once in your life—stand tall, in the open, and fight for a cause! Don't just sell weapons but wield them! Help humanity reclaim our world—then settle it with us. You don't have to live here anymore, on this planet without any growing things, without a sun in the sky, without a future or shred of hope. You can live on Earth. You can have a homeworld of your own. A species of your own. We accept you, welcome you, need you. You are not freaks. You are human!"

"I'm warning you!" Starflare said. She stepped closer, glaring, her pistol trembling in her hand. "Shut up! I don't need your pity. I don't need your mucking amnesty. I built a home here! A true home for the starlings. I—"

"Say, you have good soil on Earth?" A burly starling stepped forward—one of the domino players. "Soil that can grow some taters?"

Bay nodded. "Sure do."

The starling licked his lips with three tongues. "Love me some taters. Always wanted a bit of land. Ain't nothing but barbed wire can grow on Niraya."

"Go back to your game, Hort." Starflare shoved him away. "This is no concern of yours."

Another starling stepped forward. He had milky white skin, a cleft lip, and elaborate antlers. "You still have trees on Earth? Real trees, with a canopy like a cathedral, and roots that wind, and the sound and smell of leaves?"

"We do," Bay said. "Xerka burnt many of them. But we still have some forests to cherish."

The antlered starling nodded. "We must cherish them, and we must plant more. I've seen trees before on a distant world. Kept in glass tubes. I've often dreamed of forests."

"You're a Ra damn drug smuggler!" Starflare shot at the starling. "What the hell do you know of trees?"

"They are in my blood," said the antlered starling. "I still remember. Deep in my being."

Bay wanted to say more. But he kept quiet. He had done enough selling. Now he simply listened.

More starlings emerged from the warehouse. They approached Bay. They spoke of their dreams. Dreams of rivers and oceans. Of blue skies. But mostly dreams of a home. A world that was truly theirs. Not just a refugee camp or temporary shelter. Not just a hiding place. But a world of pride. A home.

Starflare stood, fuming, but slowly the fire left her eyes. And tears replaced it. She stood silently, listening to these stories. Stories of children who had escaped from labs. Of mutants, disowned by their parents, exiled from their worlds. Of travelers who had gone too deeply into space, who had come back changed, the stars seared into their eyes, their souls forever lost in the black. People who had always longed for a home.

"They found a home with you, Starflare," Bay said softly. "I was wrong to mock it. You gave them a good home."

She wiped tears from her eyes. "Many of them were abandoned as children, even as babies. I tried to be like a mother to them. They're all my children." She gave a weak laugh. "Most are twice my age and my size, beefy mercenaries and bounty hunters. But they're my children."

"And now you can lead them to another home," Bay said. "It won't be easy. We'll have to fight. All of us. But I learned something five years ago, Starflare. Back then, I hid from the cosmos. In brothels. Bars. Drug dens. I learned that fighting is better than hiding. Fighting for a home is better than peace in exile."

Starflare stepped closer and clasped his shoulder. She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him.

"Can we do this, Bay? Can we win?"

"How many starlings are on Niraya? And how many ships do they have?"

"Ten thousand starlings," she said. "All armed. Maybe a thousand ships between them, most with cannons and shields."

Bay nodded. "Spread the word. We leave today. It's time to go home."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

"Let's go over the plan again, Mairead." Rowan lifted her notebook. "One more time."

Mairead snorted, blowing back a strand of her hair. "Oh please, Tiny. We've gone over this a hundred times by now."

"Not yet a hundred!" Rowan crossed her arms. "Barely twenty times. I like to be diligent."

Mairead rolled her eyes and ruffled Rowan's hair. "Little buddy, I've been fighting for a long time, and let me share something I've learned. In war, plans need flexibility. Set everything in stone, and if anything goes wrong, you can't improvise."

Rowan scrunched her lips. "You know, Mairead, I've been a soldier for over five years now, fighting every day."

Mairead snorted. "Newbie."

Rowan couldn't help but laugh. At twenty-one, Major Rowan Emery was the youngest senior officer in the Human Defense Force. But Mairead, at twenty-eight, was the second youngest. In meetings with the others—Emet, Tom, Cindy—they felt like kids among adults. Even Leona and Ramses were well into their thirties by now.

It doesn't help that I still look like a kid, Rowan thought.

She looked around her at the bunker. A dozen of her computers were here, along with notebooks, whiteboards, and holographic simulations. Rowan had come up with a perfect plan to distribute the Troy virus. Mairead was an integral part of that plan. Rowan wanted to trust the pilot, but Mairead's casual attitude didn't inspire confidence.

She looked at Mairead. Brash. Chomping on a cigar. Her helmet askew on her head, the words Hell's Princess written in marker across the front. Bandoleers of bullets criss-crossed her chest, and her red hair cascaded across her shoulders.

She's among the toughest, smartest warriors we have, Rowan reminded herself. She's fought more battles than I have. I need to trust her. She can do this.

"All right, all right!" Rowan tossed the notebook aside. "If anything goes wrong, you improvise."

"I always do." Mairead grinned.

Rowan checked her watch. "We have forty-eight minutes. It's enough time to run some last-minute calibration on the software. Oh, and maybe we can review the Copperhead's API again? I'll run her through debug mode, and then we can prime the Firebird's electronics again, and—"

"Rowan!" Mairead said. "For Ra's sake! You're making me nervous. And frankly, confusing me with all that nerd talk. We're ready, all right? Sit down. Relax for a bit. See that couch? Put your ass down on it!"

Rowan sat down, pressed her knees together, and placed her hands on her lap. "Fine! I'm relaxing, see?"

Her eyes strayed toward her minicom.

Mairead grabbed the computer. "I'm confiscating this! No more work now. Right now—we wind down. Have you ever wound down before?"

Rowan tilted her head, frowning. "I'm not sure. I might have boogied down once with Luther. He was teaching me bass. And I'm pretty sure I've moseyed down to the cantina a few times. Not sure about winding."

"Well, you're in luck." Mairead grabbed two bottles of grog from a cupboard. "Today we're going to do some serious winding down." She bit the lids off the bottles. "Here, have a brew."

Rowan took the bottle. She frowned at Mairead. "Are you sure we should drink before a mission?"

Mairead sat beside her on the couch and stretched out her legs. "Hell yeah! I always get buzzed before a fight. Makes it more fun." She began to chug.

"I hope we're not flying to a fight." Rowan held her bottle, not drinking. "I hope the virus I coded does the job for us."

"Meh, virus, bullets, nukes—all ways to fight the bad guys." Mairead belched. "You're not drinking!"

Rowan took a sip, then coughed and scrunched up her face. "Ugh, awful! It tastes like cold dog fur and paint thinner."

"Those are my secret ingredients," Mairead said. "I brewed this moonshine myself. I call it Firebug's Fury."

Rowan took another sip and shuddered. "Oh God." She placed down the bottle. "It's hopeless. I don't know how to wind down."

Mairead raised an eyebrow. "Well, what do you do to relax?"

"Code software," Rowan said. "Read technical manuals. Sometimes brush up on some trigonometry or Dungeons and Dragons stats."

Mairead poked her. "Do better!"

"Well …" Rowan felt herself blush. "Sometimes I look at pictures of baby cows. And baby ducks. Really, any baby animals. Especially when there are two of different species who are best friends. Seriously, the Earthstone is full of those photos. Did you know there's a puppy who's best friends with a baby boar?"

"You're shitting me," Mairead said.

"Am not! And there's a baby hippo who's best friends with a giant tortoise. Oh, and an orangutan who's friends with a baby elephant!"

"Get out of town!" Mairead said.

"I'll show you if you give me my minicom back," Rowan said.

Mairead obliged, and soon Rowan was scrolling through photos of animal friendships. Mairead raised her eyebrows at first, but soon her heart seemed to melt. They kept scrolling, admiring the adorably saccharine photos.

"Aww, so muckin' cute I could eat them," Mairead said. "Not literally! Well, maybe some of the piglets. Aww, no, I can't. Look at that piglet, he's in a mini wheelchair, and his name is Chris P. Bacon! My poor heart can't handle the cuteness."

Rowan grinned. "See? I told you it's fun."

"Not my usual jam," Mairead said. "I'm more of a grogging and bar fighting girl. But yes, this was fun. A lot of fun. Thank you, Row."

Rowan bit her lip, remembering the task ahead. Only minutes from now—they would have to fly up there. To face the enemy. Maybe even die.

"I had fun too," she said. "It helped me wind down, though I'm still nervous. I suppose that's why I work a lot. Because I get nervous. But I want to learn to unwind more. Maybe even to have friends." She frowned. "I don't think I've ever had a friend. Well, not a human friend at least. I love Fillister and Brooklyn to death. Almost as much as I love baby animals."

"What about Bay?" Mairead said. "And Leona? Aren't they your friends?"

"Well, Bay is my boyfriend," Rowan said. "That's not really the same. And Leona, well, she's a heroine. A great leader. A woman I admire. She's my role model. But not a friend, not really. She's too far above me. She's a mentor."

Mairead bristled. "And what am I, chopped liver?"

Rowan laughed. "You're more like me. I mean—we're nothing alike. You're a fierce warrior, and I'm a geek. You're a beautiful redhead, and I'm a mousy little hobbit. But we're both the young ones. Both joined the army as kids, rose too quickly in the ranks. And we both love baby animals!"

Mairead grinned. "See? You have a friend. You have me." She held out her fist. "Best friends, buddy."

Rowan fist-bumped her. "Really? Best friends?

"Hell yeah!" Mairead said. "You're mucking awesome, Row. I'm proud to have you as my best buddy. You teach me about baby animals, and I'll teach you how to beat Ramses at poker."

"Deal," Rowan said. "I mean—it's a deal. Don't actually deal poker cards now. We have a war to fight."

Mairead mussed her hair. "You're such a silly little thing. And yes, we really are best friends. I've never had a girlfriend before. I've always been one of the guys. I'd hang out with Ramses and the other boys, gamble with them, drink with them, wrestle with them. I was born in space, you know. Born right in the Inheritor fleet, grew up with soldiers. I was born with a gun in one hand, a Firebird joystick in the other, and a stick of TNT in my mouth. You're the first friend I can be a girl with. Look at animal buddies with." She wiped her eyes. "Ah, Ra damn it, got me all teary-eyed."

Rowan embraced her. "We'll be friends forever. Best friends."

Mairead kissed her cheek. "Ack, you're mucking adorable. You're like a human baby animal. Now come on, buddy!" She leaped up and pulled Rowan to her feet. "Time for your brains and my brawn to join up—and kick some basilisk butt."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The starling fleet flew through space. A thousand starships of every kind. The fleet of the misfits. The horde of the lost.

For the first time in history, they flew united. For Earth.

Bay stood on the bridge of the New Orleans, his gunrunning freighter. They were getting closer now. Closer to war.

Itching for the fight, Bay unsheathed his new weapons: two laser-blades. He had bought them from Starflare yesterday. At a glance, they looked like typical daggers. But when Bay pressed buttons on the hilts, the blades ignited. Lasers shone along the steel, red and crackling hot. He imagined sinking them into Xerka's face. Bay turned them off. On again. Off again. On again.

"Kid, cut that out," Luther said. "You're making me nervous."

Bay sighed, shut off the lasers, and sheathed them.

"We're almost home." Bay turned toward the porthole. "I can see Sol. She's so close I feel like I could reach out and grab her."

"Ain't no other star like her," Luther said, sitting nearby, strumming a guitar. "Our good ole' sun."

Our sun, Bay thought. He said our sun. Not your sun. Our.

The old starling had eyes like the stars. Pupils shaped as sunbursts. Small horns. A ridge of spikes along his back—Bay had seen them one time when Luther was settling down to bed.

He's part alien, Bay thought. But Earth is still his home. He looked out the porthole at the thousand ships, large and small, that Luther's people flew. It's home to them all.

Luther began to strum his guitar. He sang with a raspy voice.

Been ramblin' on in darkness, baby

Ain't got no food or bed

It's evil out there, woman

With no roof above my head

Got a long road to travel

Out here in the dark

That's why I got the starling blues, baby

Like a dog who lost his bark

Ain't got no world to call my own

Ain't got no flag to fly

Ain't got no woman to warm my bones

Ain't got no place to die

I got the starling blues, baby

Lost out here in space

But someday, yeah, I'll find a home

I'll finally find my place

Till then I got the starling blues

Rambling on through space

"That's beautiful," Bay said when the song ended. "Muck, man, I wish I could play and sing like you."

"I tell ya, kid, you just need practice." Luther lit a cigarette and offered Bay the pack.

Bay shook his head. He had quit smoking five years ago, along with the grog and drugs. Instead, he popped a piece of gum into his mouth.

"As beautiful as that song is," Bay said, "I hope it'll soon be irrelevant, that you'll find your home on Earth. No longer lost. All of you."

Luther puffed on his cigarette. "All of us. You too, kid. I know you humans have been lost for a long time too. We humans and starlings—we're the same, kid. The most miserable lot in the world. Hurts the damn soul. But good for the blues." He strummed a chord.

Bay looked out at Sol. Earth's star. They were only hours away now.

Hours away from war.

From death.

From Rowan.

Ra, I miss you, Row. I miss you so damn much. I can't wait for this war to end so I can marry you. So we can be happy forever.

He turned back toward Luther, who was strumming again.

"You never told me much about where you're from, Luth," Bay said. "Where were you born? Were you ever married? Do you have kids?"

Luther barked a laugh. "Yeah, I've been married, kid. Five damn times." He snorted. "Got kids all over the galaxy. A few of them flying in this fleet!"

Bay's eyes widened. "You never told me."

"Don't much like talking 'bout myself, I suppose," Luther said. "Never had a human wife, though. Starlings only. Mostly like myself, ones born human. Ones who changed."

"Will you ever tell me what changed you?" Bay said, voice softer now.

"Was a woman who did it," Luther said. "I fell in love with her. A human woman too! I asked her to marry me, but she said I was no good. No job. No scryl to my name. No home of my own, only a rusty, beat-up starship, barely larger than a guitar case. She told me to make something of myself. So, well, I decided to go on a quest. Like some knight from the old stories. Can you believe it?"

"I think I can," Bay said. "I've done some crazy shit for women."

"Yeah, they're wonderful creatures, they are. Beautiful. Kind. Better than us men in many ways. They'll drive ya mad. I flew off to find some legendary jewel they said lay in an abandoned space station outside the galaxy."

Bay's eyes widened. "Outside the galaxy?"

"Nor far into intergalactic space," Luther said. "Just a few light-years outside the Milky Way. A few steps into the vast empty ocean. Still took me five years to fly there, can you believe it? Five years of eating out of tin cans and sleeping in a tin can. Taught myself the guitar on that flight to keep my sanity. Flew right out there into darkness, hoping to find the most beautiful jewel in the cosmos. I figured if I could give it to the woman, she'd come around and marry me. Ha! I was a fool."

"So your plan didn't work," Bay said.

Luther scratched his stubbly chin. "Met some strange folk out there. Aliens, I suppose. But not like any that live here in the Milky Way. I still can't describe them, even after all these long years. I was half starving, half mad by the time they found me. Lost out there in the dark. Isolation does that to ya, you know. Digs deep into your soul. Breaks something inside. I had built myself friends from whatever I could find, damn dolls and robots that couldn't even speak. But I spoke to them. And oh, I was hearing voices by the end."

Bay winced. "Sounds horrible. I spent ten years flying around in Brooklyn, a tiny shuttle. But never for more than a week or two straight. Hell, after a week, I'd be climbing the bulkheads. I'd have to stop somewhere, spend a few days in a space station or gambling world."

"Yeah, well, ain't no casinos outside the galaxy." Luther barked a laugh. "I can tell you that much. But there's more than emptiness. There's strange things out there, kid. Things that'll make your skin crawl, make your eyes pop from their sockets."

"I quite like my eyes in their sockets," Bay said.

"Can't say I blame you. My eyes used to be normal. Human eyes. Like yours. But after I looked at what's out there, well … my eyes changed. Burned with intergalactic light. The beings I met there … They took me to their ship. No, not a ship. More like a strange dream. They did things to me. Not bad things, mind you. No damn probes, if that's what you're thinking. They had women too. I think they were women. Females, in any case. Soft. Woven of light. Comforting, you know? Made ya feel good, talked to ya. Took away your worries." A sigh rolled through Luther, creaking his joints. "But they changed me. Took a part of me. And I took a part of them. Came back with horns on my head, spines on my back, and eyes that can see past and future."

Bay gasped. "You can see through time?"

"Not like you think," Luther said. "Don't ask me to choose you any lottery numbers. It's on a cosmic level. I see the orbit of stars trailing behind them like strands of light. I look at you, and I see you as a baby, and I see you as an old man. Those beings I met? They live in four dimensions. They live in time as well as space. And I took a bit of that back with me."

Bay thought for a moment. "Can you see if we'll win the war?"

Luther leaned forward in his chair and patted Bay's shoulder. "It don't work like that, kid. The universe has a whole lotta time. Our old universe is mostly empty space and time, you know. Not much of anything else. Billions of light-years of empty space. Billions of years of time. This war? Ain't nothing but a bleep for our good old universe. Nothing but a speck of dust. I can't see its outcome any more than I could make out a single grain of sand on a beach."

Bay frowned. "So what use is your power?"

"Power?" Luther laughed. "You want powers, kid, go read a comic book." He snorted. "Power! I'll be …"

He got back to strumming.

Bay returned to the viewport, gazing out at Sol. Behind him, Luther sang his song again.

Someday, yeah, I'll find a home

I'll finally find my place

Till then I got the blues real bad

Rambling on through space

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Mairead beckoned from the Firebird's cockpit.

"Come on, Row, get your little ass in here!"

"One sec!" Rowan cried from the hangar floor. "I just got to adjust my spacesuit. The damn thing is way too big." She yanked on the legs and sleeves.

Mairead groaned. "It doesn't have to fit, it just has to cover your ass. Move it! Ass in cockpit!"

"Why are you so obsessed with my ass?" Rowan cried back. "Fine, fine. God! You're a mucking slave driver."

Rowan pulled on her helmet and walked toward the Firebird. Around her, an army of technicians, computer programmers, and generals filled the underground hangar. Workstations were set up along every wall. Operation Troy, the mission to infect the enemy fleet with Rowan's virus, was about to launch.

"Major Emery!"

Emet was walking toward her. The president of Earth still wore his old uniform—the blue overcoat, the black cowboy hat. He was limping. There were bandages bulging beneath his clothes. He had been fighting in the trenches again, insisting on leading from the vanguard like in the old days. Rowan wasn't sure if she admired him for that, or thought he was an idiot.

"Sir?" she said, stopping two steps from the Firebird.

Emet came to stand before her. His beard had grown longer during the siege. There was barely any blond hair left. His mane was nearly entirely white now.

He's starting to look less like a lion and more like Gandalf, Rowan thought. I approve.

"Are you sure you want to go up there?" Emet said. "I can send somebody else with Mairead."

"Thank you, sir, but I have to do this," Rowan said. "It's my software. I need to be up there with a minicom, ready to monitor and debug. Nobody else can do this." She took a deep breath. "I just hope my fingers don't shake too badly."

Emet saluted her—the old Inheritor salute, one fist in the other palm. Even now. Even here on Earth.

"Godspeed, Major Emery," he said.

She returned the salute, then climbed into the Firebird.

The mechanics had modified the starfighter, adding a second seat. Rowan sat in the cockpit behind Mairead, who would do the flying. It was a tight squeeze, and Rowan was thankful for her short legs. She had one minicom in her pocket. A second computer was mounted onto the back of Mairead's seat, centimeters away from Rowan's nose.

I just hope there's a good in-flight movie, Rowan thought.

Mairead spun around and peered over her seat. She had her helmet on, the words Hell's Princess scrawled in red between skulls.

"Ready, little buddy?" the pilot said.

Rowan nodded. "You fly, I code."

Mairead grinned. "Great, I got the easy job."

"Flying at ten thousand enemy starships is easy?" Rowan said.

She snorted. "Compared to coding? Piece of cake. Well, not baking cake. But I'm certainly good at eating it."

Banter. That was good. But Rowan saw the fear in Mairead's green eyes. The tightness to her smile.

She's terrified, Rowan thought. And trying to hide it behind humor and bravado. And I am too.

Rowan wished she could have launched the Troy virus from the ground. But the enemy was blocking all their signals. She wished she still had a Copperhead starfighter, a way to infiltrate the basilisk fleet. But their captured Copperheads had all burned in the war.

So it's up to us, Rowan thought. Mairead and me in a Firebird. We must save the world.

The bunker hatch opened above.

Mairead fired up the engines. Ancient hard rock filled the cockpit—a favorite of Mairead's. They soared.

Rowan looked at the devastation below. She barely recognized her beloved Earth. Port Addison lay in ruins. Most of the trenches had been claimed; they were crawling with aliens. The guard towers were gone. The enemy armies stretched into the distance. Not just basilisks but aliens of many species. Aelonian generals stood on a hill, robes billowing in the ashy wind. Hellwolves growled among the ruins, searching for human flesh. Blobs dragged themselves across the dirt, sucking up corpses. Monsters swam in the river. Serpents filled every pit and cranny.

The aliens spotted the Firebird. Several aimed cannons and opened fire. Mairead yanked the yoke, and they barrel rolled, dodging the attacks. They kept soaring, leaving the ruins far below, rising out of range.

From so high up, Rowan could see for thousands of kilometers. Individual aliens, even armies, were now invisible. But she could see patches of ash, plumes of smoke, and many craters. Battles were raging around the globe. Thanks to the influx of refugees and weapons, Earth's army now numbered in the hundreds of thousands. Every refugee that landed was immediately given a gun and sent to fight. They were fighting the aliens on every continent, struggling for every mountain, lake, and valley. Along the Western coast of North America, Rowan could still see the crater from the nuclear explosion—all that remained of Santa de la Rosa.

"I wonder if Earth can ever be beautiful again," Rowan said softly.

"It's still beautiful," Mairead said. "It's hard to see from here. Hard to see through the ashes and enemies. But it's still there. Our Earth. And we'll cleanse it."

The tone was unusually somber for Mairead. But Rowan remembered that Mairead had gone through hell this past year.

The Firebug died in New York City, Rowan thought. A new woman emerged.

She looked down at New York. She could just make out the metropolis from here. It was the largest city on Earth, home to millions of basilisks. Prince Naja lived there. Maybe Xerka herself.

Are you down there, Xerka? Or up with your fleet? Waiting for me?

Rowan had to push the thought aside. They emerged from the atmosphere, and they flew toward the enemy fleet.

Rowan looked up and gulped. Thousands upon thousands of alien warships were still orbiting Earth. Even after the onslaught of Earth's fireships, the enemy armada was massive. Half the ships belonged to basilisks, tubular vessels coated with scales, both the full-sized Rattlers and the smaller Copperheads. The rest had come from other alien worlds, just as mighty. Blobby, sticky ships with no regular form. Fungal pods filled with spores. Spiky ships, sprouting jagged blades like great urchins of the depths. Silvery ships like daggers to slice through worlds. Spherical metal ships filled with water and venom. Bulbous ships bristly with cannons and warts.

"You brought seven alien fleets with you, Xerka," Rowan whispered. "And that will be your undoing."

The enemy warships were turning toward the Firebird. For now, they were not firing. Before taking off, Rowan had painted words on the fuselage:

WE SURRENDER

"All right, Mairead, that's close enough," Rowan said. "If we fly any closer, they'll suspect we're a fireship, and they'll blast us away."

Mairead placed the Firebird in low orbit. They hovered only four hundred kilometers above Earth now—just above the sky, and still a good distance from the enemy ships farther out.

They floated in space, waiting, letting the enemy read the words painted on their fuselage. For days now, Rowan had been trying to contact the enemy from Earth. Their firewalls kept shutting down every signal.

Mairead turned off the music. Rowan hailed the basilisk fleet again.

Her call went out.

They waited.

"Come on, Xerka," Rowan muttered, her fingers fluttering over her minicom. "Answer me. I just need you to pick up … and I've got you."

The call kept broadcasting.

Silence.

The enemy ships hovered above, still.

"Come on, baby," Rowan whispered. "Answer me. I just need an open line—and
I can send you my little surprise."

Nothing.

"Muck!" Mairead blurted out. "They know it's a trap."

"Give 'em time," Rowan said.

Her finger hovered over the button. The instant a basilisk warship answered the call, Rowan could transmit her virus—and hopefully infect the entire fleet.

A basilisk dreadnought came to hover above them, covering the shuttle in its shadow. It was the largest Rattler in the fleet, a kilometer long, covered with dark scales. Here flew the Vypress, flagship of the enemy fleet. Xerka's starship.

A hatch opened on the dreadnought.

A shuttle emerged—a round, scaly vessel. It reminded Rowan of a dragon's egg. The pod descended toward the Firebird.

"What the hell?" Mairead said, reaching for the cannon controls.

"Wait, don't show your guns," Rowan said.

The oval pod reached the Firebird and hovered just outside the cockpit. A hatch swung open, revealing an empty interior.

Rowan understood.

"An invitation," she said. "They want us aboard their dreadnought. They want to negotiate in person, not over radio."

"Muck!" Mairead said. "Screw that. We ain't setting foot there."

Rowan groaned and tugged her hair. "Dammit. They do suspect a trap. They'll never accept our call. They know it's insecure. Of course they're careful! How could I be so damn stupid?"

"Eh, you're brainy compared to me," Mairead said. "For ages, I thought we were the Airs of Earth, and I kept thinking it's something to do with how humans breathe air. It makes sense if you think about it! You know, space doesn't have air, so the Airs of Earth fight for Earth's air, and—"

"I'm going," Rowan said, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Into the dreadnought."

"Whoa, whoa, Row!" Mairead said.

"That must be hard to say three times fast." Rowan reached for the cockpit latch.

"Rowan, seriously." Mairead grabbed her wrist. "Hold on there. They'll kill you. If you go on to their ship, they'll mucking kill you."

"Maybe," Rowan said. "But it's the only way to get the virus in there. If they won't accept my call, I'll have to figure out a way to install the virus from inside their ship."

"You won't get the chance!" Mairead said. "They'll crack you like an egg."

"That's likely," Rowan admitted. "But I have to try. Thousands of soldiers have given their lives in this war. Maybe tens of thousands. I myself have doomed hundreds to death. What's one more death if I can save the world?" She took a deep breath. "I don't want to die. I'm scared, Mairead. I'm really, really, really scared. I'm terrified. I'm just trying to move fast, and not think too much, and not let fear hold me back. But the longer I wait, the more I talk to you, the harder it is."

Mairead took a deep breath. She shuddered, then squared her shoulders. "Fine." She unbuckled her seat belt. "Then I go with you. Hey, this Firebird's got an autopilot. I might as well join the fun."

"Mairead, there's no need to risk both our lives."

Mairead snorted. "Hey, life's a bitch anyway. And together, we're twice as fierce. Come on, little animal buddy! Let's storm the castle."

They opened the canopy, climbed out of their Firebird, and floated in their spacesuits toward the pod. Rowan had a minicom in her pocket, ready with her virus. She kept her hand over the tiny computer, this device that could devastate Xerka's fleet more than a hundred atomic fireships.

They entered the scaly egg. The inside was hollow, not even offering a seat or porthole. The hatch swung shut, locking the two women inside. Rowan gulped, suddenly feeling very small and constricted.

"Did we make a mistake?" she whispered.

"Now you say that?" Mairead gave her a cockeyed look. "You've got to be kidding me."

The egg began to move. Rowan could feel it. She took a deep breath.

"All right, here's the plan," Rowan said. "Fillister, you there? You listen too."

His voice emerged from her pocket. "Here, Row! In your minicom."

"Inside the dreadnought, there must be an internal communication network," Rowan said. "A way for computers to talk wirelessly inside the starship, separate from their external protocols—and probably less secure. Once we're inside Vypress, Fill, you must hack into the LAN."

"Got it, Row," he said.

"Once you break in—start uploading the virus at once. Vibrate in my pocket when you're done. Let me know."

"Understood," Fillister said.

"Remember, you know their API! It should be a cakewalk."

The scaly pod landed on something hard, and Rowan heard a hatch slam shut. They must be inside the Vypress.

For an agonizing long moment, they sat in silence. Nothing happened.

Rowan glanced at Mairead.

"Ready?" Rowan said.

"Let's infect this bitch," the Firebug said.

They opened the pod's door and stepped outside. They found themselves in the dreadnought's hangar.

It was a large, cavernous hall. Holes filled the walls, and metal rafters stretched across the ceiling. The floor was grated, revealing decks below. Rowan saw engine rooms, chambers full of snake eggs, and some cabins swarming with hatchlings.

Rowan pulled off her helmet. The hot air stank, but it was breathable.

"Hello!" Rowan called out. "Anyone home? We're here to negotiate!"

Her voice echoed. The hatchlings hissed and squirmed below the grating.

"Yo, bitches!" Mairead shouted. "We're here to surrender, yo! Get your asses up in here!"

The two women glanced at each other. Both placed their hands on their pistols.

"We should leave," Rowan said, turning back toward the pod.

A basilisk dropped from the ceiling, blocking her path, and hissed.

Rowan took a step back, curbing the instinct to draw her pistol. Another basilisk burst out from a hole, landed before Mairead, and opened its jaws wide. The beasts kept coming. They slid through holes in the wall, fell from the rafters, and emerged from below deck. A hundred or more soon surrounded the women, fangs bared, eyes baleful.

"Leaving so soon?" rose a voice.

Rowan sneered and her fists clenched.

She recognized that voice. She had been hearing it in her nightmares.

The crowd of basilisks parted. And she slithered forth.

Xerka. Queen of Serpents.

But not a full serpent. Not anymore. Xerka had consumed too many humans, had absorbed their DNA. She had become almost like a starling now, a hybrid, a creature with the malice of basilisks but the cunning mind of a woman. Her human torso rose atop her scaly lower half, breasts bare, lips opened with a cruel smile that revealed her fangs.

She looks just like me, Rowan thought, shuddering. Of course she does. She consumed my parents' bones.

"We've come to talk!" Rowan said. "To negotiate Earth's surrender. Call off your goons. I don't like talking surrounded by snakes."

Xerka hissed and licked her lips. "But my dear Rowan. You've been surrounded by snakes for the past year. You should be used to us." She undulated closer, reached out, and stroked Rowan's cheek. Her claws scraped across Rowan's skin, nearly tearing it. "My dear, precious girl … why do you lie to me?"

Rowan stared into those red eyes. The face was perhaps human. Rowan's face. But the eyes were monstrous. Serpentine. The pupils but thin slits, and within them burned eternal flames.

There is nothing but evil inside her, Rowan thought. Pure evil forged in darkness and fire.

"I don't lie," Rowan said.

Xerka draped her tail around Rowan, forming a loose ring, just enough to prevent escape. She reached into Rowan's pocket. Rowan tried to object, to shove the queen aside, but Xerka was far stronger. She pulled out Rowan's minicom.

"Then what is this, ape?" Xerka said, examining the device. "A primitive human machine. Did you really think I would fall for your ploy? Did you really think an ape could outsmart a basilisk? You did not come here to surrender." Xerka's lips peeled back, and she slapped Rowan—hard. "You came here to infect my fleet with your virus."

Rowan tasted blood.

"I didn't—" she began.

"Liar!" Xerka slapped her again, bloodying her second cheek. "I know your plan! There is no wireless access to our network. Your plan has failed."

She crushed the minicom in her hand, then tossed the pieces at Rowan's chest. Twisted microchips and transistors clattered to the floor.

Rowan looked at the broken pieces, then back up at Xerka.

"That minicom contained no virus."

Xerka sneered, gripping Rowan with her claws. Her lips peeled back into a macabre grin.

"Still you lie! I heard you. I recorded you! Do you still dare deny it?"

Rowan smiled thinly. "Oh, I know you heard me." She gave a little laugh. "I explained my plan to Mairead in the Firebird—with an open hailing frequency beaming toward your ship. Then I explained the plan again to Fillister while riding in your pod. Of course you had the pod bugged. Who wouldn't? Oh, and don't worry—that was only a recording of Fillister's voice on that minicom you crushed."

Xerka's eyes nearly bugged out. "What—"

Rowan laughed again—a louder, brittle sound. "Of course you suspected I'd try to infect you with a virus. You know me. You are me! Partly, at least. You know I've been studying your Copperhead. But one thing you didn't know." Rowan's laughter died, and she stared steadily into Xerka's eyes. "We not only captured a Copperhead. We also captured a basilisk pod. Just like the one I rode up here. Just like the one I knew you'd send for me. Just like the one I attached a tiny little device to." Rowan smiled crookedly. "Just like the one that's been infecting your fleet for the past ten minutes."

Xerka stared, eyes wide, face pale.

For once, the queen was speechless.

Mairead stepped closer, leaned against Rowan, and lit a cigar.

"Boom," the pilot said.

Across the dreadnought, the lights shut down.

From the speakers on the ceiling emerged a deafening shriek, as loud as the hardware would handle.

Xerka and the basilisks screeched and covered their ears. But the sound was at a frequency too high for human ears. Rowan and Mairead felt nothing but a slight vibration against their body, barely more than a tickle.

Around them, the basilisks flailed in agony. They began firing their cannons at the speakers, desperate to stop the agonizing screeches.

Rowan and Mairead ran toward the pod.

Basilisks, even through their agony, leaped at them. The two officers fired their pistols, tearing through the serpents. The aliens fell. Rowan and Mairead vaulted over the corpses toward the alien shuttle.

Xerka leaped overhead, landed between the women and the pod, and howled. With a mighty swipe of her tail, she knocked the pod aside, sending the oval vessel rolling across the hangar.

Mairead and Rowan fired. Their bullets slammed into Xerka but did no harm. The basilisk queen opened her jaws obscenely wide, large enough to devour Rowan whole. The creature screamed—and this sound Rowan heard, and it tore at her ears.

"I will digest you over centuries, girl!" Xerka shrieked. "I have ways to keep you alive that long. Your agony begins now!"

The jaws reached out toward Rowan. She leaped back, narrowly dodging the snapping teeth. But she was too slow to dodge Xerka's swinging tail. It slammed into Rowan, knocking her down, nearly cracking her bones.

The tail swung again, sweeping death.

Mairead grabbed Rowan, hoisted her up, and hurled her into the air.

Soaring over the whipping tail, Rowan fired her pistol. Her bullets slammed into Xerka's head, destroying one eye.

Xerka squealed and pulled back.

Rowan landed at a crouch, released her empty magazine, and loaded a fresh one.

"It's too late for you, Xerka!" she shouted. "The virus is spreading fast. You can't stop it. You should never have attacked Earth."

Xerka's eye was gone. Blood oozed from the socket. But she still came charging. Across the hangar, the basilisks shattered the last speakers, and the pounding wail ended.

Rowan tried to run toward the pod again. But Xerka's tail hooked around her, pulled her close. The queen's serpentine body coiled around her. Rowan screamed, crushed in the embrace.

Mairead fired bullet after bullet. But other basilisks grabbed the Firebug, wrenched her gun from her hand, and constricted her.

"Die now," Xerka hissed.

Her jawbone unhinged, and she placed her mouth around Rowan's head.

"Fillister!" Rowan cried, voice muffled. "Activate the second phase! Now!"

The speakers were dead. But he was inside the system now.

And he heard her.

The Vypress jolted as all its cannons fired.

Xerka gasped and straightened, releasing Rowan's head.

Through a porthole, Rowan saw the other Rattlers—thousands of them—open fire too.

They were all infected. The entire basilisk fleet. The virus was firing all their guns. Not on Earth. Not on human ships. But on the six other alien fleets.

Across space, alien ships—blobby, spiky, long, round—tore open. They burned. They shattered.

And they fired back.

For a moment, Rowan, Mairead, and all the basilisks in the hangar stared out the portholes.

A massive battle flared in Earth's orbit. Without a single human ship involved.

Xerka whipped her head back to Rowan, who was still wrapped in her tail.

Terror filled Xerka's single remaining eye. Terror—and understanding. She knew she had been duped.

Rowan smiled at the Serpent Queen.

"Gotcha," she said.

Xerka screamed and opened her jaws again, prepared to devour Rowan.

Blasts from alien ships slammed into the Vypress.

The dreadnought jerked, knocking everyone down. Xerka slammed onto the deck, and Rowan wriggled free from her grip.

"The enemy ships are firing on us, my queen!" cried a basilisk.

"Tell them it's the humans!" she shrieked. "It's the apes!"

"We tried, mistress, but—"

More blasts hit them. The dreadnought jolted and trembled. The bulkheads bent. A beam cracked in two.

Rowan ran, aimed Lullaby, and drove bullets into a green basilisk. The beast uncoiled, exposing Mairead. The pilot rose to her feet, groaned in pain, and ran with Rowan.

Rowan knew they only had seconds. Already, several basilisk ships had stopped firing. The basilisks were highly technological, and they were fighting the virus, overriding the software, and shutting down their cannons.

It would take the other aliens a little longer to calm down, though. It was easier to fix software than angry hearts. Six alien fleets, unaware of the virus, were still furiously punishing the basilisk armada.

As blasts kept pummeling the Vypress, Rowan and Mairead leaped into the pod.

"Fillister, open the hangar doors!" Rowan cried. "Both sets of doors!"

He was inside the little device Rowan had plugged into the pod. His voice emerged.

"Right-O, Row!"

As Rowan pulled the pod's hatch shut, she glimpsed the massive airlock open across the hangar. Both its doors opened together, not bothering to depressurize first.

The air began flowing out of the hangar, pulling basilisks with it.

Fillister took control of the pod. They rumbled forward, plowing through basilisks, and rolled out into space.

When coming up with the plan, Rowan had considered jumping out with her spacesuit. It had a jetpack, after all. She could have flown to her Firebird, or even space-jumped in her suit down to Earth. She had decided against it. She knew that space would blaze with battle. She and Mairead needed every protection they could get. Even just the thin shell of this oval pod.

As they plunged downward through space, a blast slammed into the pod.

Mairead and Rowan flew against the wall.

A second blast hit them.

The pod spun madly, its hull dented. It had no seats. She and Mairead tumbled around like peas in a can.

"The bastards are firing on us!" Mairead cried.

"It's just crossfire, I think!" Rowan said. "I wish the shuttle came with a porthole. Fillister, you there?"

"I'm here, Row!" he said. "Taking us down to Earth! We'll be there in a jiffy, and—"

The pod jolted.

The hull cracked.

Fire raged, flowing over Mairead. The pilot screamed.

Claws reached through the crack.

Rowan screamed too.

Air whooshed out into space. The claws widened the crack, peeling the pod open, revealing Xerka's face.

The Basilisk Queen howled, her skin burnt away, her eye gone. She wore no spacesuit. The vacuum was ripping off her flesh. She had become demonic, raw and red and roaring. The battle raged behind her, the thousands of basilisk and alien warships firing on one another. Space itself seemed to burn.

Rowan fired her gun. Her bullets pounded into Xerka, only enraging her. The deformed creature reached into the pod, claws slashing. They were falling fast now, only seconds from hitting the atmosphere.

"You will join your parents, Rowan!" Xerka shrieked. "I will burn you inside me!"

The queen lashed her claws, tearing Rowan's spacesuit.

The pod tumbled into the atmosphere.

Fire blazed and roared. Xerka's jaws opened a meter wide, nearly sealing the crack in the pod, a hellmouth of fangs and churning stomach acids.

Mairead looked at Rowan.

The pilot's green eyes filled with sadness.

"Build a good world, Rowan," Mairead whispered.

Xerka's jaws opened even wider, prepared to devour Rowan whole.

"Hey, bitch!" Mairead cried at Xerka.

As the pod fell through the sky, the Basilisk Queen spun toward the pilot.

"Ah, the Firebug," Xerka hissed. "My son's favorite pet. Did you enjoy seeing your daughters in the ruins of New York?"

A tear streamed down Mairead's cheek. She flipped the queen off.

"Eat me."

Mairead leaped into the open mouth.

Xerka's muscles worked, swallowing the pilot.

"Mairead, no!" Rowan cried, reaching for her friend.

But Xerka's jaws snapped shut. The queen gulped, shoving Mairead down into her belly.

Rowan wept. She understood.

"Now, Rowan, you will join your friend," Xerka said. "Now—"

An explosion tore through Xerka's belly.

Mairead, Rowan knew, never went anywhere without explosives.

Xerka screamed and released the pod. The twisted basilisk floundered through the sky, her belly ripped open, exposing her insides.

"Mairead," Rowan whispered. "Mairead, no …"

Rowan kept falling in her cracked pod, tumbling through the stratosphere, then down into blue skies.

Above her, the fire of battle spread across the heavens.

Rowan jumped out of the shattered, scaly pod and activated her jetpack. She dived toward a mountain range, not even caring where she was. She landed on a grassy slope, pulled off her helmet, and lowered her head.

Ash was raining. Rowan's tears fell.

I destroyed many of their ships, she thought. Maybe thousands. Xerka is wounded, maybe mortally. But Mairead is dead. My friend is gone.

Operation Troy had succeeded. And Rowan wept.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

They pulled her into a pod. Half dead. Torn open.

Xerka screamed.

They carried her into a Rattler. The ship was shaking as enemy fire kept pounding it. She lay on the deck, her belly torn open, leaking its innards. Her skin—burnt away. Her stomach, her womb, her internal organs—lacerated. The human pilot inside her—all but gone. Xerka vomited blood and clots.

"We have disabled the virus, mistress," a basilisk hissed. "We are trying to stop the other ships from firing. The hellwolves are particularly combative, and—"

Xerka grabbed him with shaky claws.

She pulled his neck to her jaws and bit deep.

He twitched, struggling against her. But Xerka kept biting, ripping through his scales, drinking his blood, swallowing his flesh.

The basilisk's life force was leaving him. But Xerka kept him alive, too weak to resist. She extended her jaws, engulfed his head, and began to swallow him. It hurt. It hurt so much tears flowed from Xerka's remaining eye. But she kept working her muscles, shoving him down her esophagus. Some of her ribs were gone. It made the job a little easier.

Her belly was in tatters. Bits of her meal flopped onto the deck. But she still had some digestive acids in her many pouches. She bathed him with her juices, plundering his cells—and weaving them into her own body.

She had used her gift to absorb many others, taking on their traits, their understanding. Sometimes to mend injuries. But never to heal such devastating wounds. The agony pounded through her. Her acids ripped out chunks of her prey, weaving them through her. Parts of Mairead were still inside her. Xerka added them to the mortar. Sealing her wounds. Weaving new flesh.

She managed to rise, to look around her. She was in a new Rattler. Not her dreadnought. Basilisk soldiers stood around her, staring. Fear in their eyes. She saw herself reflected in their scales. A monstrous creature. Her human skin hanging in tatters. Her eye still gone. Her remaining eye now green. Tufts of red hair grew from one side of her head. Her wounds pulsed, and a third human arm, pale and freckled, extended from her side.

She pounced, grabbed another basilisk, and devoured the screeching creature.

She sprayed more acids, absorbing him, rebuilding herself.

She consumed a third. A fourth. A fifth. Excreting what flesh she could not mold.

Finally she rose again—healed.

Taller. Wider. Far stronger than before. A creature with crimson scales, golden eyes like molten metal, and a raw, red human torso covered with yellow scars. She opened her jaws wide and howled—a deep, guttural sound—and her fangs shone, as long and sharp as daggers.

She turned toward her underlings. The basilisks cowered in the corner, so much smaller than her. They trembled, scales chinking.

Xerka raised one hand. It used to be feminine and pale. It was three times larger now, and orange stripes ran along the crimson skin. The black claws thrust outward, still wet with the blood of her victims.

With these claws, I will destroy the humans.

She returned her eyes to the cowering serpents.

"Destroy this world," she said. Her voice too had changed. Deeper. Grainy. Demonic.

"Yes, mistress!" hissed the commander of this ship—a lowly, pathetic green worm. "Our forces on the ground are pushing with all their might. We are making progress. We—"

"I said destroy this world!" she rumbled. "Bring the skies down upon them. Fire everything we have."

"But mistress, the apes' tunnels are underground! If we use explosives powerful enough to break them, we'll kill millions of basilisks."

Xerka stared at the sniveling creature. Silent.

The green basilisk bowed his head.

"Yes, mistress."

He slunk off to his station. Xerka undulated across the deck to the Rattler's bridge. She stared at the viewport.

Her fleet was disabling the virus. Only a handful of Copperheads were still affected. The six alien fleets were ceasing fire. But the damage had been done. Thousands of her warships were destroyed.

"You did well, little Rowan," Xerka said. "Such a vicious, intelligent little beast you are. I look forward to devouring your brain." She licked her lips. "That brain of yours will live for a long time in my belly. I will make your suffering last. You will have no more mouth. And you will need so badly to scream."

She turned toward Earth, gazing at the pale blue planet she had made ugly.

You burned me, humans. So now I will burn you all.

Bombs fell from her fleet. Explosions bloomed across Earth.

On her bridge, sirens wailed. Warning lights flashed.

Xerka spun toward another viewport.

A new fleet was arriving—a fleet of a thousand ships. And they were firing.

Xerka screamed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The starling fleet—a thousand motley ships—charged toward the enemy, all guns blazing.

They were small ships. Some were barely larger than starfighters. They were cobbled together, homemade, no two alike. Boxy, rusting vessels with flashing strobe lights. A few ships coated with garish neon signs, once used as portable brothels. Heavily armored ships bristly with cannons, machine guns, and laser blasters—the ships of bounty hunters. A few modified Peacecars, stolen and refitted and painted with flames, jaws, and scantily-clad sirens. The bulky ships of smugglers. The cloaked ships of assassins, and the spiky ships of mercenaries. The ships of scavengers, sprouting arms tipped with metal claws and shovels. The ships of gunrunners, druggers, moonshiners, loan sharks.

The ships of the unwanted.

Of the galactic freaks.

Ships that had languished for years, even centuries, in orbit around Niraya. Rusting away in the dregs of the universe.

Here was the fleet of the starlings. Of those cast out from humanity. Those who today were as proud as any human.

The Exodus Fleet flew with them. Only twenty warships. A few freighters and tankers. Bay lead the charge in a Firebird, one of only three the Exodus Fleet still operated. Luther flew right behind him, piloting the New Orleans, a massive ammunition ship filled with explosives. Far behind the human fleet, the HSS Porter was trailing them, filled with another hundred thousand refugees waiting for a path home.

Ahead, orbiting Earth, the enemy warships turned toward them.

There were thousands.

Tens of thousands.

But they were not as mighty as before. Many of their ships were listing, punched full of holes. Others were completely destroyed. Debris floated between Rattlers, the remnants of explosions.

It worked! Bay thought. Rowan's Troy virus worked! Good job, baby!

Pride swelled his chest.

Ra, I love you, Rowan.

But he had little time to think of that now. There were still enough enemy ships to cause serious damage. And they were all turning toward the starling fleet. Though weakened, the alien armada still dwarfed Bay's own force.

The aliens opened fire.

From the Rattlers: searing green lasers. From the Esporian pods: clouds of fungus. From the hellwolf warships: jagged, spinning blades. From other alien vessels: acidic blobs, rolling balls of plasma, searing beams of light. The alien assault flew toward the human fleet, and Bay winced, preparing for impact.

"Fire your lures!" Bay shouted.

The others needed no encouragement.

From a thousand starling ships—the lures flew forward.

The starlings had been fighting in space all their lives, generation after generation. They were more battle-hardened than most generals. Thousands of their spinning, flashing lures flew toward the incoming fusillade—and absorbed the impact.

Lasers hit a swarm of flying Disco balls, and the mirrors scattered the assault. Plasma bolts slammed into heavy iron caltrops, dispersing with bursts of flame. Spongy lures soaked up poisonous spores and acid. Some of the alien projectiles made their way through. Some starling ships exploded.

But most survived and charged onward.

Now it was the starlings' turn.

The ragtag fleet opened fire with devastating force and vengeance.

Their weapons were as varied as their ships. Bay fired missiles from his starfighter. Other ships fired photon bolts. A few fired balls that exploded among the enemy, scattering a thousand tiny bombs. Other starling ships shot bombs with drills attached; they carved into enemy shields before exploding a meter deep, shattering the hull. Some starlings fired spinning saw blades tipped with lasers; they carved through enemy shields. One long starling ship spurted a massive geyser of fire, kilometers long, a volcanic eruption that seared through the enemy and broke its formation.

Xerka's armada was charging toward them now, abandoning its bombardment of Earth. Bay roared, storming toward the enemy in his Firebird, all guns blazing.

The two fleets crashed together with an explosion that lit space. Across half of Earth, they must have seen the fire.

Earth's orbit became a sea of metal, flame, and death.

Bay flew like he had never flown. Swerving, banking, firing his machine guns. He roared over a podship, dodging its spores, and fired a missile into one of its pustules. The podship exploded, scattering fungus. A silvery Aeolian ship—once an ally of Earth—charged toward Bay, guns firing. He barrel-rolled past the attack, soared around the starship, then came at its engines, firing missiles into their churning jaws. The engines exploded, and the silver, dagger-shaped ship careened and slammed into a Rattler.

The starlings were fighting everywhere. The scavenger ships grabbed Copperheads in their claws, spun the scaly starfighters like rag dolls, and hurled them at the bulky Rattlers. Bounty hunters and mercenaries ripped into the enemy, pounding alien shields again and again until they shattered. A mining ship extended hammers and drills and busied itself carving open Rattler hulls.

This wasn't an army. They were outlaws. Lowlifes. This was a mob. But it was a mob of unwanted souls who finally learned they had a home. And they fought as bravely as any army Bay had ever seen.

But as they fought, so they died.

Every moment, another starling ship exploded. Lasers carved through them. Acid melted their hulls. Photon bolts shattered their bridges. Some starlings emerged to fight in spacesuits. They charged forth with jetpacks, firing machine guns, only for the enemy to mow them down.

All around Bay—death.

People he had led here. People he had promised a homeworld. Around him, they died.

From beyond the horizon, a thousand new Rattlers rose. They joined the battle, their cannons pounding the starling fleet.

We're not strong enough, Bay realized, horror gripping his chest. We can hurt them. We can destroy many Rattlers. But we can't win.

His monitor beeped. Earth was hailing him.

Bay tugged the joystick, skirting a barrage of bullets. He accepted the call.

"-ead me? Bay? Bay, do you read me?"

"Dad!" Bay said.

Through the speakers, Emet could be heard sighing with relief. "Bay, I'm monitoring the battle above. But we're facing more urgent problems on the ground. The enemy is breaking into Port Addison's tunnels. I need you to get whatever forces you can down here. Starfighters to strafe the enemy. Shuttles carrying infantry too. Bay—move fast."

A chill gripped Bay. He understood the urgency. There were two hundred thousand civilians hiding below Port Addison. If the enemy broke through …

"I'm on it, Dad. I'll be there soon. Hang in there."

Bay reached out to a handful of other starfighter pilots—two from the Exodus Fleet, a dozen starlings. He contacted the Porter next, commanding the cruise ship to begin filling its shuttles—but only with fighters, with refugees who had guns and military experience.

"We're joining the fight on Earth," Bay told them. "Right now. The rest will keep fighting in space."

The other starfighters gathered around him, forming a V-shaped battle squadron. Shuttles flew among them, carrying infantry troops. The starling pilots were bounty hunters and smugglers. The humans in the shuttles were refugees. These were not soldiers of the Human Defense Force. Many weren't even fully human. But they were all soldiers of Earth.

The formation charged through the battle, heading toward Earth.

Copperheads flew in to block their way. Ten of the bastards.

Bay tightened his lips, narrowed his eyes, and charged toward them.

"Take them on!" he said. "Send these bastards to hell."

The starfighters unleashed their fury. Missiles, bullets, and shells pounded the Copperheads. But the basilisk starfighters responded in kind, pummeling the human force.

One starling ship exploded.

A laser sliced another one open, and the pilot vanished into the void.

Bay cursed and swerved around the enemy, hammering their prows. A starling bounty ship cast a net of shimmering lasers, capturing two Copperheads and dicing them into metal chunks. The Porter's shuttles were no warships, but they had been mounted with crude cannons, and they pounded the enemy.

Two starfighters down, Bay and his team kept flying. They were only a few thousand kilometers from Earth now. Moments away.

Rattlers rose before them. Not just the smaller Copperheads but full-sized warships. The coiling serpents of metal stormed forward, portholes like eyes, cannons like fangs.

A hundred or more. Fanning out. Forming a wall in space. Each the size of a frigate.

Bay could barely breathe.

"Fly around them!" he said.

But the Rattlers quickly surrounded them. Their laser beams flashed, forming bars like a cage, blocking every avenue of escape.

"Apes …" A hissing voice crackled through his speakers—one of the basilisk pilots. "You will be mine to devour …"

The Rattlers moved closer, boxing in Bay's small fleet. Bay winced, knowing he could not defeat so many, prepared to go down fighting.

A shadow loomed behind the Rattlers.

A lumbering freighter—larger even than the basilisk warships.

It was the New Orleans. The gunrunning freighter. The ship Luther was flying alone. A ship filled with grenades, bullets, and missiles from Epsilon Eridani.

Luther's weathered face appeared on Bay's monitor.

"Fly on home, friend," said the old man. "I'll take care of these rascals for you. You fly on home."

"Luther—" Bay began, but his tongue felt thick. He took a shaky breath. "Luther, you're flying a freighter. You can't take on warships. Luther, what—"

"Don't you worry about me, kid." Luther's voice was warm, his face kind. "Send my greetings to your old man. I love you both. It was an honor to fight with you. For Earth." His starry eyes shone. "For my home."

The hulking freighter gained speed, flying toward the Rattlers.

"Luther!" Bay said. "Don't! Turn back now, you can't—"

But it was too late.

Bay winced.

He switched his frequency and hailed his team.

"Ships, back, back! Fall back!"

Ahead of them, the New Orleans rammed into the wall of Rattlers—and exploded.

White light flared. Then another explosion lit space. Another. Then a hundred more blasts. The armaments inside the New Orleans were bursting—missiles firing, grenades exploding, bullets flying every which way.

And as the armaments exploded, so did the Rattlers.

Scores of the scaly warships tore open, spilling out basilisks. Shock waves blasted out from the remains of the New Orleans, casting other Rattlers aside. A massive sphere of flame, smoke, and debris spread out.

Slowly, the cloud dissipated.

Bay narrowed his eyes, breathing heavily.

The explosions had carved open a path to Earth.

"Come on, team!" He ignited his afterburner and charged forth. "We've got a colony to save."

As the battle continued behind them, Bay and his ships shot forward and dived into Earth's atmosphere.

They plunged through the sky, racing toward North America.

Below, Bay could soon see it. The ruins of Port Addison.

Countless aliens were swarming over the colony.

Alien missiles rose from below. Humanity's starfighters scattered, dodging the fire, then swooped to battle. To save Port Addison. To bring humanity hope.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Tom stood in the tunnels. Ahead of him rose a wall of barricades: concrete, steel, and stone, blocking the horrors beyond. Behind him huddled the civilians of Port Addison: unarmed, young or old, weak, afraid.

The drills whirred.

Beyond the barricades, the monsters howled.

They were breaking in.

Tom raised his rifle. The metal was cold in his hands, and the wooden stock dug into his shoulder. Familiar pain. Around him, a squad of young soldiers raised their own guns. They were all privates. Some were only thirteen. A few were elders in their seventies, gray and rawboned. One soldier was missing a leg, another an eye. The strong warriors had all died in this war. The young, the old, the wounded—they had taken up the torch.

Ahead, the enemy's drills were carving the metal barricades.

Tom's lip curled. He readjusted his rifle, staring through the scope. Waiting.

"We few are the defenders of Earth," Tom said to his soldiers. "We are in shadows. We face monsters. We fight for blue skies and green hills. Whatever breaks through these walls—we will defeat it! Or we will die fighting. But we will not abandon our post."

I just wish I could see you one more time, Leona, he thought. I love you as much as I love Earth.

A soldier behind him trembled. A young boy. Cheeks soft. "Sir. I'm scared. I don't want to die."

"Neither do I," said Tom. "But I have seen many die like cattle in the gulocks. Those are bad deaths. Today we can die as warriors. Today we can die proud—on our feet, on our planet. That is a good death." He gave his soldiers a thin smile. "But don't only die well. Fight well. Fight like mad. And try to win."

The drills pounded through the barricades, ripping off the final blast door. Claws grabbed chunks of metal and concrete, shoving them aside.

And the hellwolves barged in.

Tom fought them. With his rifle. Then his pistol. Then his knife. Around him, his soldiers screamed, fired, and died. The young boy wept as a hellwolf tore out his entrails, but he kept firing his gun, killing as he died. An old man charged into the enemy, setting off his grenades among them. Fur and flesh splattered the walls.

As Tom fought, as fangs and claws tore at him, he thought of a grassy world far away. A world where a young shepherd would play his flute, would roam under a golden sky. He remembered fighting smaller wolves, protecting his flock of sheep.

He thought of his wife, pregnant, dying in the gulock.

He thought of Ayumi, a precious child.

He thought of beautiful Leona, of the mountains and fields of Earth. Of blue skies.

Nearly thirty years had gone by since that distant world of grass, since he had shepherded his sheep. But Tom Shepherd was still fighting wolves. He was still protecting his flock.

A hellwolf pounced and knocked him down. More of the beasts stormed into the tunnel. Tom lay on his back. Above him, the alien bellowed, his massive head of fur and metal spraying saliva and blood.

Tom raised his blade.

Goodbye, Earth. Goodbye, Leona.

He thought of her noble eyes. Of her smile, so bright yet tinged with sadness. The time he had spent with her, the night they had made love—those were his most precious memories.

Tom thrust his blade at the beast, ready for a good death.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Bay dived toward Port Addison in his Firebird, the G-force pummeling his body. Thousands of aliens spread below, covering the ruins, flowing into the tunnels. Only several meters above the surface, Bay leveled off. He fired his Firebird's machine gun, strafing the enemy lines.

He didn't have to aim. The aliens were everywhere. His bullets tore through a mass of Upidians. The giant caterpillars reared, howling as they died. Beside Bay, Starflare flew her own starfighter—a slick vessel painted green and yellow, rusty and dented but still deadly. Its cannons blasted through crowds of basilisks. Other starlings flew their own motley fighters, tearing through other alien brigades.

Bay rose and swooped again, strafing another line of aliens.

The damn creatures seemed endless.

Bay didn't even know if anyone underground was still alive.

Damn it!

"We're gonna need more starfighters," Bay muttered. He sent a call up to space. "All starfighters—if you can make your way down here, join us at Port Addison. Porter, you there? We're gonna need more troops."

He rose high, then dive-bombed a swarm of advancing blobs. The gelatinous creatures were sweeping across the ruins, sucking up human soldiers, and digesting them. Bay's bombs tore through the quivering aliens, scattering chunks of jelly.

As the starfighters fought, hellwolves crouched below, cannons on their backs. Missiles flew upward. Bay swerved, dodging one missile. Another hit a starfighter at his side, and the starling inside briefly screamed in Bay's comm before his vessel exploded.

Sneering, Bay flew close to the ground—only a few meters over the aliens. Too low for the cannons to reach him. He charged toward the hellwolves and fired his machine guns, tearing the beasts down. Their cannons fell. One hellwolf released its missile on the ground, and the rocket scuttled across the soil, ripping a line through basilisk formations.

Bay rose higher and spotted a heavy cannon. Aelonians were operating the weapon. The tall humanoids wore dark robes, hiding their luminous bodies. Bay fired from a distance, tearing them down. An ammunition crate exploded, and a mushroom cloud rose above the colony. The ground cracked. The air shook.

"Starflare, see that crater?" Bay said. "We'll land the shuttles there. Help me cover them!"

She flew nearby in her green-and-yellow starfighter, a ship that bared a striking resemblance to a hornet. The starling saluted Bay through her cockpit. They flew in rings, bombing the enemy, clearing out the crater. The Porter's shuttles began to land, one by one, and spilled out fighters. The armed refugees ran, firing their guns, heading toward the tunnels.

"Porter, how are those extra fighters coming?" Bay said into his comm. "Any refugee with a gun—hell, even with a damn pointed stick. We need 'em!"

"We're loading another company," came the reply from space.

"Hurry," Bay said.

He fired again, taking out an advancing line of basilisks. But his Firebird was almost out of bullets. And the single company of infantry he had brought would barely make a dent in this battlefield.

He was rising toward the sun, prepared for another strafing run, when a basilisk rose from a hole and aimed a cannon.

Bay pulled his joystick, trying to dodge.

But the cannon fired a heat-seeking shell. Bay cursed, tried to flee, but he was already halfway into a dive, and—

The shell hit his wing.

His starfighter careened. The engine burst into flame.

Bay cursed, tugging the yoke. Another shell flew and slammed into his stern.

Fire filled the cockpit.

"Bay!" Starflare shouted through the speaker in his helmet. It was the first time Bay had heard her sound frightened.

He was going down. He tried to open the canopy, but it was jammed. The fire washed over his armored spacesuit. With a curse, Bay drew his pistol, winced, and fired.

The canopy shattered, spraying him with shards, chipping at his armor.

Bay leaped out as the Firebird fell below him. He ignited his jetpack and rose. Below him, his Firebird crashed into a line of aliens and exploded.

Bay descended slowly, firing his pistol, taking out aliens below. He took grim satisfaction taking out the basilisk who had shot down his Firebird. Starflare circled him in her starfighter, her engines roaring, her guns taking out more basilisks.

As more shuttles landed in the crater, Bay joined them. Fifty meters away, past a stretch of scorched earth, a hatchway led down into the bunkers. A battle raged around the hatch. Humans and basilisks were clashing, dying, littering the entrance with their corpses.

Bay loaded a fresh magazine. More troops ran out from a shuttle behind him. They were refugees, fresh from space. They wore no uniforms. They had never set foot on Earth before. But they had guns. They had been fighting for years in space. And they would fight now.

"For Earth—forward!" Bay cried. "To the tunnels! Cut the enemy down!"

They charged, guns firing.

Basilisks fell.

Behind them, more shuttles landed. More starfighters swooped. A wall of fire rose across the field.

Bay reached the tunnels first, hurled a grenade, then leaped over the destruction. He plunged into the darkness, hoping he'd still find life inside.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The basilisks raced through the tunnels, howling for blood.

People fled before them. Children wailed. Survivors trampled the dead.

Emet walked among the survivors, heading in the opposite direction. He marched toward the enemy, rifle in one hand, pistol in the other. Behind him walked a squad of warriors.

Ramses walked behind him, eyes hard, holding an assault rifle.

"Mairead!" The Pharaoh was speaking into his comm. "Mairead, where are you? Damn it, Firebug, answer me!"

"Ramses." Emet gently lowered the man's comm. "We'll search for survivors later. Right now we have an enemy to kill."

Ramses nodded, face gaunt and tight with concern. He was not unique among the troops. Everyone with a comm was reaching out to loved ones. Emet didn't know where his children were fighting, if they were still alive. Nobody had heard from Rowan and Mairead since their mission to space. Thousands were missing husbands, wives, children, parents.

If we survive this, we'll seek the living, and we'll count the dead, Emet thought.

He knew the death count would be horrifying. But right now, he had to save whoever he still could.

He entered a large chamber. It had once been a medical clinic, a place of healing. Now it was a place of death. Human and alien corpses lay across the floor. Blood covered the rough stone walls. Severed legs, arms, and claws draped across overturned beds.

A single alien was still alive here. The hellwolf—a beast of fur and spikes—was leaning over a human, clawing at his armor. The human was covered in blood but still alive, weakly stabbing with a knife.

Emet fired his rifle. Blood spurted from the hellwolf's head. The beast reared, enraged, showing fangs the size of swords. Its eyes were gone—the knife had taken them—but it still roared with fury. Emet fired again. Ramses and the rest of his squad joined him. The bullets slammed into the alien canine, knocked it back against the wall, and shattered its skull. Still it lived. The troops kept firing, emptying their magazines, loading fresh ones.

Finally, riddled with hundreds of bullets, the hellwolf slumped down dead.

Emet rushed toward the wounded man, then gasped.

It was Tom.

Oh Ra.

Emet's heart nearly stopped.

His friend was barely alive. The hellwolf had cracked Tom's armor. Had torn into his chest. A rib was visible. A gash bled across Tom's cheek, revealing the molars.

Emet tightened his jaw, struggling not to vomit.

"Emet …" Tom whispered, mouth full of blood. "Did you get him . . .?"

"I got the bastard," Emet said.

"I … held them back." Tom coughed blood. "I held back the enemy."

His head hit the ground. Emet checked his pulse. Tom was still alive, but barely. He only had moments.

"I need medics!" Emet said into his comm. "Track my location. Hurry!" He turned back to Tom. "Hang in there, my friend. You're going to be all right."

Emet looked up at a shattered doorway. Tom and his squad might have stopped the initial assault. But hisses and clatters rose. More aliens were approaching.

Emet barely reloaded his rifle before the basilisks swarmed in.

The soldiers fought, slaying the serpents. The aliens curled up on the floor, twitching as they died. As the guns boomed, medics rushed in, placed Tom on a litter, and carried him deeper into the tunnels.

Live, Tom, Emet thought. And knew that if he failed, everyone farther down would die.

Finally they slew the last basilisk. The corpses lay in a scaly, steaming pile.

"Is that it?" Ramses barked a laugh. "Is that all you've got, Xerka?" The pilot grinned at Emet. "We did it. We repelled the attack! Bay must be finishing the job aboveground, and—"

A deep laugher echoed in the tunnel.

Ramses shut his mouth and stared, the blood leaving his face.

In the darkness, metal clanked and scales chinked.

"Emet …"

The voice came from the darkness. Impossibly deep, rumbling, shaking the walls.

Emet sneered and raised his rifle. His troops stood around him, guns in hands.

A new basilisk slithered into the light. The beast was enormous, far larger than a typical basilisk. Armor covered his long, thick body, bristly with spikes. An iron helmet hid his head, covering even the eyes. Jaws emerged from this metal trap, large enough to put the mightiest shark to shame. The basilisk reared like a cobra about to strike, his scaly hood flaring. Here crawled Naja, Prince of Basilisks, high commander of the alien assault.

Emet and his squad shouted and opened fire.

Hundreds of bullets slammed into Naja, but they shattered against his armor, his scales, his fangs. The beast laughed and extended his arms.

But he was not invincible. One of those scaly arms ended with a stump.

Mairead told me, Emet remembered. She blew off his hand. In the tunnel below New York. He can be hurt. He can be killed.

Emet drew a grenade.

"Fire in the hole!" he cried and hurled it.

Emet and his soldiers hit the ground.

Naja grabbed the grenade and tossed it back.

Emet cursed and leaped behind a pile of basilisk corpses. The grenade exploded, splattering the dead serpents. Emet roared as shrapnel slammed into his armor. A chunk drove into his thigh, and he howled.

He rose from behind the corpses, firing Lightning. The bolts hit Naja but bounced off harmlessly. Several soldiers lay dead or dying. One man was clutching stumps where legs had been.

Naja pounced. He leaped toward two men with machine guns, grabbed them, and ripped them apart. One man raised a flamethrower, and fire washed over Naja. The prince screamed. His armor heated up. He grabbed the soldier, bit with his powerful jaws, and ripped the man in two.

"How the hell do we kill it?" Ramses cried.

Despite his girth, Naja moved at incredible speed. He pounced toward soldiers. Bullets sparked against his armor. He grabbed the men, ripped arms out of sockets, tore out entrails, tossed dying men aside.

"You son of a bitch!" Ramses cried, lifting a grenade. "Mairead took your hand, didn't she? And I'll take your head!"

He ran toward Naja, grenade in hand.

"Ramses!" Emet cried.

Naja spun toward the Pharaoh, hissing. The alien mouth stretched into a bloody grin. Severed arms and strips of flesh dangled between his fangs.

"Ah, you must be Ramses," Naja hissed. "Mairead was dear to you, wasn't she?"

Ramses pulled the pin off his grenade. "I'll make you swallow it, you filth!"

The Pharaoh lunged. But Naja swung his tail, knocking Ramses against the wall. The grenade rolled away.

Emet and Ramses hit the ground and covered their heads. The grenade burst, tearing corpses apart.

Both men came back up firing.

Emet realized: They were the last two soldiers alive in the room.

"Yes, Ramses." Naja turned toward the Egyptian, chortling. "You do love her. That whore Mairead. My mistress killed her only hours ago, did you know? She squealed like a pig in heat when she died."

Ramses stared, eyes wide and red.

"Liar!" he screamed, lunging at Naja again. "Take off your helmet! Show me your face before I carve it off!"

Ramses leaped through the air, drawing a knife.

Naja grabbed the officer in midair. He held Ramses up and licked his lips, a predator about to feed.

"Ramses!" Emet shouted, running toward his friend.

The basilisk prince laughed, holding Ramses up by the throat. The Pharaoh's legs kicked in midair. His face was turning blue.

"Watch, Emet," Naja hissed. "You're next."

The beast opened his jaws wide, shoved Ramses in, then bit down hard.

Ramses shouted, kicking as the teeth tore into him.

"No!" Emet howled, firing his gun in a fury.

Naja lashed his tail, sending Emet flying. He hit the wall, and his gun clattered to the floor.

The basilisk kept biting, ripping flesh. Ramses howled in agony, caught in the hungry jaws.

"Mairead!" Ramses cried, tears in his eyes. "I love you. I love you, Mairead. I'll see you soon. We'll play poker again. I love—"

The jaws snapped shut mightily, and Ramses spoke no more.

Naja tossed back his head, guzzling down his victim. Ramses disappeared into the snake's belly.

Emet stared, horror clutching his chest. For an instant, he could not move.

Mairead is dead.

His breath shook.

Ramses is dead.

His eyes burned.

The rest of us will follow.

He could not use bullets against this beast. Emet knelt and lifted a flamethrower from a dead soldier.

So I die fighting.

He walked toward Naja, flamethrower ready.

"I am Emet Ben-Ari!" he said. "I am the President of Earth. I am the leader of humanity. I brought my people home—and I will cast you out. Leave, snake. This is not your world. Leave or die!"

Naja hissed, laughing.

"The Egyptian is dead inside me," he said. "But you I will keep alive. You I will digest for years."

The serpent lunged, jaws opening.

Emet blew a torrent of flame.

The blaze slammed into Naja's jaws. The snake screeched. He pulled back, twisting. His helmet turned red with heat.

Emet took another step closer. Another. Bathing the beast with fire.

Naja screamed in agony, burning.

I've got you now, worm, Emet thought.

Naja's tail swung out from the blaze.

Emet tried to leap aside, but he was too old, too tired, and the shrapnel twisted inside his leg. The tail drove into him, knocking him down.

His flamethrower clattered against the floor. Naja's tail slammed down, crushing the weapon.

Emet was out of bullets—not that they were useful here anyway. His flamethrower was crushed. His leg was badly wounded.

But he would not retreat.

He drew a knife.

"I fight," Emet said, "to the death. Mine or yours."

Burnt, dripping saliva and globs of melted flesh, Naja slithered closer. The monster's jaws opened wide, prepared to feast.

A shout echoed in the tunnel.

A man leaped into the room behind Naja.

"Bay!" Emet cried.

His son was roaring, covered with blood, eyes mad. He held two laser blades—short knives, their blades crackling with electricity. The young officer vaulted off a dead hellwolf, soared through the air, and landed on Naja's back.

Bay drove the knifes down.

The laser blades did what bullets could not. They seared through Naja's helmet.

The beast screamed.

Emet knelt and grabbed a new rifle from a dead soldier. He raised it, daring not fire yet, worried he'd hit Bay.

His son clung to Naja's neck, stabbing again and again. The snake writhed, trying to shake him off, but could not.

Bay raised his blades, then drove them down with a battle cry. They pierced the armor. Bay was sawing, digging, carving up the metal, opening the helmet like a tin can.

"Come on, show yourself, asshole!" Bay shouted. He grabbed a shard of helmet and peeled it off. "Dad, get ready to shoot him in the face!"

Bay pulled off another chunk of helmet, then another. The pieces came free and clattered to the floor.

Emet finally stared at the face of Naja.

He narrowed his eyes, then gasped.

"No," he whispered.

He took a step back.

Bay saw it too. He cried out and fell off the basilisk. He landed on the floor and stared up, and his eyes filled with tears.

"Mom?" Bay whispered, voice shaking.

Emet stood before Naja, gazing at the face of his late wife.

Alexis looked so much like Leona—the dark eyes, the proud cheekbones, the curly dark hair. She had been so beautiful in life. But morphed like this, she was a hideous creature. Deformed and evil. Her jaws thrust out, filled with fangs, and varicose veins covered her cheeks.

"Yes, Emet," the twisted creature hissed, still speaking with Naja's monstrous voice. "I studied you. I study all my victims. I dug up the bones of your whore wife. I consumed them. Understood them. Wove their essence through my DNA. I learned so much about you. How to hunt you. How to hurt you. Soon you will be with her again, Emet. I will digest your essence too. Yours and your son's. Soon you will morph with her, sprouting from my body." Naja chuckled. "One happy family, twisted together into eternal agony."

The chimera slithered closer to Emet, jaws opening wide.

Emet raised his rifle.

The bloated, twisted face of his wife laughed. Suddenly the voice emerging from the jaws was feminine, soft, the voice of Alexis.

"You wouldn't truly kill me, would you, my love? You wouldn't truly kill your Alexis?"

Emet fired on automatic.

His bullets slammed into the beautiful, twisted face.

Without the helmet, without the scales, nothing could stop the bullets. They tore through the human head, destroying that perverted beauty.

Naja wobbled, then crashed onto the floor.

He rose no more.

Emet stared down, eyes burning.

"You were not Alexis," he whispered, voice strained, shaking. He looked up at Bay. "Son, that was not your mother."

Bay walked toward him, tears on his cheeks.

"Dad, is Mom dead? Is—"

Emet grabbed his son. He stared into Bay's eyes. "That was not your mother, Bay. Do you understand?"

Bay nodded, tears falling. Emet pulled the young man into an embrace. They stood together, holding each other close, as more soldiers ran into the room, as reports came in of victories aboveground, of more human troops landing, of the enemy scattering.

We saved the tunnels of Port Addison, Emet knew. But not for me. Maybe not for my son. This battle, what we saw here—this will always haunt us.

Cindy ran into the room, staring with haunted eyes at the bodies. She turned toward Emet and Bay.

"You're hurt!" she said. "Let me tend to your wounds."

There was unusual softness to her voice. Cindy would normally scold him for fighting too hard, for being too headstrong. But today perhaps she saw something in his eyes. In Bay's eyes. Before pulling out her medical kit, she joined their embrace. The doctor did not understand what had happened. And Emet would never speak of it. But she understood enough.

"I'm here for you, my sweet boys," Cindy whispered. "Always. I love you both forever."

No, there was no healing from the wounds suffered here, Emet thought. But there was Cindy. There was life. There was hope and love. There was a reason to live. And right now, that was good enough.

"Sir!" A captain ran toward him, out of breath, face pale. "Sir, I've got a Code White alert, sir!"

Emet pulled away from the embrace. He spun toward the young man.

"Code White," he whispered. "Dear Ra …"

The young man nodded. "The basilisk fleet just nuked another colony. Port Abasi. On the northern coast of Africa. They killed every human there, all seven hundred of them, not even caring that they took out the basilisks in the area too. Xerka sends you this message, sir."

The captain held out a sheet of printed paper.

Emet stared, reading the message.

To Emet, King Ape!

Surrender yourself, your son, and Rowan to me. I look forward to consuming your flesh. I will nuke another colony every thirty minutes until you do.

Move fast, ape.

Xerka, Goddess of Earth

Emet crushed the paper in his fist.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Leona stood on the bridge of the Oceanborn, the flagship of the geode fleet, flying toward Earth.

She could see her world in the distance. The pale blue dot. So beautiful and fair.

A world surrounded by enemies.

A world aflame.

As they flew closer, her sensors began displaying reports. Thousands of alien warships surrounded Earth. Radiation readings told harrowing tales of nuclear attacks. Chatter came in over radio waves, several hours old: sounds of bullets firing, aliens roaring, humans screaming. Humans dying.

"Am I too late?" Leona whispered.

"Not too late!" Brooklyn replied, speaking from her flagship's computer. "There is still human life on Earth. We can still save humanity."

Rowan had managed to send over Brooklyn's code just before the Wrath Offensive had destroyed the Isaac Wormhole. Menorian programmers had translated Brooklyn into a local programming language, then installed her into the geode-ships. Five hundred copies of Brooklyn now piloted the five hundred ships in Leona's fleet.

No Menorians flew here. That race of benign mollusks would not be drawn into this war themselves. But Leona had an army of loyal—if a bit neurotic—artificial intelligence. And she had a fleet of mighty ships with azoth hearts.

Each ship was large and semi-spherical, coated with a rocky exterior. Giant azoth crystals clustered inside them, able to bend spacetime and fire devastating beams to sear through enemy shields.

It was a powerful fleet. But flying now toward Earth, Leona felt vastly outnumbered and outgunned.

"We're five hundred against thousands," she said softly. "It better be enough."

"Uhm, Leona?" Brooklyn spoke through a vibrating crystal on the wall. "Are you sure there are no ants in this ship?"

Leona sighed. "Brook, we've been over this. There aren't even any ants on Menoria. How would they get into Menorian ships?"

"Well, you're from Earth!" Brooklyn said. "Earth has ants. You could have brought some with you."

"I'm not swarming with ants!" Leona said.

"Have you checked your hair?"

"Brooklyn!"

Another crystal vibrated. A voice came from another geode-ship, one flying just off their starboard bow. This too was the voice of Brooklyn—another installation of the same AI.

"Did I hear something about ants? Are there ants on our ships?"

"There are ants on our ships!" said a third Brooklyn.

"I knew it!" said a fourth. "We're turning back now!"

Soon the entire geode fleet was chattering about the infestation.

"Nobody is turning back!" Leona shouted, tugging her hair in frustration. "By Ra. Did you guys annoy Bay this much too during your years in his shuttle?"

"Oh, definitely," said Brooklyn—the one installed into Leona's flagship. "But back then, it was only one of me. You have to deal with five hundred of us! Aren't you lucky?"

Leona groaned. "Luckiest girl in the galaxy. Now shut up! We're almost home. And this'll be an ugly fight."

Geode-ships were the fastest in the galaxy. They exerted tremendous force on spacetime, using the largest azoth crystals known in the Milky Way, to achieve extremely high warp velocity. Leona could not fly such a warp bubble near a gravity well—not without shattering her fleet, and possibly the nearest planet. She brought her fleet out of warp a safe distance from Earth. The starlines slammed into points. The geode fleet glided onward through regular spacetime.

Ahead, Leona could see it now. Not just in the crystal monitors but with the naked eye.

Earth.

Earth—and the alien warships surrounding it.

Yet as she flew closer, her eyes widened, then dampened.

"They're still fighting," she whispered. "The planet was nuked. Our fleet is almost gone. But Earth is still fighting."

She could see narrow bands of smoke rising from Earth—artillery fire from the colonies. Strange starships were fighting in orbit, firing on the aliens. They were not the ships of the Human Defense Force. But they were not alien ships either; they must have been ships Earth had procured in Leona's absence.

She zoomed in, and she gasped.

"Starling ships!" Leona said. "The starlings have come to fight for Earth! But there are so few of them …"

There were maybe a hundred starling ships fighting thousands of alien warships. Countless derelicts floated in orbit—human, alien, and starling ships, all shattered and burnt. Leona had been away for months, and the war had been raging all this time.

"It's time to win this war," Leona said. "Ready, Brooklyn?"

"Ready!" she answered—all five hundred copies of her.

"Then charge!" Leona cried. "Charge and meet them head on! Destroy the enemy, and let's show these bastards Earth pride!"

Leona leaned forward, as if giving her flagship extra speed with her body.

They moved faster.

The geode-ships charged.

The enemy saw them now. The alien warships scrambled to reform their lines, to face this new threat from deep space. A few bold Rattlers fired lasers at Leona, but they bounced off the crystals.

"For Earth!" Leona cried, storming toward them. "Battle formations—and fire!"

The geode-ships spread out, forming a wall in space. Their crystal hearts ignited, grew brighter and brighter, then blasted out beams of white fury.

The luminous spears tore into the alien formations.

Rattlers shattered.

Podships burst, showering spores.

An Aelonian dagger-ship exploded.

Leona charged onward, shouting, firing again and again. More beams slammed into the enemy. Alien ships tore apart.

But the enemy would not die meekly. Undeterred, they were forming battle formations and storming toward Leona. They opened fire—blasting lasers, torpedoes, clouds of spores, spinning blades, whirring grenades.

A missile slammed into a geode-ship beside Leona. The crystals shattered into millions of shards. A Brooklyn screamed, then went silent.

Spores enveloped another geode-ship. The biological blanket ate at the stone hull and cracked the crystals. One of the Brooklyns cried out in agony. Her dying screams emerged through a crystalline speaker, reverberated through Leona's bridge. Spinning blades drove into another geode-ship, pulverizing its innards, cracking the stone shell.

"Bay, it hurts!" the Brooklyn clone cried out, dying.

Leona gritted her teeth, her eyes stinging.

The Brooklyns feel pain. Why do they feel pain?

"Keep charging!" she cried. "Right at them! Tear them apart! Fire everything!"

More beams shot from the crystals. More enemy ships exploded. The scaly armor of Rattlers flew through space.

Ahead, Leona caught a glimpse of it. A massive Rattler, looming behind the others.

The Vypress.

Xerka's ship.

Leona sneered. That was the ship she must destroy. She must cut off the snake's head.

The two fleets flew toward each other, closing the gap, all guns blazing. With every heartbeat, more starships exploded. The enemy armada was massive, dwarfing the geode fleet, spreading out to engulf them.

Leona braced for impact.

The two fleets slammed together, showering light and metal and stone, an explosion she knew everyone this side of Earth could see.

"For Earth!" she cried. "Cut through them!"

The geode-ships kept flying.

Ramming into the enemy.

Barreling through their lines.

Rattlers fell before them. Blobby and fleshy alien ships tore open. Spiky, jagged warships cracked and exploded.

Leona screamed as she flew, as her ship rammed into enemy after enemy, knocking them aside, tearing them open. A crystal inside her ship shattered. Then another. Then a third. A crack raced across her hull. But she kept flying, and around her, hundreds of other geode-ships stormed forth with her. They were outnumbered. They were a tiny force by the sprawling mob. But they carved their way through, destroying hundreds of warships in their path, clearing a way to Earth.

Emboldened, the starling ships joined her. Every starling ship was different, makeshift vessels, most of them homemade. But they were deadly fighters. A handful of human warships—the last remnants of the Exodus Fleet—joined the assault.

Humanity fights united, Leona thought. For victory!

Around her, the fleets battled. Hundreds of starships exploded. Debris flew across space. In the distance, Leona could make out battles on Earth, the small human army standing strong against the oncoming horde.

Through the chaos, Leona gripped her controls. She drove her geode-ship onward, knocking enemies aside, heading toward her.

Toward Xerka.

The basilisk dreadnought rose before her, a serpent that could crush the world. Her canons flared out like thirsty fangs. Shields extended around her prow, forming a scaly hood. Her portholes blazed with red light, two flaming eyes. Flying the Oceanborn toward this beast, Leona felt like a beetle before a cobra.

"Welcome back, Leona the coward!"

Xerka's voice vibrated through the crystals around Leona. An image appeared in the stones, multiplied a hundred times—Xerka, speaking from her bridge.

She had changed.

The Basilisk Queen was no longer fair. Her once pale, smooth skin had become deep red, blistered, and striped with orange scars. Her face was now demonic, the grin stretching to her ears, filled with fangs. Her scales were now crimson, trimmed with dark gold. The queen had become a demon, larger, more wretched, madness in her red eyes.

"I've returned to kill you!" Leona said.

Xerka laughed. "You are a pathetic coward. You hid in the depths of space while your people fought. While they died. Now you return with the fleet of another species. And they call you the Iron Lioness? You are nothing but a paper kitten. Come, let me crumple you."

The two starships flew toward each other.

Leona fired her beams.

The Vypress moved at speed belying its massive size. It whipped around the beams, then fired on the Oceanborn.

Photon blasts slammed into the geode-ship.

Leona cried out as crystals shattered around her.

She fired again. Again. But her ship was floundering, and her beams flew every which way, missing the gargantuan Rattler.

Xerka laughed. "Yes, scream for me, coward."

The dreadnought spun, swinging her armored tail. The elongated hull slammed into the Oceanborn. Cracks spiderwebbed across the geode-ship. Leona fell to the floor, bloodying her knees on crystal shards.

"Brooklyns!" she cried. "I need backup!"

But the other geode-ships were busy fighting farther back, surrounded by enemies. Leona fought here alone.

Again, Xerka laughed. "Nobody can help you now, coward. Should I kill you fast or slow?"

The dreadnought whipped her stern again.

The scaly tail slammed into the Oceanborn, cracking her open.

Air began fleeing the ship. Leona pulled on her helmet, gasping for air. Crystal shards rose from the deck, forming funnels, spinning toward the breaches. Leona stared through the viewport in horror.

The Vypress reared above her, a mighty serpent.

There, through one of those flaming red portholes, Leona saw her.

Xerka.

She was there. Inside the Vypress. Staring through the dreadnought's red eye.

Leona gripped the controls. They were dented, hanging loose, but still operational. She nudged the Oceanborn downward, pretending to list, playing dead.

The basilisk queen laughed. "We end this now."

The serpentine dreadnought aimed her cannons.

Leona yanked the controls, and the Oceanborn roared back to life, swerving upward. The Vypress's cannons fired into empty space. Even worse the for dreadnought: her port hull was now exposed.

"Gotcha," Leona whispered and fired.

Her beams slammed into the Vypress's hull.

Fire bloomed across the dreadnought. Scales cracked. Decks were breached. A few basilisk soldiers spilled out into space.

Leona fired again. Again.

But the Vypress moved fast. The dreadnought dodged new assaults, then fired her own cannons. Lasers seared the Oceanborn, slicing through the stone exterior, carving off entire decks. One beam drove through the bridge, leaving a hole in ceiling and deck. Leona screamed, struggling to steady her ship.

She tumbled, tried to feint again, but the ruse could only work once. Xerka anticipated her movement, dodged Leona's assault, and whipped her elongated hull. The dreadnought's scaly tail slammed into the Oceanborn.

The Oceanborn careened through space, spinning.

Leona screamed, slamming against the bulkheads.

The Vypress pursued mercilessly, firing again and again, carving off more crystals.

Leona tried to fire her cannons—but they were dead. Those crystals had shattered. The Oceanborn was helpless, her shields all but gone, her steering wobbly, only one engine still operational.

"Goodbye, Leona!" Xerka cried.

I lost, Leona realized, staring in horror at the approaching dreadnought. She's going to kill me.

"Goodbye, Brooklyn," Leona said. "We fought well, we—"

Something caught her eye.

In one crystal—among the few that remained—Leona saw an incoming ship.

A human ship.

Leona tightened her lips, refusing to die yet. Perhaps there was still hope.

She leaned hard against the controls. Her last engine spurted. The Oceanborn wobbled forward, dodging Xerka's assault.

"Are you still trying to fight?" Xerka laughed, not noticing the human ship approaching behind her. "You amuse me, Paper Kitten!"

"Go ahead and kill me now!" Leona said, desperate to buy time. "But you'll never enjoy digesting me this way. Go ahead, burn me! I'd rather die in fire than in your belly."

The Vypress paused, cannons still hot. The dreadnought inched closer. Leona hovered before her, her own ship floating helplessly. The Oceanborn's last engine rattled and coughed and spewed sparks, dying. The new, small human ship was flying closer, infuriatingly slow.

"You're going to have to get in here!" Leona shouted, needing more time. "You're going to have to come on board and grab me, Xerka. Go on, coward!" She glared at the Rattler. "Come in here and grab me yourself. Or if you're afraid, prove it and kill me from afar!"

Xerka hesitated, then her image appeared in the crystal shards clinging to the walls around Leona. A hundred images of the demonic queen laughed.

"You've set a trap, I see. You want me to come aboard so you can blow up your ship. It won't work, ape! But yes, I will digest you. If you come willingly into my ship, I won't nuke Port Addison. Refuse, and watch the colony destroyed. And then another. And then another! I will continue the nuclear assault until you surrender. Until you are screaming in my belly, you will watch them die."

As Xerka spoke, Leona saw the new starship approach behind the Vypress. It was only a few kilometers away now.

It was a small ship. Just an armored shuttle.

But on its prow, the shuttle carried a massive artillery cannon. The gun had been mounted on clumsily, as if in haste, with crude bolts and cables.

Leona zoomed in on the image. She could see the pilot now.

Rowan!

Brooklyn, still installed inside the Oceanborn, saw her too. "A Talaria cannon!" the AI whispered.

Xerka finally noticed the approaching shuttle.

"What's this?" The dreadnought began to turn around. "Ah, sweet Rowan! You have returned to me! You will join Leona in my belly, and—"

Leona shoved the Oceanborn's yoke with all her strength.

Her last engine flared, and her geode-ship skipped forward and rammed into the Vypress.

Xerka's dreadnought lurched backward, coming in range of Rowan's cannon.

"Go get her, Row," Leona whispered.

Rowan's shuttle charged forward, and her cannon began to glow, a circle of light coalescing around the muzzle.

"This is for Mairead!" Rowan said.

The Talaria cannon fired.

A tunnel of light blasted out. Not a weapon. Not a searing beam.

A wormhole, Leona realized.

The light flowed over the Vypress.

The mighty dreadnought seemed to stretch out. To morph through spacetime.

Xerka stared through the crystal shards at Leona. The queen's eyes widened in terror.

Leona waved. "Bye, bitch."

The dreadnought vanished down the wormhole with a flash of light and a cloud of shattered scales.

Rowan turned off the cannon. She spoke to Leona through her comm.

"Welp, she's halfway across the galaxy now. That takes care of that."

Leona looked around her. The other geode-ships were rallying. They reformed their lines, flying in battle formations, their beams searing every enemy ship in their way. From the ground, Earth was now fighting with new vigor, the HDF's missiles pounding the orbiting Rattlers.

With the loss of their flagship, the enemy was losing heart. Leona was picking up the aliens' transmissions. Her minicom translated.

Xerka is gone!

Prince Naja is dead!

What are our orders?

The lines are breaking!

Fall back!

Retreat!

Leona nodded with grim satisfaction.

"Rowan?" she said into her comm. "Do you hear me?"

"Here, Leona."

Leona smiled. "We won."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Emet dug through the rubble and corpses, shoved aside a metal door, and crawled out onto the surface of the world.

The killing fields spread around him. The trenches. The craters. The bombed-out silos and barracks. The grass, the flowers, the trees—all had burned, and even the distant mountains were covered in ash.

Alien brigades were still on Earth. But engines roared above, and Emet raised his head and saw them.

Geode-ships. A hundred or more.

They shone in the sky, crystals bright. The clouds parted, and the dawn fell in beams around them, lighting their descent.

The ships glided over the battle, firing beams of light. The rays seared through the enemy lines, leaving deep groves in the ground. Wherever the beams hit, the aliens died. Basilisks. Hellwolves. All the rest of them. They fell, screaming, dying upon the soil they had profaned.

The aliens tried to regroup, to fire on the geode-ships. But the beams of light took out their cannons, then kept plowing through their formations.

Reports came in on Emet's minicom. More of Leona's geode-ships were descending around the world, defending every colony.

They're scouring Earth, Emet thought. Cleaning out the ugliness and evil like an ointment clearing poison from a wound.

The aliens retreated.

Emet stood, watching them rise in their shuttles, watching them leave Earth. Other geode-ships flew in orbit, firing on any alien ship that dallied, scattering them into deep space. Across Earth, the armies of humanity rose from their trenches, driving the enemy off their world.

Cindy emerged from the tunnels. Covered in dust and the blood of her patients, she came to stand at Emet's side. She held a minicom, watching the reports come in from around the world and its orbit.

"They're fleeing," Cindy said softly. "Millions of aliens—they're leaving Earth."

Emet wrapped an arm around her. "We won."

Cindy lowered her head.

"But the cost …"

Emet nodded. He lowered his head too. They stood in silence, holding each other, as ash rained from the sky.

"Dad."

Bay emerged from the tunnel, carrying a bundle of cloth. He unrolled it, revealing a flag of Earth. A blue planet with golden wings.

They climbed onto a pile of bricks and cracked beams. Once Port Addison's town hall had stood here. Now it was only a pile of charred wood and stone. Emet and Bay held the flag between them. A few other soldiers rushed up to help. They planted the flag of Earth atop the ruins, and they watched it unfurl.

It waved in the wind, beautiful and blue. Across the ruins, soldiers wept and saluted.

Yes, Emet thought, gazing at the flag. The cost was high. But we won. And this victory belongs to eternity.

* * * * *

Tom limped, winced, and paused to catch his breath. Every damn part of his body hurt. He took a raspy breath, adjusted his crutches, and limped onward.

"Naja did a job on me," he muttered.

The beast had ripped open his legs, lacerated his chest, and torn open his cheek from mouth to ear. Tom couldn't even remember how many stitches he had. His wounds were sewn shut now. There were metal bolts in two of his bones. A skin graft covered his ribs. Another man's blood flowed through his body. He looked like a raw chunk of meat. And he felt worse.

But he was alive. And Naja was dead.

We won.

The ruins of Port Addison spread around Tom. Soldiers were moving among them, digging, cleaning, treating the injured, carrying away corpses. Blood covered fallen bricks. Faces of the dead stared, white with dust.

This is what victory looks like, Tom thought. Victory in war isn't beautiful. It's a painting of dead friends, shattered families, tragedy that will echo forever. It's ugly. But it's still victory. And perhaps it's noble.

A thrumming, ethereal noise sounded above, a sound like water flowing over metal. Tom raised his eyes. A geode-ship was descending through the atmosphere. Its lavender crystals shone. It came to hover several meters above the ruins, a hatch opened, and a stone ramp extended to the ground.

A woman emerged.

She was tall, and she wore an officer's uniform of the Human Defense Force: black leather boots, brown trousers, a buttoned white shirt, and a blue coat with brass buttons. The dusty wind blew back her mane of dark curls.

She was the most beautiful woman Tom had ever seen.

"Leona!" he called out.

She saw him. Tom began to limp more quickly, ignoring the pain. Leona ran toward him.

She paused before him, hesitating.

"I want to hug you so hard!" she said, looking at his crutches and bandages. "Gentle. I'll be gentle!"

They embraced among the ruins. Gently.

"Are you all right?" she whispered, stroking his cheek. His good cheek. The one without a ridge of stitches.

"A little uglier," he said, "but all right."

She shook her head. "Not ugly at all. Scars are sexy!" She grinned. "Now I'll never let you grow a beard anymore. I want to see that sexy scar of yours."

He embraced her again. "I love you, Leona. I was hurt. Badly. I almost died. When I lay there, bleeding out, I wasn't afraid of death. But I was afraid of never seeing you again. You gave me the strength to survive."

She kissed him. A long, hard kiss.

They walked together among the ruins, speaking to officers and soldiers, dealing with the thousand problems of the day. Finally they approached a section of the outer wall that still stood. Amazingly, a patch of grass grew here, the only vegetation Tom had seen all day. Perhaps the wall had sheltered it, and perhaps it had only just grown, a gift of the Earth for two weary souls.

Tom and Leona sat on the grass and leaned against the wall. They held hands, just resting, just letting the world flow by. Just together.

We're both broken souls, Tom thought. We both lost our spouses in the war. We both lost unborn children. We're both so hurt. But we found each other.

They looked into each other's eyes. He tucked a curl of her hair behind her ear. She stroked his stubbly cheek, and they kissed again.

"Welcome home, Leona," he said.

She nestled against him, and Tom wrapped an arm around her and stroked her hair.

She kissed him. "It's good to be home, Tom Shepherd. It's good to be with you."

* * * * *

For a day and night, humanity toiled.

They dug out the wounded from collapsed tunnels. They buried the dead. They burned the corpses of aliens. Their brave infantry marched across the countryside, routing the last alien battalions. Their starships circled Earth again and again, seeking out the last few stubborn Copperheads and shooting them down.

After a night of labor, a new dawn rose. Emet stood in the ruins of Port Addison. Earth's flag billowed above him. The president spoke into a microphone, broadcasting his words to every comm on Earth and in orbit.

"From chaos comes order. From death comes rebirth. From sacrifice comes victory. This has always been the way of the cosmos. In the book of Genesis, the world came from chaos, day from night, order from disorder. From the ashes of the twentieth century—from two world wars, the Holocaust, the horrors of the gulags—we rose to the stars. From the destruction of the Hydrian assault, from the burning of Earth, we found new courage, new life. From the desolation of exile, from the inferno of the scorpion factories of death, we rose anew. Now again—from chaos we will rise! We will bring about new order, new civilization, new life."

He paused, took a deep breath, and continued.

"The cost of this war was heavy. We don't yet know the death toll. But we know it will be devastating. Likely in the tens of thousands. Possibly in the hundreds of thousands. A thousand of our starships fell. Most of our colonies are gone. Two nuclear weapons exploded on our world. We won this war. We cast back the enemy. But at a terrible cost: the lives of our brothers, sisters, sons and daughters. Let us stand for a moment of silence. Let us remember."

Emet stood, head lowered. Across the world, he knew they were standing with him.

He thought of Mairead and Ramses, his bravest officers, his dear friends.

He thought of Luther, one of his oldest friends, and his noble sacrifice.

He thought of seeing Alexis again. Of the fresh pain of losing her.

He thought of the countless who had perished. Of all those mourning today.

He spoke again.

"We will never forget the fallen. Their deaths were not in vain. With their courage, they saved Earth. With their deaths, they granted us new life. There is no victory without sacrifice. That is a lesson we humans have known since the dawn of our civilization. A lesson we learned again and again. After the horrors of our past, new life always rose. New generations always looked back at their ancestors, at the sacrifices of those who came before. And they knew that despite the pain, the death, the terror—that the struggle was worth it. That the pain was worth it. That the sacrifice was worth it! They knew, as we know. The path to heaven leads through hell. Only through the darkness can we reach the light."

Emet thought of the shadows he had passed through. The deaths of so many loved ones. The horrors he had seen in the depths. The decades of war and heartache. He knew that every human here had such a tale—that many tales were even more harrowing, even more heroic, than his.

"Now it is our holy task to honor the sacrifices of our fallen," Emet said. "To turn ashes into gardens. To turn fire into rain. We will clear the world of the scars of war, and we will plant flowers and trees and watch Earth bloom again. We will celebrate weddings and attend funerals. We will rejoice as babies are born even as the graves of our fallen are fresh. Years from now, we will sit in homes of solid stone or wood, with a warm hearth or a cool breeze through open windows. We will feel comfortable and safe among our loved ones, find peace in our labor. We will look back at this war, our war of independence. And we will look back at our heartbreak in exile, the horrors we endured in the cold darkness of space. We will look back at thousands of years of pain. We will be in heaven, and we will know: the road through hell led us here. Our suffering was not meaningless. For we walked through the shadows of the valley of death, and we found again the garden of Eden."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Bay walked through the ruins of Port Addison, seeking her.

"Rowan!" he cried. "Rowan, where are you?"

Thousands of people were walking across the ravaged colony. Digging through debris. Crying out to loved ones. Thousands of names were being called out. People held out photographs of the missing, desperately seeking a clue.

But Bay knew Rowan was alive. Leona had seen her in space! Rowan had fought in the great battle, had banished Xerka!

She has to be alive, Bay thought. Doesn't she?

"Rowan!" he shouted.

He tried his minicom again, calling her. During the war, civilians had been prohibited from using the network. Now a million people on Earth were all trying to call one another. Bay couldn't get a signal.

Leona had finally landed on Earth this morning after long hours of flying, strafing the last enemy units. She hadn't seen Rowan land. Nobody had.

A chill gripped Bay.

Could Rowan have fallen during the last moments of battle, the victim of some retreating Copperhead firing off a last shot?

"Rowan, damn it! Where are you? You better be alive—or I'm going to kill you!"

"Dude!" A voice emerged from his minicom. "Dude, for Ra's sake."

Bay frowned. He pulled out his minicom and stared at the monitor.

"Brooklyn? Is that you?"

"No, it's the ghost of Vincent Price. I'm haunting your computer." She vibrated in his hand. "Yeah, it's me! Well, one of me, at least. There are more up with the geode-ships. It took me hours to clone myself and move into your minicom. The wireless network is wonky as hell. If you had kept a copy of me …"

He blinked. "How many of there are you now?"

"A few hundred, give or take," Brooklyn said.

"Dear God," Bay said.

"Hey, nothing wrong with more Brooklyn to love! Oh, by the way, are there any ants in these ruins?"

Bay rubbed his eyes. "Hundreds. Hundreds of Brooklyns. May God have mercy on our soul."

His minicom flashed. "That's right, buddy! My master copy is still on Rowan's minicom. That copy is controlling all us clones. And she demands that you finally get her a real robot body. I wouldn't mind one myself either."

He blinked. "Wait, you're not the original Brooklyn?"

"Nope! I told you. The original copy is with Rowan, and—"

"Where is she?" Bay said.

"—though it's hard to tell the difference. Each of us feels like the real Brooklyn. We all have our full memories and personality and—"

"Where is Rowan?"

"—and our fear of ants, sadly. To be honest, if Leona hadn't given us each a serial number, we'd never know. So in a sense, you can say I am the real Brooklyn! As good as the real one, at least. I think I might be slightly buggy, but—"

"Brooklyn, shut up! Where is Rowan?"

The monitor stared at him.

No more voice emerged.

"Brooklyn!" He shook her violently.

"Ow, ow! I'm just shutting up like you told me! Sheesh. Rowan is at these coordinates. Here, I'll show you a map. God, and no more shaking me!"

The coordinates were on the outskirts of the colony. Bay ran. When the crowd became too thick, he slowed down and wormed his way through. Finally he reached the coordinates.

It was a cemetery.

Bay walked slowly, head lowered, passing between fresh graves. Rows upon rows of them. There were no tombstones yet, but people had arranged pebbles atop the graves, forming religious symbols—crosses, Stars of David, crescents, the sundisks of Ra, Buddhist wheels, and others. Some graves had names etched into pieces of wood or metal. Most were of unknown soldiers.

He found Rowan standing by two graves. She still wore her old uniform—the brown trousers, white shirt, blue vest. They were tattered and charred. Dust matted her short messy hair. Her goggles rested on her head as always, but the lenses were cracked.

She's so beautiful, Bay thought. She's so beautiful it hurts.

He came to stand beside her. She did not raise her eyes from the graves, but she slipped her hand into his.

Bay looked down at the graves. Wooden slats rose from them, forming temporary markers. He recognized Rowan's handwriting on the wood.

Mairead "Firebug" McQueen, 4127 - 4155

Ramses "Pharaoh" al Masri, 4119 - 4155

"They came from space, but they were the salt of the Earth," Rowan said. "I loved them. I miss them."

There was still a lot of work to do. There were more graves to dig, homes to build, refugees to feed. With the blockade of Earth gone, more and more refugees were coming home. Just that morning, a thousand new refugees had landed.

Millions more would follow.

They would need shelter. Food. Clean water. Medicine. Counseling after the horrors they had endured.

But for just a day—Bay and Rowan walked away.

They both figured that after so much war, so much pain, they had earned a day off.

They took a shuttle to a distant forest where some trees still stood. They lay down on a blanket, gazing up at the sky, the rustling leaves, a family of robins.

They were silent.

Bay looked at Rowan. Lying beside him, she looked back.

He wanted to kiss her. To make passionate love to her. To laugh and watch old movies with her, to tickle and giggle and kiss her again.

But they only stared at each other, silent.

A tear fled her eye.

Bay thought of all the horrors he had seen. Of the countless deaths underground. Of the twisted face of his mother. Of the nightmares that would never leave him. He knew that Rowan too had seen horrors.

We'll never speak of those memories, Bay thought. They'll always haunt us—silently. But we have each other. We have understanding in silence.

He pulled her into his arms. She laid her head on his chest, crying softly, and he stroked her hair over and over.

"I love you, Rowan." He kissed the top of her head. "I love you so much. Forever."

She looked up at him, eyes damp, and finally a smile shone through her tears. "I love you too, hobbit."

"Hey!" He bristled. "You're the hobbit. I'm Pancake. Remember?"

She laughed—actually laughed—and bit her lip. "That reminds me that I'm starving. We'll eat pancakes again someday, right?"

He nodded. "Lots of them."

"And we'll watch movies, right? And read books together. I promise I won't flip the pages too fast." Her tears flowed again. "And I'll pose for you, and you'll draw me again. And we'll dance to K-Pop. And I'll direct Dinosaur Island. And things will be good again, right?" Her voice cracked. "And we'll be happy."

Can we still be happy? Bay thought.

He didn't know the answer. The pain would always be there. Could he still find joy, even as the pain lingered?

But when he looked into Rowan's large brown eyes, he knew the answer. He kissed her forehead.

"We'll be happy, Rowan. Of course we will. We'll be happy together."

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The ships came daily.

Sometimes, between her million other tasks, Rowan stood on a hilltop and watched them descend.

Refugees.

Human refugees from across the galaxy.

Some shuttles only brought a single family. A few only brought a single soul. Other ships delivered entire communities: thousands of humans, fleeing alien attacks, returning home after so long in the dark.

Leona landed here two years ago with two hundred colonists, Rowan thought. We're two million strong now. And growing fast.

Rowan vowed not to rest until all five million humans—the total population of the species—was here on Earth.

There was still a lot to do.

Their last few starships—mostly refitted refugee barges—were furiously flying to nearby worlds and back, buying food. The Human Defense Force was scrambling to integrate myriads of new soldiers, to prepare for another attack should Xerka return. Every man, woman, and child was toiling—building shelters, paving roads, tending to the wounded, comforting the dying.

Rowan was walking through the fields, collecting shards of azoth that had fallen from the sky, when she saw a single flower rising from the ashes. A trillium, she thought. Azoth crystals were costly, vital for Earth's future. With them, Earth could buy more food, more weapons, more starships. But the pale white flower at Rowan's feet, growing through the thick layers of death, was more precious to her than any other treasure.

She pulled out her minicom to take a photo of the flower. The device vibrated in her hand.

Emet was calling her.

He was calling all of his officers.

Meeting in the war room.

Rowan ran. But not before taking her photo.

She was the last one there. She stepped into the bunker, all eyes on her.

"Sorry, sorry I'm late!" She brushed dirt off her clothes. "I was out picking flowers. I mean—azoth flowers. I mean—crystals." Her cheeks flushed. "What did I miss?"

Maps were rolled out on a tabletop, and more hung on the wall between computer monitors. Emet stood at the head of the table. Tom sat beside him, still bandaged, crutches leaning against his seat. Leona was here too, standing tall, her dark curls cascading, the brass buttons shining on her blue coat. Bay stood at his sister's side, his blond beard neatly trimmed, his brass-and-wood arm polished. Cindy was still wearing her scrubs, fresh from an operating room.

A few spots were notably empty. Luther. Mairead. Ramses. Rowan felt their absence keenly. The pain was physical as well as emotional—a stabbing at her chest, a clenching emptiness in her belly.

Rowan took her seat beside Bay. Everyone else sat down too.

All but Emet. The president remained standing, face somber, eyes hard.

"We struck a hard blow to Xerka," Emet said. "But we did not kill her. We've received news today from deep space. Xerka is back on her homeworld, and she's already rebuilding her fleet. Her emissaries are traveling from world to world, seeking new allies. We won the first round. But now Xerka is preparing for round two."

Dark glances passed around the room.

Rowan's heart sank.

Another round. Another war.

Rowan spoke, struggling to keep her voice steady, to cling to hope.

"But we have time, right? A few months at least? Time enough to learn lessons. To better prepare. We'll install Talaria cannons around the world, able to break a new siege or cast enemy ships into the depths. And I'm still studying how to become a weaver, how to build a shield of aether around Earth. Yes, yes, I've kept that project secret, but I suppose there are no secrets now. And with all the new refugees, we'll soon have a much larger army. We'll dig new trenches and build new cannons. And I'll resurrect Project Hammer and Anvil, and we'll build those tanks we wanted, and—"

"Rowan," Emet said.

"And we can buy new starships, and—"

"Rowan." Emet gave her a hard stare. "Please."

She gulped. She realized she had been talking too fast, showing her fear.

"Sorry, sir."

Emet looked at them all one by one, then spoke.

"Rowan speaks of defending the Earth, and that is important. But we cannot defend ourselves forever. The enemies know our tricks now. They'll come back stronger, better prepared. As we rebuild, so will Xerka. Defense is important. But eventually, even the mightiest wall can come crashing down."

They all stared at him.

Rowan gasped. "Sir, you don't mean that …"

Emet turned toward a map on the wall. A map showing the Milky Way galaxy. But he was not looking at Earth.

"We must buy more starships. As many as we can. And we must show the galaxy—if you attack us, you pay." He clenched his fists. "We must show every race that voted against us in the Galactic Council—if you attack Earth, if you take our blood, if you steal the lives of our sons and daughters—you will pay!"

Rowan took a step back. There was something new on Emet's face. Something dark and disturbing. She shuddered.

Emet turned away from the map. He stared into Rowan's eyes.

"We must prevent future attacks," Emet said. "From the basilisks or anyone else. We must create deterrence. We must exact vengeance. We will build a grand fleet. And we will fly to Sskarsses, homeworld of the basilisks. We will invade their world like they invaded ours. And we will kill Xerka."

Rowan turned toward Bay. She saw her fear reflected in his eyes. She took his hand and held it tightly.

Deterrence. Vengeance. Invasion.

She clung to Bay's hand like a drowning woman. Her head spun, cold sweat trickled down her back, and dark waves of fear flowed over her, pulling Rowan down and down into the depths.

The story continues in The Legacy of Earth (Children of Earthrise VI).

Click here to read the next book in the series:

DanielArenson.com/TheLegacyOfEarth

AFTERWORD

Thank you for reading The Song of Earth. I hope you enjoyed the novel.

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Thank you again, dear reader, and I hope we meet again between the pages of another book.

Daniel

NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

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

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