THE WAR FOR EARTH

CHILDREN OF EARTHRISE, BOOK 4

by

Daniel Arenson

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

AFTERWORD

NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

KEEP IN TOUCH

Illustration © Tom Edwards - TomEdwardsDesign.com

CHAPTER ONE

They were hunting deer when Karin found the mutilated skeleton.

"Sarge!" She beckoned to him. "Sarge, take a look. Muckers broke every damn rib in the poor bugger's body."

Sergeant Robert Fox was kneeling in the snow, breath frosting, examining hoof prints. He glared at the raven-haired young woman.

"Hush!" he said. "Keep your voice low. You'll scare off the deer."

"Dude, I think I found the deer," Karin said.

Fox grunted. He trudged toward her between the maples, carefully climbing over icy logs and hidden roots. The kid followed him, a spindly private wrapped in furs, an oaf who snapped every branch and breathed louder than a sawmill.

The three of them had been tracking the deer for two days now. In the old stories, Earth was a place of flowery meadows, blue sky, and frolicking ponies. Since arriving here six months ago, Fox had found the planet somewhat less idyllic. The summer had been hot, filled with mosquitoes instead of ponies, dying crops instead of flowers, but Fox missed it now. Winter was worse. Winter here in the plains of Ontario had him constantly shivering, cursing, and missing the comfort of space.

He was built to withstand winter, he supposed. He was a squat man, layers of muscle and fat heavy around his broad bones. Hair covered his chest and limbs, so thick the troops called it fur. His beard was even thicker, though icicles now filled it. He would have been warmer with a shave.

Six months on Earth, Fox thought. Six months of Ra damn disease, bugs, and mucking ice on my balls. Why the hell did I ever come here?

But he knew, of course.

He grumbled. He cursed the heat and cold. He hated every damn bug and snowflake on this world. But he knew.

Two thousand years ago, some damn tentacled aliens had attacked Earth. Had butchered billions. Only a handful of survivors had fled. And for two thousand years, humanity suffered in exile.

Refugees.

Hunted everywhere.

Countless of them—burning in alien factories, dying in darkness.

Fox had been born to refugees, themselves the children of refugees. He was the last of eighty exiled generations.

But unlike his ancestors, Fox had never been meek. Never allowed himself to be hunted. No. As other humans cowered and died, he had fought. As others had marched obediently into the gulocks, only to be skinned alive and burned, Fox had rebelled.

He had served in the Heirs of Earth, the great uprising of humanity. Because he was not prey. He was a hunter. In space. And here on Earth.

So I followed you here, Leona Ben-Ari, he thought. Because we will all stand tall again, here on our homeworld.

Leona was his commander. His pillar of fire. She was ten kilometers south right now, back at Port Addison, a colony of two hundred hardy souls.

And two hundred hungry souls, Fox thought. We better kill some deer today, or we'll be dining on ice cubes for Christmas.

"What the hell is that?" Fox said, climbing over an icy log.

Karin looked up from the pile of bones and black goo. "Our dinner. Was, at least."

"Mucking hell, that was a deer?" Nausea rose in Fox, and he spat. "Looks like a Ra damn mutant. Stinks too."

He stepped closer to the pile. The skeleton—what was left of it, at least—only vaguely resembled a deer. Every rib was shattered, pushed inward. The limbs had snapped. Dark slime covered the skull and draped across the bones, frozen solid.

"What do you reckon happened to it, Sarge?" Karin touched one of the broken ribs. "It's sticky."

Fox grimaced. "Passed through a predator's guts, I'd say. The beast digested the meat and shat out the bones."

Karin pulled her hand back. "Eww. Seriously—eww."

The kid, the slowest of the group despite his long legs, caught up. He paused for a moment, wheezing, cheeks red. Snow filled his shaggy hair. When he saw the mangled skeleton, those cheeks turned from red to green. He knelt over to retch behind an icy bush.

"What the hell, Sarge?" The kid straightened and wiped vomit off his mouth. "What could have eaten and shat out a deer—whole?"

"Your mama," Karin said.

The kid flipped her off. "Muck you, piss pants." He had never forgotten her wetting her pants at the Battle of Terminus a few years ago.

Karin spat. "Screw you, Chapman. How about I rip off your head and piss down your neck, asshole?"

"Enough!" Fox snapped.

"But—" the kid began.

"Enough, Private Chapman!" Fox said. "Stand straight. Stand guard. You're a soldier, dammit."

Fox returned to the skeleton. He knelt, ran his finger over a broken rib, then straightened. He took a few steps, knelt again. He pointed at the snow.

Here we go.

The others stepped closer.

"Sarge, you see something?" Karin said.

Fox nodded.

"Tracks. In the snow. Look more closely."

Karin narrowed her eyes. "I don't …"

"An undulating line. Like a stream." Fox grunted. "It's a big one."

Karin's eyes widened. "Bloody hell. I thought it was a stream, frozen over and covered in snow. What kind of animal would leave a track like …"

Her voice died off.

They all knew the answer.

Basilisks.

"Muck," Karin said.

Fox nodded. "Damn right."

They had all fought the basilisks in space. The giant snakes came from a distant planet, and they had built an empire. With the Heirs of Earth, Fox had raided their ammunition freighter, had fought the beasts in that cavernous starship. He had seen the serpents wrap around his comrades, crush their bones, devour their corpses. He had never forgotten the oily stench of them. The cruel, burning eyes. Most nights, the basilisks still haunted his nightmares, constricting him, snapping his ribs, and Fox woke up drenched in sweat and wrapped in a tangle of blankets.

He knew that Earth lay within their empire. He knew that millions of the creatures lived on this planet. But they mostly gave humans a wide berth, staying far from Port Addison, humanity's colony.

Port Addison—named after the famous Addy Linden, a heroine from history, a warrior who had led Earth's uprising against alien invaders. And now humanity was back. They had established the first human settlement on Earth in two thousand years. Port Addison—a precious jewel Fox had to protect.

If those bastards attack us, we can't hold them off, Fox thought.

"We gotta track it," he said.

Karin's eyes widened. "What? Muck that! I'm going back to camp."

"Me too," said Chapman. The kid still looked queasy.

Fox spun toward them. He gripped his rifle. "We're not cowards. We won't run from a battle."

Karin barked a laugh. "Battle, Sarge? With all due respect, just three of us out here, carrying nothing but hunting rifles? That won't be a battle. The snakes will mucking butcher us."

"Yeah!" Chapman nodded, voice squeaking. "Back at the colony, we got walls. Guard towers. Bigger guns. I say we head back, defend ourselves there."

Fox stared at the kid. "Walls? Wooden fences. Towers? Barely more than treehouses. No. If the basilisks want to kill us, they can do it back home too. We track this creature. We find out where it comes from, what it wants."

"Other than deer, at least," Karin muttered, looking at the skeleton.

Fox took the lead, rifle raised. The snake must have passed here hours, even days ago. The undulating trail was barely visible, a mere hint in the snow. Fresh snow began to fall, obscuring even that faint trail. Soon all Fox could see was a broken branch here, a fallen icicle there, a mark on a tree, a drop of venom in the snow. The bastard must have been huge. When Fox approached two oaks growing a meter apart, he saw scratches on both trunks.

It barely squeezed between the trees, Fox thought. This snake is a monster. Big enough to swallow me whole.

The wind howled like a dying man. Branches creaked and icicles fell into the snow like daggers piercing flesh. A veil of white clouds hid the sun. All the world became white and brown, an endless hinterland of ice and wood. The snow fell harder now. It grew colder, so cold teeth chattered and fingers went numb. The kind of cold that goes beyond the flesh, that cuts right into the bones.

"Muck this shit," Karin muttered. "Let's go home."

Fox eyed her. "You scared, Corporal?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

Fox wanted to scoff. To mock her. To drill courage into her.

But he felt the ice inside him—and not from the snowy wind.

He too was scared. Terrified. In his memory, the serpents wrapped around his friends, crushing their bones.

"Sarge?" Chapman spoke behind him. "What's that?"

Fox spun around. The kid pointed, and Fox saw it. A splotch of hot red in the forest. Something hanging from a tree.

Fox frowned. He took a step toward it, eyes narrowed.

"Is that a heart?" Fox said. "What's it hanging fro—"

Karin screamed.

Fox spun back toward her, rifle raised.

But Karin was gone.

"Karin?" Fox cursed and cocked his gun. "What the hell?" He spun toward Chapman, then forward again. "Where is she?"

Both men stared, silent, eyes narrowed.

The wind moaned again and the branches seemed to laugh.

Gone. Not even footprints remained.

"What the hell!" Chapman cried. "How could she just vanish?" He began to pant. "Oh God. Oh God. We're mucked. They're gonna kill us. We're dead! We're—"

Fox shook the boy. "Shut up. Get it together! Load your gun!"

He turned back to where Karin had been.

There were no tracks. Nothing!

If it had been a basilisk, Fox would have seen it. Seen the trail in the snow. But—

A branch creaked.

"There!" Chapman shouted, pointing at a treetop.

Fox saw it—a shape above, long and scaly, scurrying over the branches.

"Damn you!" Chapman shouted and opened fire. His rifle blazed on automatic, spraying bullets.

"Hold your fire!" Fox pulled the private's gun down. "Damn it, kid, hold your fire! She might still be alive."

Chapman lowered his rifle, gasping, tears flowing. The kid was trembling like a leaf in the wind.

"Oh God, Sarge, I saw it. A basilisk. A basilisk in the goddamn trees. It grabbed her, Sarge. It ate her." The boy fell to his knees. "We have to run. God, Sarge, we have to run. They'll kill us. They'll—"

Fox grabbed the private by the collar and yanked him up. "Damn it, man! You're an Inheritor. A soldier of Earth. Act like it."

The private straightened, sniffing, and nodded. "Aye, Sarge. Sorry, Sarge." He lowered his gun. "What do we do now, Sarge?"

"We keep following it," Fox said. "Snakes digest their meals slowly. Karin might still be alive inside it." He grimaced, queasy. "If there's a chance we can save her, we have to try. Load a fresh magazine. Don't fire unless I give the order. Now try to keep up, and for God's sake, man, get a grip."

The two men kept walking through the snowy forest, rifles aimed ahead. The wind grew louder, colder, and the trees creaked and reached out knobby fingers to grab their coats. The sun was setting, casting long shadows and red beams like bloodied spears. They should have been back at the colony by now. Not out here. Not this far north. Not in this frozen wasteland so far from the hearth.

"There." Fox pointed at the snow. "See that? You hit the bastard."

A drop of blood stained the snow.

"Is that …" Chapman gulped. "Could it be Karin's blood?"

Fox shook his head. "No. Too dark to be human blood. Brownish. That's snake blood." He took a few more steps, saw another stain. "The son of a bitch is traveling in the trees, but we have a new trail."

They followed the droplets of blood across the snow. Soon the sun was gone, and they lit their flashlights. The clouds hid the stars, and wind shrieked, cutting through the men's coats like icy claws. They moved fast, desperate to follow the blood before the snow covered the splatters. With every step, their flashlights jangled, and the shadows danced like demons.

A branch snapped overhead.

The men froze and raised their rifles.

Fox pointed his flashlight.

Nothing.

"I saw something," Chapman whispered, lips blue and stiff. "A shadow darted away."

"Just wind in the branches," Fox said.

"You heard the crack, man." Chapman's voice was shaking. "It's here. It's above us. Hunting us. Stalking us. It's—"

"It was just a goddamn branch, Private!" Fox barked. "These branches are covered with ice and snow. They break. Shut up and keep moving."

But Chapman wouldn't move. His flashlight shook, casting wild beams. "We gotta go back, Sarge. Get reinforcement or something. The camp is ten kilometers south. We can make it back by dawn. We—"

"And leave Karin here?" Fox said. "By the time we get back, she'll be dead."

"What if she's dead already?" Chapman said. "A goddamn snake swallowed her. Nobody can survive that."

"Then we'll find the bastard who killed her, and we'll fill him full of bullets." Fox placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I need you with me, Chapman. You're my wingman. And you're a good soldier. You wounded the son of a bitch. Now let's finish the job."

The kid managed to square his shoulders, though he still trembled. He nodded, lips tight.

They went on, faster now. The snow gusted around them. Fox couldn't stop his teeth from chattering, and the old wound on his leg ached. A scorpion had nearly ripped the limb off five years ago, and the claws still stabbed whenever it was cold.

Our spaceships were warm, Fox thought. Our spaceships didn't have snakes. Maybe I was never meant for Earth.

Another branch cracked, then thudded down before them. The trees swayed and creaked. Fox thought he saw red eyes in the darkness, and he raised his flashlight, but the eyes vanished. A hiss sounded behind him, and he spun around, but it was only the wind.

The warships attacked the ISS Nazareth.

The bolts of plasma slammed into the hull, broke through, washed over his friends.

Fox screamed as the claws dug into his leg, exposing the bone.

He gritted his teeth and trudged onward through the snow, shoving the memories down, burying them under his fury.

Keep moving. Find the bastard. Never back down. You are not prey. You are the hunter.

The trees danced around him. The shadows swirled. The forest whispered and laughed. And his family screamed.

His brothers—reaching out to him.

His wife and children—screaming as the scorpions carried them away.

The millions—burning in the gulocks.

And Fox—alone. A soldier. A warrior.

His tears flowed in the darkness where nobody could see.

My family. My friends. Gone. Slaughtered like sheep. But I'm a hunter. Never back down. Never run. Never be a sheep. Hunt. Hunt them all.

And so he kept moving through the forest, lost now in the wilderness, his rifle aimed ahead.

"Sarge!" Chapman said. "I hear something. Hissing. It's one of them. One of the monsters. Oh God, I saw—"

"Get a grip, Private," Fox said.

"Look!" Chapman pointed his flashlight. "Oh God, Sarge! Muck, it's huge! It's there! Sarge!"

The private fumbled for his rifle, but his hands were stiff, fingers freezing, and the rifle jammed.

Fox pointed his flashlight.

And he saw it.

The blood drained from his face.

The basilisk lurked before him on the forest floor.

God, the size of it, Fox thought.

The beast was as large as an oak. The flashlight illuminated green scales. Several bullet holes dripped blood. Fox might have mistaken it for an Earth snake, perhaps a python or anaconda, but this creature had arms—thin yet muscular, tipped with claws like daggers.

An alien, Fox thought. An apex predator. A hunter.

"Who are you?" Fox cried out. "Talk to us. Negotiate with us. We seek peace with your kind."

The basilisk did not move. Its blood still dripped. Perhaps it was dying, too weak to keep fleeing. Yet it fixed Fox with a venomous glare. A forked tongue flicked between its fangs.

"We … want … one … thing."

Fox nodded. Good. This was good. There were only two hundred humans on Earth. If Fox could negotiate with these creatures, maybe even forge peace, he could save his colony.

"What do you want?" Fox said.

The basilisk chuckled—a sound like snapping bones. "Your … death."

Chapman began to howl.

"Damn you!"

The spindly private finally managed to pull his trigger. His bullets rang out, and Chapman charged, roaring wordlessly, firing on the beast.

The basilisk leaped into the air, moving with remarkable speed for its size, and vanished into shadows.

"It's in the trees!" Fox shouted, pointing his flashlight upward.

His beam fell upon hundreds of blazing red eyes.

"Oh God, they're mucking everywhere!" cried Chapman.

Fox had seen enough. He raised his rifle and fired on automatic, spraying the canopy of basilisks. Blood rained.

The creatures laughed. Scales clattered. Fangs shone.

"You sons of bitches!" Chapman cried. He lowered his rifle, grabbed a grenade, and tossed it into the air.

"No, you idiot!" Fox shouted.

He dived and covered his head.

The explosion boomed above.

Broken branches hailed down. Snow thudded all around him, thick with shrapnel. A metal shard dug into his shoulder, and Fox bellowed.

He struggled to his feet, ears ringing. Fire was spreading over the branches, melting the snow, consuming damp leaves. The snakes were gone.

Chapman stood in the melting snow, laughing hysterically. Half his face was gone, burnt away, but still the madness gripped him, and his laughter rang through the burning forest.

"That's right, assholes!" The private raised his rifle. "Run! Run, cowards! We are humans! Mess with us and burn!"

Fox's head spun. His heart pounded against his ribs. His leg and shoulder screamed in pain.

Calm yourself. You are a hunter. A hunter. Get a grip. Get a grip.

He pointed his flashlight above. Nothing. Broken branches. Dying flames.

The serpents were gone.

"They're scared of fire," Fox said, lowering the flashlight. "They're—"

A red lump in the snow caught his eye.

Something cold and hard filled his chest.

Fox stepped forward, rifle raised, eyes narrowed. His heartbeat wouldn't slow. He approached the red lump, nausea growing inside him.

He pointed his flashlight at the mound.

He stood, frozen, staring.

Chapman trudged up to him, still laughing. "We got 'em, Sarge, didn't we? We showed those bastards. We—"

The private stared at the red lump, then doubled over and gagged.

They had found Karin.

The basilisk had spat her out. Her skin was gone, her flesh half-digested, her ribs exposed. Clumps of her hair rested in the snow, sticky with blood and digestive acids.

Fox lowered his head.

"Poor girl," he said. "To die like that, eaten by a snake …" He shook his head, eyes stinging. "It ain't right. It—"

"Sarge …" Chapman said, voice choked.

Fox raised his eyes.

She was moving.

Karin was moving.

"She's alive," Chapman whispered. "Oh God. Oh God! How can this be? She's still alive, damn it, she—"

Fox could hear no more. A ringing filled his ears. The forest spun around him. The thing that had been Karin raised its arm, the fingers gone, and she begged with no mouth, and Fox was weeping, sobbing as he fired his rifle, as he emptied a magazine into her, as she died in the snow, as his soul shattered.

Above them, the basilisks were laughing.

The creatures covered the forest canopy. Thousands of them. They formed a sky of scales and fangs.

Fox and Chapman ran.

They ran through the darkness, through the storming wind and shards of flying ice. Fox fell, and pain stabbed him, but he rose and ran again. Basilisks swarmed in the shadows, filling the forest, hiding behind every tree. Staring. Laughing. Hissing.

"Die, apes." They cackled. "Die."

Chapman drew another grenade. With blinding speed, a serpent lunged from a tree. Massive jaws closed around Chapman's hand before he could pull the grenade's pin. The jaws opened, revealing a gushing stump. Chapman screamed and fell to his knees, clutching the stump, trying to hold in the blood.

"Chapman!" Fox cried.

He didn't know what to do. If to fight. To run. To treat his friend's wound.

Fox stood, trapped. The snakes all around. Above him. Everywhere.

And he was their prey.

"Sarge," Chapman whispered, staring at him from the snow. Tears flowed down his cheeks. "I miss home. I miss my mom."

A serpent descended from the trees, dangling like a noose. The alien's jaw widened. The toothy mouth engulfed Chapman's head, his shoulders, his arms, gulping him down. The serpent began to rise back into the canopy, carrying its quarry. Only Chapman's legs were visible now, still kicking.

Fox screamed and opened fire.

His bullets hit the serpents above. Blood showered. A basilisk shrieked. Severed human legs thumped into the snow. The rest of Chapman followed, slamming into Fox, then sliding down, pawing at him. The private was cut in half below the ribs, whispering, grabbing at Fox's clothes, mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

Fox ran, leaving him.

He ran through the trees, ears ringing, eyes blind, his flashlight forgotten in the snow.

He ran through the blazing decks of his starship.

He ran through the ashes of the gulock.

He ran as his family cried out to him, raising burning hands from the snow.

The basilisks descended all around him, countless dangling from the trees. The red eyes stared. The tongues flicked. The jaws snapped. Fox tried to run between them, knocking them aside. They snapped their jaws at him. Grabbed him with their claws. Pulled him up from the snow.

He roared, tried to shoot them, but they pulled the rifle from his hands. The serpents coiled around him, squeezing, silencing his cries. They pulled him higher into their nests of scales, thousands of them covering the treetops, spreading across the night.

The creatures hissed and clattered, tongues flicking. Talking amongst themselves. Fox lay among them, crushed in their grip, waiting for his death. Waiting to see his family again.

I failed you, Earth, he thought. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

But the basilisks did not devour him that night.

They pulled him through the forest. Their tails coiled around him, crushing him, leaving only his head exposed. They dragged him across a frozen lake toward a starship—an ugly, elongated machine coated with patches of armor-like scales. The snakes slithered into the craft, carrying Fox, and they laid him in a pit of vipers. Young serpents squirmed, slick and soft, filling the ship, wrapping around him, their scales smooth and warm.

The starship engines rumbled.

They rose from the forest.

Through a porthole, Fox saw the stars.

For a long time, hours or days or weeks, they flew. The serpents held his limbs, coiled around his body, hissed into his ears. They regurgitated a sweet, sickly milk into his mouth. They kept him alive. They licked his tears. And Fox envied Karin and Chapman. And whenever he closed his eyes, he still saw them begging.

The stars streamed around them.

After what seemed like eras, they reached a world. A dark planet orbiting a red sun. The starship descended toward mountains and plains. Mist floated over barren landscapes, and geysers belched fumes into a murky sky. The starship flew toward a mountain, entered a tunnel, and plunged into darkness.

They landed in a hellish, underground world of snakes.

They pulled Fox out of the starship, and they dragged him through their domain. The basilisks had hollowed out their mountain, filled it with tunnels, with caverns the size of cities, had constructed massive towers and plunging canyons. They toiled in deep holes, melting metal and building great machines. Gears spun and chimneys pumped out smoke. Holes peppered the walls, filled with staring eyes, and quivering eggs rose in hills.

Millions of basilisks filled this underground kingdom, scurrying, hissing, mocking.

They carried Fox into a vast chamber in the center of the mountain. It was a place so large starships could have battled here. Lakes of fire swirled, and lava poured down the walls. Metal spikes rose everywhere, impaling the skulls of a thousand alien species.

I'm in Hell, Fox thought. I died in that forest. This is my punishment for living so long while my family lay dead. This is my punishment for hunting when I should have fled.

The serpents carried him across rickety bridges as the lava gurgled below. An island rose ahead, and a tower rose from it, carved of white stone. It reminded Fox of a bone rising from wounds. The tower's top flared out, and a great fiery heart hovered atop it, blazing like a sun, casting heat and red light.

This was the heart of the mountain. This was the heart of their empire.

They entered the tower, a tube of shimmering bone. While the city outside was all blazing red fire and black shadows, this was a place of austerity, of white light and smooth walls. The tower was almost clinical.

Three basilisks were still wrapped around him. They carried him toward the center of the hall, where rose a marble dais, pure white and gleaming.

The snakes tossed him down. Fox hit the tiles, gasping for breath, his blood dripping.

"Mistress!" the basilisks hissed. "Oh, blessed Mother of Serpents! These ones bow before you. These ones bring you a gift. He is here. The ape we captured. One of those who invaded your blue world."

A voice sounded above, feminine, seductive, a voice like silk and sex and secrets. "You have done well, dear pets. You have pleased your goddess."

Fox took a shuddering breath and raised his eyes.

My God.

An ivory throne rose from the dais. A creature sat there, as sweet and wicked as sin.

She had the lower body of a serpent, sensuous and coated with shimmering scales like mother of pearl. It flowed down her throne, draped across the dais, and curved to the floor, the tail lazily flicking. But her upper body was that of a woman—her hips rounded, her waist slender, her breasts large and tipped with red nipples. Her lips and eyes were the same red, a deep crimson like wine and rubies. Her face was young and fair, her skin the color of milk, and golden bracelets encircled her wrists. Her fingers were delicate and fair, adorned with rings, yet tipped with claws, long and sharp and the color of blood.

Human skulls and bones lay around her throne. She herself was not human. Nor was she basilisk. She was goddess. She was mother. She was mercy and vengeance. And Fox could not help it. He bowed before her.

"Rise, ape. Let me see you."

Her tail flowed toward him, hooked him under the arms, and lifted him to his feet. Her scales were so soft, so warm. That tail pulled him gently, and there was no pain, only mercy. She slithered off her throne, and she swayed closer to him, her eyes deep and filled with secrets, her lips full and lush and dripping milk. He could not look away. Her eyes trapped him more tightly than her tail, and her tongue emerged, thin and forked, to lick those plump lips. He felt ugly before her, a hairy ape, filthy, foul, a wretched being before an angel.

"What are you?" Fox managed to whisper.

She pulled him against her, wrapped her arms around him. Her bare breasts pressed against his chest. She placed her lips against his ear, and her tongue flicked.

"I am Xerka," she hissed. "I am your goddess. And your world lies within my domain."

She placed her hands on his cheeks, her claws cold against his temples, and she kissed him. A deep, passionate kiss, a kiss of lust and hunger, and her tongue flicked in his mouth. She tasted like milk and sex and honey over rot.

Worship me.

She spoke in his mind.

Fox could not breathe. She was still kissing him, deeper now, more passionately. Painfully. With a lust like a storm.

Enter me.

Her hands tightened around his head. Her claws pierced his skin. He screamed into her kiss. Desperate for air.

Become me.

His eyes were bugging out. Hers were deep red, mocking, alien. Hearts burned deep within them.

Her mouth widened. Her kiss deepened. Her tail wrapped more tightly around him, pressing him against her naked flesh.

Her jaw distended. Her kiss engulfed his chin. His nose. His face. He screamed as her claws dug deeper, as her body coiled around him, tightening, constricting.

Her delicate, pale jaw widened still. Her kiss engulfed him. Wrapped around his ears, took in his entire head, welcomed him into her. She lifted him with her tail, shoving him deeper, her tongue still flicking, her jaws working as she sucked him in. His shoulders entered her mouth, and she tossed back her head, guzzling him down, devouring him alive.

He slid through her. Deep into the red warmth. Deep into the welcoming womb of the goddess. And he worshiped her. And he became her. And the world was red walls and a flaming heart. And they were one.

CHAPTER TWO

Bay never wanted to leave his bed. It was cold outside the blankets. There were responsibilities, nagging privates, overbearing officers.

And most importantly—there was a very beautiful, very naked woman here in his bed.

A woman Bay loved with all his heart.

"Bay, for muck's sake, roll over!" Rowan elbowed him hard in the ribs, then shoved him. "You're hogging the blankets, and your knee keeps poking me in the ass."

Bay sighed.

Well, with most of his heart at least. Maybe not all four chambers.

"Row, I'm already on the edge of the bed," he said. "Look at you! You're what, four foot eleven? A hundred pounds soaking wet? And you're taking up more space than a sumo wrestler."

"It's not me." Rowan said. "It's my snacks!"

She gestured at the bed. There were piles of potato chip bags, gummy worms, juice boxes, cookies, and an assortment of other junk. She reached across the blankets, grabbed some chocolate covered almonds, and began to munch.

Bay groaned.

"First of all, how the hell do you stay so skinny?" Bay said. "Second—where the hell do you find old Earth snacks in the ISS Jerusalem, a spaceship that has never been to Earth?"

She patted his cheek and spoke with her mouth full. "Never underestimate how industrious a hungry girl can become during a six month flight through space. I did a lot of research on confectionery making. I made these snacks myself!"

He reached toward her gummy worms. "Share."

She slapped his hand away. "You didn't earn them!"

Bay frowned. "Rowan, you do know I saved your life in the Battle of Aelonia, right? And a few times since then."

She grinned, wriggled closer, and playfully bit his nose. "That's not how you earn snacks, silly!" She pressed her naked body against his. "You earn snacks by making sweet love to me."

Bay's jaw dropped. "You mean, I'm …"

She nodded. "A snack whore." She kissed him. "Besides, I have some new tricks I want to try out on you." She began kissing his neck and chest, then looked back up into his eyes. "I've been doing research. And not just about how to make candy."

Ra above, her lips felt good on his body. The blood flowed from Bay's brain, leaving him woozy.

"You don't need to … research … sex." He closed his eyes. "You just do it."

"But I want to be really, really good at it!" Rowan said. "An absolute expert. I've read a bunch of books about it, and I learned a ton. Now be quiet! Let me practice on you."

They made love.

Again.

Over the past six months, stuck on this starship on its long voyage to Earth, they had made love many times. Each time was better than the last. And this time was no exception.

The first few times, Bay had felt awkward. He was no stranger to sex. He had slept with women before Rowan. But he had also lost his left arm in the Battle of Aelonia. He had felt self-conscious at first. During the day, he wore his prosthetic, a contraption of wood, gauges, and gears. It looks impressive enough, and it drew appreciative looks from the younger privates. But in bed, with only his stump? Yes, at first Bay had felt shy. Felt ugly.

But Rowan had soon put those fears to rest.

"Bay, you are the sexiest man alive," she had told him that first night. "Well, after Aragorn. And Indiana Jones. And maybe Han Solo. But you're definitely fourth! Third if you count Indy and Han as one person."

That had been good enough for him.

Rowan too had grown in confidence. When Bay had first met her, she had been a meek little thing, cowering in an airflow duct on a faraway space station. Over the past three years, he had watched her grow into a woman, a soldier, a true warrior of humanity. Both their lives had been painful—running from war, losing so many friends and family to the alien claws. But here, right now—this was happiness. This was as pure as the sacred memory of Earth.

"Well?" Rowan said when they were done.

"That," Bay said, "was amazing. You're an excellent student."

She mussed his hair. "You're an excellent project. These past six months, here with you in this cabin …" She leaned her head against his chest. "They've been the best days of my life, Bay B."

Bay stroked her short brown hair. "I thought your nickname for me was Pancake, not baby."

"I said Bay B, not baby. Your last name is Ben-Ari, right? So your proper name is Bay B." She kissed him. "My Bay B."

He thought for a moment. "I prefer Pancake. Less risk of the troops picking it up."

"Fine, Bay B Pancake."

She snuggled against him.

These are the best days of my life too, he thought, holding her.

Yes, perhaps they both deserved some joy. Both had been fleeing and fighting all their lives. But the war was over now. The alien scorpions were dead. And the survivors of humanity—a thousand starships—were flying toward Earth, their lost homeworld. Bay had always dreamed of seeing Earth, but he never wanted this flight to end.

Rowan rose from bed. She stepped across the small cabin toward the porthole. She stood, naked and beautiful, watching the stars stream by outside.

"We're almost there," she said softly. "Almost at Earth. Almost home. I'm scared, Bay."

He rose from bed too. He came to stand beside her, and he saw a tear on her cheek, glimmering with starlight. Outside a thousand other starships were gliding with them, ferrying humanity home.

"Why are you scared?" Bay said.

She turned toward him. "Bay, two thousand years ago, we lost Earth. The aliens destroyed our planet, killed billions of us, banished the survivors into space. Since then, aliens hunted us everywhere. We suffered. We hid. In asteroids. In rundown space stations. In caves and forests. And we dreamed. Of green hills. Golden fields. Blue skies. We dreamed of seeing Earth again. Millions of us died in the gulocks and battlefields so that we could see Earth again. And now, after all that, we're almost there. We're so close. And Bay … what if it's not like we dreamed? What if the hills are burnt, the fields barren, the skies polluted? What if the dream turns into a nightmare?"

Bay cupped her cheek in his hand. "Then we'll plant new grass. We'll plow new fields. We'll clean the air until it smells sweet. It doesn't matter what state Earth is in. Because it's our world. Even if we just find a lifeless rock, awash with pollution and disease, it will be ours. And it will be precious."

She hugged him. "I love you, Captain Bay Ben-Ari."

He kissed the top of her head. "I love you too, Captain Rowan Emery."

They embraced for a long moment. Then Rowan frowned and looked down. "My God, Bay, are you ready again?"

His cheeks flushed. "Well, you were hugging me, and you're naked, and . . ."

Her eyes widened. "You're a stallion, Bay!" She pulled him back to bed. "Come on, we need to practice some more!"

He sighed. "If you insist."

Afterward, Bay rose and began to dress, pulling on his Inheritor uniform: brown trousers, a collared white shirt, and a blue jacket. He also attached his prosthetic arm. But Rowan remained in bed.

"It's Sunday," she said. "Stay in bed all day with me. We'll watch Big Trouble in Little China."

Bay frowned, pulling on his boots. "Didn't we watch that last month?"

Rowan nodded, still lying under the blankets. "We must watch it every month! Because it's awesome! It has a beholder! And Kung Fu magic! And a man who gets so angry his head swells up until it explodes!" She pulled out her minicom and turned on the movie. "You in, Bay?"

"Row, I know it's Sunday, but I promised Commodore Crane I'd help him calibrate the new shield interfaces, and I wanted to go over the latest battalion warehousing software. The coolants down at the water filtration cistern need replacing too, and I figured it's a good chance to learn how to do that."

She yawned. "Boring! I didn't hear anything in that description about people getting so angry their heads explode."

"Mine might," Bay said.

She perked up. "Really? That would be bitchin'! Can you explode now? Wait, wait, let me get my camera!"

Bay rolled his eyes. "Row, how's this? You help me calibrate the shields and replace the cooling pipes, and I'll watch your movie with you."

She chewed her lip. "Make me pancakes for breakfast, and you've got a deal."

"Eat them quickly, all right?" He glanced at the snacks on the bed—the wrappers were all empty. "Ah, hell, I forgot who I'm talking to. Those pancakes would be gone before I've—"

Rowan was already at their kitchenette, banging on the tabletop with knife and fork. "Less talk, more frying! I'm hungry!"

Bay rolled his eyes. "You're lucky you're adorable."

He got to work. He had just finished frying his first batch of pancakes when his minicom buzzed.

He looked at the incoming message.

Damn.

It was from Admiral Emet Ben-Ari. Commander of the Heirs of Earth. The leader of humanity. Bay's father.

"My dad wants us on the bridge," he said to Rowan. "On a Sunday morning. In full uniform. At once."

Her face paled. This was serious.

She nodded. "All right. Let me get dressed." She rose from her seat, then grabbed the pancakes. "But we're taking these with us."

They raced out the cabin and hurried down the winding corridors of the Jerusalem. The starship bustled around them, a hodgepodge of machinery, flashing lights, marching soldiers, and a hundred cabins dedicated to war. Yes—there was still a war going on. Even now. The scorpions were defeated perhaps, but cruel aliens still filled the galaxy, and they loathed humans.

We might still be facing years of battle, Bay thought. We might have to fight for Earth every day of our lives.

They headed toward the bridge, toward their duty, leaving their corner of happiness behind.

CHAPTER THREE

"And the Lord went before them by day in a pillar of a cloud, to lead them the way," Emet said softly. "And by night in a pillar of fire, to give them light."

Old words.

Words from a people lost in the wilderness, seeking a way home.

Out here in space, there was no day, only the long, cold darkness of night. And so Admiral Emet Ben-Ari, leading his lost tribe, raised his own pillar of fire.

He elevated the prow of the ISS Jerusalem, flagship of humanity's fleet. And he fired his plasma cannon. Flames roared upward, spinning and crackling and blazing with heat and light. In the darkness of exile, in the vastness of space, a pillar of fire burned. Leading his people onward. Giving them light.

The Jerusalem kept flying, and behind, the others followed.

A thousand starships.

Old. Dented. Charred. Freighters and tankers, pontoons and cargo hulks, starfighters and frigates. The battered remains of the Heirs of Earth. Within them flew humanity. Warriors and rebels. Those who had gone through fire and rain, who had survived the inferno of the gulocks and the horrors of the killing fields. Together, twenty thousand souls, they followed him. They flew after his light in the darkness.

Emet led them onward.

They were flying home.

They were flying to Earth.

"For two thousand years, we were lost in shadow," Emet said. "Before us rises a pale blue light."

It shone ahead, that distant blue dot. No larger than a mote of dust.

But it was unmistakable.

For the first time in his fifty-eight long years, Emet saw Earth.

"Behold Terra," he said. "Our sacred mother. Our homeworld and promised land. Our anchor and port of call, the song that forever has called us home, that—"

"Mine, mine!" Rowan ran onto the bridge, arms pumping.

"Damn it, Row, give it back!" Bay burst onto the bridge behind her, face red. "You stole it."

She ran around the bridge, holding a stack of pancakes. She took a bite, then stuck her tongue out at him. "My pancakes!"

Bay chased her. "I cooked enough for both of us!"

"Soldiers, enough!" Emet roared, glaring at them. Had the two no respect?

They ignored him. Bay reached out his mechanical left arm, trying to grab Rowan. But she dodged the metal fingers, stuffed the pancakes into her cheeks, and chewed.

"Nom nom." She gulped and licked her lips. "Tastes like victory."

Bay paused and groaned. "Bloody hell, Rowan, where do all those pancakes go? You're as small as a hobbit, but you eat like an ogre."

She grinned. "We hobbits are known for our appetites."

Emet cleared his throat. "Kids."

Rowan spun toward him, eyes flashing. "We're not kids! We're captains in the Heirs of Earth. Commissioned officers. And I'm twenty already! Well, nineteen. Okay, turning nineteen next week. But I'm certainly not an ogre!"

Bay nodded. "She's right. She's not an ogre. She's a damn pancake eating monster." He reached into her vest pocket. "And you're hiding even more pancakes in here!"

She growled. "Hey, those are mine." She leaped onto him. "Bay, give them back!"

"Enough!" Emet roared. "Damn it, soldiers, for the first time in two thousand years, human eyes gaze upon Earth, and you two are busy bickering over batter."

They froze.

They both spun toward him.

The pancakes slapped onto the deck.

Bay and Rowan turned toward the viewport. Finally they noticed the pale blue dot.

"Earth," Bay whispered. He stepped closer to the viewport, placed his hand against the tall screen, and gazed with tears in his eyes. "It's real. I always knew it was real."

Rowan slipped her hand into his. Tears flowed down her cheeks. "There it is. From that world—everything that we are. Rock n' roll and jazz and K-pop. The Lord of the Rings and Star Wars. Books and songs and laughter and poetry." She sobbed and wrapped her hand around the crystal that hung from her neck. "For so many years, I lived with the echoes of Earth, those contained in the Earthstone. Mere memories, light and sound trapped in stone. And there she is. Our world. Not ancient but rising before us in this generation. And she's beautiful." Rowan turned toward Emet and smiled through her tears. "She's so beautiful."

The word spread quickly through the fleet. Others came to join them on the Jerusalem's bridge, crowding the small chamber. Aboard a thousand other starships, the survivors of humanity gazed in wonder as their homeworld grew larger ahead.

The blue dot became a sphere, then a glimmering orb that shone with ancient brilliance. Soon Emet could make out the continents, the arctic, and the silvery moon. For forty years, he had fought this war. For decades, he had battled humanity's enemies, fighting for every light-year along the long road home. For thousands of years, generation after generation, his family, his people, had yearned to return to their lost homeworld. And now Emet, a man known for his strength and gruffness, a man they called the Old Lion, a man who had faced death and slaughter countless times—now he shed tears.

We are home.

His comm flashed.

The planet was hailing him.

Instinctively, Emet tensed. The basilisks roamed this corner of the galaxy. In the chaos following the devastating Galactic War, the basilisks were struggling—like most species—to claim whatever territory they could. Emet had flown this far unopposed, but were the basilisks finally calling?

He accepted the call, prepared for a war of words—and perhaps of fire.

But it was no scaly beast that appeared on his monitor.

Instead, he saw a young woman. Her eyes were large and brown, her hair dark and curly, her skin olive toned. A proud face. A familiar face. Behind her swayed the fields and trees of Earth.

"Hi, Dad." She grinned and waved.

Emet grinned too. "Hello, Leona."

He hadn't seen his daughter in a year. Not since sending her to find Earth and form a colony. Until now, he hadn't even known if she had survived. Relief and love flooded him.

"The weather's great down here, Dad," Leona said. "We're all here waiting for ya. I'll set the table, and we'll feast tonight on Earth crops."

Emet nodded. "What about the basilisks? Have you encountered any resistance?"

Her face hardened. "Yes. Quite a bit. The bastards are swarming all over the planet." She lowered her head. "Many brave souls fell defending the colony." She looked back up, fear in her eyes. "Dad, the basilisks have warships. Terrible machines we call Rattlers. They're hiding. They want to trap you. They—"

Static crackled, hiding Leona.

"Damn it." Emet pounded the monitor. "Leona? Leona, can you hear me? I—"

The static vanished. A new video feed appeared. A new face stared through his monitor.

"Hello, ape. Welcome to your graveyard."

Emet grimaced.

Ugly bugger, he thought.

A basilisk was sneering on the monitor.

Emet had seen basilisks before—giant alien serpents, as large as pythons. But he had never seen a basilisk so hideous.

The creature looked like a demon risen from nightmares. Armor covered his scaly body, each segment sprouting a crown of blades. He wore a spiky iron helmet that covered the entire head, even the eyes. The jaws emerged from the metal contraption, elongated and filled with rows of teeth, more like the jaws of a shark than a snake. Saliva dripped from the hellmouth, sizzling. Scaly flaps extended around the morbid head like a cobra's hood.

What the hell are you? Emet thought, staring at the twisted basilisk.

Beside Emet, a young lieutenant turned from the navigation station. "Sir, I'm detecting enemy ships emerging from behind the planet!"

"The bastards are all over the place!" shouted another officer, pointing at a monitor. "Hundreds of basilisk ships are flying from behind the moon!"

Emet inhaled sharply and looked away from the demonic countenance on his monitor.

"Everyone, battle stations!" Emet barked at his officers, then turned back toward the monitor. He stared at the hissing alien. "Name yourself, basilisk, and stand down!"

The serpent's forked tongue flicked. The scaly creature tossed back his head and laughed. A chain of human skulls hung around his neck, clattering.

Basilisks were an ancient species, but new to galactic conquest. Little was known about them across the cosmos. Only that they were fiercely intelligent, cunning, and malicious.

Emet watched thousands of their starships—the dreaded Rattlers—fly toward his fleet. The serpents flew elongated, scaly frigates, their engines like rattlesnake tails, their prows tipped with cannons like fangs. The transmission was coming from the lead warship, a gargantuan machine larger than any starship the humans flew.

"I am Naja, viceroy of Earth," said the basilisk on the monitor. "This world is ours. Turn back now, apes! Turn back, or this will be your fate."

The armored basilisk slithered aside, revealing his starship's bridge.

Emet's chest tightened.

At his side, Rowan gasped and covered her mouth.

Bay ran toward the monitor, face red. "You mucking bastards!" he cried.

Cages hung inside the basilisk warship. Humans were trapped inside, their limbs amputated. No, not amputated—bitten off. The poor souls were still alive, moaning. Some were missing only a single arm or leg. Others were missing all four limbs. Beneath the cages, juvenile basilisks were devouring the limbs and sucking on the bone marrow.

"Your flesh is soft and succulent, apes." Naja returned to the monitor. "Our children love the morsels. A pity your limbs cannot regrow. We'll simply need to capture more of you." His jaws opened in a grin, revealing hundreds of teeth. "Your chance to retreat is over. Prepare to be devoured."

The transmission ended.

The basilisk armada stormed from Earth's orbit toward the approaching human flotilla.

The enemy cannons extended.

Green laser beams blasted toward the human fleet.

The beams moved too fast to dodge. A laser sliced through a corvette, tearing the warship clean in half. Humans spilled into space, screaming. Another beam seared through a munitions freighter, and the warship exploded in a massive ball of fire, taking out several nearby ships. Debris pattered the Jerusalem, and an instant later, a laser blast slammed into their prow, searing holes into their shields and nearly breaching the hull. Klaxons wailed. Smoke filled the bridge. Officers fell and men screamed.

For an instant, memories pounded through Emet.

Visions of the horrible Galactic War. It had ended half a year ago, but the terror flared anew.

He gritted his teeth. He spun toward his coughing, battered crew. Most were lying on the deck, bleeding and burnt.

"Damn it, soldiers, man your stations!" Emet roared. "Fight back! Fight them!" He hit his comm, broadcasting words across his thousand ships. "All ships—fire! Fire everything and tear them down!"

He spun back toward the viewport to see the Rattlers charging across the distance.

The enemy cannons were heating up again, locking onto their targets.

Sneering, Emet leaned over a control panel and fired the Jerusalem's front cannons.

At his sides, officers aimed the port and starboard cannons forward, adding their firepower. Hundreds of human warships jolted as their own cannons hurled death at the enemy.

Lasers slammed into the Inheritor fleet.

Beams tore through ships around Emet.

A green rod of searing death slammed through the front of the bridge, blazed across the chamber, and tore through the ceiling.

Three men fell, sliced open.

Alarms blared. The air began shrieking out from the ship.

"Seal the hull!" Emet cried, then pulled the triggers again, firing the cannons. The air howled around him. Debris flew. One man screamed on the floor, arm and torso cut open, bleeding out as he wept.

Men raced toward the holes in the bulkheads and began sealing the breaches. A second laser blast rocked the Jerusalem, carving off a chunk of lower deck. Blast doors slammed shut, sealing breaches.

Ra damn, Emet thought, sudden horror seizing his limbs. These shields could stop a pounding from scorpion cannons. The basilisks were slicing through them like swords through mist.

"We can't survive much more!" Rowan shouted, voicing everyone's thoughts. She stood at the starboard gunnery station, firing a cannon.

Another human ship exploded beside them—this one filled with refugees from the gulocks. Hundreds of humans spilled into space, only for lasers to sear through them. Hundreds who had survived the horror of the scorpions—slain within sight of their homeworld.

Two Firebirds shattered.

A medical ship exploded.

Emet stared as the lasers picked out ship after ship.

This wasn't supposed to happen, he thought. We're so close to home.

He stared up through the fire. Past the lasers, the floating corpses, and the sea of enemy warships, he saw it.

Earth.

The pale blue marble.

Home.

No, Emet thought. We will not die here.

"Mirrors," he said. "We need mirrors."

Bay struggled to his feet, his prosthetic arm bent. He stumbled toward a gunnery station and fired another shell at the enemy.

"Now's not the time to admire your reflection, Pops!"

Rowan gasped. She seemed to understand. She nodded. "Sir! There are hundreds of cabins aboard the Jerusalem. Each one has a mirror."

Emet nodded. "Bay, Rowan, grab your spacesuits and guns. It's time to go home."

CHAPTER FOUR

"Mirrors!" Rowan shouted, running down the corridor. "Soldiers, grab mirrors! I want a mirror in every hand! Go, go!"

Her marine company, comprised of over a hundred soldiers, ran behind her. In the fleet, they were known as Rowan's Rabblers, already a legendary unit. After all, Captain Rowan Emery was famous. She was descended of Marco Emery himself, the Poet of Earth, among the great heroes of history. She had managed to capture and tame Jade, the Blue Huntress, the Scourge of Humanity. And only six months ago, Rowan had slain the scorpion emperor himself in the great Battle of Aelonia.

Humanity's best soldiers had flocked to join her company. Yet now, as they ran behind her, Rowan trembled with fear.

The original Rabblers all died in battle, she thought. Do we face death too, and so close to home?

The Jerusalem jolted as another blast hit them. A laser beam flashed before Rowan, searing through the corridor. Air shrieked out into space.

"They're giving us a pounding!" shouted one of her soldiers.

Rowan kicked a door and barged into a cabin. "Grab mirrors! Hurry!"

A refugee family was cowering in the cabin. Even a year after being liberated from a gulock, one of the scorpions' factories of death, the family's eyes were haunted, their cheeks gaunt.

"They told us we're almost at Earth," the father whispered. "They said we'll see sunshine."

"Right now, all I want to see is dead snakes," Rowan said, yanking the mirror off the wall. "Hang tight, guys. We'll take care of this."

She burst back out into the corridor. The Jerusalem shook as another blast hit. Refugees screamed. The floor thrummed as cannons pounded the enemy. Through a porthole, Rowan glimpsed the battle: hundreds of starships were flying in a maelstrom, lasers and shells flying, explosions flaring.

Her marines were emerging from cabins, carrying their own mirrors. Other infantry companies were racing elsewhere in the ship. Bay led his own company, a unit named the Lions of Light.

Not as good a name as my Rabblers, Rowan thought, running toward the airlock.

Her men ran behind her, their armored spacesuits rattling. Every soldier held a mirror like a shield, and their rifles hung at their sides.

"Hey, Bay!" Rowan cried as she ran. "Dumbass! I bet I kill more basilisks than you."

He ran not far behind, leading his own troops. "God, you're competitive. This isn't the time!"

She flashed him a grin. "It's always the time to beat your ass." She pulled on her helmet. "Race ya!"

She reached the airlock first, bounded toward the outer door, and leaped out into space.

She glided into a symphony of fire and death.

Thousands of ships flew around her, rising, swooping, firing their guns. Lasers and shells flew back and forth. Every breath, another ship exploded, and firelight blazed through the darkness. The Rattlers stormed everywhere, covered with scales, their portholes blazing like red eyes. Humanity's warships and starfighters pounded the enemy with artillery fury, but thick armored scales covered the enemy warships. Meanwhile, humanity's shields, built to withstand the plasma of the scorpions, shattered before the basilisk lasers. Ship after ship burned. Corpses floated through the vacuum, all of them human. Another ship exploded nearby, and debris peppered Rowan, tossing her into a spin.

Rowan had fought in great battles before. For three years now, she had battled the scorpions in the depths of space.

But she had never seen enemies like these. Never seen weapons so destructive.

Earth is so near, but we crumble, she thought.

She saw it ahead. The blue planet. Legendary homeworld of humanity. So close Rowan felt like she could reach out and touch it. All her life, she had dreamed of coming to this world.

I will not give you up now, Earth.

"Rabblers!" she cried into her comm. "Charge! For Earth!"

Her warriors leaped out of the Jerusalem's airlock behind her. They answered her call. "For Earth!"

The company ignited their jetpacks.

A hundred streams of fire blazed behind them, and they blasted forth toward the enemy.

An instant later, Bay and his company leaped out too, and a hundred more marines joined the assault.

The soldiers seemed so small, gliding between these massive machines. The ISS Bangkok was firing nearby, its cannons so large Rowan could have crawled inside. Shells slammed into the enemy ahead. Rattlers were everywhere, surrounding the humans, their scaly ships undulating through space. Lasers crisscrossed the battle.

It's like a goddamn disco, Rowan thought. Of death.

A Firebird blazed overhead toward the enemy. Its missiles slammed into a Rattler, barely damaging the scales. The basilisk warship replied with a laser assault. The green beam hit the Firebird, and the starfighter shattered. Debris flew around Rowan, and the pilot spun through space, screaming, a hole in his chest.

Another laser fired, cutting through a sergeant at Rowan's side.

A third laser sliced a woman from collar to navel.

A freighter exploded above.

Around Rowan, they were dying.

Silence.

Silence and death in the darkness of space.

Her head spun. Tears filled her eyes. Her breath became a pant. And Rowan was back there—back in the ducts of Paradise Lost, a frightened girl, scurrying through the shadows, hiding in the ducts.

I can't do this. She trembled. I'm afraid. I have to run. I have to hide.

Another warship exploded, and another man died, and Rowan remembered all her battles. All those who had fallen. The millions who had lost their lives for Earth.

Earth.

Ahead, it was shining. Calling her home.

In her memories, Rowan heard her mother sing.

Into darkness we fled

In the shadows we prayed

In exile we always knew

That we will see her again

Our Earth rising from loss

Calling us home

Calling us home

And still it beckoned.

I still remember, Mother.

A formation of Rattlers turned toward the flying marines. The ships seemed like giant, living serpents, portholes like wrathful eyes, cannons like teeth prepared to sink into flesh.

Rowan took a deep breath and narrowed her eyes.

I am a human. A warrior. I have no fear.

"Take them head on!" Rowan said, broadcasting her words to her company. "Raise your mirrors and fly!"

Hundreds of human soldiers, wearing nothing but spacesuits, adjusted their jetpacks and flew toward the alien warships.

And the Rattlers opened fire.

The laser beams shot toward the company.

The marines raised their mirrors.

A beam hit Rowan's mirror with a force like an exploding star.

Light and heat and crackling energy flared, blinding her, and she screamed. The mirror vibrated and she clung to it, her fingers blazing with agony. She thought the mirror would crack, that her body would burn.

And then the light dimmed.

And she saw the green beam flying back toward the Rattler.

More lasers flashed across the Rabblers. Some beams hit limbs and heads, searing them off.

But most hit the mirrors.

The beams bounced back, flashing every which way. Some flew into the darkness of space. Others hit fellow marines.

But most flew back toward the Rattlers who had fired them.

The inferno slammed into the enemy warships and seared through their shields like bullets through paper.

A few hundred meters away, Bay's company raised their mirrors too, casting back their own volley of lasers.

Explosions bloomed across the Rattler armada.

Hole after hole pierced their shields.

Rowan sneered, lowered her mirror, and raised Lullaby. The heavy pistol had been with her for many battles. Eyes narrowed, she aimed and fired.

Her bullet streaked forth.

On the surface, Lullaby looked like an ancient flintlock, the kind a buccaneer from ancient Earth might fire. Its stock and handle were wooden, its external gears forged of brass. But unlike ancient firearms, Lullaby used no gunpowder. It was a stylized railgun, propelling its bullets with electromagnetic fury that would put old weapons to shame.

Lullaby's bullet streaked forward at hypersonic speed and slammed into one of the Rattlers—right where a laser had seared a hole.

An explosion blazed across the ship, flipping it over, revealing the rounded engines on its tail. The rattle on the snake.

Rowan fired again and again.

Die, you sons of bitches.

Her bullets slammed into the Rattler's engines, and fire raged. The engines exploded. Scales flew off the ship, and it crumbled, curled up, and burned.

Some Rattlers were still firing lasers. The marines raised their mirrors again. This time, they were more efficient. Rowan held her mirror steadily, gritting her teeth as she cast the lasers back. Not a single beam hit a marine this time. The blasts ricocheted toward the enemy, and more explosions rocked the basilisk ships.

Rowan whooped.

"Charge, onward!" she cried. "Tear them apart!"

Her jetpack thrummed. She flew and fired Lullaby again and again. Bullets pounded the enemy ships. Her fellow marines were twice her size, and they carried massive assault rifles the size of her entire body. More blasts slammed into the Rattlers, tearing their engines apart, and fire spread across the serpentine warships.

Lights streaked overhead.

Firebirds were charging. The starfighters of humanity added their missiles to the assault, hammering the enemy.

Hope filled Rowan.

"We're going to beat you," she said. "Earth is ours!"

More marines were leaping from other human warships now. Mimicking Rowan, they too carried mirrors. They cast back the lasers, allowing their warships to pound the enemy.

Rattlers exploded one by one.

The laser beams died.

Rowan dared to hope they had won, that the enemy would flee.

But then she saw it, and her heart sank.

Hatches were opening on the remaining Rattlers. The basilisks emerged into space, wearing metallic spacesuits complete with bulbous helmets. Engines thrummed on their sides, and the snakes flew through space—toward Rowan and her soldiers.

CHAPTER FIVE

Bay raised his mirror, deflecting a laser beam, when Rowan shouted through his comm.

"Bay, watch out! Snakes!"

He lowered his mirror and stared.

Only a few Rattlers were still firing lasers. The human marines were catching too many of the beams, reflecting them back at the scaly warships. Half the basilisk fleet was smoldering, the ships riddled with holes. Behind Bay, the human warships were in even worse condition. Several had shattered into clouds of debris, killing the refugees within.

And now the basilisks were emerging to fight.

Thousands of the aliens flew through space, wearing metal suits and helmets.

"Ra damn!" a sergeant shouted beside Bay, fear in his voice.

"Those things are huge," said a corporal, her hands trembling on her guns.

"Steady, soldiers," Bay said. He narrowed his eyes, released his mirror, and raised Lawless, his assault rifle. "Defensive wall formation—and fire!"

The Lions of Light—his company of hardened warriors—formed a wall in space, ten soldiers wide and ten tall. Their railguns fired, blasting hypersonic fury at the incoming serpents.

Bullets slammed into the basilisks. A few punched through the aliens' armor, and blood rolled through space. Most bullets missed or shattered against the metal scales.

A handful of basilisks floated away, curling up in death. But most kept flying toward the humans.

"Fire, fire!" Bay shouted, switching to automatic. He sprayed bullets.

The basilisks kept charging. They fired no guns. But murder filled their eyes.

Firebirds swooped overhead, trying to reach the basilisks. But the enemy launched its own starfighters, tubular vessels barely larger than the snakes themselves. As the starfighters battled around them, the marines and basilisks stormed toward each other through raining fire.

The basilisks were several kilometers away.

Then only meters.

"Hold the lines!" Bay said. "Keep them away from our warships! Soldiers, hold the—"

The basilisks slammed into the marine formations.

The cosmos exploded.

Scales, fire, and pain blazed over Bay's world.

A dark green basilisk—by Ra, the thing was larger than a damn crocodile—slammed into him like a freight train.

Bay's armored spacesuit cracked. It felt like his ribs were cracking too. He cried out and swung Lawless like a club, trying to knock the beast back. But the creature had thin, powerful arms with long fingers, and they gripped Bay, crushing him, bending his armor. Around him, more basilisks were barreling through the marine companies. Rowan was shouting overhead, kicking and punching an alien.

The green beast grabbing Bay opened its jaws wide. Its helmet had metallic jaws too, complete with holes for the fangs.

"Die now, ape," the basilisk hissed. "Die in darkness."

The metal jaws closed around Bay's shoulder. The teeth sank through the armored plates—and into his flesh.

Bay screamed.

He tried to aim Lawless, but the basilisk was crushing him, and the barrel was too long. In frustration, he fired a bullet into the distance. The gun's recoil was enough to dislodge the alien jaws, and Bay's blood bubbled into space. He aimed the rifle and fired again.

His bullet slammed into the basilisk's jaws, knocking out several teeth.

The beast shrieked, tumbling backward in the void. Engines on the sides of its suit came to life, and the basilisk shot forward, howling, eyes blazing.

The alien overshot Bay, then spun and looped around him. Moving so fast Bay barely registered it, the basilisk formed a noose around him—and tightened.

The scaly body pinned Bay's arms to his sides and squeezed.

Bay roared in agony. He tried to reach his jetpack controls, to spray fire, but he couldn't move his arms.

"Yes, scream for me, ape," the basilisk hissed. Its voice reverberated through their suits, audible even in the vacuum. "I love the sound of your agony. How do you want to die? Crushed or digested?"

The basilisk tightened further.

Gears bent and twisted on Bay's prosthetic arm.

Something cracked inside him. Maybe just a gear on his arm. Maybe a rib. The pain was so great Bay couldn't even scream.

He managed to shove raspy words past his lips. "Muck … you …"

His prosthetic arm was connected to his nerves. With his mind, Bay activated the limb's power source. It thrummed. With another thought, Bay blasted a bolt of energy from the palm.

Electricity crackled.

The basilisk squealed and loosened its grip.

Thank you, Rowan, Bay thought. You were smart to install a pulse weapon on my arm. You saved my ass.

Before the basilisk could tighten around him again, Bay grabbed his jetpack controls. He blasted a spray of fire, burning the creature. He shot upward through its grip like a slippery fish from a man's hands. His jetpack roared, bathing the basilisk with fire. Bay soared high, then flipped over, aimed his rifle, and peppered the beast with bullets.

The basilisk's helmet shattered. Bay loaded another magazine and hammered its skull with lead.

Brains and blood splattered, and the alien corpse floated through space.

Bay didn't even spend a moment on relief. His spacesuit was perforated, losing pressure. With numb fingers, he pulled out his trusty roll of tape and sealed the breaches. Only then did he allow himself a deep breath.

He winced. Pain shot through him, only now registering. Damn it! The basilisk had definitely cracked a rib or two. Every breath was a saw through his chest. Bay still had some Harmonians inside him—a gift from Rowan—and the tiny beings were surging through his chest, healing and mending. Thanks to the little critters, Bay and Rowan healed faster than most people. Especially Rowan, who had kept the bulk of the microscopic organisms inside herself. Bay was glad to have a few of his own. The Harmonians probably saved his life today.

It still hurt like a son of a bitch, though.

His prosthetic arm was cracked too, the wood splintering, the gears twisted. It crackled uneasily, its power source loose. No Harmonians would be fixing that contraption anytime soon.

Bay looked around him.

Muck.

The basilisks were tearing through his men. The human lines had collapsed. The serpents were everywhere, biting, clawing, and constricting. All around Bay, the aliens were wrapping around marines, tightening until they cracked the bones. Bay watched, nauseous, as a basilisk cracked open a dead man's suit, then guzzled down the corpse.

He turned his head.

He saw it there.

So close. They were almost in orbit.

Earth.

He tightened his lips.

"Soldiers!" he shouted. His comm was connected to every helmet in his company. "Men and women of Earth! We did not come so far just to die here in sight of our homeworld. Reform the lines! Assault formation! Fight! Tear through the enemy and let this be our most glorious victory. For Earth! For Earth!"

Hundreds of jetpacks ignited.

The soldiers of humanity rallied around him, changing from a wall formation to an arrowhead.

"For Earth!" they cried, streaming forth.

Their guns fired.

Their bullets tore through the enemy.

Fire blazed around them.

The basilisks scattered before them, shrieking in fear, hammered with lead. The aliens launched a desperate attack, snapping their jaws at the humans, grabbing and crushing limbs. Soldiers screamed as they died.

"Maelstrom formation!" Bay shouted.

He yanked his jetpack's handlebars and curved his flight path. The others followed. A hundred soldiers formed a ring, pointing their exhaust pipes outward, blazing like a halo of fire.

Around them, the basilisks burned.

"Forward!" Bay cried.

The formation rolled forth, a blazing wheel, tearing through the enemy lines. The basilisks fell back, armor and scales melting. As the Lions of Light flew, the marines kept firing their guns, and scales cascaded through space.

Nearby, Rowan was leading her company in the same formation. The Rabblers were forming their own wheel of fire. They rolled forward like a burning Ferris wheel fallen off its axis. Basilisks fell before them, curling up, burning in the jetpack's flaming jets.

"Rowan, you copycat!" Bay shouted.

Even as she spun in her ring of marines, she flipped him off. "You didn't invent the maelstrom formation, butthead."

We can do it, Bay thought, gripping the thrumming handles of his jetpack. We can tear our way through.

He gazed ahead at Earth.

And he saw the Rattlers.

The warships were flying toward him. Their cannons were cold; they would fire no more lasers. But new weapons extended from their prows—long, metal rams tipped with spikes.

The Rattlers roared toward the human marines.

Bay stared in frozen horror.

They'll rip through us.

One of the Rattlers raced toward his company. Its portholes blazed red with wrath. Its ram stretched out, black and jagged and thirsty for blood.

"Scatter, scatter!" Bay shouted. "Soldiers, sca—"

The enemy warship plowed into the human formation.

The ram ripped through men.

The enemy hull slammed into marines, shattering their bones, casting them aside.

Bay flew, desperate to flee, and just managed to dodge the rams, but the hull was rising before him at impossible speed, and—

The Rattler slammed into him.

Bay tumbled.

He couldn't breathe, couldn't scream.

He spun through space, pain blazing at his side.

The battle swirled around him. He saw another Rattler plow through Rowan's company. Her soldiers scattered like broken teeth. Farther back, the Inheritor fleet was trying to break through, but the Rattlers were ramming into them too, knocking them back, burning them with more lasers.

From Earth, more basilisk ships were rising. These ones were small starfighters. They soared toward Bay and the remains of his company, and he knew the end was here.

He would die above Earth's sky.

The basilisk starfighters streaked toward him, and Bay aimed Lawless, prepared to fight and die.

The starfighters soared over him.

They continued flying toward the hulking Rattlers.

The small, scaly starfighters opened fire—on their larger brethren.

The Rattlers had not expected the attack. The warships' engines, their Achilles' Heels, were exposed. The basilisk starfighters hammered the engines with a barrage of green lasers.

Explosions rocked the mighty Rattlers.

The colossal warships cracked open, bleeding fire. The light washed over Bay. He watched, eyes wide, as the small ships kept firing on the larger ones, blasting their engines, tearing the warships apart.

They're fighting one another! Bay thought. They—

Then he understood.

"Leona!" he whispered.

His comm crackled, and she spoke in his helmet.

"Hello, Bay!" One of the basilisk starfighters looped around him, and Bay saw his sister in the cockpit. "Need help, baby brother?"

"Ra damn, Leona!" Bay said. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Your gratitude is overwhelming as always, little brother."

"What the hell took you so long?" he said.

Leona snorted. "You think we don't have battles of our own down on Earth?" She charged back toward the enemy. "Now get back into a ship, damn you. No more of your free-flying stunts, hotshot."

Bay nodded. He turned back toward the human fleet—or what remained of it. Several ships were burning and listing. Others were completely gone. But the mighty Jerusalem, the flagship of humanity, still flew. She was damaged. Holes peppered her hull. But this legendary warship, the beacon of hope to humanity, was raising a pillar of fire. She was still leading them onward.

"Lions Company!" Bay said. "Fall back! Back to the Jerusalem."

Nearby, Rowan was shouting orders at her own marines. "Rabblers, back to the Jerusalem!"

They flew back through the battle, swerving around the smoldering hulks of dead Rattlers. Basilisk corpses floated amid the debris. Some serpents still lived, hunting in the black. The marines fired on them, picking them off one by one. With the Rattler formations broken, the human warships were decimating the enemy.

And the Rattlers were turning to flee.

"Yeah, that's right!" Rowan shouted, waving her fist as she flew through space. "You better run!"

Bay made his way back through the Jerusalem's airlock. Rowan and the others followed.

Once the airlock door was closed, Bay pulled off his helmet and took a deep breath. As his chest expanded, he winced in pain. His fellow warriors pulled off their helmets too, some panting, other grimacing. A sergeant fell to the deck, clutching a wound. Medics rushed into the hangar and began treating the wounded.

A small soldier, easily the smallest in the army, ran across the deck toward Bay. Her helmet hid her face, but Bay recognized her by her size. Rowan wasn't even five feet tall, and she was twig-thin. But Bay knew she was the bravest soldier in the fleet.

She reached him, pulled off her helmet, and grinned. Her cheeks were flushed and her short hair clung to her forehead with sweat.

"Did you see that, Bay?" She hopped in excitement. "Leona arriving in stolen basilisk ships! And wheels of fire! And mirrors! It was bitchin'!" She leaped onto him and wrapped him in a crushing embrace. "Oh, you were wonderful out there, Bay. A hero!"

He grimaced. "Ouch ouch ouch." He gently pulled her off. "I think I cracked a rib."

She gasped. "Oh no!"

He nodded. "I know. It hurts real bad. I'm going to need lots of pampering, and—"

"Your arm!" She pointed at the prosthetic. "Your beautiful steampunk arm! It's cracked and bent. The gears are crooked, and the power source I installed is dying." She touched it gingerly, then glanced back at his face. "What's this about ribs now?"

He groaned. "Never mind."

She hugged him again, very gently this time, then stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips.

"I love you, Captain Bay Ben-Ari."

He stroked her cheek. "And I love you, little hobbit. Even though you steal my pancakes."

They approached a porthole and gazed out into space. The battle was wrapping up. The last Rattlers were fleeing. The human starships were seeing them off with bursts of artillery. Ambulance shuttles were moving through the wreckage, collecting wounded marines. Soon, Bay knew, they would return to collect the dead.

On the hangar wall, speakers crackled to life.

A voice emerged.

"Good morning, humans! Welcome to Earth! This is Commodore Leona Ben-Ari speaking, welcoming you home. It's a lovely twenty-three degrees Celsius in the plains of Ontario, where a cozy colony is awaiting you. I'm the one flying the hijacked basilisk starfighter with the blue stripes on the hull. Please avoid blasting me out of space. Now, if you'll follow me, I'll escort you to a planet slightly overrun with giant man-eating snakes, but otherwise quite lovely." Her voice turned sober. "Welcome, Heirs of Earth. Welcome home."

Through the porthole, Bay saw his sister's scaly ship turn back toward Earth.

The human fleet followed.

Bay was in pain. His shoulder was still bleeding, and every breath hurt his ribs. The Harmonians in his system were helping, but they weren't enough. He knew he had to see a medic.

But he didn't want to miss this.

He stood at the porthole, holding Rowan's hand. They stared together, silent, watching their world grow larger.

Earth grew from a blue marble to a shimmering world of splendor. The fleet entered orbit, gliding a hundred kilometers above the sky. Across the hangar, and in every cabin on every starship, humans approached the portholes and stared. Awed silence fell.

Bay saw the Nile, a strand of green through the desert. He recognized the Italian boot, the green isles of Britain, the shimmering Atlantic. The places from the stories. From the legends. Mythical places from the mists of history—here before him. Beautiful. So beautiful.

Rowan squeezed his hand, and tears flowed down her cheeks.

"We're home," she whispered. "And it's beautiful."

Bay looked at her. The blue light of Earth shone on her young, eager face. She was so young, only nineteen, but Bay knew she had lived through so much. Rowan had survived so many battles, known so much loss. They both had.

"We made it, Row," he said.

She smiled, tears on her lips. "I wish Jade could have seen this."

He kissed her again. A long, soft kiss in the light of Earth.

"Bay Ben-Ari!" The voice rolled across the hangar. "Get over here, boy. Move it! You're bleeding half to death, and instead of seeing me in the medical bay, you're here snogging!"

Bay detached from Rowan, not without a feeling of loss, and stifled a smile. He turned to see Nurse Cindy marching across the hangar. The Heirs' Chief Nurse was a tall, striking woman in her forties, her hair jet-black, her eyes green and fierce.

She's fiercer than any alien out there, Bay thought.

"But—" he began. "Earth—"

"Earth has been waiting for two thousand years, and it'll wait a few moments longer." Cindy pulled him away from Rowan. "Now come! You're going to need stitches. Behave, and I'll consider using anesthetics."

Bay cringed as she pulled him across the deck. "Can't we do this on Earth?"

"Rubbish!" Cindy said. "It'll take days to ferry everyone down in the shuttles, and I'm not granting you shore leave until you're healed." The nurse paused and pointed at Rowan. "You, little one! You come too. Your leg is bleeding."

"Tis but a scratch," Rowan said.

The nurse glowered. "Must I drag you by the ear?"

"Coming, coming!" Rowan hurried after them.

Within an hour, they were both bandaged up and walking toward the shuttle bay. The first shuttles were filling with humans. Bay's insides trembled, and he held Rowan's hand tight.

For thousands of years, we were lost, he thought, stepping into a shuttle. It's time to go home.

CHAPTER SIX

Rowan opened the shuttle hatch, breathed in the air of Earth, and hesitated.

Her homeworld lay before her.

She was not the first human here. She saw hundreds of humans already in Port Addison, the first colony on Earth. Some, the new arrivals, were praying, laughing, or weeping. Others—the colonists Leona had led here last year—were simply going about their business, tending to gardens, cooking meals, raising tents.

There was no novelty in the step Rowan was about to take. She would not go down in history alongside Neil Armstrong, first man on the moon, Elon Musk, first man on Mars, or Leona Ben-Ari, first woman to set foot on Earth since the exile.

And yet Rowan stood frozen at the hatch, daring not step outside. Not yet.

To history, her step bore no import. But to her, it was the most monumental step she would ever take.

She gazed out at the colony. Grass and trees rustled in a warm breeze. Birds sang in a blue sky. Piers stretched into a river, and fishing boats swayed gently. Humans were moving back and forth between huts and tents. The air smelled sweet; Rowan had never smelled anything so fresh and lovely.

"We evolved here," she said softly. "We spent two thousand years in exile, but that's nothing for evolution. For billions of years, we evolved to find this planet beautiful. And it is. It's so beautiful."

Bay came to stand behind her. "Are you going to step out? Or stay inside the shuttle and talk about evolution? Ooh, maybe we can discuss string theory next!"

She nudged him hard with her elbow. "Oh, hush. Give a girl a moment. When I'm ready."

She placed one foot outside the shuttle, but paused, her foot in midair.

She curled up in a duct, shivering and shedding tears, an orphan, so afraid.

She pounded on the duct walls, shouting and weeping, a teenager, so confused, so angry.

She fought in a great war, watching friends die all around.

She faced the crimson scorpion in the field, and her body shattered.

She turned around and looked at Bay. He looked back, eyes soft.

"Whenever you're ready," he said, and smiled. "Hopefully not another two thousand years."

She returned the smile.

She was an officer, proud and strong.

She was a woman in love.

And she was ready.

Rowan stepped out of the shuttle and onto Earth.

For a long time, she walked through the colony. Bay walked with her, but both were silent. Rowan knelt and touched the rustling grass, marveling at its softness. She spent a while watching chickens in a coop, smiling at the baby chicks. She watched in wonder as a monarch butterfly fluttered by. She inhaled the sweet scents of maple and elm trees.

Okay, there's also the smell of chicken shit, Rowan thought. But right now, I'll take it over the stale smell of a starship.

But mostly, Rowan marveled at the humans around her. At the original colonists drawing water from wells, tending to fields, hanging laundry. Their skin was tanned—actually tanned!—not pale from lifetimes on space stations and starships. She looked at guards who stood on the colony's wooden walls, rifles in hand—not frightened exiles, but humans defending their own soil.

"We're a different breed here," she said to Bay. "We're not pests. We're proud. We're home."

For years, the Heirs of Earth had worn blue, symbolizing the sky of their homeworld. Now the true sky spread above her. Rowan unbuttoned her blue vest and hung it on a branch, remaining in her white buttoned shirt. She rolled up the sleeves in the warm sunlight.

Here, I'm not Rowan the refugee or pest. I'm an Earthling.

She considered for a moment, then held out her arm, hoping that a few bluebirds would land on her. No such luck. Turns out Disney lied.

"So, Earth," she said. "Lovely place! Bit too many giant snakes around, and there hasn't been an IHOP for a couple thousand years, but no place is perfect. Hey, Bay, what should we do first? Build a pancake house? Film Dinosaur Island?" She sidled closer. "And tonight, we're going to find a tent and christen this place properly." She waggled her eyebrows, then frowned. "Bay, you all right?"

His head was lowered. He looked up at her and nodded. "Yeah. I was just thinking about … all those who couldn't make it. Those we left behind."

Rowan lost her smile. She nodded and caressed his cheek. "I think about them too. Every day. My family. Your mom. Ayumi. And Seohyun too. Don't look so shocked! I know you loved her once. Before you met me. I'm not jealous. I wish she were here too." She sighed. "Sometimes I wish I could believe. That they're up there in heaven, looking down at us. I'm not religious. I don't really believe. And that's hard sometimes. I have no words of comfort. We lost so many people. Five million of us died in the war, almost half of humanity. And we'll lose more in the days ahead. The basilisks are not yet defeated. They will attack us again."

They stood in silence.

Finally Bay said, "I'm waiting for you to say 'but' and finish your speech on an optimistic note."

She smiled sadly. "I wish I could, Bay. There's no silver lining to the tragedies we suffered. Other than this." She swept her arm around her. "This colony. This beautiful world. It's thanks to their sacrifice that we're here. So let's cherish it. Let's defend it. Let's make sure that Earth does not fall again."

He nodded. "I like that. That works for me. Oh, and … about christening this planet." He grinned. "I want to hear more about that."

She leaned closer and bit her lip. "Oh, Bay B, I'll show you. I have new tricks to try out. And in the morning—you're making me pancakes!"

He scoffed. "Now who's the snack whore?"

She gasped. "Pancakes are no snack! They're a major food group." She grabbed his hand and tugged him. "Now come on. Stop thinking about sex and food. We've got trenches to dig, walls to build, a planet to defend. Those snakes are on the move. I'll bet my life on it. When they arrive, we're going to be ready."

CHAPTER SEVEN

Emet stood on the bridge of the Jerusalem, gazing through the viewport, watching the shuttles glide down to Earth.

He stood alone.

A thousand starships orbited Earth. Shuttle after shuttle flew from hangars, ferrying humanity home. Officers. Soldiers. Refugees. People who had fought so many battles, who had known unspeakable horrors. For eighty generations, they had suffered in exile. Cowering in hiding. Screaming in the gulocks. Burning in the fires of war.

They were the start of a new generation. Yet their home here was old. Earth's children had returned from the stars.

Emet watched from the bridge as the first shuttles landed, as they rose again, returning to ferry another batch of survivors.

They were fewer than twenty thousand humans here in this fleet. Many others still lived among the stars. Over the past few years, the scorpions had butchered millions of humans. But several million still lived, scattered across the galaxy. It was only a small fraction of the billions of humans who had once lived. But it was something. It was new hope. A new seed. Emet knew now that he could find the survivors, bring them here, rebuild their ancient civilization.

"We did it, Alexis," Emet said softly, remembering his fallen wife. "We brought them home."

Some days, Emet struggled to remember her face. Alexis had been gone for twenty years. But today she surfaced with perfect clarity in his memory, as beautiful and vibrant as ever. Smiling. Not screaming in pain like on that last day. Smiling that beautiful smile. At peace. Proud.

Emet turned to look at a dark porthole, and he saw himself reflected there.

Decades of war had not been kind.

He was almost sixty, and every year of struggle was carved across his face. As a young man, they had called him the Lion of Earth. They referred to his surname, Ben-Ari, which meant son of lion in an ancient Earth tongue. But also to his mane of golden hair, thick beard, and green feline eyes. Today this lion was aging. There was little gold remaining in this once-proud mane. His hair and beard were mostly silver now, shaggy when once they had been thick and lustrous. His famous green eyes, eyes said to echo those of his warrior ancestors, drooped now, peering from nests of wrinkles. He had been fighting all his life. The ghosts still haunted those eyes.

But he still stood tall, among the tallest men in the fleet. His back was still straight, his shoulders wide, his arms strong. He still wore the proud uniform of the Heirs of Earth—the white collared shirt, navy blue jacket, polished brass buttons, heavy black boots. His double-barreled rifle still hung across his back, and his cowboy hat still rested on his head.

He was still the lion. And he still had a few battles in him.

"Yes, there will be more battles ahead," he said, speaking to the memory of his wife. "The basilisks will not overlook their defeat here today. They will arrive from all corners of their empire, bringing great machines of war. Already on the surface of Earth, they will be planning their revenge. Across the galaxy, a new order is rising from chaos. New dangers lurk in every shadow."

Sudden pain stabbed his chest. Emet winced and placed a hand there. The pain had been recurring too often lately.

Yes—dangers in every shadow. Humanity had defeated the Skra-Shen, the cruel scorpion empire that had dominated the galaxy. Emperor Sin Kra was dead. The scorpions had returned to their homeworld to nurse their wounds. It would be a thousand years before they rose again.

But others were already racing to fill the vacuum.

The Galactic War had done more than destroy the scorpion empire. It had devastated thousands of other civilizations too. Grand Aelonia, once a mighty superpower, lay in ruins. Thousands of worlds smoldered. Countless fleets were gone. Lawlessness spread like storm clouds. The fires had died, and the galaxy lay in ashes.

And in those ashes, creatures were stirring.

New civilizations, once minor, were rising from the shadows, their ambitions unhindered. Alliances were forming. New enemies were digging trenches. The galaxy, so long ruled by the Concord and Hierarchy, was up for grabs. Sooner or later, the new order would be set. New borders would be drawn. Some species would emerge on top, replacing the fallen powers of old. Others would be left behind.

The maps are being redrawn, Emet thought. We must stake out our territory now—before it's too late. Here on Earth we must make our stand!

Yes, he was old and weary. But his people still needed his roar, his pillar of fire.

He gazed upon the blue sky below, at the shuttles rising and descending and rising again.

"The Galactic War is over," he said. "The War for Earth begins."

Footfalls sounded behind him.

"Dad?"

Emet turned and saw his daughter.

Leona was a tall, athletic woman of thirty years. Once she had worn a uniform like his. Not today. Today Leona wore sandals, shorts, and a plaid shirt. She looked like a woman from a history book.

She's no longer a refugee, he thought. She's an Earthling.

A weight lifted from Emet. Leona was always like a ray of sunshine, dispersing the clouds of his mind.

"Leona!" he said, stretched out his arms, and strode toward her.

She ran and threw herself into his embrace. Her mound of curly hair tickled his face. She took a step back, and he looked at her. It had been a year since he'd last seen her.

"Ra, Leona," he said. "You have a tan!"

She scoffed. "I have Mom's olive skin. I've always had a tan."

Emet shook his head. "Not like this. You're dark as coal now."

She grinned. "The sunlight is wonderful down on Earth. Bay and Rowan are running around like nuts down there, rolling in the grass and laughing. You should see them! Why haven't you joined us yet?"

"Somebody needs to man the fleet," Emet said. "In case the basilisks return. It was a hard battle to win Earth's orbit. We'll be guarding it for years to come."

Leona nodded. "Well, I'm here now. And I've commanded the Jerusalem many times before. Ramses and Mairead are taking the next shuttle up. We'll keep the fleet flying. Get down there, Dad."

He nodded. "I will."

For a moment, they stood in silence.

Leona cleared her throat. "Dad … you're still here."

A sigh passed through Emet. He ran his hand over a dashboard, then walked around the bridge, contemplating the machinery, the tattered upholstered seats, the old monitors, the buttons and levers worn down over the decades. His team had patched up the holes the lasers had left. The scars of countless other battles were visible, each one with a story, a triumph, a dream.

"The scorpions murdered my family when I was only a boy," he said softly, speaking more to himself than to Leona. "I've been fighting since. For more than forty years, all I've known is war. For thirty of those years, I fought from here. This bridge. This old clunky starship. For two thousand years, our people dreamed of this day. Of returning to Earth, the world we were driven from. The world that has been calling us home." He turned to look into his daughter's eyes. "What if I don't deserve to walk on Earth's soil?"

Leona's eyes softened. "Dad, what do you mean?"

"I've done things, Leona. Terrible things."

"We all did." Leona's voice was soothing. "It was war, Dad. A horrible war."

Emet stared steadily into her eyes. "I blasted Rowan out of an airlock once. I almost killed her. I almost sacrificed her a second time in the canyon of Helios. I charged on a suicide mission into the dreadnought Pestilence, leading dozens of soldiers to their deaths, while I escaped. I flew to Luther's scrapyard, prepared to murder him—an old and dear friend—if he would not sell me his ships. I—"

"Dad." Leona stared steadily into his eyes. "We all did things we're ashamed of. We all have blood on our hands. We did it for Earth. For this planet right here below us. You are worthy of this, Dad. More than anyone. You fought all your life for this. Go and join our people."

"Leona." Emet lowered his head, took a deep breath, then stared into her eyes again. "There's something I haven't told you. Jade. The Blue Huntress. The creature who murdered millions of people. She—"

"Is my sister," Leona said. Her lips trembled, then tightened. She nodded, eyes damp. "Rowan told me. She told Bay too."

"Leona, I—" Emet began.

"No," she whispered, voice shaking. "Not now. I'm not ready to talk about it. Maybe I never will be. Go, Dad. Go home."

He left her on the bridge.

He walked into the shuttle bay.

He flew through blue skies.

From up here, Emet could see the cities of the basilisks. Earth was in a far, dusty corner of their empire. It was not an important planet for them. And yet for years, the basilisks had been colonizing Earth, and their cities dotted the landscape. Millions of the aliens lived on Earth.

Aliens who love human flesh, Emet thought. Aliens we'll have to fight every day.

But perhaps Leona had been right. Today was not a day for grief or worry or guilt. Today was for joy.

Emet piloted the shuttle toward the plains of Ontario. He knew why Leona had chosen this place for her colony. The great heroes of old, Marco Emery and Addy Linden, had come from this land. Today Ontario was far from the basilisk cities. The climate had once been cold here, but over the past two thousand years, Earth had grown warmer, making this land ideal for agriculture.

We were refugees and warriors for so long, Emet thought. Now we must become farmers.

He saw the colony below. A year ago, Leona had flown here to establish a foothold on Earth. And she had been busy. Defensive walls rose around a cluster of tents. Crude wooden towers guarded fields. It wasn't much, but in his mind, Emet could already see the great city it would become.

He also noticed the cemetery.

There were many tombstones.

He landed on a patch of grass within the colony walls. For a moment Emet paused, still sitting inside the shuttle.

We did it, Alexis. For our children. For our people.

Emet opened the shuttle hatch and stepped outside.

A soft breeze caressed his cheeks, ruffling his beard. The grass rustled around his feet, and birds sang. The sunlight warmed him, and the sweet aromas of soil and growing things filled his nostrils. Bay and Rowan ran toward him across the grass, laughing, the light in their eyes. Emet wrapped his arms around them, and they stood under the blue sky, laughing and crying under the good blue sky. For the first time in his long life, Emet was happy.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Xerka, Queen of Serpents, enjoyed playing with her food.

Especially when it was human.

The morsels cowered before her. Five of them. Children. Xerka especially loved the children, their flesh so succulent, their bones so sweet. She slithered closer, her silvery scales chinking. The children screamed.

"Come here, lovelies," Xerka cooed. "I have treats for you."

They ran. But there was no escaping Xerka in her throne room, this polished chamber high in her tower. The room was round; there were no corners. Firelight filled it; there were no shadows. Yet still the humans ran. Still these children hoped for salvation.

Such primitive instincts, she thought. They operate on primal fear, aggression, cowardice. They are mere animals.

Xerka understood them well. She had consumed many of the apes. She had absorbed much of their DNA, seeking to study their essence. To experience their consciousness. To think as they thought. React as they reacted.

To defeat an enemy, one must become the enemy.

As she slithered in pursuit, she gazed at a polished stone wall, admiring her reflection. She had the body of a snake, long, graceful, covered with glimmering white scales. Yet she had the torso of a woman. A human woman, her hips curving, her breasts tipped with deep red nipples that gave forth sweet milk. Her eyes were the same crimson, serpentine, yet her face was humanoid, bone-white and young. Curious. Always curious to learn. To understand. Playful. Always seeking to play.

She reached out. With long red claws, she plucked a human child. The boy shrieked, and Xerka turned him back and forth in her hands. Admiring him. Even after so many meals of human, Xerka still admired the beauty of each one. Such precious bags of blood and meat. Such quivering morsels full of feeling. So afraid. The fear gave them their special flavor.

"Are you afraid, child?" she said.

The boy wept. He nodded.

Xerka grinned and licked her fangs. "Good."

She stroked his hair and kissed his forehead. Her mouth widened, her jaw encompassing his cranium, widening further, and she gulped him down. She shuddered with the pleasure. He writhed inside her, still screaming. So much delicious fear.

She took a little of him. A seed of his genes. Absorbing. Becoming. Understanding. Yes, she had begun to look like them. A hybrid, a human growing from serpent.

Slay them. Eat them. Understand them. Become them. Soon you will consume them all.

She patted her writhing belly.

"Don't worry, sweet child," she said. "Soon you will be with your friends."

She left the remaining children for now. Let them marinate in their fear a while longer. She slithered up the wall of her throne room, placing her claws between the bricks. The room rose like a great cylinder. There was no roof. The chamber bloomed open like a snake's jaws. A great flaming heart hovered above the tower, crackling, casting red light across the realm.

Xerka wriggled out of the chamber and along an outcrop of white stone, a great blade that sliced the sky. She stood here, the crackling heart blazing above her like a sun, bathing her with heat. And she gazed upon her realm.

Sskarsses, the world of the Ssstchkssshs, spread before her. Of course, the pathetic apes could not pronounce such names. They called the mighty Ssstchkssshs the basilisks. Even Xerka herself had come to use the ape words, at least in her thoughts. She wanted to think like the enemy. But she knew the true names. The true glory. She did not forget.

Her kind lived underground. She could not see the stars. For many eras, her race had hidden within the mountain. Here they had built a nation. The hollowed-out mountain was so large a small moon would fit inside. The basilisks' towers thrust out from the ground, the walls, even the ceiling, forming a network of spikes like an iron maiden. Tunnels led to deeper chambers in the mountain. Millions of basilisks lived in this city, and billions filled other mountains across their world.

Yet for all its splendor, Sskarsses was only a single planet.

And Xerka desired a galaxy.

She looked down at the cage that hung from her tower. At the skinny, dying wretch that lingered inside, curled up, his scales peeled off.

"Hello, mighty emperor!" she said. "Do you enjoy the view of your domain?"

The basilisk in the cage glared at her. Xerka had pulled out his teeth. She had wired his jaw shut. She had descaled him, kept pulling off new scales that grew. She had taken his freedom, his strength, his sanity.

But she left his eyes.

She wanted him, once the emperor of Sskarsses, to see her might. To see her succeed where he had failed.

She wrapped her tail around the white outcrop of stone, leaned down, and reached into the cage. She stroked the pathetic creature inside. The erstwhile emperor tried to hiss, to curse her. He strained at the metal bars hammered into his jaw. Xerka only laughed.

"You pathetic fool," she said. "Your Galactic War has ended. And you chose the losing side! You chose to join the scorpions. To serve the scorpions. To be their slaves. The scorpions—beasts no wiser than animals! Impulsive. Bloodthirsty. Their brains so small. All brute force. No cunning to them."

The emperor managed to make a gruff, muffled sound. "Kill … me …"

Xerka only laughed. "No, my pet. You will live. You wanted to be a slave! Enjoy your slavery. I must undo all your damage. Your scorpion masters are no longer here to protect you. The enemies of the Hierarchy form a noose around us. The humans taunt us. And I too am in a cage."

Her rage flared.

Yes, this emperor she had dethroned—he had done this.

He had chosen to join the Hierarchy. To serve the Hierarchy!

Now the Hierarchy, that alliance of fools, was shattered. Now the remnants of the Concord, that axis of enemies, wanted to steal Xerka's domain.

The Aelonians, those glowing beings of great might. Their ships were everywhere. Their allies—they were forming a new order in the galaxy. Many called to exterminate the basilisks. Called the basilisks untrustworthy, an enemy of civilization.

And the humans! The humans were colonizing Earth—a planet in her empire! A planet where millions of basilisks lived!

The humans were the most foul species in the galaxy. Species? They were an infestation. Xerka longed to kill them all. To destroy every one of their ships. To finish what the scorpions had begun.

But she knew the truth.

This wretched emperor in his cage—he had surrendered.

He had ended the war in defeat.

If Xerka destroyed the human fleet now, she would be breaking the terms of his surrender. And then the cursed Aelonians, and all their allies, would have her tail. Xerka was mighty. She would someday rule this galaxy. But she was not strong enough to fight all her enemies at once. Not yet. She was not some mindless scorpion, willing to take on the cosmos.

"We're not helpless," Xerka hissed. "No, worm. I cannot destroy the human fleet. Not yet. But I have placed a blockade around Earth. I have their ships trapped. Millions of humans seek to return to their world. I can stop them from entering. And as for those humans already on the surface?" She cackled. "I cannot be held responsible if the feral basilisks of the mountains descend upon them."

Yes, that was how one built empires, Xerka knew. Not with brute force like the scorpions. What had brute force done for the Skra-Shen arachnids? It had led them to destruction. Xerka did not underestimate her enemies. Not even the humans. They were primitive, yes. But capable. They had defeated even the powerful scorpions.

I will destroy them, Xerka thought. But I will not sting and claw like a scorpion. I am a serpent. I will wrap around them. And tighten. And tighten some more. Until they snap!

She opened the cage door. She regurgitated the child. The boy tumbled onto the cage floor, half-digested. The worm sniffed the meal, whimpering, so hungry. She always kept him so hungry.

She grabbed the iron bolts she had hammered into his jaws.

"Enjoy my gift."

She yanked out the bolts.

The worm screamed.

Yet even as he bled, the creature fed. Swallowing her discarded morsel. Eating her filth. A pathetic worm.

She locked the cage and left him there. To rot. To weep. To live. For years, he would live. And he would see her glory.

She returned to her throne room. The other children were still there, hugging each other, begging. Four humans. Four among millions. Millions who were trying to reach Earth.

Millions her great fleet kept away.

"You will all perish in the darkness." She slithered closer. "The millions of you. The memory of you. I will crush you all."

She wrapped around them. They screamed as she tightened. As their ribs snapped. As their organs burst. She tightened still, squeezing and squeezing, and she imagined that she was her fleet, tightening around Earth in a noose.

I fight like a serpent. And I feed.

She loosened her grip. And she guzzled them down. She returned to her throne, licked the blood off her fangs, and absorbed her understanding.

CHAPTER NINE

Tom Shepherd sat on the mountain, playing his flute.

He sat alone.

The mountainside sloped down before him, draped with oaks and maples. A stream gurgled nearby, and hawks circled in the sky. He could see Port Addison in the distance, a faded patch by the river. Tom had spent a single day in the colony before feeling trapped. Crowded. He had needed to come here, to explore this wilderness, to seek loneliness.

This was how he dealt with this grief. Not with companionship. Not with toil. With solitude and music.

Old songs flowed from his flute. He had played these songs as a boy, a shepherd on a distant world with a golden sky, fighting the wolves in the grass. He had played these songs as a youth, a conscript in the Peacekeepers Corps, a musician sent to fight alien rebels and thieves. He had played these songs as a man, a broken soul in the ashes, watching the countless perish in the gulock, fighting to free those he still could, to still defend his sheep from the wolves.

They were songs of Earth. They had always been songs of Earth. Songs of green hills. Blue skies. Golden fields.

And now finally, Tom Shepherd played these songs where they had been written. Where they had always been meant to be heard.

He was no longer a boy. Or a youth. Or even a young man. He was in his mid-forties now, but he looked older. His long years of war and privation had left his face lined. It was a long face. Haggard. A face the color of bronze or old cracked suede. His hair was silver now, the jet black strands of his youth forgotten. For a long time in the dark forests of exile, he had let that hair grow long, let a beard cover his cheeks. Today he kept that hair cropped short, his cheeks shaved, and wrinkles be damned.

Today I am a soldier, he thought. And I carry a rifle along with my flute.

He gazed at the colony below.

I will defend you. I vow this. I feel old. I feel weak. But with whatever strength is still in me, I will fight for you, my people. He lowered his head. I only wish you could have been here to see this, my wife. My friends. My Ayumi.

He lowered his flute.

His music died.

So many gone.

The scorpions had butchered them. He had watched it happen. He had seen so many die, so many who dreamed of Earth. He had failed to protect his flock from the wolves. The scorpions were dead, but their claws were still inside Tom, clutching his heart.

He gripped his rifle. His hand shook around it, and his knuckles whitened.

He looked at his hands. One holding a rifle. One holding a flute. Soldier and shepherd. One and the same.

"You know," rose a voice behind him, "I could hear you from a kilometer away. Not too smart. That means any basilisks chancing by would hear you too."

Tom stiffened. He leaped to his feet and spun around. He saw no one. For years, he had listened in the grasslands for the wolves. For years afterward, he had tracked the scorpions in the dark forests of Morbus. His ears were sharp, but he had not heard anyone approach.

"Clearly they wouldn't hear you," he said, not knowing where to direct his words.

Finally some branches rustled, and a woman emerged from behind a tree. She gave Tom a crooked smile. "I've trained for many years to move like a ghost. A little tip: Not playing the flute helps."

She was a woman of about thirty, tall, with the lithe-yet-muscular build of a soldier. A mane of dark brown curls cascaded across her shoulders. She wore tall muddy boots, and a rifle hung across her back. Her trousers were brown, her vest blue, and brass insignia topped her shoulders. Three stars on each shoulder. Here stood a commodore, among the highest ranks in the fleet.

Tom slung his own rifle across his back, tucked his flute into his belt, and gave her the Inheritor's Salute, slamming his left fist into his right palm.

"You must be Commodore Leona Ben-Ari. The famous Steel Lioness."

"The Iron Lioness, they call me," she said. "I do like the sound of Steel Lioness, though. Hmm, steel. That's stronger than iron, isn't it?"

Tom allowed himself to relax—slightly.

"Well, if you want to go for pure strength, how about the Diamond Lioness?"

Leona grimaced. "No thanks. Diamonds are a girl's best friend, but I'm a woman. Iron Lioness it is. Or just Leona." She reached out her hand for him to shake.

Tom took it. Her grip was strong.

"Lieutenant Commodore Tom Shepherd," he said.

She nodded. "I know. I've heard all about you. You yourself are something of a legend. The Shepherd, they call you. Almost as good as my nickname. They tell your tales in the colony. The man who survived Morbus Gulock. Who escaped the camp. Who rose to lead a rebellion called Earth's Light. Who defended the famous Ayumi the Weaver. Who saved humanity."

The pain returned. "I failed to defend Ayumi. She died."

He wanted to say more. How Ayumi had been like a daughter to him. How his wife had been pregnant when the scorpions killed her. How the grief never left him. But he could bring none of that to his lips. Not here. Not anywhere. Not to anyone.

I must be strong. I must defend whoever I still can.

Leona placed a hand on his shoulder. She looked at him. And Tom saw haunting ghosts in her own eyes, old grief and loss—but strength too.

"We have more people to defend, Tom Shepherd," she said. "Seventeen thousand humans now live in Port Addison. According to our best estimates, between five to seven million still live in space, refugees and gulock survivors, seeking a way home. The scorpions are gone, but the basilisks are not. And those basilisks aren't just threatening Earth; they threaten the life of humans in space too. I need you with us. I don't just mean at the colony." She placed her hand over his heart. "I need to know you're with us."

He stared steadily into her eyes. "Always, Leona. Until my last breath. I lost everything in the fires of war. My family. My very soul. But I did not lose Earth." He made a fist. "We will never lose Earth. So long as my heart beats, I will fight for this world. My life means nothing else. It is dedicated to our homeworld."

Leona smiled, but there was a sadness in her eyes. "Good. We need a guy like you. Just . . . don't play your flute out here again. It can attract snakes."

Tom nodded. "Or, with my playing, it might drive them away."

Leona laughed, all her intensity vanishing. "From what I heard, it's beautiful. I'd love to hear more—in the colony! Walk me home?"

"I might not move as quietly as you," Tom said, "but I'll try to—"

The trees rustled.

Tom froze and stared.

Leona raised her rifle.

A smell wafted from the forest, wet and oily.

A hiss rose.

That was enough for them. Tom and Leona opened fire.

The basilisk leaped from the forest into the hailstorm of bullets, screeching.

The bullet shattered its fangs, its eyes, its jaw. But still the beast lunged, tail flapping, and slammed into the two Inheritors.

The beast wrapped around them, body thick and coated with black scales. What remained of its jaws gummed Tom's arm, toothless and unable to hurt him. But the tightening body was a different matter. The basilisk pressed Tom against Leona, crushing their backpacks, nearly snapping their bones. Leona screamed, arms pinned to her sides. Tom tried to raise his rifle, could not. The weapon was digging into his side.

But his right arm could still move. He drew his flute.

The basilisk hissed at him, jaw shattered, eyes gone.

Tom thrust the silver flute like a dagger, sinking it into the basilisk's eye socket—and deep into the brain.

The basilisk loosened around them. Leona and Tom climbed out from the scaly bundle.

"Got it." Tom nodded. "No more flute."

"Fine, fine! Unless it's to stab basilisks in the eyes." Leona took a shaky breath. "Thanks for saving my ass."

Tom frowned.

His heart pounded.

"Do you hear that?" he whispered.

Leona glanced at him, then inhaled sharply.

Hissing. A lot of hissing.

Tom ran toward an oak and climbed. Leona climbed after him. They stuck their heads out of the canopy of leaves and stared north.

"Ra above," Tom whispered.

"Muck!" Leona cursed.

The forest was shaking. A hissing symphony rose. Between the trees, they saw scales.

There were hundreds of snakes slithering toward them. Maybe thousands.

Tom looked back south toward Port Addison.

More snakes were crawling down other hills and mountains, moving toward the settlement.

"It's a coordinated attack on Port Addison." Tom reached into his pocket for his comm. "We gotta warn the colony! We—"

A basilisk leaped out of a nearby tree, slammed into Tom, and he fell.

He crashed through branches, shouting, and thudded onto a pile of leaves. The basilisk landed atop him, screeching, biting, clawing.

More basilisks emerged from the forest all around, closing in.

Tom tried to rise, but the basilisk pinned him down. The creature was easily twice his weight, large enough to swallow him whole. It was wrapping around him, trying to get a good grip. Tom struggled free and scuttled back, but another basilisk slammed into him, then a third. Another alien coiled around him, and he saw more in the trees. The damn basilisks were everywhere.

The snake engulfed Tom, pinned his arm to his sides. The scaly head rose before him, and the jaws opened wide, revealing fangs and quivering strings of saliva.

"A nice, tasty morsel," the basilisk hissed. "I will enjoy eating your—"

The basilisk's head exploded.

"Eat lead," Leona said, her rifle smoking. She kicked the dead basilisk off Tom and yanked him up. "Be useful and fire your gun!"

He loaded his rifle. They stood back to back, and they fired.

Their bullets hit basilisks all around them. Blood, scales, and chips of wood flew through the forest.

"They've got more snakes than we've got bullets!" Tom shouted over the cacophony.

Leona nodded. "Run!"

"We'll never make it to the camp," Tom said.

She tugged him. "Yes we will. Come on!"

They ran down the mountainside. Behind them, the shrieks rose. When Tom glanced over his shoulder, he saw them erupting from the forest. Countless basilisks. Some were black, others green, some yellow or crimson. All had murder in their eyes.

"They're not wearing armor!" Tom said as they ran. "Or carrying weapons. The basilisks in space had weapons."

"Good!" Leona said.

They leaped over a fallen log and kept racing down the mountainside. The slope was so steep Tom nearly fell.

"These aren't soldier basilisks," Tom said. "This isn't an army. It's the locals. The civilian snakes. They're rebelling against us."

"I don't give a damn who they are!" Leona said. "They want to kill humans. We have to defend ourselves."

A basilisk burst out from a bush before them. Tom and Leona didn't lose a beat. They fired their rifles, tore the creature apart, then leaped over its flailing body. But the colony was still kilometers away. Tom had spent too many years close to starvation, living off beetles and worms on the brutal world of Corpus. He was still weak, still too thin, could not run that entire distance. Perhaps Leona could reach Port Addison at a run. But Tom would slow down, have to stop before the end.

He glanced behind him. The basilisks covered the mountainside. A multitude.

Seventeen thousand humans in Port Addison, Tom thought. And we're outnumbered.

They were near the valley now. Grasslands spanned the distance from here to the colony. Already basilisks were reaching the valley and crawling toward the settlement.

"I'm slowing you down. Run, Leona!" Tom stopped running, breathing raggedly, and spun back toward the mountainside, toward the countless swarming basilisks. "I'll hold them off. Run!"

He opened fire, spraying bullets. Perhaps he could deter them, kill a few, slow the swarm just enough to let Leona make it.

She gripped his collar and pulled. "Noble—but unnecessary. I have a motorcycle. Ride with me!"

She pulled him toward a patch of bushes. She fired her rifle, knocking back a basilisk, then parted the foliage, revealing a motorcycle. Tom covered her, taking potshots at the serpents, while Leona wheeled the motorcycle into the open.

"Know how to drive one of these things?" Leona said.

Tom nodded. "Used to drive something similar in the Peacekeeper Corps."

"Good. You drive, I fire." She flashed him a grin. "I'm a better shot."

They roared off—Tom driving, Leona sitting behind him, firing her rifle. They tore across the plains at blistering speed, raising clumps of grass and soil. This machine had power. It rumbled under Tom, and the handlebars thrummed in his hands. Insects and clumps of dirt hit his face, and he rode squinting, nearly blind. But he could still see the serpents everywhere—in his rearview mirrors, at his sides, flowing across the fields.

"Fire in the hole!" Leona shouted.

"What—" Tom began, then saw her in the rearview mirror, hurling a grenade.

He winced and shoved down the throttle.

The grenade burst behind them.

The shock wave pounded into their backs, shoving the motorcycle forward. They nearly overturned. Behind them, the explosion rocked the land. Chunks of soil and dead basilisks flew. Scales pattered the burnt earth. The bomb had taken out several basilisks, but hundreds of aliens raced over the corpses, unfazed.

Leona hurled grenade after grenade. As the motorcycle roared toward Port Addison, the colonists joined the fight. Guards were firing railguns from atop Port Addison's wooden walls, and bullets slammed into serpents. Several guards had grenade launchers, and more grenades were soon tearing basilisks apart.

A cannon stood atop a hill inside the colony. It fired, and a shell soared over the walls, then plowed into the basilisks behind Tom and Leona.

This explosion made the grenades seem like popcorn. The blast was deafening. The motorcycle swerved madly, nearly falling. Tom roared, tugging the handlebars, and managed to steady the metal beast. They rode onward, ripping up grass.

The colony was only a kilometer away now. They would be there within seconds.

Then Tom saw them.

They rose from the grass ahead. A hundred or more basilisks.

"Serpents ahead!" he shouted.

The creatures leaped toward them.

Tom raised his rifle. He steered with one hand, fired with the other. Leona slung her barrel over his shoulder and fired too.

Their bullets took down three basilisks.

But one basilisk crashed into their motorcycle.

They flew through the air.

Tom screamed.

The world seemed to move in slow motion.

In midair, Tom fired his rifle. Leona flew beside him, screaming, firing her own gun.

They slammed into the grass.

Instantly, Tom flattered himself over Leona, shielding her with his body.

The motorcycle drove across his back, ripping his jacket and skin, and Tom bellowed.

The machine skidded off him, tore across the field, flipped several times, then careened into a boulder.

Tom groaned in pain. Below him, Leona screamed.

"Leona!" He pushed himself up.

She tried to rise too, screamed again, and fell. Her leg was twisted—broken.

All around them, the basilisks were moving in. Surrounding them. A few hundred meters away, more basilisks were assaulting the colony walls.

Tom stood alone in a sea of them. Leona lay at his feet, drenched in sweat, trembling in pain.

"Run," Leona whispered. Fingers shaking, she struggled to load another magazine. "I'll . . . hold them … off."

He grabbed her. He slung her across his shoulder.

"Commodore?" he said. "Shut up."

Tom began to run.

He held Leona with one hand. He fired with the other. Even with her broken leg, Leona fired her own rifle.

Tom gained speed.

He raced across the grasslands toward the wooden walls. Bullets tore a path through the basilisks before him.

It was only a couple hundred meters.

It was the distance to the stars.

As Tom ran here, he was running again through the gulock. Around him were not the basilisks but his dying people. His friends. His family. Thousands reaching out from the inferno, begging for salvation. Faces twisting. Skin burning. Eyes begging. And Tom ran. And he left them behind.

Perhaps he had been running from them ever since. Fleeing their eyes. Fleeing his shame.

And so he ran now—but not into shadow.

He ran toward the colony. Toward the light of humanity. Not away from the dying but toward the living.

The wooden gates opened before him.

Inheritors emerged, guns blazing. Tom recognized them. Rowan was there, firing Lullaby. Bay stood by her, firing Lawless. Coral the weaver stood there too, firing aether from her runeblade. Emet stood on the wall, firing Thunder with one hand, Lightning with the other. A dozen others. Brave warriors. Free humans.

His new family.

I lost so much, Tom thought. But I have them. I'm not alone.

As basilisks died around him, Tom leaped through the gateway, entering Port Addison. At once, they shoved the gate shut, sealing the beasts outside.

Inside the colony, Tom laid Leona down, then fell to his knees.

For the first time, he noticed that his legs were lacerated. The basilisks had torn into him, and blood dripped around his feet.

But I made it. I ran. I survived. I kept Leona safe.

"Get a medic over here!" Emet shouted, standing above them. "Doc! Patch them up. Then get them on that damn wall."

Tom heard them.

The basilisks slamming at the walls.

The prisoners scratching at the gulock fences.

Gunfire rang all around him. The medics worked on him, bandaged his wounds, wanted to send him to the infirmary. But Tom struggled onto the wall. Before him they spread into the distance, the hordes of attacking basilisks. Tom fired his rifle, holding them back. Leona fought beside him, her broken leg in a splint. Hundreds of warriors stood with them, firing machine guns and light artillery.

The dream cannot end here, Tom thought. We did not lose so much to fall now.

Vaguely, he realized his flute was gone. He had lost it somewhere between the mountains and colony. For now, the music was silent, and the cannons roared.

CHAPTER TEN

"ISS Jerusalem! Come in, Jerusalem! Damn it, Ramses, where are you?"

Emet stared at his comm in disgust. The damn thing seemed to be working. His words were transmitting. But no response was coming from his fleet above.

"Ramses, can you hear me?" Emet tried again. "Where the hell are you? We need air support!"

The comm sent its message up to space.

No reply came.

Emet cursed. He was standing on the wooden wall surrounding the colony. Hundreds of warriors stood on the wall with him, firing at the enemy. The basilisks surrounded them, a swarm that covered the countryside. Bullets tore into the aliens. Their corpses were piling up. But wave after wave of the damn snakes kept coming. Sooner or later, they'd break into the colony—and slaughter everyone inside.

Emet aimed Thunder and fired the heavy rifle. Below, a basilisk's head exploded. Another alien quickly replaced its dead brother.

They've got more basilisks than we've got bullets, Emet thought.

And the creatures were fearless. Hundreds of them already lay dead—yet the others kept attacking.

Emet shook his comm and tried again. "Come in, Jerusalem! We need your Firebirds, dammit!"

They had lost most of their Firebirds during the Galactic War. But they still had a few of the starfighters. If they could fly here, strafing the countryside, they'd take care of the basilisks within moments.

His comm remained silent.

Emet's heart sank.

He looked up at the sky, seeking his fleet. At night, he could sometimes see glints from his heavier warships, the ones that couldn't enter atmosphere. But now, during the daylight, he saw nothing. Were they too under assault?

He looked back at the basilisks attacking the walls. They wore no armor, carried no weapons. They simply lashed at the wooden walls with their claws and fangs, trying to scratch and bite their way in.

"These aren't soldiers," Emet muttered.

Like humans, basilisks were specialists. He had fought basilisk soldiers in space—deadly enemies with terrifying technology. Their empire spread across many stars. Millions of them lived here on Earth, but so far, Emet had encountered no actual basilisk army here. This was a civilian uprising.

This is our homeworld, Emet thought. The ancestral home of humanity. But to them, we're alien invaders.

He shoved aside thoughts of moral complexity. These bastards were determined to slaughter every last human here. Emet had not fought for decades against the scorpions to die in a snake's belly.

He loaded a fresh magazine and kept firing.

Emet had been on Earth for only a few hours. But Leona had arrived almost a year ago, and she had done incredible groundwork. She had built few homes; most of the colonists still lived in tents. But she had raised impressive walls around the camp. They were wood, not metal or stone, but they were tall and sturdy. She had even mounted machine guns and grenade launchers in the guard towers, and cannons were firing from hilltops. These guns kept pounding the enemy with bullets, grenades, and shells.

"The damn fools," Leona said, firing at Emet's side. Her eyes shone with the painkillers coursing through her, and her leg was in a splint. Even though her bone was broken, she insisted on fighting the enemy. "Look at those snakes, Dad. Dying like flies."

His daughter was right. Were the creatures idiots? Wave after wave attacked the walls, only to die. Some basilisks tried to climb. They were all shot down. Hundreds of the aliens had died so far—and not a single human.

"Why the hell do they keep coming?" Emet muttered. "This is a suicide mission for them. They're like zombies."

More basilisk corpses piled up outside. Live snakes began to slither over the dead, only to fall under the hailstorm of bullets, to add to the pile of corpses. And more basilisks swarmed.

Emet grunted. He understood.

"Ra damn it," he said. "They're sacrificing themselves to build a hill of corpses—a hill the living can crawl up."

The blood drained from Leona's face. She stopped firing. "Mucking hell."

Emet cursed. "We have to get rid of those bodies. We have to burn them."

"The walls would burn with them!" Leona said.

Below, the living basilisks climbed the hill of their dead, reared, and gripped the top of the wall.

Hissing, the aliens began climbing into Port Addison.

Emet felt a pain in his chest. Stabbing. Twisting.

A basilisk lunged over the top of the wall before him. The beast opened its jaws and shrieked, fangs bared.

Emet fired his electric pistol, driving a bolt of energy into the alien mouth, knocking the basilisk back down.

Two more snakes replaced it, scrambling between the wooden spikes that topped the wall.

Emet's pistol was recharging. He had no room to aim his rifle. He swung the barrel, and it thudded into a basilisk head, dislodging a fang.

The second basilisk made it over the wall.

The scaly alien slammed into Emet, shoving him back.

Both Emet and the basilisk tumbled off the wall.

Emet reached out. He grabbed the ledge where he had stood. He dangled from the wall. Below him, the basilisk gripped his legs, wrapping around him, tugging him downward.

Emet bellowed. The creature was probably twice his weight, and his arm felt close to dislocating.

"Dad!" Leona cried.

She fired her rifle, nearly hitting him. Her bullets drove into the basilisk around Emet's legs. The creature lost its grip and fell. It landed inside the colony, where soldiers began hacking at it.

Panting, Emet climbed back onto the wall. Basilisk claws grazed his side, and he winced.

He stood for a moment, panting, and looked around him.

Everywhere, the basilisks were crawling atop the wall. They were wrapping around cannons, around defenders. A few were already making their way down to the colony below. And still more basilisks were swarming from the hills. Still waves pounded the walls.

Within minutes, we'll be overrun, Emet knew.

Emet picked up his comm again. "Damn it, fleet, where are you? Ramses! Mairead! Come in! We need your Firebirds!"

No answer came. Another basilisk lunged toward him. Emet cursed, fired his gun, and kept fighting.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Captain Ramses "Pharaoh" al Masri was bored.

He couldn't believe the others were all down on Earth, having the time of their lives, while he was stuck here in orbit, rotting away inside the ISS Jerusalem.

Yes, yes. He knew somebody had to man the fleet. He knew it was a great honor. He knew that a year from now, if he played his cards right, he could be promoted to colonel, maybe even brigadier someday, and become a great leader of humanity.

He glanced out the porthole toward the beautiful planet. Egypt—his very homeland!—was visible below.

Oh, my sweet jewel, Ramses thought. My desert rose. So close yet so far! How I long to feel your sand between my toes, to hear the song of the Nile, to—

"Hey, dumbass." A hand slapped the back of his head. "You dealing or what?"

Ramses groaned and shoved Mairead's hand away. "Shut up, Firebug. I'm enjoying the splendorous view."

She scoffed. "Oh yeah, well, enjoy my splendorous pile of poker chips instead. Deal!"

He looked at her and sighed. Years of war had done nothing to temper Mairead "Firebug" McQueen. Her hair was still as wild and red as fire. Her eyes were still green and mocking. Her freckled face still sported its trademarked crooked smile. She was young, beautiful, and the best pilot in the fleet.

She was also incredibly annoying.

"Fine, fine!" Ramses said. "Ra above. Stuck here with you is worse than fighting the basilisks."

He began to deal. Several other Inheritors sat around the poker table. Most were here in space as punishment. Mairead had been caught blowing up asteroids for fun, wasting precious ammo on her hobby. She would have been demoted and sent to the brig had Ramses not called in a favor. The others here were serving time for a host of other offenses. A couple of pilots had mouthed off to their commanding officers. One had even punched his superior. A mechanic had been busted stealing extra rations from the galley. One marine, a young woman, had stripped on camera for her crewmates. Another marine, an older man with graying hair, had been caught with a collection of stolen toothbrushes in his duffel bag—no fewer than a hundred and seventeen, all pilfered from the supply ships. Nobody yet had figured out what he planned to do with them.

Ramses was the only one not here as punishment.

No. He was no petty criminal. He was their babysitter.

I should be drinking coffee in the shadow of the sphinx, he thought. Instead I'm stuck with kleptomaniacs, sex addicts, and an insane Scottish pilot with a TNT addiction.

"All right, boys, ante up." Mairead slapped a poker chip onto the table.

"And no cheating this time." Ramses glared at her.

Mairead scoffed, lit a cigar, and puffed. "You're just a sore loser."

Ramses scrutinized her. Mairead had been winning round after round. She was hiding aces somewhere. Her sleeves were rolled up, revealing her tattooed arms, but Ramses was sure of it.

They all placed their bets. Chips piled up. Several players folded, including Ramses. Soon it was down to Mairead and one more soldier. Her last opponent was a tall, tattooed pilot they called the Goonie Bear. The man was obsessed with twentieth century culture; his body was covered with tattoos from Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, and Studio Ghibli anime. Goonie rarely got to enjoy shore leave; he had a bad habit of punching anyone who annoyed him, including senior officers. Never poke the Goonie Bear, he would warn.

Goonie displayed his cards.

"Read 'em and weep." He chortled. "Pay up, Firebug!"

Mairead leaped onto her chair. "Cheater!"

Goonie Bear scoffed. "Don't you poke the Goonie Bear! I won fair and square. Pay up, pipsqueak."

He reached across the table for her poker chips. Mairead roared and lunged at him, punching madly—clearly a case of poking the bear. The table overturned. Chips, cards, and bottles of grog spilled everywhere. More soldiers hurled themselves into the fight, and the punches and kicks were flying.

Ramses shook his head in disgust. He stepped away from the fray and approached a porthole. As the others battled behind him, he gazed outside.

The Atlantic Ocean now faced him, glimmering blue and draped with gentle clouds. Debris from the recent battle against the Rattlers still floated below, but it did little to mar the view.

We should leave the debris, Ramses thought. Mementos of how we fought for this planet.

They had suffered heavy losses. But still, hundreds of human starships were orbiting alongside the Jerusalem. Warships. Freighters. Tankers. Only skeleton crews now manned them, protecting the planet.

Ramses picked up his comm. "Leona, how are things going down there? Busy catching a tan and sipping cocktails while we languish up here?"

As he waited for her reply, Ramses remembered the night he had spent with Leona. She had come into his cabin nearly a year ago. She had removed her uniform, remaining naked before him, her long dark hair cascading over her breasts. They had made love. That night was a sweet memory to Ramses. A night that never recurred.

Of course not. She was the daughter of the admiral. She was the Iron Lioness. Ramses was not a humble man. He liked to boast of his heritage, claiming to be descended of the great pharaohs. He liked to flaunt his good looks and shiny insignia. But deep down, he knew that Leona outranked him, that history would forever remember her legend, that her sun would always eclipse his star.

We were both lonely that night, he thought. We were both afraid. But I miss it. It was the best night of my life.

He shoved the thoughts aside. Silliness. Those were the thoughts of a lovesick boy. Ramses was a man in his thirties. An officer on the eve of becoming a colonel. He could not focus on the memory of Leona's sweet lips, soft hair, and—

Enough.

Ramses shook his head wildly. As Mairead and the others still fought behind him, he hit his comm again.

"Leona, you there?" he said. "How are things down on Earth?"

Still no reply came.

Ramses frowned.

He left the porthole and marched across the galley, shoving the bickering soldiers aside. He raced onto the bridge and checked his controls.

"Nothing," he muttered. "No data coming in. Not even from the debris outside." His eyes widened. "Something is jamming us."

"Yo, Pharaoh!" Mairead shouted from the galley. "You running from the game, man? Get your ass back here. I'm dealing."

Ramses ignored her. He stepped toward a viewport, a monitor attached to a camera on the Jerusalem's hull. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just empty space.

No debris from the battle.

Iciness filled him.

He ran toward another porthole, one that gazed away from Earth, and stared outside.

And he saw it there.

The true, unaltered image from space.

Debris from the battle floated outside, and beyond—an enemy fleet.

"Enemy incoming!" he howled. "All soldiers, battle stations! Red alert!"

To their credit, his soldiers moved fast. Even bruised and groggy, the Inheritors were at their stations within seconds. Their eyes hardened. They were ready to fight.

"What's going on?" Mairead asked, manning a gunnery station.

"The bastards were jamming our sensors," Ramses said. "Our comms, our viewports—they froze them all. Only our portholes, which look directly into space, showed them."

Mairead cursed. She leaned over, glanced out a porthole, then looked at Ramses.

"Damn it. There must be hundreds of Rattlers there." She frowned. "Why aren't they attacking yet?"

Ramses ran from porthole to porthole. Cursing, he leaped off the bridge and banged open cabin door after cabin door, staring through more portholes, forming a picture of the enemy positions outside. Mairead ran at his heel.

"Pharaoh, what's going on?" she cried.

He reached the stern of the ship, approached the last porthole, and stared at the enemy.

More flew there. Thousands of them. Only a few kilometers away, orbiting Earth.

Constricting us, he thought.

"This isn't an attack formation," Ramses said. "They don't want to attack us, not after how badly we hurt them last time." He pounded his fist against a bulkhead. "This is a blockade."

Mairead tilted her head. "What, like, an embargo or something? To stop us from flying away?" She laughed. "Why would we leave Earth?"

"We wouldn't," Ramses said. "But millions of us are still out there among the stars. Refugees and survivors. They need to come home. And the basilisks are going to keep them out."

"Muck!" Mairead spat right on the deck. "And what of the thousands of us already down on the planet?"

Icy claws gripped Ramses's heart.

"The planet," he whispered. "If the basilisks have been jamming our comms …"

He ran.

He raced down the corridor, burst into a cabin facing Earth, and stared out the porthole. The Jerusalem was orbiting over North America now, but the colony was too small to see with the naked eye. Cursing, Ramses ran again, bounded down the corridor, and crashed into his personal cabin. He grabbed an antique telescope—a family heirloom given to him by his father. He pressed the lens against the porthole and stared down at the continent.

His heart shattered.

"They're attacking," Ramses said. "The bastards are attacking Port Addison. Thousands of basilisks. And we didn't know."

Mairead gripped his arm. "Come on. Let's get down there in our Firebirds and carpet bomb the slithering sons of bitches."

They burst into the Jerusalem's hangar. They had seven Firebirds there—and only five pilots. Ramses hopped into one bird, Mairead into another. Three other pilots joined them—still drunk on beer, still bruised after their poker brawl.

Five Firebirds fired up their engines.

They roared out into space, leaving trails of fire.

From a few other warships, more Firebirds emerged. They too had seen the enemy.

As Ramses flew in his starfighter, he tried his comm again. The damn thing was still dead.

Muck these bastards! he thought. I miss fighting dumb scorpions.

He tilted his Firebird and stared at the enemy. They were still there. Thousands of long, scaly warships. New Rattlers kept emerging from warped space, arranging themselves in formation. The basilisk fleet was forming a perfect blockade around Earth. The human fleet seemed tiny beside them.

They could blow us out of the sky, Ramses thought. But they don't need to. Not if they can suffocate us.

That was, after all, how basilisks fought on the battlefield. They didn't have venom like scorpions. They rarely carried weapons. They wrapped around their prey and crushed them. It seemed their fleet fought the same way.

A Firebird streaked by, blocking his view. Mairead waved from her cockpit, then pointed down at Earth.

Ready? she mouthed.

Ramses glanced at his Firebird's displays. They were dead. He could fly the starfighter but not use its comm systems. He couldn't even talk to his fellow pilots, let alone the colony below. The Firebirds would have to fight deaf and mute.

He looked back at Mairead, gave her a thumbs up, then pointed down at Earth. She nodded.

Ramses tilted his Firebird and dived toward the planet. Mairead and the other Firebird pilots followed.

For now, they would have to leave their warships behind, hoping the skeleton crews aboard could keep them afloat. Ramses hated leaving the fleet with thousands of Rattlers so near, but the colonists needed him more.

The Firebirds plunged into the atmosphere, ionizing the air. They plunged down in cloaks of fire.

And from below, the enemy rose to meet them.

"Copperheads!" Ramses shouted the warning—as if his fellow pilots could hear him.

The basilisks had their own starfighters. Ramses had fought them before, had even flown a stolen one. The Copperheads were even smaller than Firebirds, just large enough to allow a basilisk to slither inside. They reminded Ramses of discarded snake skins: cylindrical and covered with metal scales.

But despite their humble appearance, these were deadly fighters, and they blasted lasers at the incoming Firebirds.

A beam slammed into a Firebird beside Ramses.

The starfighter exploded.

Goonie Bear's burnt body tumbled through the air.

Ramses stared. His heart broke. He had known Goonie for years. Had fought with him, drunk with him, dreamed of Earth with him. Now Goonie was dead. And Ramses had to keep fighting.

He fired his machine guns. Bullets pounded a Copperhead, chipping scales, barely slowing the vessel. Ramses sneered and fired a missile, and the Copperhead exploded in a cloud of metal scales. A basilisk inside burned.

Around him, his Firebirds were swerving through the sky, battling the Copperheads. The heavy warships were invisible above. Down here in the blue sky was the starfighters' domain.

Bullets, missiles, and lasers filled the sky of Earth.

Another Firebird exploded.

Another.

Ramses cursed.

"Get to the colony!" he shouted, but nobody could hear him. He fired in a fury, releasing missile after missile. They had brought many Firebirds from their fleet, but the Copperheads outnumbered them. Explosions bloomed across the sky like blood in water.

What were these damn Copperheads doing here? Ramses had arrived on Earth with Leona nearly a year ago. Since then, the basilisks had regularly attacked the colony from the ground. They had never launched an aerial assault before.

It's another poker game, he realized. And they're going all in.

He barrel rolled, dodging a laser beam, and fired a missile. A Copperhead exploded. Three more swooped from above, and Ramses swerved, soared, and pounded them with bullets. A laser grazed his Firebird's wing, and he cursed, spinning madly, spraying bullets. Mairead swooped in to help, hammering the enemy with her bullets.

These Copperheads had come from the planet. They had been hiding on Earth.

Why haven't they bombed the colony from the air? Ramses thought. If they had Copperheads on Earth all this time …

He understood.

Of course.

Leona had installed artillery batteries in Port Addison. They were mainly there to pound basilisk strongholds in the mountains, but they could fire into the sky too.

The Copperheads fear them.

"Get to the colony!" Ramses cried. "Don't even fight them—full speed to Port Addison!"

The other pilots couldn't hear. Of course not. They were still engaging the enemy. Ramses cursed and punched his canopy in frustration.

He couldn't talk to them, so he'd set an example.

He sneered, fired two missiles, and took out a Copperhead. He swerved, dodging a laser beam, then shoved down the throttle. His Firebird roared forth on afterburner, shoving Ramses back into his seat. Around him, they would hear the sonic boom.

He dived. The enemy followed.

More lasers fired. A blast clipped his wing. Another blast shattered the canopy, and wind and glass slammed into Ramses's cockpit. He screamed.

He couldn't breathe. He kept dropping in altitude. He glanced behind him, saw the others following, both Copperheads and Firebirds. Mairead rose toward the sun, then swooped, raining missiles on the enemy. Copperheads tore open and tumbled toward the prairies.

Ramses was suffocating, close to passing out. The air was thin up here, and his oxygen mask had shattered with the canopy. He descended so rapidly his head spun. He gritted his teeth, desperate to cling to consciousness. Laser blasts flew around him, and Ramses zigzagged and rolled. He was going blind. The G force pounded into him.

He swooped a bit too quickly.

The world went black.

He came to, realizing he had lost consciousness for a few seconds. His Firebird was free-falling toward the prairies.

He shouted.

No. No! I cannot die before seeing the pyramids. Before saving the others. I will live!

He gripped the yoke. He placed his boots against his cracked dashboard and pulled on the yoke with all his strength.

His Firebird's nose rose.

The starfighter leveled off.

He kept flying, glided down to comfortable altitude, and gulped down air. Beautiful, breathable air.

He looked around him. The Copperheads were off his tail for now; they must have left him for dead. But they were still battling the Firebirds that remained.

Ramses stared ahead. The colony was there—just beyond the horizon.

He stormed forth, and the others followed.

More lasers blasted. Another Firebird fell.

And he saw it ahead. Port Addison.

The other Firebirds seemed to understand. They had stopped engaging the enemy and were flying toward Port Addison at top speed.

Within seconds, they had crossed the mountains and were flying over the colony.

Ramses tilted the Firebird, staring down in horror.

Countless basilisks were assaulting the colony. They covered the fields. They had consumed the crops. They overran the walls of the settlement. A hundred or more had already broken in, and the colonists were fighting in the streets.

But the wooden towers still stood. The flags still flew. Humanity had not fallen.

Ramses roared over the colony in his charred, battered Firebird. The other starfighters followed. The Copperheads pursued them through the sky, lasers blazing.

And the guns of Port Addison fired.

The cannons hadn't done much to deter this invasion. They could not aim at the grasslands directly below the walls, where the basilisks were attacking. But now the guns had targets in the air.

The shells flew skyward at hypersonic speed, so fast Ramses saw the Copperheads explode around him before he heard the booms.

The Firebirds shot over the colony and swerved, circling the valley.

The cannons fired again.

More Copperheads shattered.

Explosion after explosion rocked the sky. Shrapnel flew everywhere. Copperheads fell around him.

Ramses clenched his jaw. His Firebird was wobbly. His wing was damaged. His canopy had shattered. But he gripped his controls, descending closer to the valley, and released his payload of bombs.

The explosives slammed into the hordes of basilisks swarming across the fields.

He felt an instant of guilt—he was about to slaughter hundreds of lifeforms.

The guilt vanished when he saw humans lying dead inside the walls. When he thought of his friends who had died fighting these beasts.

The bombs hit the valley and exploded.

Fire blazed. Dirt flew skyward. Chunks of basilisks flew every which way.

Mairead shot by him, releasing her own bombs.

More snakes died below.

As the colony's cannons kept firing, taking out the basilisk starfighters, the Firebirds kept bombing the valley. The fire spread across the landscape, consuming the scaly swarm.

By the tenth round of bombing, when their munitions were nearly gone, the surviving basilisks turned to flee.

Ramses breathed out in relief. He watched the valley clear of snakes, leaving desolation and piles of corpses. He descended toward the field, preparing to land outside the colony walls.

A fallen Copperhead, lying in smoldering heap below, raised its scaly prow.

Ramses cursed and tried to serve in time.

He was too slow.

The grounded Copperhead fired its laser cannon.

Ramses shouted and hit the eject button.

He flew from the cockpit just as his Firebird exploded.

More lasers burst around him.

Ramses tumbled through the air, drew his pistol, and fired. His bullets slammed into the Copperhead below, shattering its cannon. The laser beams died.

Ramses shut his eyes, limbs shaking, and released his parachute. He glided toward Port Addison.

He landed in the town square between refugee tents and granaries. Some basilisks were still fighting here—those who had climbed over the wall. Inheritors were firing on them, and Ramses added his bullets to theirs.

With the sky and countryside back in human hands, the tide shifted. The basilisks in the colony tried to flee, but they were trapped within the walls they had worked so hard to scale. The Inheritors moved between them, slaying them one by one until they all lay dead.

The battle was over.

Panting, Ramses limped across the camp. Wounded and dead humans lay everywhere.

He found Emet among the survivors. The Old Lion was covered in blood—some of it snake blood, much of it his own. A gash bled on his forehead, others across his body. Several officers stood around him, rifles in hand.

"Admiral!" Ramses tried to run, winced, and limped closer. He didn't even remember wounding his leg.

Emet pushed his way through the crowd toward him. He gripped Ramses with his large, callused hands.

"Pharaoh, thank Ra you're here," Emet said. "You and your Firebirds saved our asses."

Ramses looked up at the sky, then back at Emet. "Sir, our asses are still on the line." He panted, struggled to catch his breath, and spoke again. "There are thousands of basilisk warships up there, sir. They're jamming our signals, and they're armed to the teeth. Sir—they have Earth surrounded."

CHAPTER TWELVE

Rowan walked through the devastation of Port Addison, her pistol hanging limply from her hand, tears on her cheeks.

So many dead.

The Firebirds had come. The Firebirds had sent the enemy fleeing. Some scattered cheers rose across the settlement, praising the brave pilots. Men were already offering to buy Ramses and Mairead drinks.

"Hail the heroes!" cried a man, raising a mug of ale. "Port Addison is saved!"

But Rowan did not celebrate. Few people did.

She walked over puddles of blood. Between corpses. Around crushed tents. And she saw not victory but terror.

A dead mother and child lay under an oak, bodies crushed. Warriors lay fallen by a wall, entwined with dead basilisks. Refugees peered from tents, eyes haunted, too large in their gaunt faces. In those eyes, Rowan saw the shadows of the gulocks.

"Mama," whispered a dying soldier as medics tried to soothe him. The man's body was crushed. Rowan doubted he would survive the day. "Mama, help me. I want to go home."

A sob fled Rowan's lips. She had slain basilisks in the battle. She had lost count of how many she had killed. But right now, she did not feel like a heroine. She ran, tears on her cheeks, before collapsing behind a hut. She lowered her head and trembled, heaving.

"Row? Row! You all right?"

Bay hurried toward her. He had suffered wounds in the battle, and a bandage wrapped around his thigh. His uniform was splashed with blood, both human and alien. More blood caked his dark blond hair and beard.

Rowan looked at him. At her Bay. The drunk, drugged-out vagrant who had become an officer, become her hero. Now bruised, bloodied, standing on a battlefield.

"I never imagined it like this," Rowan said. "I know. Emet always told us we'd have to fight for Earth every day. We knew the basilisks were here. That it wouldn't be easy. That we'd have to rebuild Earth with our blood, sweat, and tears. But damn it, Bay." A tear flowed. "I wanted at least a day. At least one mucking day before the bastards attacked. One day with you here. On Earth. Happy. In love. But the damn basilisks couldn't even give us that, could they?"

Bay stepped closer to her. He embraced her, his real arm warm, his prosthetic hard and comforting.

"I love you, Rowan." He kissed the top of her head. "Peace or war, I love you. I know that can't fix this. I know it can't bring back the fallen. I know it can't make you feel better right now. But for what it's worth, I love you."

She sighed and leaned her head against his chest. "It makes me feel better." She wiped her eyes. "Bay, is this all worth it?"

He frowned. "Of course it is. Fighting for Earth? Always."

"Sometimes I wish I were back in Paradise Lost. Hiding in the ducts. Escaping into movies and books." She took a deep breath and looked at the devastation around her. "But I'm where I have to be. I know that. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. This world might not be the paradise I imagined. It's dangerous. The very ground is soaked with blood and tears, and so much more of both will still spill. But this is our world. This is our soil. If Earth were a desolate rock where no blade of grass grew, where the air was filled with poison, where the sky was nothing but smog, it would still be my world. And I would love it dearly. Earth is the most precious place in the cosmos. And it's beautiful." She nodded, wiping her eyes. "It's beautiful."

"Yo! Kids!" Mairead came running toward them, beckoning.

"I'm the same age as you, you know!" Bay cried out.

The Firebug nodded, her red hair flouncing. "And I'm just a kid. Get your asses over to town square! The Old Lion has called a colony-wide assembly. Come on, move it!"

They ran through the smoldering camp, leaping over dead basilisks and dead humans as ash rained from the sky.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The corpses were still smoldering across the colony. The enemy was orbiting the planet. The crops had been destroyed. Outside in the forests, the basilisks were regrouping.

I've been on Earth for only a day, Emet thought. And already this dream is dying. I must not let it die!

He stepped onto the boulder and stood above the crowd. The colonists gathered around them. Seventeen thousand humans. Warriors. Refugees. They covered the square and unpaved streets. They all fell silent, listening.

Emet raised his microphone, and the speakers at his feet thrummed.

"People of Earth!" Emet said. "I see fear in your eyes. I see despair. I see pain. But I see courage too! I see honor! I see pride! This is our world. We will defend it. The enemy cannot break us."

Backs straightened. Chins rose. Good. Emet was scared. But he kept the fear buried. These people knew enough fear already. They needed to see strength.

He continued.

"We repelled one attack. But the enemy will be back. We will prepare. We must grow our numbers! There are several million humans still stranded in exile. We must bring them home. Here on Earth, we will build more than this town. We will rebuild our ancient civilization. The road will be long. It will take years, even generations. But we will face the challenges with squared shoulders, with determination and ambition, with courage. We fight on our ancestral soil. We are home!"

"We are home!" they cried.

Some fists rose. Some voices cried out in pride. But others were still afraid.

"They say a thousand basilisk starships surround Earth!" a man cried.

"Millions of the snakes are in the forests!" said another.

"How can we bring the rest of our people home?" said another. "They will kill us all."

Again fear was spreading through the camp. People wailed, prayed, wept.

Emet raised his hands. "Hear me, friends! We all know fear. We were all born in space. We were born to refugees, themselves the children of refugees. For eighty generations, we struggled in exile. Hated. Hunted. But our generation dared to dream! Our generation found Earth! We will keep the dream alive. The millions who perished in the gulocks impress on us this holy duty. Their deaths will not have been in vain. I promise you, my friends. Earth will never fall again!"

He looked at the crowd. Not everyone was convinced. Some were still trembling.

But some still dared to hope. Leona and Bay—his dear children. Tom, Ramses, Mairead—his trusted officers. Rowan—a woman who had become like a daughter to him. They stared at him steadily. They would never back down.

And many others too. Thousands of them. Refugees who had spent their lives hiding, cowering. Who stood tall on their home soil. They were thin, scarred, haunted. But Emet could think of no better fighters in the galaxy.

"We have much to do," Emet said. "To build. To defend. To plan and execute. But there is one step we must take first." He took a deep breath. "For thirty-three years, I led the Heirs of Earth. You followed me. You fought for me. But the Heirs of Earth was an army of refugees. Today we are home. Today we will form a new government—a government of Earth. A democratic government. With a leader you choose." His voice softened. "If you choose me, I will accept the honor. I will lead you like I did in space. And if you choose another, I will step aside and serve. Today we won a great battle. A historic battle. And as the killing fields still smolder, we will hold a historic election. Let all our voices be heard."

As they buried the dead, as guards manned the walls and Firebirds patrolled the sky, Earth held its first election in two thousand years.

A few others stepped forth, nominating themselves. Some had commanded smaller rebel groups, were experienced leaders. Others were simply ambitious or power-hungry or bold. The colony had no way to properly count votes; there was no time to prepare ballots. Each nominee stepped onto the boulder in turn, and the crowd cheered for those they favored.

Some nominees got barely a sound. Others drew cheers from hundreds.

When Emet finally stepped onto the boulder, the cheers shook the camp. Thousands cried out his name. Later, Rowan would joke that the basilisks heard the crowd in space.

"Emet! Emet! The Old Lion!"

Leona sidled up to him, swinging on crutches, her leg in a cast. She spoke in a low voice for only his ears.

"Oh, you knew they'd choose you, Dad."

He raised his eyebrows. "I had no idea. They could have chosen Jon Harris."

She scoffed. "Jon Harris is most famous for once devouring eight battle rations in one sitting. You led humanity through the Galactic War."

"Well, I didn't want to brag." Emet smiled. "Leona, this was an important step. We came to Earth to build a civilization. Democracy is the foundation of a moral civilization. We now have the mandate we need. And it's time to get to work."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

As the corpses still smoldered outside, Emet and his lieutenants met in the mead hall.

It was the largest building in Port Addison, comprised of a single long room. The walls were built from great oak timbers. The roof was thatched. Straw covered the floor. The only stone structure here was the great hearth, where a fire crackled, filling the room with light and heat. Candles burned on antler chandeliers, adding their glow.

A trestle table dominated the room, carved from maple. Mugs topped the table, filled with mead. A roasted wild boar lay in the center, their evening meal. Instead of chairs, crude logs formed benches.

But Emet did not sit. He stood at the head of the table, looking at the others. None of them were eating or drinking. They all looked back, eyes somber. As Emet stood in the firelight, he felt like some ancient Viking chieftain, about to order his warriors into battle.

Here before him were warriors as brave as any from history. Here were his closest companions. His officers. His family. The salt of the earth.

A boom sounded outside. The walls shuddered. The cannons were firing every few moments now, scaring off basilisks who kept creeping toward the walls. Emet could hear the beasts shrieking in the distance. Gunfire rattled, and the shrieks died. But Emet knew another basilisk assault would come, probably within moments.

He spoke to his officers.

"From this moment onward, the Heirs of Earth are no more. We are now soldiers in the Human Defense Force. The HDF was the proud military of Earth before our exile. It rises again. We will keep our uniforms, but we will bear new ranks. We will emulate the structure of the Human Defense Force. Commodores will become colonels. Admirals will become generals. In the old days, the Human Defense Force was a single military that fought across land, sea, air, and space. It will be so again. Your minicoms contain information on your new ranks and units. As more refugees join us on Earth, they will bring with them their own militias. They too will integrate into the HDF. This is an army for all humanity. We are no longer rebels or refugees. We are soldiers of Earth."

Their eyes all shone. Everyone here had heard of the legendary Human Defense Force, the army the Golden Lioness had led. Everyone stood a little taller.

But Emet now had to deflate them.

"Our situation is dire," he said. "The basilisk armada surrounds our world. Millions of the aliens fill our forests and mountains. Millions of humans still languish in exile, their passage home blocked. We ignited a light of hope on Earth. Yet now the basilisks threaten to extinguish it."

Mairead McQueen, the wild pilot with flaming red hair, leaped to her feet. "So we'll kill the bastards! Every last one of them. We'll blow 'em up! I love blowing things up. Especially aliens."

Ramses tugged her back to her seat. "Sit down, Firebug. Let the Old Lion speak."

Emet struggled to suppress a smile.

They're brave and eager, he thought. Good.

"Friends!" he said. "A year ago, the Galactic War ended. It was a cruel war. The bloodiest war in history. Many planets burned. Billions of aliens perished. During that war, the scorpion tyrants murdered five million of us. They butchered our brothers and sisters, our parents and children, in their dreaded gulocks. We defeated them. But when the war ended, we found a smoldering galaxy."

"Good," Mairead said. "Let the whole damn galaxy burn."

Emet ignored her. "Many empires collapsed during the war. The old order is gone. The Hierarchy once ruled millions of planets. Those planets are now lawless. The great Aelonian civilization once ruled a quarter of the galaxy. But their fleets are a fraction of their previous size now; most of their empire is gone. The galaxy is in chaos."

"What do we care?" Now it was Bay who spoke. The young man rose to his feet, face flushed. "That's no longer our problem. I only care about Earth."

Mutters of agreement rose across the hall. Officers nodded.

"Bay is right!" said a grizzled general.

"Let the rest of the galaxy go to hell," muttered another man.

Emet pounded the tabletop. "Hear me! This state of chaos will not last forever. The surviving civilizations are assembling into a great alliance, one they call the Galactic Order. A year from today, they plan to redraw the map of the Milky Way. They will assign every star, all the billions of them, to a civilization that will rule it. Sol—our star—is up for grabs. And the basilisks will try to claim it."

"Let 'em try!" Mairead said. "I don't care what some sissy diplomats say. Earth is ours! We earned it. With our sweat. Our tears. Our blood!"

Emet spun toward the Firebug. "Try defending Earth when the entire Galactic Order descends upon us. The war for Earth will be fought with guns, yes. But also with diplomacy. We must convince the galaxy that we humans own Earth. We must gain independence from the Basilisk Empire. We have a year. If we fail—our species will be exterminated."

Now they were all silent. They all stared back at Emet, fear in their eyes.

Again basilisk shrieks sounded in the distance. Again the guards on the wall fired their guns. Again cannons boomed. It was a moment before this new assault was repelled.

The basilisks will keep chipping away at us, Emet thought. They won't rest until we or they are all dead.

Emet spoke again, more softly this time. "This chaos provides an opportunity. The basilisks are afraid. They sided with the scorpions during the Galactic War. The scorpions lost. The basilisks were forced to surrender. For this failure, their old emperor was overthrown, tossing them deeper into upheaval. According to the terms of their surrender, the basilisks cannot take further military action—not even against us humans."

"Bullshit," Bay said. "About a million of those muckers attacked our colony this morning."

"Not their soldiers." Emet said. "Those were wild basilisks. The commoners. The peasants. Do you think we, only a few thousand colonists, could withstand a basilisk army, armored, supported by heavy artillery, and bombarding our settlement from orbit? The basilisk military surrendered to the Concord, Bay. And technically, we humans are a Concord species—or at least, we fought alongside the Concord in the war. The basilisks are still bound by their surrender treaty. They can blockade us. They can fire on ships trying to run the blockade. They can pester us, bleed us. But they can't engage in full-out war."

Bay snorted. "Why the hell would they even care? They're damn snakes. Aliens."

Emet nodded. "Smart ones too. More cautious than the scorpions. A new queen, the cruel Xerka, now rules them. She is careful and cunning. She knows the galaxy is up for grabs. Xerka is ambitious, patient, and hungry. When the maps are redrawn in a year, Xerka hopes to gain many star systems, to form a vast empire, the largest in the Orion Arm. That's why she's holding back now. Why she's blockading us, preventing more humans from landing. She wants to prove to the galaxy that Earth is hers."

Rowan spoke for the first time. "Why the hell does Xerka even care about Earth? It's just one planet in her empire. She rules thousands of planets."

Emet looked into her eyes, and sadness filled him—sadness for the lost innocence he saw in the girl.

"Earth is the planet of humanity, Rowan," he said softly. "The most hated species in the galaxy. The species of homeless wanderers. The species that brought down the Hierarchy, that caused the basilisks to lose the war. That shamed them. Among all her thousands of planets, Earth is most precious to Xerka. She will dedicate herself to ruling Earth—and killing us all."

The words hung in the room. Even with the crackling hearth, a chill settled over the hall. More gunfire sounded. More basilisks screamed, and the ground trembled as a cannon boomed.

Finally Rowan spoke. "So what do we do?"

"We play the game," Emet said. "The maps will be redrawn in a year? We will stake our claim! We will prove to the Galactic Council that we deserve Earth. We must—must—bring more humans home. Based on our estimates, up to seven million human refugees still languish in space. Most are still trapped in refugee camps, others are desperately trying to navigate through space. We must smuggle them through the blockade. We must fill this planet with more humans—with millions of them. We must prove to the Council that we have a civilization here. A culture. An identity. That our claim on Earth is stronger than Xerka's. A year from now, Earth must stand tall as a free world!"

"So we break through the blockade!" Mairead leaped onto the table and raised her fist. "We blow 'em all up!"

"Firebug, sit down." Ramses pulled her off the table before she could knock over the roast boar.

Emet smiled thinly. "Mairead, I appreciate your love of explosives. But bombs won't defeat the basilisk armada. We have a more subtle plan." Emet turned to look at a shadowy corner of the hall. "Leona? Tom? Please rise."

They stood up and stepped into the light. Leona Ben-Ari, the Iron Lioness. Tall and proud. The woman who had led the Corvette Company in the Battle of Terminus, an assault famous across the galaxy. The warrior who had led fleets at Aelonia, the climactic battle of the Scorpion War. Beside her—Tom Shepherd. The Man on the Mountain. The man who had survived a gulock. Who had led rebels in war. Who had found and mentored Ayumi the Weaver. Both of them were famous—not just among humans but aliens as well. All in the galaxy knew their names. The heroes of the war.

"Leona, Tom," Emet said. "Your task will be to leave Earth. To head back to the stars. And to find allies. You must travel world to world, telling the story of Earth. Tell them how we evolved on this planet. How for centuries of exile, we dreamed of coming home. How we suffered. How we are reborn. Tell them that Earth is proud, that Earth will be an ally to all peaceful civilizations. The maps will be redrawn in a year. Make our case."

Emet knew how much leaving Earth would hurt them. How vast and cold space was. How much he was asking of them.

"Emet," Tom said softly. "Are you sure I'm right for this task? I'm soft spoken. I spend most of my time alone in the mountains. I'm only a shepherd. You need a diplomat. Somebody charismatic, handsome, and eloquent."

Leona touched his shoulder. "You are handsome."

Tom smiled grimly. "Maybe to an alien."

Emet stepped closer. He stared into his friend's eyes. "Tom, I don't want to send a salesman. I want to send a hero. Go out there. Tell our story. You are the exemplary human. A man who lost all. Who suffered in the gulock. Who emerged from the inferno strong and wise and still filled with hope. I can think of nobody better to tell our tale. I'm also promoting you, Tom. You're now a colonel in the HDF. The same rank as Leona. You deserve it." He turned toward Leona. "And you, Leona, are famous for your courage. Even aliens who hate humans show you respect. They know you as the Iron Lioness, the heroine of Terminus. They will listen to you."

Tom and Leona both nodded. They raised their chins.

"I will go," Tom said.

"I will too," said Leona.

Emet turned to the other side of the table. Bay and Rowan sat there, both with stuffed cheeks. They swallowed. Big chunks were missing from the roast boar on the table.

"Sorry!" Rowan said. "I couldn't wait."

Bay nodded. "Ra, you guys talk a lot. We were starving."

Emet sighed. "I'm glad you're building up your strength. You're going to need it. I have a task for you two as well."

Rowan wiped gravy off her chin. "Does it involve working the kitchens? Cooking more boar? I'm down for that."

"I call sous chef!" Bay said.

"Enough!" Emet snapped. "Stand up and straighten your uniforms—before I make you latrine cleaners."

Both stood at attention and saluted.

Emet looked at them. He loved them both. Bay was his only son, and Rowan was like a daughter. Both were so young. Bay was only twenty-seven, Rowan only nineteen.

Do I want too much from them? Emet thought. They've already fought for so many years. Can I truly ask them to do this?

But Emet knew the answer. They all needed to fight now—more than ever. They had won a galactic war. But this was a war for Earth. This was their most important struggle, and its outcome would echo across the generations.

"Bay, Rowan," Emet said. "You two will command Operation Exodus. It will be a great mission, perhaps the greatest humanity has undertaken. You must lead out five hundred starships—half our fleet. Sail the cosmic ocean. Find the millions of human refugees still out there. And bring them home!"

The words reverberated through the hall. For a moment, nobody spoke, perhaps overwhelmed by the enormity of the task ahead. They listened to the fire crackling, the wind moaning, the distant rattle of gunfire and calls of basilisks.

Rowan finally spoke. "We accept." She held Bay's hand. "We will bring them home."

Emet nodded. "Good. Because I'm also promoting both of you. You're both now majors in the Human Defense Force."

Rowan's eyes shone, and she saluted.

But Bay cleared his throat, seemingly unimpressed with the promotion. "Just one problem. A tiny, little, weensy problem really. We need to fly out there with, what, five hundred ships, you said? How the hell are we going to break through the basilisk blockade?"

The door of the hall burst open.

A new figure stepped into the room.

She wore robes embroidered with silver runes. White tattoos adorned her dark skin, glowing with ethereal power. Her hair was smooth and white as fresh snow, her eyes lavender. She was a weaver, a mistress of the ancient light. She was their deadliest weapon.

"How do we break through the blockade, you ask?" Coral Amber smiled mysteriously. "Leave that to me."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Rowan had a week to spend on Earth.

A week, that was all. And it would be time to leave.

It was the best week of her life.

The basilisks harassed them every day. The giant serpents crawled over the fields outside the walls, consuming the last of the crops. Groups of them, sometimes only two or three, sometimes a full twenty or more, kept trying to tunnel under or climb over the walls. Humanity's bullets sent them fleeing. Above in the sky, the enemy warships still lurked, a constant sword at everyone's necks.

Yet Rowan had never been happier.

She spent the week toiling in gardens in the sunlight, planting fruit trees, tending to chickens and rabbits, and shooing birds away from vegetable patches. She wore shorts and sandals, and her skin—naturally olive toned—developed a deeper, richer tan. She laughed a lot. She helped Bay and the others build a smithy, a place to make bullets, blades, and farming tools. Sometimes she patrolled the walls, Lullaby in hand, shooting any basilisks that approached. The violence chilled her, but the view was spectacular—ice-capped mountains, flowery glens, and blue skies over green forests.

At night, the nightmares often surfaced, and she was back in the ducts, or fighting the scorpions. But whenever she woke in cold sweat, Bay was always there to soothe her, stroke her hair, and kiss her. She made love to him every night in their tent.

Yes, it was a life of war here on Earth. A life of toil. And every day, along with the pain and fear, her joy overflowed.

And the week ended.

It had been an era of her life. It had lasted but an instant.

It was time to fly back out there. Into the darkness. And to bring home light.

The entire colony came to see the heroes off. The people stood alongside a dirt road, thousands of them. They held out flowers. They prayed. They reached out to touch the heroes, to bless them, to praise them.

Tom and Leona walked at the lead. Him—tall and somber, wrapped in a deep blue cloak, holding a shepherd's crook. Leona—proud and strong, wearing tall boots and a leather vest, her rifle slung across her back, her dark curls spilling out from under a cowboy hat. The hero of the gulocks and the Iron Lioness. Together, they would fly into the depths of space. They would tell Earth's story. And they would return with allies. With hope.

Behind them walked the younger heroes. Bay and Rowan held hands, their chins raised. Bay still wore his brown trousers and blue overcoat, but now they were a uniform of the Human Defense Force. A star shone on each of his shoulders—the insignia of a major. A dark cowboy hat shaded his face. His blond beard had thickened since landing on Earth; he was beginning to look a lot like his father. One of his coat's sleeves was cut off, revealing his mechanical arm of wood and brass.

Rowan still wore her own brown trousers and blue vest, and goggles held back her dark hair. She still kept that hair cut short, just long enough to cover her ears. Her trusted pistol hung at her side, shaped like an ancient flintlock. She still looked like a girl, she thought. But she was not the same girl Bay had found in Paradise Lost three years ago. Her hip was branded now—the mark Emperor Sin Kra had given her. Thin scars marred her limbs, the wounds of her long war. Her heart was harder, her determination stronger.

I'm no Iron Lioness like Leona, she thought. But I'm still strong. I'm like a tardigrade. Tiny and tough.

She squeezed Bay's hand. He smiled down at her. Together, the two of them would lead half the fleet. They would find the humans still stranded in exile.

We will bring them home.

Finally, bringing up the rear, walked Coral Amber. The weaver, the only one in the colony, wore silken white robes embroidered with silver runes. Her hair cascaded like molten moonlight. Her white tattoos shone on her dark skin, sigils of her power. Wisdom filled her lavender eyes. Coral was young, no older than Bay, yet perhaps the most powerful human in the cosmos. It was her power that would get them to the stars.

I don't trust her, Rowan thought. But she's our greatest weapon.

Pain stabbed Rowan, and she winced. Not physical pain. But pain nonetheless. She had seen the glances Coral had been giving Bay all week. Longing, loving glances.

You love him, Coral, Rowan thought. You're older than me. Wiser than me. Far more powerful. And far more beautiful. Your smile is like starlight, while mine is filled with crooked teeth. Your body is graceful curves, while mine is more like a toothpick. But Bay loves me. He is mine. And you cannot have him.

She squeezed Bay's hand a little tighter. Coral seemed to notice and gave a small, mocking smile.

A child broke off from the crowd. The little boy ran toward Rowan and handed her a wildflower.

"For you, Rowan," he said. "Hail to the heroes!"

Others in the crowd stepped forth, handing their own flowers, bracelets, embroidered kerchiefs, little favors of blessing.

"Hail to the heroes! Bless you, children of Earth."

Ahead waited a shuttlecraft and two Firebirds. They would take the heroes up to the fleet. Rowan paused outside the shuttle and turned back toward the crowd.

She gazed at them. Weary people. Most still haunted and broken from the gulocks. They perhaps would never fully heal. Rowan looked at the colony around them. The tall walls they had built. The gardens they had planted. The seed of civilization they had planted here too. Love filled Rowan—for these people, this colony, this world.

I pray to come back soon, Earth. Goodbye.

She waved to the crowd and stepped into the shuttle. The others followed.

Bay sat in the shuttle's cockpit. He hit a few buttons. The engine purred, then stalled. Bay tried again. The engine rumbled, then stalled again. And a third time. Finally a robotic voice emerged from the speakers.

"Seat belts must be buckled before engines may operate."

Bay sighed. "I miss Brooklyn."

Rowan sat beside him and patted his knee. "She's still in our computer systems. We'll find her a new body." She reached across him, grabbed his seatbelt, and snapped it into place. "Take us up there, Bay."

The engine roared.

The shuttle soared.

The two Firebirds flew around them, escorting them away from Earth. Rowan watched Port Addison from above. It became smaller and smaller, soon vanishing into the wilderness.

It's a mere speck, invisible from up here, Rowan thought. Only a few thousand humans living in a tiny town, and the snakes surround us. She raised her eyes and looked up into the sky. The rest of you are out there. I'm going to find you.

They breached the atmosphere, emerging into space.

Rowan saw them ahead.

She gasped and clutched Bay's hand.

"My God," she whispered.

There were thousands.

Thousands of Rattlers.

The long, scaly warships could dwarf any human vessel. They were beasts built for killing. They were arranged nose to tail, forming rings around the Earth, orbiting like a great net.

Or like constricting boas, Rowan thought.

Beneath the basilisks, trapped between Earth and the Rattlers, orbited the human fleet. Fewer than a thousand ships, most barely larger than this shuttle. Against the might of the basilisk armada, the human fleet seemed laughable, a few piranhas facing a swarm of sharks.

"We ain't flying through this blockade anytime soon," Rowan muttered. "Coral, this trick of yours better work."

Coral rose from the backseat, stepped into the cockpit, and stood between Bay and Rowan. Her robes rustled, brushing against Rowan. The weaver smiled mysteriously, and her eyes shone.

"It will work," she said.

For an instant, rage filled Rowan. A strand of Coral's silky hair was brushing her cheek, and Rowan blew it away in frustration.

How dare she stand between Bay and me? How dare she be so pretty?

Silly thoughts. Rowan knew it. She was ashamed of them. She would never speak them. But she kept remembering all those looks Coral had given Bay. All those times she had seen the two conversing behind a tree or in a garden.

And now the weaver placed her hand on Bay's shoulder. She actually touched him!

"Fly the shuttle to our starships, Bay," she said. "I'll open a portal once we're all inside. We'll only have minutes."

And you only have seconds to take your hand off him, Rowan thought, fuming.

But alas—Rowan needed the weaver now. Coral had a new rune. One she claimed could open a portal through spacetime. That would allow human starships to hop from orbit to deep space, bypassing the blockade. Right now, Coral was Earth's only hope.

Even if she filled Rowan with jealousy.

They were gliding toward the human fleet when the shuttle's monitor crackled to life.

A hideous visage appeared there, hissing.

Rowan inhaled sharply. Bay cursed and even Coral seemed shaken.

The monitor showed the interior of a basilisk starship. A serpent was facing them, tongue flicking.

The creature must have been blind. His spiky armored helmet covered his eyes. The jaws thrust out, filled with several rows of teeth. Saliva dripped between the twisting fangs. Unlike other basilisks, which looked more like pythons, this serpent sported a scaly hood like a cobra. Metal plates covered its body, crude and bristly with spikes and hooks.

"Return to your hive, pests," the basilisk hissed. "Return and pray for quick deaths."

Rowan frowned. She stared at the creature. "Who are you? This is our sky. Who dares threaten us above our world?"

The creature turned his head toward her. He had no eyes, but Rowan could feel him staring, even through the monitor. A forked tongue emerged, flicking, dripping venom.

"Ahhh … little Rowan." The creature gave a hissing laugh. "It is you, isn't it? The ape who slew Sin Kra, emperor of scorpions. I was expecting someone pathetic, though not this pathetic. I've coughed up chunks of meat larger than you. To my people, I am known as Prince Naja, son of Xerka, viceroy of Earth and illustrious commander of the basilisk fleet. You may call me master."

Rowan rolled her eyes. "Sort of like Master Splinter?"

Naja hissed. "What is this foul word you speak? I will crush your bones! I will devour your flesh! I will—"

"Very un-Splinterlike, dude," Rowan said. "Listen, Bub. I don't give a damn who you are. This is our sky. Threaten me one more time, and we'll blow your fleet apart. We defeated the scorpions. We can certainly defeat a bunch of snakes with delusions of grandeur."

She hit a button, cutting off the video call.

"You certainly have a way with words." Bay sighed. "That's why Dad gave the diplomatic mission to Tom and Leona."

Rowan stared outside at the fleet, frowning. "No. Threats work on them. They're scared of us."

Bay scoffed. "Scared? Row, their ships outnumber us ten to one. Hell, probably a hundred to one."

"And yet they haven't attacked yet."

"Haven't attacked yet?" Bay looked at her, head tilted. "Are you crazy? What the hell happened last week, then, when about a billion of these muckers swarmed across the colony?"

"That wasn't Naja's fleet attacking," Rowan said. "That was the basilisks on the surface, just the common snakes." She stared at the Rattlers above. "Oh, he's afraid. We scare the shit out of him. That's why the Rattlers are blockading us instead of launching an all-out war."

"Or they might be preparing to launch that war at any moment," Bay said. "Naja might just be waiting for the order from Queen Xerka." He shuddered. "You really reckon he's Xerka's son?"

Rowan shrugged. "Could be. He's larger than the other basilisks. Maybe the nobles have different DNA. Ugly bastard, in any case. The way that helmet hides everything but the jaws." She shuddered too.

"If he's the damn prince, the basilisks are taking this war very seriously," Bay said. "As soon as Mommy gives him the okay, Junior will attack. And he must have thousands—if not millions—of basilisks in those Rattlers. Soldiers. Tougher buggers than the peasants we killed."

Rowan winced. "We better hurry with Operation Exodus. We need more human fighters!"

Tom and Leona, who had been sitting in the back, stepped into the crowded cockpit.

"And we need more allies," Leona said. "We can't win this war alone. We need friends from other species. Tom and I better hurry too. From what I heard, that Naja is damn hungry for human."

"Hungry for Human," Rowan said. "That would make a killer band name." She nodded. "Hurry it is."

Bay piloted the shuttle toward the HDFS Cagayan de Oro, a small and speedy corvette. They were to drop Leona and Tom on that ship; the pair would fly it on their diplomatic mission to the Galactic Council. Bay and Rowan would then dock in the HDFS Byzantium, a heavy tanker refitted into a frigate-class warship. The mighty Byzantium, among the most powerful warships humanity owned, would lead the Exodus Fleet.

Their two Firebirds escorted the shuttle toward the larger ships, flying close.

All these ships, of course, had once been prefixed with ISS: Inheritor Starship. They now proudly bore the HDFS prefix. Human Defense Force Ships. Not vessels of exile. Warships of Earth.

They were old ships, battered and charred, ships that had seen too many battles. Yet as Rowan gazed at them, her chest swelled with pride.

A basilisk warship moved.

Gun turrets extended.

Rowan started, snapping out of her reverie.

"Watch out!" she shouted and grabbed the yoke from Bay, yawing hard to the left.

Three laser beams fired. The two Firebirds exploded. The third beam grazed the shuttle's hull.

"Reverse, reverse!" Rowan said. "Bay!"

"I'm doing it!" he said, pulling the shuttle back a kilometer.

They hovered in space. Rowan stared, eyes stinging with fury and grief. The debris of the two Firebirds floated above. She had known those pilots. Had been their friend. Her eyes filled with furious tears.

She reached down, hit the comm, and blasted a signal at the basilisk warship.

"Naja, you son of a bitch!" she shouted.

He did not accept the call. He didn't have to. He had made his point.

Defy the blockade—and die.

"Muck!" Rowan rose from her seat and paced the shuttle. "What the hell do we do now? I know Coral can open a portal. What use is that if we can't even reach our damn starships? Are we to bring millions of humans home inside this shuttle, a vessel barely larger than my ass?"

The others all looked at her. Silent. Lost in their thoughts and grief. They didn't know the answer.

"What?" Rowan said. "Why are you all looking at me?"

Bay shrugged. "You're our leader. You're the dreaded Rowan Emery, after all, the ape who killed the scorpion emperor. You heard Splinter."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't make me splinter your skull." She kept pacing. "All right. Let's go over the plan again. We need actual starships to go on our mission. One for Tom and Leona to fly out and find allies. And a few hundred for Bay and me to collect more refugees. Once we're in the ships, Coral will open a portal for us to fly through, and—"

"Rowan, we know!" Bay said.

"Hush! I'm thinking out loud." Rowan pursed her lips. "But we can't even reach the damn ships. If we inch closer—laser time."

"Rowan, seriously, we know!" Bay said.

She smacked his head. "Let me think! This is how I think." She tapped her chin, then widened her eyes. She wheeled toward Coral. "Hey, Coral! You can open wormholes, right?"

The weaver was sitting primly in her seat, hands folded on her lap. "With great effort, and using all my skill, I can open a gateway to the Empyrean Firmament, the realm of the ancients. We may fly through their domain with great speed and safety, then return to our own existence many light-years away."

"That's what I said! Wormholes." Rowan nodded excitedly. "So if you can open giant wormholes for spaceships to fly through, it should be easy to open tiny little wormholes, right? Like—from inside this shuttle into our starships?"

Coral frowned. "Opening portals is delicate business. Smaller is harder. To contain such energy within this shuttle can be catastrophic. Opening a large wormhole is like taking an axe to a log. Opening a small one would be like performing surgery on an ant. Using the same axe. I cannot guarantee that—"

"Good enough for me!" Rowan said. "That means you can try at least. So—beam us up!"

The weaver tilted her head. "Beam you up?"

Rowan nodded. "That's right, Scotty. Do your magic!"

Coral glanced at the others. "Is Rowan in charge of this mission?"

"Ape Rowan is in charge of everything," Rowan said. She clapped her hands. "Chop chop! Get to ant surgery!"

Rowan didn't miss Bay stifling a smile. It warmed her heart.

You might be beautiful and know magic, Weavy, Rowan thought, looking at Coral. But I can make him laugh.

Coral rose to her feet. She nodded. "I'll try. I might end up blowing us up. Let's put on our spacesuits first—just in case."

They suited up, pulled on their helmets, then crowded at the back of the shuttle, giving Coral space. The weaver sat cross-legged on the floor, closed her eyes, and tilted back her head. For long moments, she took deep breaths.

A glow appeared behind her eyelids.

Her white hair fluttered as if she sat underwater.

Aether, Rowan thought, unable to suppress a shudder. The damn thing helped us win the last war. But it freaks me out.

For long moments, Coral meditated. Runes on her body began to glow.

A circle on the deck glowed too, a sigil the size of a manhole cover.

Coral trembled. Sweat trickled down her forehead, and her breath shook. But she kept meditating.

A second glowing circle appeared, this one on the bulkhead.

Two portals, Rowan realized.

"Hurry," Coral whispered, eyes closed, voice strained. "I can't … keep them open . . . much longer."

"Which portal leads to the Byzantium?" Rowan asked.

Coral was shaking. She gritted her teeth, then groaned in pain. "Hurry!"

Leona grabbed Tom's hand. "One ship's as good as another."

They both leaped through the porthole on the bulkhead. The Iron Lioness and the Shepherd vanished into the light.

Rowan grabbed Bay. "All right, Pancake, the hole on the floor is ours. Time to jump into the sewer. Cowabunga!"

She leaped into the portal, pulling Bay with her.

Rowan had flown through wormholes before, the luminous pathways between the stars, relics of an ancient civilization that had colonized the galaxy a million years ago. Flying through those tunnels was like taking an expressway among the stars. They were wide, well-lit, and fast as hell.

Coral's wormhole was more like a rickety rope bridge over a crocodile-infested river. And the bridge was on fire. And the crocodiles had rabies.

The tunnel was narrow. Its edges flickered like static electricity, brushing against Rowan's spacesuit with showers of sparks. The luminous walls were light, flimsy, fraying around her.

And through the rents, Rowan saw another reality.

She had expected to see Earth's low orbit. But she gazed upon a world of indigo and charcoal swirls. A sky of lavender electricity crackled above. Lighting flared, revealing great beasts moving through nebulae, larger than whales. Smaller shadows hovered, limned with light, angels or demons in the mist.

Consciousness.

Consciousness flowed there. Incorporeal. Staring at her.

Instinctively, Rowan clutched Lullaby.

Static electricity sparked on her gun. She yelped, jerked, and kicked. Her foot tore through the tunnel, and—

The images vanished around her.

Rowan popped back into reality—her reality, her cosmos.

She was floating through space, a hundred meters outside the Byzantium. Bay fell into space behind her. Around them, the little wormhole vanished like the funnel of a dying storm.

We missed the starship.

Rowan looked around her, panting. Below, a few kilometers away, she could make out a glint—the shuttle. Above her hovered the human fleet. Farther out, looming like storm clouds, orbited the basilisk armada.

And the basilisks saw her.

Hatches opened on their warships. Several Copperheads emerged and came flying toward Rowan and Bay.

For an instant, paranoia filled Rowan.

Coral betrayed us. She sent us out into space intentionally! We—

She shoved the thought aside. Ridiculous. She was letting her petty jealousy overtake her senses.

"Incoming!" Rowan shouted, pointing at the Copperheads.

The Copperheads fired their lasers.

Rowan fired Lullaby. But not at the Copperheads. She fired away from them.

The recoil shoved Rowan backward. She knocked into Bay, and they hurled through space.

The lasers flashed by, missing them by mere centimeters.

Below, a laser beam slammed into the shuttle.

The small vessel exploded.

"Coral!" Bay cried.

Rowan allowed herself no more terror. Not even for an instant. She gritted her teeth and fired Lullaby again and again. The recoil propelled her toward the Byzantium. She gripped Bay, pulling him with her. He finally came to his senses and began firing his own gun, giving them more speed.

More lasers flew. The Copperheads came flying toward them.

Rowan and Bay adjusted their aim.

They fired again.

This time, they aimed at the Copperheads.

Their bullets shattered the alien cockpits.

A laser beam sliced through Rowan's arm, cutting through the bone, nearly severing the limb. She screamed.

The Byzantium was joining the fray. A skeleton crew was aboard the frigate, and they opened fire, hammering the remaining Copperheads. An officer opened the airlock and cast out a rope. Rowan screamed again. The pain pulsed through her. Her blood was gushing. Vaguely, she was aware of Bay grabbing her with one hand, the rope with the other, and pulling them into the Byzantium.

The airlock door slammed shut. Rowan fell to the floor, gasping. Her wound sizzled and dripped. She gazed at her arm, then hurriedly looked away. The laser had cut straight through her, carving through the humerus. Thankfully, the Harmonians were already busy flowing through the wound, healing her. But the little guys would need a lot of time to work. And the pain still pulsed through Rowan, and her blood still flowed.

"Is there a medic aboard?" Bay cried. "We need a medic!"

Rowan ignored him. She ignored the pain. She shoved herself up and wobbled toward a comm station. Blood pattered around her feet.

She hit a few buttons, broadcasting her voice on an open signal.

"Enough!" she cried. "Naja—ceasefire! Ceasefire!"

But through the viewport, she saw the Rattlers taking assault formation. The delicate truce, which had lasted for a week, was about to end.

Muck.

Rowan knew the human fleet couldn't win. It was too soon! They hadn't yet found allies, recruited more human fighters. Damn it!

Are we about to be wiped out?

"Rowan, you need medical attention," Bay said. "You—"

The door banged open.

Coral stepped into the room.

"Bay, I need you on the bridge!" the weaver said. "I'm about to open a portal—call the fleet through it!"

Bay and Rowan both spun toward the weaver.

"You're alive!" Bay said.

Shock exploded through Rowan. Relief. Huge relief. Coral had escaped the shuttle! Rowan hated the weaver. She was insanely jealous of everything Coral was. But at that moment, Rowan could have kissed her.

They ran toward the bridge.

They were racing down the corridor when blasts pounded the Byzantium's shields.

Through a porthole, Rowan glimpsed the basilisk fleet opening fire.

A human ship exploded. Another. A third. More blasts hit the Byzantium, rocking the frigate.

They bounded onto the bridge, and Bay grabbed the comm.

"All Exodus Fleet vessels, gather behind the Byzantium!" Bay shouted. "This is Major Bay Ben-Ari. Do not engage the enemy. Follow me!"

Coral walked toward the viewports at the head of the bridge. She closed her eyes, and her hands began to glow.

Another laser beam hit the Byzantium. The frigate rocked. A control panel shattered. Smoke filled the bridge. Rowan cursed, leaped toward the gunnery station, and opened fire. She fought with one hand; the other hung uselessly, covered in blood. Her shells pounded one Rattler, destroying the alien warship. But thousands more flew behind it.

Another human starship exploded.

Rowan fired again and again, taking out another Rattler—a grain of sand in the desert.

"Coral, you better hurry, sweetheart!" Rowan shouted. The Harmonians were glowing in her wound, and the blood flow was easing, giving Rowan more strength. Not that it was helping much now.

Before them, a shimmering portal opened—this one large enough for starships.

Coral was trembling. Tears flowed down her cheeks. Blood dripped from her fingertips.

"Hurry," she whispered.

Bay shoved down the throttle, and the Byzantium roared forth into the portal. They streaked down a tunnel of light. But this was not a solid wormhole like those in the Tree of Light, the great intergalactic highways the ancients had built. The walls were flimsy, mere strands of light, revealing glimpses of the bizarre landscapes beyond.

Behind them, a few other starships were entering the portal.

"Hurry," Coral whispered again. Her legs shook. Her nose was bleeding.

Rowan ran toward the weaver and held her up.

"You can do this, Coral," she whispered. "Just a little longer."

More ships entered the wormhole. A hundred or more. When Rowan glanced at the rear viewport, she saw the entrance of the wormhole collapse, leaving most of the human fleet back in Earth's orbit.

The tunnel walls were fraying.

We're about to spill into the void, Rowan thought.

"You can do this, Coral!" she said, holding the weaver. "I'm with you. Be strong."

Coral would have fallen were Rowan not propping her up. Blood poured now from Coral's ears.

"So much light," Coral whispered. "So many paths. So much pain. Evil. I see evil. Snakes. A snake queen. I can't …"

Ahead, Rowan saw the end of the tunnel. The portal back into the universe.

"Bay, you better fly us fast!" Rowan shouted.

He floored the throttle, leaning into it. He flipped a switch, and a boost of afterburner blazed from their engines. They rocketed forth. A hundred other starships followed.

"I can't …" Coral wept. "I'm falling. I …"

The portal ahead began to fade away.

Rowan screamed.

The Byzantium shot through the luminous opening—back into space.

The other spaceships followed, one by one, popping out from the wormhole. A dozen. Fifty. More. Then—

Coral's eyes rolled back, and she lost consciousness in Rowan's arms.

The portal vanished behind them, swallowing the last few human starships.

Rowan fell to her knees, dropping Coral onto to the deck. The pain in her arm pounded through her. Vaguely, she was aware of the glow in the wound. The Harmonians had closed the hole in her bone, were now weaving muscle and skin back together. But Rowan didn't spare this miracle a second thought.

The basilisks are bombing our fleet back home. Were we wrong to fly out here? We need to return! To defend Earth! But we can't. Coral is unconscious, maybe dying! We have no more portal.

Rowan trembled. Fewer than a hundred ships had made it through the portal. What was happening to those lost in the collapsing wormhole? What of the nine hundred who remained at Earth? Could they reestablish the ceasefire, or when Rowan returned, would she find her homeworld destroyed, the fleet gone and colony burned?

Her head spun. It was not supposed to be this way. Rowan was supposed to fly out here to find hope. To bring humanity home in a great exodus. Instead, she felt lost, alone, and afraid. Hope, that guttering candle, seemed almost entirely gone.

Bay began tending to Coral, soothing and whispering to the unconscious weaver. Rowan left them. She walked toward the viewport and gazed outside.

They were hovering in open space, many light-years away from Earth. A few dozen ships, most battered and broken.

"We must find more humans out here," she whispered. "We must light the fires of hope—and bring the light home."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Emet soared in his Firebird, gripping the joystick, teeth grinding as the G-force shoved against him like a boulder.

Flying a starfighter was a young man's job. It had been years since Emet had piloted one of these small, roaring ships. It rattled madly, rising on a geyser of flame, propelled through the atmosphere at furious speed.

He was flying thirty times the speed of sound. Ten times faster than a bullet. Every second, he soared ten kilometers. And hated each one.

But he had seen it from the ground. Explosions above like falling stars. Debris raining. A battle in orbit.

Emet growled.

I will not let my fleet be destroyed.

His Firebird breached the atmosphere and glided through space. The rattling and fire ended, but his fear only grew.

Above he saw it. The battle.

Most of his fleet was still in orbit. And the basilisks were pounding them. Lasers slammed into warships and freighters. Emet watched as a tanker cracked open, spilling crates across orbit. A cargo hulk burned.

Earth's fleet was perhaps a hundred starships short. Had they managed to escape using Coral's wormhole? Or had the basilisks destroyed them?

Humanity's warships were fighting back hard. They answered lasers with shells and photon bolts. Their fury was devastating, shattering Rattlers above them. Yet with thousands of basilisk warships, and with millions more at Xerka's disposal, it was not a battle Earth could win.

The basilisks had been jamming their signals. But Emet broadcast on the aliens' own frequency.

"Naja—enough!" He flew his Firebird toward the enemy fleet. "This is Emet Ben-Ari, president of Earth. Respect the ceasefire!"

The enemy warships turned toward him.

The battle paused.

The small monitor on his Firebird, no larger than his palm, turned on.

Naja stared at him.

Nausea rose in Emet. If the basilisk viceroy had eyes, his spiky metal helmet covered them. But Emet could swear the creature was staring at him. Naja parted his jaws, revealing rows of fangs, and hissed.

"King Ape." Naja cackled. "Did you come here to grovel?"

Emet slowed his Firebird. He hovered before the Rattler sending the signal—a warship the size of a skyscraper, long and coated in black scales.

"It will be you who grovels once the Galactic Council hears of your aggression," Emet said. "You lost the war! Your scorpion masters were slain, and you surrendered! Your assault on our fleet constitutes a breach of that surrender. Fire another laser, and the wrath of the galaxy will descend upon you."

Naja sneered. Fury twisted his jaws. "Earth still lies within our empire, ape. We have a right to enforce our blockade, and—"

"I saw you fire on ships in orbit!" Emet said. "Ships respecting your blockade."

Naja reared. "Your ships escaped! A hundred or more! Using wretched sorcery, and—"

"And they are gone," Emet said. "And now you fire on humble freighters and tankers."

"We may do as we like. This is our world, ape. You will die too."

The Rattlers inched closer, cannons hot. Emet perhaps had only seconds to live.

"Earth's status is still undetermined, snake," Emet said. "The Galactic Council has not yet voted. They have not yet decided which race is rightful owner of this planet. Your actions against us do not constitute a defense of your territory. Rather, a continuation of the Galactic War—which we humans won! Fire again, by all means. Kill me if you like. Our ships—the ones beyond your blockade—will be glad to report you to the Council." Emet tilted his head and tapped his chin. "I wonder. What will Xerka, your queen, do when an Aelonian fleet arrives here to enforce your surrender treaty? When they destroy your armada?"

For a moment—silence.

Emet was still alive.

That was encouraging.

Naja's lips peeled back, revealing those rows of fangs in his hellish mouth. His saliva dripped.

"You may feel safe now, ape," the basilisk said. "But your days of grace will soon end. Your precious Council will not protect you forever. And once your auspices are withdrawn, this will be your fate!"

Naja slithered aside, revealing the bridge behind him.

Emet leaned forward, gripping his cannon triggers.

"You bastards!" he spat.

The basilisks had captured humans during the battle—perhaps ejected from their shattered starships, perhaps stolen by boarding parties.

They hung from chains behind Naja, dangling above the floor. Juvenile basilisks slithered below, leaping up, and devouring the humans alive. Some humans were already missing legs. One man was consumed halfway up the torso. The prisoners screamed into their gags as the young snakes tore off strips of flesh, guzzled them down, then reared up for more.

Emet knew those people.

He knew their families.

They stared into his eyes, pleading.

Emet's hands trembled around the triggers.

He wanted to fire. To give them a merciful death. To slay Naja and the whole damn lot of them.

By sheer force of will, muscles protesting, he pulled his hands back.

Naja reappeared on the screen. In his jaws, he held a severed hand. He gulped down the meal.

"Try to break the blockade again, old man," he hissed. "I cannot wait."

The transmission died.

Emet hovered in his Firebird, gazing up at them. At the remains of his fleet. At the enemy warships closing in. Constricting Earth. Waiting to strike.

But my children made it out, Emet thought. And a hundred ships with them. Tell our tale, Leona. Bring us more humans, Bay. Both of you—bring us hope.

He flew back toward Port Addison. The feral basilisks, unbound by galactic treaties, were assaulting the colony again. From the wall, the humans fired their guns. Blood sprayed the land.

The war for Earth continued.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Ninety-three human starships floated through the vastness of space. Dented. Some cracked. Some leaking fuel. They were a light-year from Earth. Inside them flew only a handful of heroes. On their shoulders—the fate of their home.

Leona stood on the bridge of the Byzantium, a mighty frigate, flagship of the Exodus Fleet. She gave Rowan a long, warm embrace.

"Be careful out there, little one." Leona kissed the girl's forehead. "And take care of Bay."

Rowan nodded. "I will. I always do."

Beside them, Bay bristled. "Hey, I can take care of myself, you know."

Rowan scoffed and patted him. "Bay, just this morning, you fell outside our tent and landed face down in the vegetable patch."

"That's because you tied my shoelaces together!"

Rowan grinned and mussed his hair. "And it was hilarious."

Leona stifled a smile. She turned toward her little brother. "Goodbye, Bay."

They embraced for a long time. Leona didn't want to let him go. Her brother had run away at age fourteen, had hidden for a decade before finally coming home. Over the past few years, since Bay had returned into her life, Leona had come to love the young man. He was not as gruff and ruthless as some of the other warriors, perhaps. But there was great strength to him.

"You do know I can take care of myself," Bay said. "Right, sis?"

Leona nodded. "I know. You flew into the path of a missile to save Ayumi. You lost your arm, were willing to lose your life, to save us. You hurled yourself into danger time and time again, facing the alien hordes. You flew into the very heart of the scorpion empire to save Rowan. You are a good man. You are strong, and brave, and capable. At least, when shoelaces aren't foiling you." She grinned and squeezed him. "Goodbye, Bay."

They walked her to the airlock, where they exchanged more hugs—and a few tears. If all went well, they would see each other again in a year. But Leona heard the unspoken words.

The galaxy is full of danger. The basilisks—and many other species—still want us dead. We might never meet again.

Leona dived from the airlock, leaving them behind. Perhaps forever.

With her jetpack, she glided away from the Byzantium and the Exodus Fleet it led. She flew toward her own ship, far smaller and humbler: The HDFS Cagayan de Oro.

Leona's old, beloved Nantucket had fallen in battle on Akraba. But the Cagayan de Oro was as comforting as a childhood home. It was the starship on which Leona had learned how to fly. She had spent countless hours during her youth flying this loyal corvette. She was among the oldest ships still in service, but every scar on her hull was a testament to her strength. Leona thought her the best ship in the cosmos.

"We'll travel the ocean again, my Cagayan de Oro," Leona said softly. "Like in the old days."

She floated into her ship. It always felt like coming home.

Tom had flown into the Cagayan de Oro earlier to calibrate the engines and chart a course. He was waiting in the cockpit, sitting in the copilot's chair. He smiled at Leona. The Man on the Mountain himself, the loner, the survivor—he actually smiled.

"Ready for an adventure, Leona?"

She couldn't help but smile too.

"You like being out here in space, don't you?" she said.

Tom leaned back in his chair. "The colony is beautiful. But it gets … stifling."

Leona couldn't help but laugh. "So the confines of this small ship must be better."

"Fewer people," Tom said. "It's funny. I've spent the past decade of my life fighting for humans. And yet I find it difficult to be around them."

She raised an eyebrow. "I hope I'm at least tolerable."

He smiled at her—and there was true warmth in his smile. "I'm glad to have you here. You're one human I love having close."

She took the yoke and raised the Cagayan de Oro's prow. They began to fly, leaving the rest of the fleet behind. Leona turned around once, and she watched the other ships become smaller and smaller until they were dots of light. Then she took a deep breath and faced forward again. Faced the vast emptiness. Faced a galaxy in chaos.

"We have a year," she said. "It seems so long—an entire year in space! But considering our task, it seems so short. Only a year before the Galactic Council redraws the maps. Before we know who Earth belongs to."

"It will be ours," Tom said. "We'll find the allies we need. We'll share our story. We'll sway them. When it's time to vote, they'll vote for humans."

Leona heaved a sigh. "Tom, I've spent my years in the Heirs of Earth traveling from world to world, seeking humans to save. For a decade, I must have visited … Ra, close to a hundred worlds, I reckon. I've never met an alien who liked humans. We're pests to them."

"That was before the war," Tom said. "Before the scorpions butchered us. And before we rose and defeated them, saving the galaxy. The galaxy saw. The galaxy knows. And if they don't know, we'll tell them. They'll recognize humanity's worth."

But Leona was less hopeful. Tom had traveled the galaxy too during his time as a Peacekeeper. But he had not visited human communities. He had not seen the hatred. Could they truly change hearts and minds? Could aliens who had loathed humans for thousands of years suddenly recognize their homeworld?

We're cockroaches to them, Leona thought. And I must somehow make us look like butterflies.

"So where do we start?" Tom said. "There are a whole lotta species out there."

Leona thought for a moment. "We'll start with species who are friendly. Or at least, less likely to shoot us. Once we can secure their support, we'll move to choppier waters. How about we start with the Menorians?"

"Giant purple octopuses?" Tom nodded. "Sounds good to me. I've always wanted to see the ocean."

"Great. And Aurora is a Menorian. She's an old family friend." Leona grabbed a lever. "Ready for warp speed?"

Tom grimaced. "I'm never ready for the jump. I always feel like it knocks the soul right out of my bones."

"That's what happens when you bend reality around you." Leona shoved the lever down. "Here goes."

In the heart of the Cagayan de Oro, the azoth crystal ignited.

Her father had spent a fortune on the crystal; it cost more than the ship it was installed in. It was no larger than Leona's thumb. But it was precious. Mined on Corpus, a distant moon, azoth could bend spacetime. Azoth, which humanity had discovered over two thousand years ago, made interstellar travel possible.

Possible and—as Leona knew well—quite unpleasant.

Spacetime bent around her, the very fabric of the universe. Reality blurred.

Leona had a cybernetic implant in her skull, able to slow down her perception of time. But this was different. Now time itself twisted and coiled and squeezed her.

She hovered above her body, gazing down at an elderly woman, hair white and skin so frail, a woman in a distant land of golden fields under lavender sunset.

She was a child, running through a starship, playing with her friends.

She was a widow on a beach, grieving over the corpse of her husband.

She was outside the starship, consciousness in the void, expanding to fill the emptiness.

Time and space warped around the ship, finally forming a bubble.

The Cagayan de Oro blasted forth, moving at millions of kilometers per second.

Leona was back in her body, in her seat, rubbing her temples. She had done this jump a thousand times.

But this time the dreams didn't end.

There were basilisks around her.

Leona frowned. She shook her head wildly, struggling to banish the vision. She must be stuck in another time or place, gazing upon a past or future battle. Yet the serpents seemed so real. They slithered toward her, hissing, reaching out claws.

"Leona …" They licked their chops. "Die …"

"Basilisks aboard!" Tom cried, leaping from his seat.

And Leona realized: This was no dream.

Tom drew his weapon first. He fired his rifle, and a basilisk fell, neck spurting blood.

Leona grabbed Arondight, her own rifle.

A basilisk lunged toward her.

She fired.

She tore off the basilisk's head in a shower of red mist.

From the hold, ten more of the creatures crawled toward her.

"How the hell did they get aboard?" Tom shouted, firing again.

"During the assault at Earth!" Leona said. "The buggers must have squeezed through the exhaust pipes."

She fired Arondight again, taking out another serpent. But most of the basilisks made it to her and Tom. Two of the aliens lunged. Leona blasted one full of bullets, but the second slammed into her, shoving her against the yoke. The Cagayan de Oro careened.

The basilisk wrapped around Leona, beginning to constrict her. She yowled, struggling, unable to free herself. The beast pinned her arms—and her rifle—to her sides. Nearby, Tom was writhing in the grip of another basilisk. More of the alien snakes crawled on the ceiling, their saliva dripping to burn Leona's head.

"You are far from the blockade," hissed the creature constricting her. "Far from the petty alliance. Die now … in darkness …"

The beast tightened. Leona's ribs creaked. Tears sprang into her eyes.

Inside the scaly cage, she managed to pull her trigger.

Her bullet grazed her thigh, shattering the cast around her broken leg.

The basilisk screamed too—the bullet burst out from its body with a spray of blood and broken scales.

The beast released her. Ignoring the agony in her leg, she fired again and again. The basilisks shattered around her.

Her bullets tore through the basilisk encasing Tom. He wriggled his way free, drew a blade, and slammed it into a basilisk jaw. The creature pulled back, and Tom aimed his gun and fired twice. His bullets pierced the creature's eyes. Back at the colony, Leona had boasted of being a better shot. She had to admit: she was beginning to doubt that.

A crimson basilisk dangled from the ceiling. Leona raised her rifle to fire, and another basilisk lunged and closed its jaws around her arm. She bellowed, fired upward, and slew the basilisk above. The jaws tightened around her arm. The fangs pierced her flesh. She screamed, unable to free herself. More basilisks were leaping onto Tom, and one wrapped around his rifle.

Leona yowled, spun around, and kicked. Her boot hit the thruster lever. The Cagayan de Oro lurched through space, afterburner blazing.

The rapid acceleration knocked the basilisks off Tom and Leona. They raised their rifles as one. They fired on automatic, bullets tearing holes through the floor, bulkheads, and basilisks. The aliens screeched, dying in the meat grinder. When they tried to rise, Leona kicked the thruster again, knocking them back down.

Another magazine—and it was done.

The creatures lay dead across the deck, a few tails still twitching. Smoke rose from hundreds of holes across the ship. Thankfully, the engine and hull were shielded. Most everything else was shattered.

Leona sank back into her seat.

"Mucking hell," she muttered. "Sneaky buggers."

Tom stood, staring down at the corpses. Wounds bled on his arms. There was a coldness to his eyes. A hard, heartless steel. It unsettled Leona. She had always known Tom to be kind, soft-spoken, a man who loved music and grass and sunshine. Yet now she saw a rawboned killer, death in his eyes.

This is the man who slew countless basilisks as he carried me back to the colony, she thought. This is the man who served in the Peacekeepers Corps, crushing rebellions. Who assaulted a gulock and fought in the pits of its hell. There are two Tom Shepherds. One whom I love. Another who scares me.

"Tom," she said softly. "Tom, let me tend to your wounds. Tom. Do you hear me?"

He looked up at her, and his eyes refocused. He suddenly seemed startled, as if he had been in another reality.

He nodded. "Yes. I'm fine. We should do a sweep of the lower decks, make sure no other basilisks made it aboard. We—"

Below, among the corpses, one of the serpents moved.

Both Tom and Leona raised their rifles.

The basilisk's body was ripped open. And Leona saw machinery inside. Cables. A ticking mechanism. Soft pods filled with powder.

Her eyes widened.

He's loaded with explosives.

The dying basilisk glared at the two humans.

"The mighty Ssstchkssshs race will rise," the creature hissed. "The goddess Xerka will rule the galaxy. Humanity will perish!"

A spark ignited inside him.

"No—" Tom began, leaping onto the basilisk.

Leona activated her time twister.

The implant flared inside her skull, searing her.

Around her, time slowed, nearly stopping entirely.

The pain was impossible. Hammers pounded in her skull. The implant, which changed her perception of time, thrummed and overheated, nearly cracking. Leona cranked it up to its maximum capacity.

She used the implant rarely—to dodge bullets or blades. What use was it here?

She looked around her, trying to focus through the pain. Tom was leaping through the air, arms outstretched, about to flatten himself on the basilisk. He seemed to hang in the cabin. Inside the snake, the explosives had begun to detonate. The first seeds of fire and shrapnel were already flaring out, ripping through the alien, about to rip into Tom—and then the rest of the ship.

Tom was trying to sacrifice himself. But Leona knew it wouldn't be enough.

She screamed as the pain twisted her head.

What do I do? How do I stop this?

The explosion kept rippling outward. She could see the shock wave in the air. The shrapnel was flying closer, moving at supersonic speed. To her, it seemed like slow motion.

I need to drag the snake out the airlock!

But it was too late.

The explosion was progressing.

The first bits of shrapnel grazed Tom's chest.

Leona couldn't delay. She perceived herself moving at normal speed. To Tom, she would appear to be moving like lightning. She grabbed him and yanked him away from the explosion, saving him by a split second.

More shrapnel flew toward them. Fire raged.

She had to flee the bridge! She would never make it. Damn it.

The shrapnel kept advancing. Leona ducked, dodging a piece of metal. Another bolt flew toward Tom's head. Leona pulled his head, and the metal sliced through his hair.

Another piece of shrapnel.

Leona pulled Tom aside, saving his arm.

Another piece.

She leaped, saving her foot.

Ten more pieces of shrapnel flew toward them like bullets.

Leona winced and twisted her body, pulling Tom with her, trying to dodge as many shards as she could.

She managed to escape most, to protect their heads and torsos.

One shard, a metal sliver no larger than a grain of rice, sliced through Tom's thigh. Another piece sank into Leona's shoulder, and she yowled.

A thousand more shards came flying toward them, rippling the air.

The entire starship was about to crack open.

Leona gritted her teeth. Her control was slipping. Her time twister was about to shatter.

She roared. And she ran the gauntlet.

Pulling Tom with her, she leaped, dodged, swayed around the shrapnel. She kept adjusting Tom's body. She ripped the metal lid off a dashboard and swung it like a shield, diverting more pieces of shrapnel.

A few pieces hit them, searing with agony, and their blood sprayed in slow motion. Each piece was tiny, much smaller than bullets, but moving with such speed that it ripped through skin and muscle.

Bleeding but still alive, they made it off the bridge.

As she was running through the hold, she heard the bridge break open behind them. Heard the air whooshing out into open space.

Her skull was about to crack.

Fire was roaring toward her like a tidal wave.

She reached the airlock. She grabbed two spacesuits, pulled one on, pulled Tom into the other.

The fire filled the Cagayan de Oro's hold. The hull tore.

The entire ship was coming apart.

Screaming, Leona leaped out of the airlock, pulling Tom with her.

She ignited her jetpack and roared into the distance, releasing her time twister.

Normal speed resumed. Behind them, the Cagayan de Oro exploded.

The fire raged behind him. Shrapnel peppered their armored spacesuits, scratching the graphene plating.

Leona flew faster, nearly passing out, fleeing the inferno.

Finally the light died. Breathing heavily, Leona spun back toward her beloved Cagayan de Oro, her ship, her home away from home.

It was gone. Nothing but a cloud of debris.

"How—?" Tom began, floating beside her. "What—Where am I?"

Several minutes had passed for Leona. Just a split second for him.

Leona grimaced. "Time twister. Even worse than a jump to warped space."

They floated through the darkness. Two wounded, lost souls. Space spread around them, an emptiness that stretched for light-years. Inside their spacesuits, they were wounded. Maybe badly.

And Leona realized: We should have stayed in the starship. We should have enjoyed a quick death. We will die slowly, in agony, over days.

They floated in space, marooned, millions of kilometers from the nearest world.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Rowan fired the warship cannons, pounding the enemy.

"The damn snakes are everywhere!" she shouted.

"I know!" Bay shouted back.

"Fly faster!" Rowan said.

Bay groaned. "I'm trying, Row!"

The ninety human ships hurtled forth through space, firing their guns. Eighty-nine ships. Then eighty-eight.

The basilisk warships pursued through the darkness, carving the human fleet with their laser beams. They were light-years away from any star, but the battle lit the darkness.

"I thought we had a damn ceasefire!" Bay shouted, struggling with the Byzantium's yoke.

"We do!" Rowan cried. "In Earth's orbit. This is no man's land."

"I could live with no men," Bay said. "It's the damn snakes that bug me."

A laser hit them. The Byzantium was a full-sized frigate, the largest class of ship in the human fleet. Her shields were thick, and they held. But the ship jolted, nearly hitting the warship off their starboard bow. Another few blasts, and even the mighty Byzantium would explode.

"Bay, raise the port side!" Rowan cried.

He pulled the yolk, rolling the frigate. Rowan sneered and fired the port side cannons. Her shells pounded into a Rattler, demolishing the basilisk warship. Its plates of scaly armor flew through space, peppering nearby ships. But more Rattlers flew in to replace it. Lasers pierced the darkness, picking off another human ship, then another.

Ships Rowan needed.

Ships to find humans and bring them home.

But at this rate, all Rowan would find out here was an early death.

"Coral!" Rowan turned toward the weaver who sat nearby, wrapped in a blanket. "Coral, damn it. I need you to make another wormhole—now!"

Coral raised her head. She gave Rowan a blank look. Her eyes were sunken, and her face seemed to have aged a decade overnight.

"I'm too weak." Coral struggled to raise her mug of tea, took a sip, and grimaced. "I used too much aether to get us here. It will be days before I can use more."

Rowan tugged her hair with frustration, then returned to blasting the enemy. For the first few hours of their journey, things had gone well enough. Clearly, a few hours of grace was too kind of the universe.

"More Rattlers coming in from ahead!" Bay said.

Rowan cursed, shifted to the prow's cannons, and opened fire. She destroyed a Rattler. Another human cargo hull exploded. Copperheads were now flying in, smaller than Rattlers and harder to hit. Their lasers sliced decks off a human tanker.

We can't beat them all, Rowan knew.

"Bay!" she shouted. "Turn left!"

He groaned. "What, you saw an exit to a Quiznos?"

"Bay, shut up and yaw left! Head toward that dwarf planet!"

They had detected the world a while back—a rogue planet, not tethered to any star. The rock was rolling through space, a thousand kilometers wide. Not huge as far as planets came. No larger than Pluto. But right now, it would do nicely.

You're a big, fat boy, Rowan thought, seeking the planet in the distance. And you'll make a big boom.

"Rowan, that planet is a giant, lifeless, airless chunk of frozen rock," Bay said. "What can we possibly do there?"

"Blow it up," Rowan said.

Another laser pounded them. The Byzantium shook. Outside, the other ships were trading fire.

"What?" Bay said, jaw dropping.

"Well, not all of it!" Rowan said. "Just bits of it. Here's the plan. You know the slingshot maneuver?"

Bay nodded. "Yeah. Also called a gravity assist. That's when a starship flies around a planet or star, close enough for the gravity well to grab it—and hurl it off into the distance at insane speed. Like the universe's largest slingshot."

"Yep!" Rowan said. "Spock pulled it off in Star Trek IV. We're gonna slingshot the shit around that planet. All of us. And just before we hurtled off into the distance like a cork from a champagne bottle? We drop our nukes. We raise a massive cloud of dust and debris from the planet surface. The Rattlers will follow us—and get pelted."

Bay sighed. "Rowan, you're mucking insane, you know that?"

She fired her aft cannons, pounding another Rattler. "I know. And that's why you love me. Now fly! Slingshot us around that bitch like you're Dennis the Menace."

"I don't know what that means!" Bay shouted, navigating around laser beams.

"Never mind, just fly!"

They streaked through space. Eighty-something ships. The Rattlers chased, lasers firing, pounding at the human sterns, carving off decks. Another freighter exploded.

Ahead Rowan saw it. The rogue planet. A dark, lifeless chunk of rock.

She fired another volley, hitting a Rattler.

The fleet stormed closer, charging at breakneck speed.

"Hold on, this is gonna get bumpy," Bay said.

They shot into the planet's gravity well.

The force grabbed the fleet, dragging it down toward the dwarf planet.

Bay bellowed as he tugged back on the yoke, pulling with all his might. Their engines roared. Fire spurted from the exhaust. They fought the gravity with all their might, skimming the planet's surface, heading toward the horizon. Once their angle was correct, the gravity stopped pulling and began pushing, giving the ships an enormous boost of speed.

And the Rattlers followed.

A thousand enemy warships raged forth, grazing the planet's thin atmosphere. The gravity shoved them too. They charged in pursuit.

"As soon as we burst over the horizon, we're gonna slingshot!" Bay shouted. "Get ready to nuke the surface and raise that wall of debris!"

Rowan nodded, her hands on the triggers. "Ready!" She spoke into her comm to the other ships in her fleet. "Move right up into our asses, guys! Keep close!"

She knew she'd have to get the timing just right. The human fleet would have to bunch together, closer than pancakes in a pan. She'd have to drop the nukes and let them fall. When the nukes detonated on the surface, the last human straggler would have to be past them—and vanishing with the fleet into the distance.

"All right, here we go!" Bay cried, wincing.

The Byzantium rattled. The viewports were nearly cracking. The dashboards thrummed and a few detached. The bulkheads twisted and bent.

Bay bellowed as he gave the engines a burst on full afterburner. He rose to his feet, pulling the yoke with his entire body, curving his flight around the planet. One of the human ships following them crashed onto the surface. Another careened wildly into deep space.

But the others followed Bay's trajectory. The gravity was about to hurl them away like stones from a sling.

Rowan held her finger over the button.

And from the planet's surface, they rose.

Aliens.

Huge, squirming aliens the size of starships. Aliens with stony bodies and snapping claws.

One of the beasts roared toward the Byzantium, nearly slamming into them. Bay screamed and had to swerve, nearly breaking free from the gravity well. Other aliens slammed into human ships, cracking their hulls.

"What the hell?" Bay shouted.

"Bay, this planet has life!" Rowan said. "Giant aliens who can fly into space!"

"Great, blow them out of the sky!"

"But—"

"Do it or we're dead!" Bay cried.

Rowan winced. She hated the thought of firing on peaceful aliens—even if those aliens were slamming into her fleet like birds into an old plane's propellers.

She took her hand off the nuke button.

Instead, she fired an array of flares.

The sparklers spilled out and ignited, casting beams of light.

The aliens scattered. Their giant eyes had evolved on a planet with only dim starlight; the flares blinded them. A few flares hit the clawed beasts, knocking them back.

"All right, the coast is clear!" Bay said. "Here we go!"

The bridge thrummed.

Rowan's brain rattled in her skull. She could barely see. Everything was strobing lights and vibrating metal. The Rattlers emerged over the horizon behind them, and lasers flashed.

The gravity flung the human fleet toward deep space.

Rowan dropped the nukes.

The heavy bombs fell toward the planet's surface, guided by their own engines.

The last human starship, a clunky freighter, avoided the nukes by mere meters.

The human fleet streaked toward deep space at breakneck speed.

The nukes hit the planet behind them—just as the Rattlers prepared to slingshot in pursuit.

White light blazed across space.

Clouds of rock, dust, and atomic fury rose from the planet. The wall of inferno expanded across space. And the Rattlers slammed into it.

One by one, the scaly ships exploded.

Only a few Rattlers emerged from the wall of fire—charred, lifeless chunks of metal.

The human fleet flew onward into the night, leaving the planet—and their dead enemies—behind.

Rowan slumped in her seat.

"Hot damn that was cool!" she said. "Can we go again?"

Bay glared at her. "People died, Rowan. We lost ships."

She lowered her head. "I know. I'm sorry. But we won the battle. Let's celebrate that." She sighed. "I just hope we don't lose the damn war."

The fleet flew onward, licking its wounds. Already technicians were hovering outside the hulls, mending the breaches. Damage reports kept flowing in. Bay had been right. They had lost ships—six of them, each priceless, irreplaceable in the war effort. They had lost over thirty humans. Each loss was a tragedy.

Not many humans remain in this universe, Rowan thought. And we face billions of basilisks—and trillions of other hostile aliens. Every life is precious. All we can do is fight on.

Rowan left the gunnery station. She lifted her comm and broadcast her words to all her ships.

"Exodus Fleet! This is Major Rowan Emery, aboard the HDFS Byzantium. We suffered heavy losses. But we continue our mission. Our goal has not changed. Millions of humans are stranded across the galaxy, survivors of scorpion oppression. Now they face danger from the basilisks. We must bring them home!"

She glanced at Bay. Was she speaking platitudes? Did she sound childish, inexperienced? She was no Old Lion, after all, simply little Rowan. But Bay nodded at her encouragingly. Rowan continued her broadcast.

"According to our intelligence, twenty thousand human refugees, all survivors of the scorpion gulocks, have recently tried to reach Earth. The basilisks intercepted their flotilla. Our spies report that those twenty thousand are now imprisoned in a basilisk penal colony, which orbits the star Sirius. Conditions in the prison are harsh. Every day, hunger, thirst, and disease are claiming human lives. Our mission is to reach the prison—and free the refugees. We must then return them to Earth." She took a deep breath. "This mission is a hard one. Our weaver cannot create new portals for a while. We'll have to rely on good old-fashioned fuel n' fire. The enemy is powerful. Do not underestimate him. But we will overcome. Godspeed, warriors of Earth."

She ended the broadcast and took a shaky breath.

Bay nodded. "You did good."

She shuddered. "Sometimes I think public speaking is scarier than battles."

"There's an idea," Bay said. "Maybe we can challenge the basilisks to a speech-off?"

"Well, if I can deliver my speech about Doctor Who and Super Mario, I think our victory is assured," Rowan said.

They were silent for a long moment. They were both still shaky.

Banter, she thought. Humor. It's how we survive the horror.

They had both known those thirty dead men. Everyone in the fleet had. Everyone mourned.

And everyone wanted to save the twenty thousand at Sirius.

As they flew onward, Rowan thought of the war back on Earth, of the waves of basilisks assaulting the colony walls, of the enemy armada in orbit, just waiting to bombard the planet.

Rowan couldn't help but wonder: Will we be rescuing the refugees from prison—only to take them back home to a slaughterhouse?

CHAPTER NINETEEN

They floated through the darkness. Two humans in spacesuits. Lost in space. Hovering in the endless black.

"Tom, I'm sorry." Leona reached out to him. Their gloved fingers touched in the void. "When the basilisk blew up the ship, instinct kicked in. I activated my time twister. I pulled us out into space." She lowered her head. "I doomed us to a slow death."

Tom looked at her through his helmet's visor. The man she had seen during the battle—his face hard, his eyes pitiless—was gone. Once more he was the kind man she knew. The musician and shepherd.

"Look around us, Leona," he said. "What do you see?"

She looked around her, but her mind was a storm, churning with fear and guilt. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her lungs using up too much precious oxygen. She was still wounded—her leg broken, her body torn from shrapnel. It felt like only her tight graphene spacesuit kept her in one piece. She forced herself to breathe deeply. To look. To see.

"Darkness," she said. "Vacuum. No world around us for light-years. Death."

"Look again," Tom said. "More carefully."

Leona took another deep breath. She looked around.

And she saw the stars.

Millions of stars.

They were too distant to reach. But they were beautiful. The Orion Arm of the Milky Way spilled before them, glimmering blue and lavender. The Andromeda galaxy shone above. A distant nebula glowed indigo and gold.

Tears filled Leona's eyes.

"I understand," she whispered. "Even though we're lost in darkness, there is light. Even in the darkest night, there is beauty." She smiled shakily. "You're a wise man, Tom Shepherd."

He smiled back. "Thank you, Leona. Your words are beautiful. But I meant—look at the debris of the Cagayan de Oro." He pointed. "Do you see the engine floating there? Still intact?"

She frowned, tilted her head, and blinked at him. Then she looked back at the rubble of their starship.

There wasn't much left. The damn basilisks had blown her beloved starship into millions of pieces. But then she saw it. Tom was right.

The ship's azoth engine.

The pistons were gone. The exhaust pipes had blown out. But the heart of the ship—an object no larger than a human heart—still floated through the void, intact.

Of course it was still intact. It had to withstand bending spacetime—a force far more powerful than a mere chemical explosion.

"The azoth heart!" Leona said.

Tom nodded. "We don't have a ship. But we have an oar."

Leona ignited the thruster on her jetpack. She flew toward the heart. It was made of chemically-engineered metal, dark silver in color, no larger than her fist. She hit a button, and the heart opened. It was still there. Nestled inside. A lavender azoth crystal.

Leona breathed out in relief. "Tom, the crystal is still whole! A crystal that can bend spacetime. We can form a warp bubble! We can fly out of here! Even with jetpacks, with spacetime warped around us, we can fly faster than light!"

Tom laughed. "Brilliant plan. I wish I had thought of it."

Her cheeks flushed. "Sorry. I got excited." She grinned. "You're a bloody genius, Mister Shepherd."

"It's only fair. You saved my ass. So I'll save yours. Now let's build a raft."

They worked together. The azoth heart on its own would not suffice. They needed a power source, stabilizers, coolants, and many other components. Tom was a surprisingly good mechanic, quickly finding the right parts in the cloud of debris, kludging together what he was missing.

"How the hell does a shepherd know so much about engineering?" Leona asked.

Tom was busy rigging together cables and a battery. "This shepherd spent ten years in the Peacekeeper Corps. I spent a lot of that time fixing clunky old tanks and drones. Starships aren't that different."

Leona shoved aside a floating basilisk scale. "So you play the flute, kill aliens, save my ass repeatedly, and know how to build spaceships," she said. "Tell me you can cook and I'll marry you."

"Alas, I can burn cereal." Tom finally got the cables to attach, and a light ignited on the battery. "Aha! Here we go. This should power our little engine. It doesn't have much juice. But we don't need a large bubble."

They found a few chunks of bulkhead, and they jury-rigged them together into a crude deck. They bolted the engine to the back. When their work was done, they had a tiny spaceship—essentially just a raft, exposed to vacuum, but with a warship-class, state-of-the-art warp engine.

"What should we name her?" Leona said, patting the raft.

Tom thought for a moment. "Hope. The HDFS Hope."

"Oh," Leona said. "I was thinking more along the lines of Rafty McRaftface. But Hope works too." She grinned and climbed onto the raft. "All aboard!"

Leona and Tom lay down on their bellies, jetpacks still strapped on.

"Here goes," Tom said, reached down, and tugged a cable.

The battery activated.

The azoth heart began to glow. And spacetime began to curve.

The starlight twisted. Reality itself was bending, casting back the debris from the shattered Cagayan de Oro. Leona grimaced. The warp seemed to be squeezing her consciousness out of her skull.

"We must be crazy!" she said.

"This shepherd spent ten years in the Peacekeepers Corps," Tom said.

The starlight whirled. The raft creaked.

"Even though we're lost in darkness, there is light," Leona said.

The basilisk laughed, belly torn open, revealing the explosives within.

"The mighty Ssstchkssshs race will rise," the creature said. "The goddess Xerka will rule the galaxy. Humanity will perish!"

Leona clung to Tom as he carried her from the mountains. As death rained on her wedding. As reality broke and morphed around her.

"Tom, it's tearing us apart!" she cried.

He looked at her. He was younger. His hair black instead of silver. His face smooth. He frowned, standing among his sheep.

"Who—" the young shepherd began.

The sheep blurred around him.

The stars stretched into starlines.

The raft streaked forward, encased in a bubble of spacetime.

"It's working!" Leona said. "It nearly broke my brain—but Rafty McRaftface is flying!" She laughed. "You did it, Tom! You're a genius! You—" She frowned. "Tom?"

She looked at him and her breath caught. Tom had tears in his eyes. His head was lowered, his fists clenched.

"Tom?" Leona gently touched his shoulder.

For a long moment, he was silent. The starlines streamed around them.

"I'm fine," he finally said. "Warped space … showed me things. Things I wished I could forget."

Leona held his hand.

"I understand," she whispered.

But did she? Leona had liberated a gulock. She had seen the devastation within. The starving, naked, tortured prisoners. The flayed bodies. Hell risen into reality. She still suffered nightmares—and she had been there as a soldier, a liberator.

Tom had suffered in a gulock as a prisoner.

Tom had been stripped naked, beaten, tortured, scarred. Seen his family flayed and burned.

Did the warping spacetime show him that past again?

"I'm sorry, Tom," she said. "I can't even imagine what horrors you saw in the gulock. But I'm here for you. If you want to talk about it, I'm here."

His eyes filled with pain. "It wasn't about the gulock. Not this time. It was something earlier. Something from my service in the Peacekeeper Corps. Something I did. Something I'm ashamed of. Something that …" He looked away, and his jaw tightened. "No. I won't talk about it. Not yet. Maybe not ever."

"I understand." Leona leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'm here for you without words. Just with comfort. We're all here for you."

"Leona." He looked into her eyes. "And I am here for you. For your father. For humanity. That is what gives me meaning. That is what keeps me alive. That has always been my purpose. To be a shepherd."

She squeezed his hand. "Sometimes the shepherd can lay down his crook. If only for a while."

They kept flying, moving many times faster than light. They didn't have much battery power. They didn't have much oxygen. They had no food or water. According to the maps on Leona's minicom, the nearest star was called Oridia. She knew nothing about it. Only that it was two days away. It would be a hard flight. They were both still wounded. They had no food or water. They would barely have enough air.

But it just might be possible.

They flew toward that distant star.

Right now, it was up to luck. If only lifeless rocks or gas giants orbited Oridia, they would die. If they found a habitable planet, there was hope.

They flew through the darkness. Gliding through the infinite black.

Hour after hour.

A day.

Another day.

The time passed in a haze of pain.

Their battery began to give out. The raft was dying. The oxygen was all but gone.

On their last drops of power, they glided into the alien sun system.

And they found their luck.

Eight gas giants, lifeless and searing hot.

One terrestrial world in the Goldilocks zone, rich with air, blue with water, green with forests. Oridia Gamma. An island in the cosmic ocean.

On their metal raft, Tom and Leona rowed to this galactic shore. Their spacesuits were armored, built for battle and space-jumps. Like two outcast angels, they fell from the sky.

Fallen angels? Leona thought as she activated her jetpack, as she glided toward an alien shore. No, we will not fall from grace. We will not accept exile. We rose from the water and soil of Earth. We are not fallen angels. We are risen apes. And we will find our way home.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Rowan stood on the deck of the Byzantium, hands behind her back, staring at the hot desert world ahead.

"Anubis," she whispered. "Dreaded penal colony of the basilisks. If there's a Hell out here in space, we found it."

Bay stood beside her, wearing body armor, Lawless slung across his back.

"The damn aliens never imprison us on any nice tropical worlds, do they?" he said. "No coconuts or pina coladas for us pests. Just frozen wastelands or fiery hellholes."

"How inconsiderate of them," Rowan said.

Bay nodded. "I do think this calls for us to kick their asses."

The Byzantium raced toward the world, passing through the searing white light of Sirius, the local star. The rest of the Exodus Fleet followed, over eighty vessels. Only a handful were warships. This was a mission to ferry human refugees home, not fight battles.

But a battle it would be. The basilisks were keeping humans penned up here. And Rowan would fight for every one.

She got on her comm, broadcasting her words to her fleet.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We'll be making our descent toward Anubis within the next few minutes. Weather is a scorching inferno with a 100% chance of hostile basilisks. We hoped you enjoyed your flight aboard Operation Exodus. Please don't forget your overhead luggage, especially if you packed light artillery, and—"

"Give me that." Bay snatched the comm from her. "Crazy hobbit." He cleared his throat. "Soldiers, we're about to reach Anubis Penal Colony. On this world are twenty thousand imprisoned humans. Their only crime? Trying to reach Earth. These folks already survived a scorpion gulock, only to end up here. Our sensors detect a basilisk fleet on its way to engage. This is war. Godspeed, warriors of Earth."

Rowan saw them now. A hundred basilisk warships swooping in.

Big ones.

Rowan took the comm back from Bay. This time she directed her broadcast to the enemy fleet.

"Basilisk fleet!" she cried. "This is Major Rowan Emery of the Human Defense Force. Stand down! We do not seek battle here. We've come to take the refugees off your hands. Pose no resistance, or we'll be forced to—"

Laser beams came flying their way.

Rowan groaned.

"So much for negotiations," she muttered, then cried out, "Mirrors up!"

She hit a switch. Metal slats pulled back on the Byzantium's prow, revealing the hidden mirrors. Across the rest of the human fleet, the other ships revealed their mirror armor too.

The lasers hit them.

Some beams slammed into the ships' underbellies or tops, burning through hulls. But most hit the mirrors on the prows—and flew back toward the enemy. Explosions rocked the basilisk fleet.

"Prows forward!" Rowan cried. "Ships, prows to the enemy!"

They arranged themselves more carefully, protecting their weak spots. When the lasers flew again, every beam hit a mirror.

Holes tore through the Rattlers.

Rowan pointed forward. "Fire!" she roared.

The human fleet opened fire.

The missiles streaked toward the enemy. Explosions rocked the Rattlers, knocking them back.

"Firebirds, charge!" Rowan cried.

The hangar doors opened on the larger ships. The starfighters emerged—only five of them, a single squad, but it would have to do for now. They streamed forth, firing their missiles. The heavier warships followed, cannons pounding.

The Rattlers flew closer. Their laser cannons retracted, and new guns emerged from their hulls.

The enemy opened fire again.

This time the Rattlers fired spinning balls of scales like dragon eggs.

What the hell? Rowan thought.

"Destroy those eggs!" she cried. "Fleet, destroy them!"

She opened fire, aiming the Byzantium's guns. But the spinning eggs were fast and agile, whizzing between the projectiles. They rolled closer. Rowan screamed, firing in a fury. The Firebirds stormed, spraying bullets at the scaly balls, missing every one.

Rowan braced for impact.

The eggs slammed into the human fleet.

Light flared.

Explosions rocked the Byzantium.

Rowan fell and hit the deck.

Klaxons wailed. Viewports shattered. Rowan felt blood drip down her forehead. She reached up blindly, grabbed a dashboard, and pulled herself up.

The assault had shattered the bridge. Computers lay sparking. Only one viewport remained. Bay was lying on the floor, unconscious.

Just as bad—the mirrors protecting the Byzantium had shattered. They had shattered across every human ship.

Ahead, the Rattlers extended their laser cannons again.

"Fleet, scatter!" Rowan cried, grabbing the yoke. "Dodge those lasers!"

The green beams fired.

Rowan screamed, hanging off the yoke, pulling it with her entire body. The Byzantium groaned in protest, yawing ever so slowly. A laser beam grazed their starboard hull, ripping off cannons like a blade carving off barnacles. More lasers slammed into ships around her, carving through shields and decks like blades through silk. Lines of fire raced across hulls. Soldiers screamed, ejected into the vacuum.

It was time.

Rowan grabbed her ansible—among the most expensive pieces of equipment in the fleet, a communicator able to broadcast through a warp bubble.

"Firebird squads two, three, four—deploy!" she shouted. "All warships—fire everything! Send these snakes to hell!"

Bay was still unconscious. Rowan was desperate to tend to him, but she couldn't spare a moment. Leaving the yoke on autopilot, she ran back to the gunnery station and unleashed her fury. Across the human fleet, the other warships pounded the enemy with everything they had. Thousands of shells slammed into Rattlers, exploding, blinding the alien warships.

Above them—a bubble of warped space dissolved. A squad of Firebirds swooped, raining missiles on the Rattlers.

From below and behind—two more bubbles popped. Two more Firebird squads emerged into regular space.

Missiles flew.

The enemy was trapped.

The Rattlers tried to turn, to engage the new combatants, but they were too slow, too disoriented. The new missiles flew from below, hitting their vulnerable underbellies, and from behind, slamming into their engines.

Die, you sons of bitches, Rowan thought.

She watched with satisfaction as explosions bloomed across the enemy ships. Their scaly shields cracked.

Rowan released another volley. This time the enemy shields were crumbling. This time her missiles tore through the bastards.

The Rattlers exploded.

Rowan fired again.

She leaned forward, sneering.

She fired more missiles. More. Emptying her payload. And kept firing on empty. Tears in her eyes. Teeth clenched. Still pressing her trigger long after the last Rattler floated away in a cloud of debris.

Die. You bastards. Die.

Because she was firing on the scorpions too.

She was firing on the creatures that had murdered her family.

On the aliens she had hidden from for years, cowering in the ducts.

On the monsters who had done this to humanity. Who took wretched refugees who just wanted a home, who shoved them into camps.

Who turned her into a killer.

I was meant to live on Earth. To film movies. To marry Bay. To be happy. And I'm killing again. You turned me into this. You made me a weapon. And now I will kill every last one of you.

"Row …" Bay was moaning, slowly coming to. "Row, what happened?"

She knelt by him, placed her hand on his wounds, and summoned her Harmonians. They flowed through his wounds, healing him, then back in to her.

"We're going in, Bay." She straightened and drew Lullaby. "I want to kill more snakes."

He looked at her, and Rowan saw something akin to fear in his eyes. Was Bay afraid of the basilisks? Or of her?

The human fleet plowed through the debris, knocking aside chunks of Rattlers. Dead basilisks floated through the void. The planet Anubis hovered before them, a sandy sphere draped with bronze clouds.

Rowan led the fleet, entering orbit first. The others fell in behind her.

She stared down at the planet, seeking them.

"Where are you?" she whispered.

The planet's surface rolled by below the fleet. Rowan narrowed her eyes. Nothing but cracked, rocky plains. Deep canyons. Rolling dunes. Smoking volcanoes. She saw no cities, no military bases, no internment camps. No signs of life at all.

"Was our intelligence wrong?" Bay said. "My scanners are picking up nothing. This is a dead world."

Rowan shook her head. "No. The refugees are here somewhere. Otherwise why did the Rattlers guard the planet?"

They kept orbiting, still seeing nothing.

"A decoy?" Bay said.

"They're here," Rowan said softly. "They're underground. Bay, these are basilisks. Giant snakes. They must live in holes and tunnels. They must have the humans hidden underground. Adjust your scanners to—"

She caught her breath.

Rockets were launching from below, moving at terrifying speed.

"Incoming!" she shouted. "Fleet, full power to shields!"

They tried to dodge. But the missiles adjusted their vectors—then hit the fleet.

The Byzantium jolted and spun. Fire raged. The underbelly tore open. Rowan was thankful that she had emptied her arsenal on the Rattlers; every missile inside the Byzantium would have blown. Around her, several starships exploded.

She saw it now on the surface. She zoomed in. Doorways carved into the stone—missile silos. The attack had come from there.

Bay spoke into the fleet-wide comm. "Nuke those bases from orbit! Wipe them out!"

Rowan grabbed the comm from him. "Belay that order! Hold your fire!"

"What—" Bay began.

"The humans might be there!" she said. "I'm detecting organic scans from below."

"Basilisks," Bay said.

"Basilisks are coldblooded. These are warm bodies. Muck! They're using the prisoners as human shields."

More missiles were rising from the surface.

Damn it!

Rowan pulled the Byzantium aside. A missile grazed their hull and exploded. The frigate lurched and slammed into a tanker. Ships cracked around them.

"Row, we gotta nuke them or—"

"No!" she said. "We can't risk it. Marines! All marines, head to the hangars! We're executing a spacejump. Go, go!"

She looked at Bay. He met her eyes.

Are you with me? she asked without words.

He nodded. Always.

Rowan switched on a monitor. She typed furiously.

"Fillister! Fillister, you there?"

Words appeared on the screen. "Here, Row!"

The words warmed her heart. Fillister might have lost his body, but his consciousness was still inside the fleet's computers. Her old friend was still with her.

"Take control of the ship," Rowan typed. "I'm granting you and Brooklyn full admin access. Keep this fleet in the air."

"Will do, Row. Go get 'em."

Rowan and Bay ran.

Within moments, they were in the hangar, armored spacesuits on, jetpacks ready. Missiles were exploding outside, casting searing light through the portholes. A platoon of fifty marines gathered around them.

"Rabblers!" Rowan said. "Humans are waiting below. Humans need us. Fight well. Fight for humanity. Let's kill some snakes!"

They roared their approval.

They opened the airlock door—and dived into space.

Missiles streaked up from the planet, moving faster than bullets.

"Scatter!" Rowan cried.

Not that the Rabblers needed any encouragement. Their jetpacks thrummed. They broke apart and—

One missile tore through five marines.

Another slammed into the Byzantium above, denting the shields, spraying fire. More marines screamed.

Across the fleet, missiles were detonating. Firebirds were zipping around, shooting down the enemy missiles. But they couldn't hit them all. Another basilisk missile exploded nearby, ripping through two diving paratroopers.

Rowan gritted her teeth and dived down headfirst.

A missile came streaming upward.

She fired Lullaby and hit the projectile a kilometer or two away.

It exploded. She sighed in relief, adjusted her trajectory, and swerved around the cloud of smoke and debris. The remaining Rabblers dived around her. Below them, the missiles were rippling the atmosphere before emerging into space.

Rowan took a deep breath. She had spacejumped several times before. She never got used to the pain.

This is going to get rough.

She winced and closed her eyes.

They hit the atmosphere.

It was like hitting a brick wall. She groaned as her body plowed into sky, ionizing the air. Fire blazed around her, blinding her, heating her armor so much her skin blistered.

She kept diving. Falling through fire. She struggled to keep her legs pressed together, her arms at her sides, keeping her body in a straight line.

Beside her, one paratrooper lost his form. He began to spin madly, moving so fast it knocked him unconscious. Another missile soared, pulverizing a marine, leaving only a cloud of red mist.

The others kept diving, racing toward the ground. The desert spread below, a rocky landscape of mountains, gorges, and pools of bubbling methane. Rowan could see the missile silos—underground cylinders, rimmed with metal. Doorways were carved into mountainsides and canyons.

The internment camp, Rowan thought.

They were several kilometers above the surface now. Within moments, they would be there. Other platoons were diving from other human ships. In total, the force contained only three hundred paratroopers. It was all Earth could spare.

It didn't seem like enough.

"Marines!" Rowan said, speaking into her helmet's comm. "First platoon—make to the mountain tunnel. Second platoon—dive into that gorge. Rabblers—you fly with me, and we'll work to disable those missile silos. Kill every snake that moves. These bastards grabbed starving gulock survivors and tossed them into prison. Show them no mercy."

Bay was diving beside her. He turned to look at her, and she saw the same concern in his eyes. She met his gaze, her own eyes hard.

Emet isn't here, Bay, she thought. He would be merciless. So I will be too.

Shrieks from below tore through her thoughts.

Rowan stared down and cursed.

Basilisks were rising from their holes. Basilisks with wings. And they came flying toward her.

"Ra damn!" Bay blurted out. "They can grow wings?"

For a moment, all Rowan could do was stare in shock.

The creatures screeched, fangs shining.

Rowan opened fire. Around her, her fellow marines added their bullets to hers.

Several of the creatures fell, leathern wings pierced with holes. But at least a hundred reached the diving marines—and attacked.

One beast slammed into Rowan, screeching, eyes red with fury. Its claws grabbed her, digging into her armor. Its wings beat in a fury. Its head moved in, jaws opening wider than her head.

Rowan fired Lullaby into those open jaws, taking out the back of its head. No sooner had the beast fallen than another replaced it.

The basilisk had scales in all the colors of fire, shimmering and chinking, and its wings sprayed the blood of its fallen brother. This time the jaws closed around Rowan's side—and bit down hard.

She yowled and fired her gun, but the bullets shattered against the scaly head, and the shards leaped back to sting her. The creature began to coil around Rowan, crushing her, denting her armored suit. They plunged through the sky. Around her, Rowan saw the other marines battling the flying serpents. Corpses were already tumbling.

Rowan gritted her teeth. She gave her jetpack a burst of full power, hoping to scorch the basilisk wrapped around her. But the alien had left an opening for the exhaust. The flames spurted uselessly into the sky.

The snake squeezed tighter. The jaws tore at her. Rowan cried out in pain. She nearly passed out. She couldn't breathe. The basilisks were everywhere around her, tearing through her troops, and the missiles were still flying, pounding her fleet in orbit.

The basilisk constricting her finally opened its jaws, releasing her flesh. It stared into her eyes.

"Rowan Emery," the alien hissed. "The famous ape of Earth. I will take you to my mistress so she may devour you whole."

Rowan stared into those red eyes—and saw a vision of an alien world. Of a mountain of skulls. Of a creature upon it—half woman, half snake.

And she saw the fall of Earth. The bones of humanity rotting in the mud.

She would not let that happen.

"Eat shit," she said and shoved on her throttle.

They roared forward—and into the flaming wake of Bay's jetpack.

Rowan winced as the flames washed over them, heating her suit, cracking her helmet.

The basilisk holding her burned. With a scream, the alien released her.

Rowan pulled herself back from the fire, her armor dangerously hot, and fired a barrage of bullets. The basilisk's head tore open, and the charred corpse fell from the sky.

With hailstorms of bullets and blasts of fire, the marines took out the last flying basilisks. The soldiers descended the final few kilometers and landed on Anubis.

Rowan stood on the rocky surface, Lullaby raised, eyes narrowed. The ground trembled beneath her feet. She closed her eyes, focusing, feeling.

Inside her, the Harmonians stirred. Creatures of caves.

Rowan let the vibrations move through her. Through the Harmonians. Hearing. Sensing. Seeing.

She opened her eyes.

"They're down there," Rowan said. "Directly under our feet. The human refugees."

The ground began to quake—not a light vibration but a mighty tremor. Rowan fell. Smoke blasted from an underground silo nearby, and fire raged. A rocket emerged from underground and soared skyward. The sound was deafening. If Rowan hadn't been wearing her helmet, it might have punctured her eardrums.

She pointed at the smoking hole. "We need to take out this missile bay."

Bay cringed. "Please, Rowan! Call it a missile silo." He glanced around. "I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea."

Rowan contemplated for a moment. She could drop a few grenades into the silo—but that might set off the munitions inside. The explosion would kill every human captive underground—and likely every marine aboveground too.

"Bay, focus your fire at that mountainside." Rowan pointed. "There, below that ledge of stone."

He understood. He turned toward his troops. "Men! Follow our fire."

Rowan shot first, aiming a tracing round at the mountainside. It left a smoky line in the sky. The others opened fire around her, following the path of smoke. The rounds slammed into the mountainside.

"Give us some grenades!" Rowan said.

A few of the men complied, launching grenades. Explosions peppered the mountain, loosening stones.

The rocky ledge cracked.

Rowan fired another round—and the ledge of stone tumbled.

Boulders rolled. More chunks of mountain tore free. Soon an avalanche was cascading down the mountain—larger than Rowan had anticipated.

"Muck," she muttered, then activated her jetpack. "Up, up!"

The marines rose to hover a hundred meters overhead. The boulders rolled below them. Stones tumbled into the missile silos, clogging them. Clouds of dust rose. When the avalanche settled, the bays were gone. No more missiles flew.

But one entrance still gaped open. A cave in the mountainside, rimmed with basilisk runes.

The gates of Hell, Rowan thought.

She loaded a fresh magazine, cocked her gun, and stepped into the shadows.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Rowan walked down the dark tunnel, holding Lullaby with both hands. The other marines followed close behind, rifles raised.

The pits of Anubis spread before them—a dark, twisting hive. The place stank. Rowan advanced slowly, the flashlight on her helmet illuminating her way. Her feet scattered old bones—some of animals, others human. A serpentine shape ahead made her start, but it was only a basilisk's shed skin, a husk rustling with insects. Rowan walked deeper, plunging into the darkness.

"Just like the ducts back home," Rowan muttered.

Bay looked at her, and she met his gaze. Unspoken words passed between them. They both remembered that battle in the ducts of Paradise Lost, fighting the bonecrawlers. It had been almost four years ago.

We're both so different, Rowan thought. I was a scared girl then. Now … who am I now?

She gripped her gun tighter, and she knew.

Not a movie director like I thought I would be. Not a writer. I'm a soldier.

A shadow stirred.

Her flashlight reflected off metal.

A basilisk appeared below, hissing, squirming up the tunnel toward the humans.

Rowan opened fire. But her bullets met armor. The snake was wearing thick metal plates. It came lunging forward at terrifying speed, gushing up the tunnel like a torrent. Bay was firing too. So were other marines. The bullets kept glancing off its armor.

Rowan closed one eye. She stood steady and aimed.

The basilisk leaped through the air toward her.

It was a meter away when she put a bullet through its eye.

The alien crashed into her, knocking her down, dead before they hit the ground. She shoved the corpse off.

"Bastard." She spat.

Bay raised his hand. "Nice shot."

Rowan gave him a high five. "Years of playing Duck Hunt finally paid off."

She forced herself to smile. To choke down the horror. They kept walking.

The tunnels kept sloping deeper. The surface of this world was searing hot, but the temperature plunged down here. The tunnels tightened, becoming so narrow the humans had to walk hunched over, then on hands and knees.

Rowan paused, closed her eyes, and felt the vibrations again.

"We're close," Rowan whispered. "I feel them. Humans. And …" She grimaced. "Something large. Foul. Evil."

Bay was crawling behind her. He placed a hand on her back. "You can feel evil through vibrations?"

She shuddered. "The Harmonians can. They evolved in caves. They can sense evil in the depths. They feel the tremors, and they paint a picture in my mind. A vague picture. More a sense than an image. There is great danger ahead."

Bay clenched his fist. "So we'll kill it. Together. That's what we do."

"That's what we do," Rowan repeated, voice soft. "We are killers."

A hiss sounded ahead. Rowan looked up and saw a basilisk wriggling up the tunnel. She fired again and again until it fell down dead. She loaded a fresh magazine.

I will kill everyone in my way. She crawled over the dead alien. Because that is what I do. And that scares me more than all the horrors in these caves.

And as she crawled onward, tears flowed down her cheeks. Tears she allowed herself only in the darkness.

Someday we will save Earth, she thought. Someday a generation will rise that will be good, and soft, and kind. A generation with clean hands. So let my hands be bloody. Let my soul be torn. For them.

The tunnel twisted and turned. Whenever it branched off, Rowan paused and felt the vibrations, listened to the Harmonians whisper inside her. She chose a path and moved onward, deeper.

They must have crawled for hours before the tunnel finally opened up into a wide cavern.

Rowan paused at the entrance. Other marines gathered around her, flashlights casting back the shadows. The room was the size of a movie theater. Discarded basilisk scales, bones, and skulls littered the floor.

Human skulls, Rowan realized, struggling not to gag.

"There's nobody here," Bay said, taking a step forward. "We must have killed them all."

Rowan grabbed him. She pulled him back.

"It's here," she whispered. "The evil I sensed."

She heard a few soldiers muttering behind her, even scoffing.

"She sounds like a damn weaver," a sergeant said.

Rowan spun back toward the man. She glared. "A weaver saved our lives multiple times. And if Coral weren't recovering on the ship, she'd sense the same." Rowan looked back into the cavern, and her voice dropped. "It's here."

Holding Lullaby with both hands, she took a step into the chamber. A platoon of marines followed, fanning out, fingers on their triggers. The soldiers stood in the center of the room, back to back, pointing their guns outward in a ring.

Rowan saw another tunnel across the chamber. It seemed to plunge deeper into shadows. Rowan could hear sounds from below—groans, whimpers, a muffled scream.

"The prisoners are down there," she said.

Bay began to walk toward the far tunnel. "Let's go get them."

Again, Rowan grabbed him. "Wait. Something is wrong. Something is—"

A drop splashed onto the ground before her. It sizzled.

Rowan looked up and inhaled sharply.

Bay followed her gaze and cursed.

It was there. Clinging to the ceiling. Drooling. Watching them.

It was a massive basilisk, the largest Rowan had ever seen. Five serpentine heads grew from the beast, each large enough to swallow Rowan whole. Ten eyes stared at Rowan, filled with scorn and hunger.

Rowan opened fire.

The creature dropped onto the marines, crushing several. Rowan managed to scamper back, dodging the scaly body. By God, the beast was huge. Its barely fit the chamber. The creature reared, five heads howling, and spat sizzling liquid.

A glob hit Rowan. It began to burn through her armor.

"Acid!" she screamed, ripping off the armored plates.

Another spray hit a marine to her left. The venom disintegrated the man's visor and burned his face, melting the skin. The corporal fell, pawing at his dissolving face, screaming. Several more marines fell. Their flashlights went dark, and shadows claimed the chamber.

Rowan screamed too—a scream of terror and hatred. She fired again. The surviving marines fired with her. Bullets slammed into the hydra, bouncing off its scales. The creature shrieked, reared, and attacked again.

This time the monster swooped in to bite. Five jaws opened wide. Bullets could not stop them. One mouth closed around a sergeant, lifted him, guzzled him down. Another jaw tore the legs off a man, leaving him screaming, clutching at the stumps. Rowan fired again and again, hitting the hydra's heads, but her bullets were useless. The creature didn't even have eyes to shoot.

"What the hell is that thing?" Bay shouted, reloading his gun.

"A hydra!" Rowan cried.

"A what?"

"A hydra, you know, like from D&D!" Rowan shouted.

"Rowan, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Never mind, Bay! Just kill it!"

Venom sprayed. Rowan leaped back, cursing. The acid sizzled on the floor, consuming bones and skulls. She fired again, hitting a reptilian head, doing it no harm. The hydra swung its tail, plowing through five marines, sending them flying through the room. More jets of venom melted armor. More jaws cut men open.

A fresh squad of marines raced into the chamber, then a third. Bullets filled the room. The hydra still lashed and bit, tearing them apart. Whenever a soldier tried to reach the far tunnel, acid or fangs found him.

"Bullets won't work!" Rowan shouted. "Soldiers—use your grenades!"

"We can't in an enclosed chamber!" Bay said. He cursed as venom sprayed his arm. He tore off the sizzling armor plate.

"We have no choice." Rowan grabbed a grenade and pulled the pin. "Hey, asshole!" With her other hand, she fired Lullaby at a head. "Catch!"

The Hydra lunged toward her, jaw opening wide.

Rowan tossed the grenade into its mouth, then hit the ground and covered her head.

An explosion filled the chamber, deafening. Shrapnel, blood, scales, and gobbets of flesh pattered around Rowan.

When she rose again, one of the hydra's heads was gone. Nothing but a spurting stump remained.

The other four heads had paused their assault. They twitched and mewled.

"Did we defeat it?" Bay whispered.

Rowan tilted her head. "Did we defeat it?"

"I helped," he insisted.

The marines all stared, guns raised, waiting for the hydra to fall.

The stump began to bubble. A blister rose there, ballooning, filling with yellow liquid. Rowan nearly gagged.

"It has a giant zit!" Bay said.

Rowan watched, horror dawning on her. "That's no zit."

The blister grew teeth. Then scales. Before her eyes, it turned into a new head.

The hydra roared from all five mouths—and attacked again.

"We have to run!" cried a corporal. "We can't kill it!"

"Stand your ground, soldiers!" Rowan shouted. "Stand your ground and fight!"

Ignoring Rowan, the corporal tried to flee—only for the hydra to grab the woman, to rip her apart. Rowan stared with horror. She nearly vomited.

Have I led us all here to die? she thought.

She stared at the regrown head. Its scaly face stared back, laughing.

A creature one cannot kill, she thought. A hydra.

She had heard of hydras before, and not just from D&D. They featured prominently in human mythology. Knights would cut off their heads, but the heads regrew time after time. Rowan had read about them in the Earthstone, seen them in old movies, and—

She gasped. She remembered.

"Fire," she whispered.

A head lunged at her again, jaws snapping. Rowan sneered, hurled another grenade, and leaped back.

The grenade burst, shattering the head.

This time Rowan didn't wait. She unstrapped the jetpack from her back, held it before her, and ignited the engine.

A spray of flame spurted from the exhaust port. The fire bathed the hydra's shattered head.

The blast sent Rowan flying. She slammed against the wall, cried out, and turned off her jetpack.

She slid to the ground, groaning, her back aching. She stared at the hydra.

Its stump sizzled, still burning. She waited, gun raised. The head did not regrow.

"Fire!" Rowan shouted. "Tear off its heads and cauterize the stumps!"

Her marines opened fire. Some fired bullets at the hydra's necks, finally tearing through the ligaments. Other soldiers launched grenades into the open jaws. Severed heads thumped to the ground. More blisters rose on the stumps, attempted to grow new heads.

And the fire blazed.

The flaming streams washed over the stumps, popping the blisters, sealing the wounds.

The mighty hydra fell. Its five headless necks thumped onto the floor and rose no more.

Rowan fell to her knees, trembling. Wounds covered her. She took a few long moments to breathe. The Harmonians rose inside her, soft and warm. She saw them in her wounds, glowing blue, mending her. But they were working overtime lately. Rowan could feel their weariness, and her wounds barely closed.

If I work them any harder, they're likely to go on strike, Rowan thought. Sorry, little fellas. I promise to give you a few days off eventually.

She looked around her at her fallen friends, and a chill washed her.

So many had died.

Rowan swallowed her horror, struggling not to vomit again.

Horror later. Grief later. Fight now.

Rowan took a deep breath, hardened her heart, and walked across the chamber. Her boots sluiced through blood and crunched bones.

Somewhere deep in her memory, she was curled up in the ducts, watching Monty Python movies with Fillister, laughing.

She stepped over the melted corpse of a friend.

In her mind, she was trembling behind a vent, so scared of life outside.

She kicked aside a severed hydra head.

She was the girl in the ducts. Wriggling around to K-Pop. Watching The Lord of the Rings over and over again.

She was a woman in hell, a smoking gun in her hand, blood covering her. Walking deeper into the shadows.

Rowan reached the far passageway, walked down a sloping tunnel, and reached a vast chamber, a hall the size of a soccer field.

Thousands of humans were here, bound in chains.

Rowan stared, trembling, rage and pity battling within her.

Bay stepped into the room behind her. He froze and made a small choking sound.

"By Ra," he whispered.

Hundreds of the human prisoners had been nailed to the walls. Their bellies had been slit open, filled with snake eggs. Many other humans hung from the ceiling, their legs amputated. The limbs were feeding young snakes in a nearby pit. The thousands of other humans stood crammed together, manacled, awaiting their fate as hosts for eggs or food for serpents.

Rowan's fists shook.

"I hate them," she whispered, and tears filled her eyes. "I hate those damn snakes. I hate them so much."

Several basilisks were here, guarding the prisoners. They turned toward the marines and hissed.

Rowan and Bay opened fire, quickly taking them out. The creatures thumped down, peppered with bullets.

One of the basilisks managed to crawl closer, head split open. He stared up at Rowan, missing an eye, and laughed.

"If we cannot have them," the basilisk hissed, "nobody can."

He coughed and gagged, vomiting a small metal sphere. It glowed and ticked.

Rowan stared in horror.

A bomb. Not a mere grenade but a starship-busting high explosive, built for ripping through graphene shields.

It was powerful enough to bring the caves crashing down.

"Run!" Bay cried.

But Rowan couldn't flee. Couldn't leave the bomb here with thousands of prisoners.

She grabbed the sphere.

She ran with it.

"Rowan!" Bay cried after her.

She ignored him. She raced up the tunnel, shoving her way past marines, and back into the chamber of bones.

The bomb began to vibrate in her hand.

Rowan leaped toward the hydra's corpse. She stared at it—a beast with bulletproof scales.

She shoved the bomb into one of the severed necks, pushing it into the mushy flesh, burying it as deep as her arm would go.

She pulled her arm free and ran.

She had reached the passageway when the bomb burst.

The shock wave tossed Rowan into the tunnel and shoved her forward like a bullet down a barrel.

Fire raged against her feet. If not for her armored spacesuit, the blast would have broken every bone in her body. The sound waves washed over her, cracking her helmet. Dust rose everywhere. The caves trembled, stones fell, and cracks raced across the walls.

And then—it was over.

The dust settled.

Rowan crawled back into the chamber of bones. The hydra was splattered on the walls. Its scales had dug deep into the stone. The beast had saved the caves.

Rowan returned to Bay and the others below. She looked at the thousands of chained human prisoners. People who had survived years of war. Who just wanted to fly to Earth. Who had been imprisoned here for the sin of trying to find their way home.

"Let's get these people into our ships," Rowan said. "We're going back to Earth."

And if anyone gets in our way, I will kill them, Rowan thought as she climbed back to the surface. I will kill them all. If I must, I will burn this galaxy down, even if Earth is the only planet left. Tears flowed down her cheeks. We are done hiding. For centuries, we humans were prey. Now we will be predators.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

They lay on a beach. Two castaways. Fallen from the sky.

Everything hurt.

Everything was light.

Tom gazed at the sky.

Confusion filled him. He was a young man, back on a grassy world, and his sheep grazed around him. He was a youth, scared, shoved into battle. He was lying in a cave, surviving in a forest of rot. He was on the mountains of Earth, playing his song.

He blinked.

Pain. Everything was pain. A twisting pain under a haze of slumber.

"Tom?" A soft voice beside him. A woman's voice.

His wife? Was his wife back? It had been a dream. Only a nightmare. He had dreamed that giant scorpions, beasts the size of horses, had captured them. Had skinned his wife alive. Had tossed her and her unborn child into the fire. But she was here, in his bed, calling him.

"Tom!" She shook him. "Wake up, Tom. Are you all right?"

He blinked. The pain was sharper now. He struggled to sit up, winced, and lay back down.

No, he was not lying in a bed. Not on a grassy hill. He was on a sandy beach.

"We fell from the sky," he whispered.

He looked at the woman beside him. A woman with tanned skin. With large dark eyes. With curly brown hair.

Leona.

Colonel Leona Ben-Ari. His commanding officer. His friend.

The memories flooded back into Tom. The past years of war. The battle in space. The raft they had built and their fall from space.

"We survived," Tom said, looking around in wonder. "We fell from the sky—and survived."

"Barely," Leona said. "Thank Ra for a good jetpack and a solid suit of armor. Tom." She touched his cheek. "Are you all right? How many fingers do you see?"

He blinked at her hand. "A couple dozen." He blinked again and rubbed his temples. "I'm all right. Just got the wind knocked out of me. I've had worse." He looked around him. "So this is Oridia Gamma, huh?"

Leona shrugged. "That or we died and went to heaven. Looks more like heaven to me."

She wasn't kidding. As a Peacekeeper, Tom had traveled across the galaxy. Most planets were hellholes. They were searing deserts, or frozen wastelands, or hives of poverty, violence, and decay. Here was a rare island paradise in the cosmic ocean. The sand was soft and white, the water deep blue. Bioluminescent algae gleamed on the waves and shore. Seashells speckled the sand, deep blue trimmed with gold. A ring system arched across the sky, pale silver, and beyond it shone a white gas giant, ten times the size of the moon from Earth.

Tom tested the water. It was fresh, not a grain of salt to be found. He and Leona drank deeply. The cool water filled them with new vigor. Tom felt as if he had eaten a full meal. The pain in his wounds faded, and strength returned to his limbs.

"Is this place real?" Tom said when his thirst was quenched. "It looks like something from a fairy tale. Where is the dust? The grime? The rust and rot?"

"This is a virgin world," Leona said. "Give it time. Somebody will discover it sooner or later. They'll fight over it, burn the plants and animals, then build casinos and brothels. Smog will fill the sky, hiding those beautiful rings."

Tom grinned. "Look at us. Saved from almost certain death, lying on the most beautiful beach in the universe—and we find reasons to moan."

Leona smiled back, but her smile soon faltered. She lowered her head. "Tom. Our ship . . . it's gone. Less than a year from now, the Galactic Council will redraw the map of the Milky Way. We were supposed to spend this year lobbying for humanity." She looked around her. "It's beautiful. But how can we fight for Earth from here?"

Tom rose to his feet. His head spun, and his legs felt weak, but he could stand, even take a step. He walked along the beach and found metal shards. The raft they had built had fallen apart during atmospheric entry. If not for their jumpsuits, Tom and Leona would have fared no better. But the azoth crystal was still there, enclosed within its metal heart.

Tom lifted the small, precious object.

"We have an azoth crystal," he said. "A way to travel the galaxy."

Leona stood up too. She wobbled, and Tom helped steady her.

"But no spaceship," Leona said. "No way to even reach space, let alone travel through it. Our jetpacks can't breach the atmosphere. Even if they could—we can't fly solo for more than a day or two. Tom, we're stranded here."

A thought rose in Tom's mind, unbidden.

Good!

Hadn't he fought enough? Tom had been fighting all his life. For years as a Peacekeeper. For years as a rebel. For the past horrible, blood-soaked days as a soldier of Earth. He had lost everything to the wars—all his loved ones, his innocence, his soul. Did he not deserve this? Was this not a gift from above? A place to rest, to heal, to live out whatever life he still had? A paradise beach with healing water, with a beautiful woman at his side?

I'm forty-five years old, he thought. And I feel like I'm seventy. And I'm tired of fighting.

But he pushed those thoughts aside.

Instead, he thought of Ayumi.

Of the precious girl who had fled Morbus Gulock. The girl he had taken under his wing. The girl who had become like a daughter to him. The girl who had sacrificed her life to save humanity.

You gave your life for Earth, Tom thought. But also for me. So that I could return home. I will never stop fighting for Earth, Ayumi. For your memory. Your death was not in vain, and generations will sing your praise.

"We'll get off this world," Tom said. "I don't know how. But we'll find a way. We will continue our mission."

Leona looked doubtful. "How?"

"Remember what you said? Worlds this nice generally attract attention. Especially here in the bustling Orion Arm of the galaxy. This place might not be uninhabited. Let's explore." He winked. "Might be we'll find a casino after all. Hopefully one with a few spaceships parked outside."

"It'll take a miracle," Leona said.

Tom nodded. "We're in the business of miracles. We are bringing humanity home to Earth. We are the miracle makers. Let's make another one."

They left the beach behind, walking toward an alien forest. The trees grew tubular leaves and round, blue fruit. Fluffy little critters fluttered between the branches, their wings transparent, their hum as soothing as the song of birds.

"This planet is stinkin' perfect," Leona said as they walked through the forest. Flowers bloomed around them. "It even smells like a mucking fairy tale. Honestly, it's so gorgeous I'm getting a little nauseous. I half expect Bambi to frolic toward me."

One of the fluffballs was eating fruit. Hoping that meant it was safe for humans too, Tom chanced tasting one. The fruit was sweet and cold and invigorating, and soon he and Leona were devouring them, then stuffing more into their pockets. They drank from a stream. The nourishment filled them with healing energy. Their wounds shrank, appearing weeks old already.

Truly—a paradise, filled with everything they needed.

How the hell has nobody built a strip mall here yet? Tom thought.

They walked for a while longer, crested a hilltop, gazed down into a valley, and Tom had his answer.

"Oh," he said.

Leona cringed and grabbed his arm. "Lovely. Just lovely."

Ants.

Millions of ants.

Giant ants.

Ants who built cities of wood, stone, and metal.

No—this planet was not a virgin world. And Tom understood why everyone else was keeping the hell away.

"Nasty little buggers," he muttered.

"Not so little," Leona said. "Those things are as big as raccoons."

Tom and Leona made to backtrack into the forest. But the ants saw them. The giant insects chirped, wriggled their antennae, and clacked their mandibles. Several came racing uphill toward the two human invaders.

Leona raised her rifle, but Tom gently nudged it down.

"We can't fight them all," Tom said. "Maybe we can resolve this peacefully."

"This'll end peacefully all right," she muttered. "A piece of us over here, a piece of us over there …"

A group of Oridians reached them, a hundred or more. The ants reached out their antennae and brushed the two humans' legs. Tom had seen many ants in his life. Evolution took similar paths on many worlds, and variations of ants were common across the galaxy. Tom had always been fond of them, thinking them industrious and friendly. But all those other ants had been tiny. Ants the size of border collies was a different matter. At this size, they were creatures of nightmares.

Yet, ugly as they were, the ants seemed more curious than hostile. They kept touching Tom's legs, tugging his pants, and chirping to one another. Some ant species, such as those on Earth, communicated with pheromones, relying on sense of smell rather than sound. But these insects, it seemed, could talk.

Tom looked at their city in the valley. Clearly, these were no mere animals. They were intelligent beings. Tom saw buildings of wood and stone. Bridges. Even some towers. When he looked closer, he even saw vehicles of metal and wood moving along the streets, belching out steam. A train was moving along distant tracks, heading toward the horizon.

"We found a new civilization," Tom said. "Leona, these ants are in the steam age."

"Great," she muttered. "We just need to grab a locomotive and blast off to the stars. Ooh, think they can build us a steam-powered wormhole?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "An hour ago, we thought we were doomed."

Leona nodded. "Doomed to spend eternity in paradise. Thank Ra we found an infestation of giant hungry ants!" She tugged her pack away from grabbing insects.

Tom couldn't help but smile. "Come on, Leona. They're not that bad once you get used to them. Hey, they're better than the damn scorpions and basilisks, right? Let's see if we can communicate."

He fished his minicom out of its pouch. It came with a translation algorithm, one that boasted a hundred thousand languages. Tom activated the program, allowing it to listen to the chattering ants. Soon enough, the device picked up the language. The translation appeared on the screen.

"What are they?" one Oridian said. "Are they the scaly ones?"

"No!" said another ant. "They are not the basilisks. These are mammalians. They grow their young in their abdomens, and they produce a liquid nutrient in sacks of their own flesh, which their juveniles suck out."

"Disgusting cannibals!" said another. "What kind of twisted creature feeds its own flesh to its young? Do they not lay eggs like civilized beings?"

"They came from the stars," said a particularly large ant. "I saw them fall! It was no falling star like our priests said. It was them! Invaders from the stars! They are dangerous."

"Yet they are powerful," said an ant. "Perhaps they can teach us. Perhaps they have great understanding. Great tools. Engines more powerful than our own. We have seen the great beings that fly among the stars. The cannibals will know them! They will teach us."

"We will hurt them until they show us!"

"No! They are not an enemy. They are teachers and prophets."

The Oridians kept chattering, arguing back and forth.

Tom spoke, filtering his voice through his minicom. It emerged translated—a language of clicks and clatters and grunts.

"Hello, friends. We come in peace."

The standard greeting of the Peacekeepers Corps. Most times, a hailstorm of bullets followed. Usually from the Peacekeepers' guns. Tom hoped that wouldn't be necessary today.

The ants scurried a few steps back, gasping at him.

"The creatures can talk!"

"They learned our language within moments."

"They are gods! They can teach us!"

"They can show us how to be mighty. We can become as great as the snakes and scorpions."

Tom grimaced. He didn't want these ants to become the next basilisks or Skra-Shen. But the creatures seemed peaceful enough. Hopefully he had something to work with here.

He turned toward Leona. "We flew into space to find allies. Maybe we just found them. I know they're not much, but maybe—whoa!"

An ant grabbed him. And lifted him overhead.

Despite its humble size, the insect was as strong as a bodybuilder.

Another ant lifted Leona. Both humans were tall, covered in armor, and carrying heavy equipment. The ants didn't mind. They began carrying them toward their city.

"Looks like we're invited for dinner," Tom said.

"For dinner or as dinner?" Leona said.

Their hosts—or were they captors?—carried them through an elaborate gateway woven of coiling wood. They entered a kingdom of copper, rope, steam, and millions of curious ants.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Bay walked through the hold of the HDFS Byzantium, comforting the poor souls around him.

They filled the Byzantium to the rafters. Two thousand refugees crowded in here. Eighty other starships of Operation Exodus flew behind the Byzantium, and they too ferried humans.

"Bless you, Young Lion," said an old woman, reaching out to touch Bay as if touching a holy relic.

"Thank you, warrior of Earth," said a young girl, hugging him.

Bay moved among them. Letting them see his uniform. His rifle. His pride and strength. Letting them know that they were protected.

They think me strong, Bay thought. But they're far stronger than me.

These people had survived the scorpion gulocks. They had tried to make their own way to Earth, flying in an assortment of salvaged ships. Only for the basilisks to capture them. To brutalize them.

And still they lived.

Still they dreamed.

Around him, they sang the song of Earth. They prayed for their homeworld. They were starving, beaten, many dying. Many were orphaned children. Many others were grieving parents. But they were all warriors.

"We will bring you home," Bay vowed. "We will bring you to Earth!"

Silently, he added words he could not speak. Not without shedding years.

You deserve more than this pain. You deserve to lie on the grass and see blue skies. To eat the fresh food that grows from our soil. To be among family and friends. To listen to music. To admire art. To build and grow. Not just to survive—but to live. To live!

He made his way to the bridge. Leaving the refugees behind, he stepped onto the bridge and gazed out the viewport.

He could see Earth in the distance, a pale blue dot. He knew they were waiting there. Thousands of Rattlers. Warships blockading Earth. Warships that wouldn't hesitate to destroy every human ship and slaughter every refugee aboard.

Bay approached Coral, who sat on the bridge, holding a warm cup of tea.

"Coral," he said softly. "Are you sure you can do this?"

She turned to look at him. She nodded. "Yes. I've rested enough. I can open another portal."

But Bay was worried. Coral was not herself. Opening the last portal had ravaged her. The weaver had spent days shivering, wrapped in a blanket. She had recovered a little. Her eyes were less sunken now. Her skin was a richer brown, no longer ashen.

But where was the vivacious, confident weaver Bay had known? The woman who would talk a mile a minute, order everyone around, then—in the same breath—comfort the fearful and share her wisdom? These days, Coral barely spoke to anyone.

She was the only weaver in the fleet. And using so much power weakened her. But Bay thought there was more to it.

He turned to look at Rowan. She was standing near the viewport, hands clasped behind her back, legs slightly parted. She was staring ahead, not acknowledging him.

Rowan too was different these days. No longer the girl he had known, who would joke around, tease him, have a Monty Python or Simpsons quote for every situation, yet feel shy in a crowd. Her stance, her hardness, almost reminded Bay of his father.

You are the woman I chose, Rowan, he thought. The woman I love. That I want to be with forever.

But he remembered another day. A day a year ago when he had made love to Coral. And when he turned back toward the weaver, she was looking at him. And he saw the jealousy in Coral's eyes.

She still loves me, Bay thought. She knows I chose Rowan. Is that what hurts her? Even more than the aether?

"I can do this," Coral repeated, more firmly this time. "For Earth, I would do anything. All my heart is for Earth."

A tear trickled down her cheek. Bay did not miss the message beneath her words.

They flew closer.

They were moments away from the heliopause, the border of the solar system.

"Row, you wanna make the announcement?" Bay asked.

But Rowan didn't seem to hear him. She still stood, facing the viewport, staring ahead. She had barely spoken since the battle against the hydra. Her face was hard, almost lifeless.

We'll all have to grieve, Bay thought. But not now. Not here.

He picked up the comm. "Exodus Fleet, this is Major Bay Ben-Ari speaking from aboard the HDFS Byzantium. We're about to open a portal to Earth. Ten thousand basilisk ships are still orbiting Earth, blockading the planet. We're going to sneak right past them, emerging into low orbit, just above the sky. While our fleet orbits Earth, shuttles will deliver the refugees to the surface, then return. Once the last refugee is on Earth, the Exodus Fleet will re-enter the portal, heading back to the stars—and to collect more refugees. The operation will be dangerous. The Rattlers are likely to attack. We'll be evacuating the refugees under fire. All refugees—enter your shuttles now. We're going to orbit only a hundred kilometers above Earth's surface, and you're going to deploy at once. Move fast! We have twenty thousand people to land. Our window of opportunity will be short. Godspeed, children of Earth! Let's go home."

Coral rose to her feet. As she approached the viewport, her robes fluttered, and she seemed almost to be floating. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. Her hair billowed as if she were underwater. A glow appeared behind her eyelids, and her tattoos shone.

Suddenly she winced. She let out a small, strangled cry.

"Coral!" Bay made to approach, but Rowan grabbed him. She pulled him back.

"Let her work," Rowan said.

They both watched the weaver. She was trembling. The glow intensified. Coral inhaled sharply, and light burst from her palms.

Before the fleet, hovering in space, a portal materialized.

"Hurry," Coral whispered, voice shaking.

Bay pushed down the throttle.

The Byzantium flew through the portal and emerged just above Earth's sky.

The other ships followed.

Bay looked around him. They were a hundred kilometers above the surface—grazing the atmosphere. Below—the colony awaited. Above—Rattlers noticed them.

The enemy warships opened fire.

"Deploy, deploy!" Bay shouted. "Now!"

Across the Exodus Fleet, hangars opened.

Laser beams slammed into the starships.

The Byzantium rattled. A laser beam sliced through the hull near the stern. Air began to escape the back decks.

"Deploy, dammit!" Bay shouted.

From the ship's underbelly, they emerged.

The shuttles.

Shuttles carrying hundreds of refugees.

Bay grabbed a gun turret's controls. He opened fire.

Soon the entire Exodus Fleet was firing with him. Their shells flew upward, slamming into the Rattlers. Their Firebirds fought with them, pounding the enemy. Laser beams flashed downward, crashing through starships.

But the shuttles kept descending.

With every beat, another shuttle plunged downward, delivering refugees—then rose again to collect more.

A Copperhead made it to the edge of the sky. It fired, taking out a shuttle, slaying a hundred refugees on board. Bay shouted, fired his cannons, and took out the starfighter. The heavy human warships crowded together, forming a shield wall, protecting the shuttles beneath them.

Throughout the battle, Coral stood on the bridge, eyes shut, hands trembling, struggling to maintain the portal.

"Hurry," she whispered. "Please."

The lasers hit a ship behind them, slicing it in half. It crashed into the sky and burned up.

More lasers kept pounding them. The other human starships—the hundreds who had not flown on Operation Exodus—joined the fray. They too pounded the Rattlers, trying to buy the refugees more time. The battle raged across orbit. The shuttles kept descending.

"I can't … hold it . . . much longer," Coral whispered.

Bay ran toward her. He grabbed her as she collapsed. He held her in his arms. Coral was still clinging to the portal, desperate to keep it open—to give them an escape route. Bay knew she couldn't just let the portal dissipate and reopen it. She would need days of recovery to open a new portal.

"Rowan, we have to get out of here!" Bay shouted.

Rowan stood at the helm, gripping the yoke. "Give me another five minutes! We still have refugees to send down!"

The shuttles flew in a fury. A laser hit the Byzantium, tearing through another deck. Another ship exploded. A Firebird crashed into the atmosphere and burned up.

Finally, the last shuttles were rising, empty.

"Please …" Coral whispered. "Hurry …"

"Hold the Rattlers back!" Bay cried. "Fleet, hit them with everything we've got!"

Still holding Coral in his arms, he managed to grab the cannons and fire. He hit a Rattler.

The last shuttle entered the hangar.

"All right, we're done, let's blow this joint!" Bay shouted.

Rowan tugged the yoke, spinning the Byzantium back toward the portal.

The shimmering gateway was nearly gone. It was a faint flicker in space.

The Byzantium roared toward it, all while laser beams kept nipping at her stern.

Seconds later, they burst out of the portal—back into interstellar space. The other Exodus ships followed.

So did several Rattlers. Their lasers fired, taking out a ship.

"Azoth drives—engage!" Bay cried.

With pops of light, the Exodus Fleet shot outward. The Byzantium went last, taking heavy fire, shooting back at Copperheads. The bastards kept trying to follow through the portal.

Coral collapsed, and the portal vanished behind her.

"All right, let's go, warp speed!" Bay said, firing a shell at the last lingering Copperhead.

Rowan shoved down a lever, and the azoth drive activated. The stars stretched into lines, and they were off.

The Byzantium rejoined the rest of the fleet, and they glided through interstellar space, leaving the solar system far behind. They still had eighty ships, all still staffed with pilots and soldiers. Cheers rose from every ship.

They had spent only moments back home—and evacuated nearly twenty thousand refugees.

Within moments, Earth's population had doubled.

They had lost a few hundred lives. Each death was a tragedy. But they all knew: Today was a victory.

And Bay knew their work was only beginning.

There were still several million humans stranded across space. Gulock survivors. Refugees desperate to go home.

We have a year, Bay thought. A year before the Galactic Council votes on who owns Earth—the basilisks or humans. We have a year to stake our territory. To land as many people as we can. We have a year to save Earth.

They would not rest to celebrate. Not even a day. Already the Exodus Fleet was flying toward its next destination—another refugee camp, this one on a barren world of ice and snow. Another community of humans. Another battle.

That night, they gave command of the ship to Fillister and Brooklyn, allowing the two artificial intelligences to fly it onward. Until they found them new bodies, it gave the two something to do.

Bay could not imagine sleeping. Nervous energy coursed through his body. He spent two hours in the ship's gym, lifting weights until his muscles ached and nearly tore. With every rep, he saw another death. And he lifted those weights until everything hurt, until his muscles were screaming. But the pain was good.

Finally, past midnight, he returned to his cabin, the small chamber he had been sharing with Rowan. She was still awake, sitting on the bedside, gazing out a porthole. She was still wearing her uniform. She was holding her gun. She did not even turn toward him.

"Can't sleep?" Bay asked her.

Rowan did not move. Did not acknowledge him. Bay stood awkwardly beside her.

"Row—" he began.

She turned toward him at last. He took a step back.

Her eyes … They were dry. But filled with such pain.

"Bay," she whispered. "I …"

Her gun trembled in her hands.

Bay sat beside her, gently extricated Lullaby from her grip, and placed the pistol on a bedside table. He held her hands. Small hands. So pale and delicate. The fingers short and thin. The nails bitten down to stubs.

"Rowan, I'm here," he said.

Finally her tears flowed.

"The things we saw," she said. "Someday maybe I can learn to deal with that. Maybe I can someday forgive the scorpions and the basilisks for what they did to us. But one thing I can never forgive. What they made me do." She trembled. "Who am I, Bay? Am I nothing but a killer?"

He embraced her. She trembled against him, and he kissed the top of her head.

"You're the woman I love," he said. "A woman who is kind, and intelligent, and brave, and funny, and wonderful. You will always be Rowan Emery, a pure soul. You might become harder. Stronger. Scarred. But on the inside, I know you'll always be the same. And I'll always love you."

She looked into his eyes and caressed his cheek. "I love you too, doofus."

He wiped her tears. "Thanks, hobbit."

"Now kiss me, dumbass," she said.

He did.

They made love. No—tonight was not about "making love," tonight was not gentle or romantic. They had sweaty, desperate, rough sex. They clung to each other. They cried out—in pleasure, in fear, in grief, in love. They climaxed together, and Rowan had tears in her eyes. Bay held her close, soothing her, kissing away her tears as she nestled against him.

"I love you," he whispered to her again. "I love you so much. Always."

She curled against him and slept in his arms. Bay remained awake for a long time, stroking her damp hair over and over, seeking comfort in offering comfort, seeking solace in protecting her, relief in her softness and warmth. Finally he slept, his hand on the small of her back, and whenever the nightmares woke him, she was there again, mumbling in her sleep, kissing him until they slept again.

Lights brightened across the ship, bringing artificial dawn.

They were near a frozen planet. A world of refugees.

Their war continued.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Leona sighed.

"So it won't be alien scorpions that destroy humanity. It won't be giant talking snakes. It won't be any of the damn centipedes, spiders, and squids that have attacked Earth throughout the generations." Leona looked around her and rolled her eyes. "It'll be a bunch of Ra damn ants."

She was exaggerating, perhaps. After all, the ants—these natives of Oridia Gamma—hadn't attacked her and Tom. Not yet, in any case. But Leona desperately needed to fly into space. To find allies. To lobby for votes. Unless the ants had a spaceship tucked away, humanity was doomed.

I need to save the world, and instead, I'm stuck in the galaxy's largest ant farm, she thought.

An ant was still carrying her. The little bugger was no larger than a dog, but it was damn strong. Another ant was carrying Tom.

Countless other ants were here too, filling the city. They were all staring at the two captive humans, chattering among themselves and reaching out to touch Leona and Tom. They seemed more curious than hostile. There was that at least. But Leona couldn't help but wonder: Are they curious what we taste like?

Though stress consumed Leona, she had to admit: There was a certain beauty to this city of the ants. The Oridians had woven the trees into elaborate structures, bending trunks and branches into archways, bridges, and balconies. Cobbled roads ran along the ground. Buildings of stone and wood rose everywhere, some several stories tall. Ants were climbing up and down their walls with ease. Leona peeked into windows as the ants carried her past. Most buildings were residential, and ants lounged inside on piles of straw and soil. Other buildings contained piles of eggs, and some housed nurseries for larvae. There were stone granaries too, and ants stood atop them, shooing away birds.

The Oridians had not only developed architecture but agriculture too. Gardens grew on balconies, providing fruit, vegetables, and nuts. City parks were devoted to growing more crops. Trees grew in valleys, and aphids covered the branches, hundreds per tree. Ant farmers were milking the aphids, collecting their honeydew into jars.

Even more amazingly, the ants had developed technology. They were only in the steam era, but Leona was amazed such small, simple creatures could be so clever. Automobiles rumbled down the cobbled roads, their steam engines puffing. They carried inside them produce, jars of honeydew, and eggs. Other steam engines were attached to factories, powering ant industry. A train chugged through the city on wooden tracks, chimney puffing, ferrying passengers out to the countryside. Once, Leona even heard a rumbling above, and she looked up to see a wooden airplane.

It was amazing, yes. But wooden airplanes wouldn't get Leona into orbit, let alone cross the light-years to the Council.

"You know, it's kinda nice here," Tom said, lounging on the back of his ant.

Leona glared at him. "How can you say that?"

He shrugged. "The city is clean. Not a speck of dirt or a fume of smog. And we get free transportation."

She rolled her eyes. "Most likely it's free transportation to wherever they slaughter and cook humans." She looked ahead and winced. "We might finally be there."

A grand structure rose ahead, large as a cathedral. It was built of stone, but it looked more like a dripping castle of wet sand. Turrets, domes, and balconies were patched on haphazardly, round or oval, some sloping downward like melting wax. Bronze statues rose around the tower, depicting bipedal ants, their antennae topped with gemstones the size of apples. Several ants, clad in draping white garments, were carrying jars of honeydew through a doorway. Other ants were emerging from the tower, carrying baskets of eggs.

At the doorway, ants demanded Tom and Leona surrender their weapons. Leona was reluctant to surrender Arondight. Her rifle was like a part of her. But maybe Tom was right. They had gone on this mission to find allies, not fight wars. She begrudgingly handed over her rifle.

The ants then carried Tom and Leona through the doorway and into a shadowy hall. Several battle ants stood guard, larger than the others—as large as pit bulls. They wore armor and carried scimitars.

The smaller ants dropped the two humans, nipped at their heels, and goaded them forward.

"Go, go!" the ants said. "Let her see you. Let her judge you. She is wise."

Leona wished she still had her weapon. She glanced at Tom. He nodded at her reassuringly. How he could remain so calm Leona would never know.

The ants nipped their heels again. "Go, go!"

Leona was tempted to kick them. She pushed the urge away. These guards had mean-looking blades, and Leona couldn't defeat them without her rifle. She stepped forward obediently, and Tom walked at her side.

They reached a cone of light, and Leona froze and gasped.

"It's the queen," she whispered. "Ra. Look at the size of her."

The Queen Ant lounged on a hill of soil. She was the size of a Volkswagen Beetle, the kind Leona had seen in old Earth movies. Leona had expected an ant queen to be squishy and pale, more like a maggot. But this queen looked like a regular ant—the same exoskeleton, the same legs, the same antennae—just freakishly large.

The queen was silent, seeming not even to notice the two humans.

Leona cleared her throat. "Greetings! I am Colonel Leona Ben-Ari, a human of Earth. With me is Colonel Tom Shepherd, a fellow human. We come in peace, offering friendship."

The queen remained silent.

A circle of wooden fans surrounded the massive insect, cooling her in the stifling room. Smaller ants kept stepping up, one by one, and offering her jars of honeydew. Several ants waited behind the queen. Every few moments, the queen laid another egg, which a worker ant collected in a basket. Honeydew in, eggs out. A continuous cycle.

Leona coughed politely.

"We would be happy to exchange knowledge, cultural and technological," Leona said. "We're a friendly species, and—"

Queen Ant spoke, interrupting her. "We know who you are." She raised her heavy head and stared at Leona with beady eyes. "You are bug killers."

The warrior ants stepped closer, armor clanking, and raised their blades. Leona winced.

"We like bugs—honestly!" Leona squirmed. "Ladybugs, butterflies, fireflies …" The guards stepped closer. "Ants … especially ants! Right, Tom?" She nudged him.

The tall, silver-haired man nodded. "Your species and city are fascinating, my queen. We have no wish to harm you. We come only in friendship."

The queen shifted on her pile of soil. She kicked, knocking over jars of honeydew, and clacked her mandibles.

"Liars! I know of you humans. I know your sordid history. First you fought the centipedes of Abaddon, and you destroyed their world. Then you fought the marauders, the spiders of Corpus. Only recently, you butchered the Skra-Shen scorpions. You have spent the history of your species killing those you call bugs. And now you come to me and pretend to be friendly? I call you: deceivers!"

Leona took a step forward. The guards moved in and crossed their swords, blocking her. Leona glared over them at the queen.

"Those species attacked us!" she said. "We had to defend ourselves. But we also formed friendships with many aliens. With the peaceful Gouramis of the watery depths. With the Menorians of many arms. With the Aelonians too."

The queen snorted. "Fish. Mollusks. Humanoids. Yes, perhaps you associated with those species. But any insect you encountered—you killed! You destroyed their cities!" The queen rose on her throne of dirt, eyes wroth. "Perhaps we ants should now be the ones who do the killing."

"When have we ever hurt ants?" Leona demanded. "We're a very calm, peaceful species!" She stamped her feet, clenched her fists, and her voice rose to a shout. "Can't you see that we're peaceful, dammit? What the hell is wrong with you!"

Tom gently pulled down her fists.

"Leona, better let me handle this," he said. "I used to be a Peacekeeper. Maybe I can make some peace here too."

Grumbling, Leona stepped back. She gestured. "The stage is yours."

Tom held out his hands toward the Queen Ant.

"These are my hands," he said. "I am holding them toward you to show how they carry no weapon. This is a gesture of peace among humans. My companion and I traveled to the stars to make peace with new species. To form not only friendships—but alliances. We have much to teach you. We have built great ships that travel between the stars. We have developed medicine to cure many diseases. We have seeds of sturdy crops that can grow through drought and storm. And we know we can learn a lot from you too. Your city is filled with wonders and beauty. As we passed through it, we saw statues and cathedrals of coiling wood, and we heard the songs of many singers. We know that you can enrich our culture, as we can enrich yours. Let us share our wisdom. Let us trade. Let us grow together."

Leona stared at him in wonder.

Well, I'll be, she thought. She had not expected that. She knew Tom had been a shepherd, a galactic cop, a rebel, and an officer. She hadn't known he was also a diplomat.

It's no wonder Dad chose him for this mission, she thought.

The Queen Ant stared at Tom, still tense. Her guards still held their swords raised.

"You say this now," the queen said. "Because you are only two humans, and you are unarmed. What if you return with many? With great machines of war? We ants are simple beings. We have no advanced weaponry. No ships that can sail among the stars. If your armies arrive, they will destroy us. Perhaps I should destroy you first."

Leona stepped forward again. This time no anger filled her. She spoke softly.

"I understand. For many eras, we humans too were afraid. We too were vulnerable. Many more powerful species attacked us. Destroyed our cities. Butchered billions of us." Leona lowered her head. "We still mourn. I myself lost many loved ones." She looked back up, eyes damp. "So we flew out among the stars. To find other allies. To find friends. Other species like ours—who believe in goodness, in peace. Who can join together to face the predators. We humans and ants are not enemies. We are species who seek to build, not to destroy. Let us build together. Separate, we are weak. United, we will be stronger than anyone can imagine."

She was not a natural public speaker. Leona had always been more about guns and engines than words and handshakes. But to her surprise, the Queen Ant relaxed. She gestured at her guards, and the armored ants stepped back.

"You and I are not so different," the Queen Ant said to Leona. "You are a queen among your people."

"We have no queens," Leona said.

"I think you do." The Queen Ant nodded. "You may not know it. But you do. That is the first thing I will teach you."

Leona felt a sudden stab of pain. She glanced at the pile of eggs behind the Queen Ant. This great insect was remarkably fertile. Leona meanwhile had lost her child many years ago, a wound that had never healed.

Maybe in some ways, I'm a queen, she thought. But I'll never be a mother.

"Maidens!" said the Queen Ant to her smaller ants, the ones draped in white. "Show our guests to comfortable burrows, and serve them a feast. At dawn, our exchange of wisdom will begin."

The ants took them to a chamber on the top floor. It was a cozy little room with a view. The ants served a meal on wooden plates. The fruit and nuts were delicious, but Leona gave the honeydew a pass. After seeing the ants milk the aphids, she didn't feel like drinking bug juice.

When night fell, she and Tom curled up on the floor. The ants had no beds, but thankfully they had offered blankets woven of leaves and flowers. As the stars emerged outside, they heard the songs of ants singing in temples, perhaps their evening prayers. It was a beautiful, ethereal choir.

"It's nice here," Tom said.

Leona nodded. "Yes, but I'm scared, Tom. We have no way to contact Earth. They don't know we're marooned here. They think we're still on our mission—collecting allies."

"I think we found an ally," Tom said.

Leona rolled her eyes. "Yes, okay, we found one ally. But that won't help us. We need a lot of votes. Tom, if we can't win this vote, the basilisks will unleash their full military might. They'll destroy Earth. We have to get off this world."

"Leona, I know," Tom said. "But the basilisks blew up our spaceship. And these ants are only in the steam era."

She held his hand and looked into his eyes. "Well, we told the Queen Ant we'll share information, right?" She nodded. "We have one year."

He frowned. "One year for what?"

She smiled. "To teach ants how to build a spaceship."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The basilisks were still assaulting the walls when twenty thousand new refugees landed in the colony.

They were skinny, some starving. Many were wounded, and many were ravaged by disease. They had survived the gulocks, then the basilisk pits. Some had endured torture. They had all spent years in hell.

They needed medicine. Food and water. Comfort, love, and healing.

And within moments of their landing, Emet made them soldiers.

They lined up before him. Men. Women. Children. Anyone who could stand. He gave each one a gourd of water, a loaf of bread, and a rifle. From that moment, they were no longer refugees. They were soldiers in the Human Defense Force. And they were fighting a war.

With the new arrivals, Port Addison had doubled in size. Nearly forty thousand humans now lived on Earth, crammed within the walls. Leona had formed this colony with only two hundred souls. It was now filled to the brim. And any day now, Operation Exodus would be returning with more refugees.

"Within a year," Emet told his soldiers, "we want half a million humans here. Within two years—over a million. Within a decade—every human in the galaxy. We have a lot of work to do."

He divided everyone into two camps: soldiers and workers. The only ones spared were children under ten, elders over seventy, and anyone too wounded to stand. The rest fought and toiled.

The soldiers patrolled the walls. Until the Galactic Council voted, the basilisks could not deploy their military. But the wild basilisks of the mountains attacked relentlessly.

Here were beasts unbound by any treaty. One day, three basilisks burrowed under the wall, invaded a nursery, and devoured several babies. Another day, the basilisks tore down a wooden guard tower, dragged the screaming guards away, and tortured them for hours before slaying them. Some basilisks had begun to construct their own weapons and form militias. They built crude catapults and hurled stones and flaming logs into the colony. Every day, they killed.

And every day, humanity fought back. Day and night, the brave soldiers of Earth fired on the basilisks, holding the serpents back, defending the walls. They fought as they mourned their fallen brothers and sisters. They fought though exhaustion, fear, and hunger tore at their bodies and souls. They fought because, for the first time in their lives, they were not prisoners. For the first time, they stood tall.

The workers suffered and contributed no less. They mixed concrete and built fortified homes instead of tents. They constructed new walls, expanding Port Addison even under enemy fire. A few brave workers dashed outside the wall, raised a wooden tower, dug a moat, and claimed new territory. They planted gardens. They toiled in the smithy, making new bullets and guns. The basilisks had poisoned the river, so they dug wells.

But most importantly, the workers prepared for the great war ahead. For the possibility that Earth would lose the vote. That the full wrath of the basilisk military would hit them.

They dug. They dug trenches and filled them with supplies and weapons. They dug bunkers for civilians to hide in. They built sturdier towers—these of stone. They collected cannons from fallen starships and they converted them into anti-aircraft weapons. They hooked up computers, working to bypass the basilisk jamming signals and contact the human fleet.

Emet rarely slept during these days and nights. He was no longer young, but he had never felt such energy, such vigor, even with the horrors surrounding them. He had spent decades fighting in space. But this battle felt new and sacred. For the first time, he was defending his home soil.

"Emet, you need to sleep," Cindy said.

He was digging a trench, working under the hot noonday sun. Heat and sweat bathed him, and insects bustled around him. Emet had abandoned the blue coat he had worn as an admiral. Now he wore a simple white buttoned shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and sturdy trousers. He had kept the cowboy hat; it was worth its weight in gold here on a sunny world.

He grunted at Cindy. "I'll sleep when I'm dead."

The nurse placed her hands on her hips. "At this rate, that's not far off! Emet." Her voice softened, and she placed a hand on his shoulder. "How long have you been awake for?"

Emet didn't know. "I slept last night," he said. "I think. Or was that two nights ago?"

Cindy crossed her arms. "President Emet Ben-Ari! I am your nurse. And your friend. Get to bed."

"The war does not sleep," Emet grumbled.

"But men do." She grabbed him by the ear. "Don't make me drag you!"

With a sigh, Emet relented, surrendering his shovel to another man. He followed Cindy through the camp. The colonists bustled around them. A woman stood by a well, handing cups—made from the casings of artillery shells—to thirsty workers and soldiers. An engineer was struggling to kick-start a generator. A woman was giving birth in a nearby tent to one of the first babies born on Earth. Another woman sat in a garden, reading to a group of toddlers, a generation that might not even remember the exile. Soldiers marched in an unpaved square, training with weapons—some had been starving refugees only days ago, yet they were already moving with precision.

It warmed Emet's heart to see. Because though life was hard here, there was pride in this life. There was honor in this labor. They were fighting and toiling under the sun, not seeking a distant star. Already, a new generation was rising here. A new kind of human.

There were even dogs in the colony. Emet had never seen a dog until landing on Earth, yet the animals had managed to survive for thousands of years on their own, feral in the wilderness. A handful had made it into the camp, instantly reconnecting with their long-lost masters. Emet paused to pat a cur.

Yes, he was exhausted. He was afraid. He was worried every day about the battles ahead, about his children who were fighting in space.

But yes, there was happiness here too. Deep inside him. Almost crushed by this war. But it was there. For the first time in his life, Emet felt it. Not joy, because joy was something more radiant and colorful. But happiness. Yes, happiness would do.

Cindy accompanied him to his tent. The colony had begun to build a few concrete buildings, but Emet had not taken residence in one. He vowed to remain in a tent until every last colonist had a proper roof over his head. The summer was hot, but the tent was cool, and Emet gratefully lay down on his cot. He groaned and reached for his cup of water.

"You should eat something too," Cindy said.

"By Ra, woman, will you let me catch my breath?" Emet said, but there was no true anger in his voice.

He approached his basin of water. Leona had founded a colony along a river, but the basilisks had been dumping corpses into the water, polluting it. Several wells supplied the camp now, and Ramses and Mairead had been flying shuttles to the mountaintops and back, ferrying ice and snow. Even so, they were all on water rations. When even drinking water was rationed, bathing was a luxury. Emet allowed his soldiers to wash only on Sundays, each using a single bucket, and smell be damned.

Emet pulled off his shirt, groaning, and slowly washed himself for the first time in a week. His muscles ached, and his body stung with old wounds. He was fifty-nine, but his chest was still wide, his muscles strong. The years of war had left him hardened.

Cindy took the sponge from him. "Let me help."

"For Ra's sake, Cindy! Can I have a little privacy?"

She snorted. "Emet, I've been your nurse for years. I've seen you naked many times. And you can't even reach your damn back. Now give me that."

She snatched the sponge from him, and she helped him wash. Emet groaned, rolled his eyes, but had to admit—it helped.

"Am I so old?" he said, suddenly sounding weary. "That I need help washing?"

Cindy rolled her eyes. "Please. You're not even sixty."

A sigh rolled through him. "So yes, I am old. This world belongs to the young."

She glowered at him. "Well, I'm almost sixty too, so I refuse to believe that's old."

"You're not even fifty yet!" he snapped.

Cindy nodded. "True. But the years go by quickly. Now lie down in bed!"

Emet glowered at her. "Now I'm a child?"

"I certainly hope not!" Cindy crossed her arms again. "Because I'm about to have sex with you."

"What?" Emet sputtered. "Are you out of your mind?"

She frowned. "Most certainly not! Emet, when is the last time you had sex?"

"That is none of your business!"

She placed her hands on his shoulders. Her voice softened. "It's been years, hasn't it?"

Emet refused to answer. But he knew she saw the answer in his eyes.

"I'm fighting a war," he said. "I'm too busy for such things."

"Not anymore," Cindy said. "Not tonight. We are on Earth tonight. Tomorrow we might all be dead. And I need this just as much as you. So kiss me, you idiot. I've been waiting for you to kiss me for ages."

Emet thought about his wife. About the beautiful and brave Alexis.

But yes, that had been a long time ago.

Alexis had been gone for years.

And Cindy was here before him—a woman who had fought at Emet's side throughout these difficult years. Who tended to him. Spoke to him as an equal. Who, he now realized, loved him. She was not a combat soldier, but she was every inch the warrior. And he realized that he loved her too. And he kissed her. And he took her into his bed.

They made love as the sound of the camp—falling hammers, marching boots, barking dogs, and a thousand other sounds—filled the tent. They made love with heat and passion until sweat drenched him again. And after she fell asleep in his arms, Emet stroked her hair and savored the warmth of her body against his. Yes, there was pain here in the colony. There was danger and fear and endless hardship. But there was happiness too. Tomorrow he would fight again. Here, tonight, with Cindy in his arms, he was happy.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

They rode their snowmobiles across the frozen plains, roaring, firing their guns.

"Kill them all!" Rowan shouted, steering with one hand, firing Lullaby with the other. "Kill every last damn snake!"

The basilisks reared before them, screeching. They leaped onto the snowmobiles, slamming into soldiers, shattering their bones. Rowan flew through the air, landed in the snow, and rose with her gun firing. A basilisk tore apart before her, and the hot blood splattered the snow. The Firebirds roared above, strafing the enemy trenches, raising clouds of vapor and basilisk scales.

"To the camp!" Rowan cried, racing across the snow. "Kill them all!"

They stormed over the hill, and they saw the internment camp below. This one was outdoors. The bastards wanted the humans to suffer in the cold.

Barbed wire surrounded the camp. Guard towers loomed, filled with snakes. Behind the fences, the humans were huddling together, freezing, crying out for aid. Their only crime? Surviving the gulocks. Their only dream? To return home.

Rowan was here to make that dream come true.

"Kill the snakes!" she shouted, her snowmobile leading the charge.

The other marines rode with her, howling for war, firing their guns. And the basilisks fell before them. Rowan reached the fence first and tore through it, flying into the camp on a cloud of snow.

She fought.

She killed.

The shuttles rose, carrying thousands of humans.

Before they flew away, Rowan nuked the damn camp from orbit. She stared down at the mushroom cloud, fists clenched.

She spun away. She would never look at that world again. She stared at Coral.

"Open a portal," Rowan said. "Take us back to Earth."

The weaver sat in her chair, wrapped in a blanket, eyes sunken. She nodded weakly.

Bay stepped forward. "Row, why don't we give her a moment? Coral could use a few more hours to recover. Tomorrow morning we can—"

"No." Rowan shook her head. "Now. Do it, Coral. Take us home. These ships are packed with refugees. And we have many more to save."

Coral looked at her, thin and weary, and nodded.

The weaver rose to her feet. Her eyes glowed. And a portal to Earth opened.

They flew home.

They fought in orbit.

Under heavy fire, they evacuated the refugees to Earth, lost two shuttles, lost a hundred lives. And they flew out again. Ships empty. Ready to save more. Operation Exodus continued.

The fleet stormed toward the Rattlers, pounding the enemy warships with shell after shell. Rowan fired a nuclear weapon, and it exploded among the enemy formation, tearing Rattlers apart, blazing like a collapsing star. She led her fleet through enemy fire toward an asteroid, a hunk of stone the size of Manhattan. She flew sorties around it, pounding the basilisk gun stations, leaving holes where their bases had been.

"Kill every snake in your way!" she cried, running down the tunnels, delving into the bowels of the asteroid.

They fought in the darkness. The tunnels twisted and turned, and the snakes were everywhere. But Rowan had become good at killing them. At hitting their eyes. They hurt her often. They cut her, bit her, crushed her bones. And the Harmonians inside her glowed and healed her. And she fought on. And she fought them every night in her dreams.

"Now, Coral," Rowan said. "Another wormhole."

"Rowan, she—" Bay began.

"Now."

They stormed through a jungle world, riding mechanical quadrupeds like horses of steel. The basilisks leaped from the trees. Rowan and the marines fought them. Burned them. Burned down swaths of forest until they reached the hidden camp. And they took the refugees home.

And another wormhole shone.

And Coral became thinner, weaker. She now slept all the time unless she was weaving.

The Exodus Fleet flew toward a group of massive alien tankers, vessels filled with refugees. The basilisk fleet had surrounded them, had quarantined the tankers around a derelict space station. That basilisk fleet shattered under Rowan's fire.

The colony on Earth swelled. It rose to a hundred thousand strong. Then a quarter million. And Rowan fought onward.

Soon she was no longer finding mere human prisoners, mere refugee camps. She was finding death camps. The basilisks had grown weary of interning refugees. They had begun to slaughter.

And Rowan fought harder.

She fought day and night.

To save whoever she could.

"Another wormhole!" she ordered.

Coral gazed at her wearily. So thin. Skeletal. She was barely eating, and they had her hooked up to feeding rubes. But the weaver opened the portal home.

They fought on moons and planets. In space stations and around black holes. They stole ships from the basilisks they killed. They lost hundreds of fighters. And they fought on.

And the colony grew.

And Coral withered.

And Rowan found no sleep. No rest. No redemption for her soul. And even Bay began to fear what she was becoming.

"Rowan," he said gently one night. "Maybe you should sit the next one out. Go down to Earth. Spend a month with Emet and the others. I'll carry on the mission."

They were in their cabin aboard the Byzantium. Both nursing wounds. Together they had liberated another internment camp that morning, were already flying to another.

"I have to keep going." Rowan stood by the porthole, staring outside at the stars. "There are still so many out there. Refugees who need us."

"Rowan." Bay walked up to her, embraced her from behind. "You can't do this to yourself."

"What?" She reeled toward him, placed her hands on her hips. "Complete my mission? Save lives? Kill the enemy?"

"Not at the cost of your life!" Bay said. "Of your sanity!"

She barked a laugh. "I'm still alive; it's humanity that's dying. I'm still sane; it's the cosmos that's gone crazy."

"Rowan, I worry about you." Bay reached up to stroke her cheek. "You and Coral, you're both—"

She shoved his hand away. "I don't want to hear about Coral."

Pain filled his eyes. "She can't keep going at this rate either. If Coral dies, the mission is doomed."

Rowan stared at him, head tilted. And she saw something in his eyes. Saw the truth.

"You love her," Rowan whispered. As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized how petty they sounded. But she had not slept in days. She was so tired, so scared. So the words were out. The suspicion that had haunted her for so long.

"I love you," Bay said. "You know that, Rowan."

She scrutinized him. "But I see guilt in your eyes. Did you sleep with her, Bay? On your mission with her to find the Godblade. Did you sleep with Coral?"

"Rowan!" Bay barked a laugh. "That was over a year ago!"

She kept staring into his eyes. She saw the answer. And she felt the tear roll down her cheek.

"I thought so," she whispered.

"Rowan, please." Bay reached out to her. "Are we really going to do this now? Be jealous? Fight over another woman? Rowan, whatever happened in our past lives, before we were a couple—that's in the past. I love you, Rowan. I love you with all my heart, as cheesy as that sounds. I love as you as much as hobbits love second breakfast."

He smiled at her, trying to alleviate the tension with a joke, a reference she normally would laugh at. But she remained somber.

"I don't know who you are," she whispered. "And I don't know who I am. Who am I, Bay?"

He held her hands. "You are Major Rowan Ben-Ari. A soldier of Earth."

She blinked at him. "Am I? A soldier? Is that all?" She gazed at the shadows. "I was once the girl in the ducts. Once a dreamer. Once the girl who posed for you while you drew her. Who wrote a movie script for Dinosaur Island. Who was happy. Who was young and innocent. But she died, Bay. That girl died somewhere in a death camp we liberated, or a tunnel we fought in, among the piles of dead—the dead humans, or the aliens I killed. And I still see them, Bay. Every one of their faces. Human and alien. Every one who died. They come to me in my dreams. Every night, Bay. Every night. And they stare into my eyes. And they won't go away." She was shaking, and her voice cracked, and her tears would not stop. "I just want them to go away, to be who I was. I'm so scared."

Bay pulled her into his arms. She sobbed against his chest.

"I don't know what to say," he whispered. "I don't know how to help you. How to make them go away. But I can hold you. I can keep you warm. I can be with you as you fight them. Every step of the way. Does that help?"

She nodded, sniffing. "That helps."

She slept in his embrace. And he remained with her all night, fighting the demons, keeping her warm.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Leona stood in the yard surrounded by scrap metal, pieces of paper, charcoal pencils, and fifty eager ants.

Welp, she thought, we have a year to build a spaceship.

She cleared her throat. "Good morning class! My name is Miss Ben-Ari. I'll be your science teacher."

She paused, waiting for an enthusiastic "Good morning, Miss Ben-Ari!" from a hundred voices. The Oridians merely stared, silent.

Leona loosened her collar. "I'm here to exchange knowledge with your species. We humans have much to learn from you—and much to teach you. We have technology that enables us to explore the stars. I will teach you how to build a spaceship!"

"What's a spaceship?" asked an ant.

Leona pointed at the sky, where a wooden airplane was flying by, propellers whirring. "It's like a great airplane, but one that can travel between the stars. With these spaceships, you'll join a league of advanced spacefaring civilizations."

One ant wiggled an antennae. "Are there many seeds on other planets?"

A second ant emitted a breathy sound and bobbed his head, perhaps laughing. "You only care about your abdomen, Hetakran."

Hetakran clattered his mandibles. "I think of our queen! I am a gatherer of food, not a builder like you. Foraging is in my blood."

Another ant stepped closer, a burlier one with plate armor. "And I am a warrior! I care not for finding food in the darkness. I care for weapons! Will these spaceships of yours be able to fight? We know that there are many enemies in space. Many predatory species. We must build mighty weapons to protect ourselves."

"You two only think of eating and killing!" said another ant, a slender being with wings and a reedy voice. "But I care about territory. I may become a queen someday. Will there be many plains of soil and leaves in space, with many rocks to build walls and towers? I will build myself a hive! A hive to rival all hives!"

A few younger females, their wings shorter, gathered around their larger sister. They chittered enthusiastically.

"A hive, a hive! Yes, a hive! We will tend to your eggs, great mother."

"I only care about trees," barked another ant, this one with particularly long legs, the tips fuzzy. "I am an aphid farmer. My task is to milk the honeydew. Our aphid flocks have faced challenges here, with many caterpillars consuming them. With these spaceships, can we find new groves?"

Soon all the ants were speaking at once. Leona listened. It was fascinating. She was familiar with human history. With humanity, only three great motivators had ever propelled ambition: faith, gold, and war. All the great human projects fell into one of these baskets. Humans built the pyramids and cathedrals for their deities. They created great industries and high technology for gold. And finally, they developed nuclear technology, planted a flag on the moon, and flew into deep space for war. Leona knew how to motivate humans. Faith, gold, and war. One or the other always did the trick.

Well, I suppose sex would be the fourth motivator, Leona thought with a cynical smile. Not that I'd know much about that.

The ants had their own motivators, depending on their caste. The burly warriors cared about war, much like many humans. The winged females cared about building their own hives. The others cared about farming, digging, or building.

Maybe the ants weren't so different from humans after all. Weren't these the same motivators? War for the soldiers. Gold in the form of soil and honeydew. And for the female and their coteries—becoming or worshiping a queen, almost a religion.

Our two species share more than I realized, Leona thought.

The ants were all paying attention now. And Leona got to work.

The first day, only fifty ants attended her class.

The next day—five hundred.

Soon Leona was speaking to thousands.

The ants were quick learners, curious, hardworking, and fiendishly intelligent. Many were already scientifically minded. After all, they had developed steam locomotion, flight, and even a rudimentary electrical grid on their own. Many ants were already skilled in mathematics and science. They understood geometry, Newtonian physics, and had even begun to crack relativity. They comprehended electromagnetism and had an existing radio tower on a distant mountain—a curiosity they rarely used, but one they understood. They were, Leona thought, more or less where humanity had been in the early twentieth century.

Still, the leap from flight to space travel was monumental. The Wright Brothers had flown their first plane in 1903. It was 1957 when the Russians flew the Sputnik into orbit. Leona had to do in one year what humanity had done in half a century.

It seemed almost impossible.

But we humans didn't have Wikipedia Galactica, she reminded herself.

She was not an engineer or scientist. But she did have something early twentieth century Earth could only have dreamed of. Her minicom, a device so small she kept it in her pocket, came with the complete Wikipedia Galactica installed. The articles contained the scientific knowledge of a thousand civilizations, human and alien. There were entire libraries of advanced physics, chemistry, and aerospace engineering—a pool of wisdom and knowledge no ant possessed.

And thankfully, her computer could even translate the articles into Oridian.

The ants were avid readers, and had a number of printing presses in their city. Leona spent several days with a photographer, taking snapshots of scientific papers and articles. Meanwhile, a hundred ant printmakers got to work, transcribing the photos into textbooks. The printing presses worked in a fury, printing more and more books. Within a few weeks, the ants possessed libraries of books on advanced mathematics, chemistry, physics, and aerospace engineering.

Six months after Leona and Tom crash landed here, the ants had a very basic, rudimentary computer. It used punch cards and vacuum tubes. It took up an entire room. But it was an actual, honest-to-goodness computer. And it connected to a radio tower that could communicate with space.

The Oridians were faster learners than humans, Leona realized. Even with a copy of Wikipedia Galactica, Leona doubted twentieth century humans could have moved this fast. These ants had a short lifespan, after all. Most lived only two or three years. To her, a single year wasn't particularly long. To the Oridians, it was half their adult life. Their brains had evolved to work furiously. They were no more intelligent than humans, perhaps, but they could think far faster. Leona watched ants devour—and understand—entire physics textbooks within only a week. Within a month, several ants were already experts, and knew more about science than Leona ever would.

Soon, the ants were designing spaceship prototypes. They were just crude rockets. They relied on fossil fuel for thrust, not fancy EmDrive or nuclear engines. Their hulls were simple metal, not advanced molecular composites like graphene. But the designs were, Leona decided, as good as anything Neil Armstrong had flown, and that son of a bitch had walked on the moon.

And we have something more advanced than old Neil ever had, Leona thought. She jangled her azoth crystal in her hand. We have an interstellar engine. And my ant ship is going to take me to the stars.

* * * * *

She walked with Tom along the promenade, gazing downhill toward the city lights. The ants had a crude electrical grid, and thousands of their homes, temples, and theaters shone with light. Thousands of glass lanterns hung from coiling trees.

"I gotta hand it to them," Leona said. "For a species that primarily relies on smell, touch, and sound, they created quite a view."

The walkway was cobbled, and the stone balustrade was carved into the shapes of flowers and seeds. Trees rose nearby, their tubular leaves turning toward Oridia Gamma's two moons. The ring system shone above, arching over the city.

Tom paused by a statue of an ancient ant priestess. He leaned against the marble and gazed at the city below.

"Are we doing the right thing, Leona?" he said.

She raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Teaching them," he said.

Her other eyebrow rose. "Tom! That was the deal. We become allies. We share knowledge. And in return, we get a spaceship."

He nodded. "I know. But … Ra, Leona. This planet is gorgeous. Look at this city! It's pristine. Perfect. A paradise world. And we've given the ants fossil fuels, nuclear technology, internal combustion engines, and a host of other advanced technology. When we first landed here, they were using gas to light their homes. They already have an electrical grid, and they're talking about building a nuclear power plant. In less than a year, they've advanced as much as humans did in decades."

"They're clever little buggers," Leona agreed.

"That's not what I mean." He turned to look at her. "This isn't natural for them. Most intelligent species take time to develop technology. They figure it out on their own. Have internal debates and ethical discussions. They try, fail, test, learn, and slowly advance at their own pace. This species wasn't ready for all this technology so fast. What if we're messing with their civilization? What if we're giving them the tools to destroy this beauty, even destroy their entire species?"

Leona's eyes hardened. "Tom, do you know what's going to destroy this civilization? The Ra damn basilisks. Oridia borders their empire. We're doing the ants a favor. With technology, they have a chance to defend themselves." She stared into his eyes. "And it gives us a chance too."

Tom nodded. He turned back toward the city. "Leona, we've been here for almost a year. By now, we should have enlisted dozens of species. Even if this spaceship is built in time. Even if it doesn't fall apart. Even if we can reach the Council before the vote." He sighed. "The odds don't seem good. I'll admit: there were times during the past year I thought of staying here. Of retiring among the ants. Hang on, before you kill me—it was never a serious thought. I suppose I've just become enamored with this place. This is the first time since my youth that I've seen beauty. Maybe I've seen so much ugliness that I don't know how to handle beauty."

"Gee, thanks." Leona winked. "Glad to know I'm so hideous."

Tom laughed. "Okay, second time I've seen beauty."

She slipped her hand into his and leaned against him. "I know. It's hard. We survived a war. You survived the horrors of the gulock. We want to heal. To find some peace. Sometimes I don't know if our generation will ever know peace. If it's our lot to suffer, to kill, to bleed—so that the next generation can have a home. Or the generation after that. We are the generation of darkness, those doomed to wander space. But I like to believe that someday, our grandchildren will remember us. Honor us. That they'll live in joy and recognize our sacrifices. It doesn't make the pain any easier. But maybe, Tom, maybe it makes it worthwhile."

The words lingered in the air for a long time.

Finally Tom spoke, voice low. "It's hard for me to hear talk of children. I lost my wife in the war. She was pregnant."

Leona lowered her head. "I'm sorry, Tom. I lost a husband. And … I lost a child myself." She looked back into his eyes. "Maybe I misspoke."

He caressed her hair, the first time he had ever done so. His face was kind.

"Ayumi was like a child to me," he said. "And I've come to understand that all of Earth's sons and daughters are my children. We may not have children of our own. But we'll leave a legacy."

She leaned forward and kissed his lips. "You're a good man, Tom Shepherd. I hope that someday you find your happiness. That we both do."

"I don't know if we'll ever find happiness," Tom said. "Not our generation. I don't think we can be happy after suffering so much. But maybe we can find peace. And maybe that's good enough."

They gazed at the city lights, the distant forests, and the towering rocket the ants were constructing on the hill.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The transporters rumbled over the mountains, rattling and growling like ancient dragons. Emet sat in the hold, wearing a uniform, body armor, and helmet. He gripped Thunder, the weapon he had been carrying for decades. The other troops sat around him, faces grim behind their visors.

Emet looked through the porthole. He could see the five other transporters nearby. Each carried a platoon. These vessels had once been dropships, used to ferry marines from motherships down to enemy worlds. The HDF had modified them for atmospheric battles. They now formed Earth's air force.

"We're almost there, soldiers," Emet said. "We do this quickly. But we do it well. We have a colony to build. A settlement that'll last for generations."

"It'll last forever!" said Mairead. The redhead sat nearby, a cigar in her mouth, a pistol in each hand. "This is our world. We'll send those basilisks back to where they came from. Let's kick some scale."

The warriors cheered. Some had served in the Heirs of Earth, had been fighting with Emet for years. Others had been mere refugees only days ago, were now proud soldiers in Earth's army. Some of these warriors were in their sixties, even older than Emet. Others were boys too young to shave. They were all courageous. Emet was proud of every one.

The transporters rumbled over the snowcapped peaks, heading toward the distant valley. Emet knew the basilisks would be waiting.

He also knew the stakes.

Operation Exodus had been flooding Earth with refugees. Every few weeks, Bay and Rowan arrived with more. The great Galactic War, the conflict between the Concord and Hierarchy, had ended two years ago now. The galaxy still lay in ruins. The news was spreading across the smoking remains. Earth was found! Earth was reborn!

More human refugees kept making their way home. Bay and Rowan kept smuggling them in. The colony was growing at breakneck speed.

They needed new territory.

"We only have months before the Galactic Council," Emet said. "We cannot make a case for Earth if we live in a single valley. It's time to reclaim more of our world."

The transporters rumbled over the foothills and toward the western plains. Here were vast, rolling grasslands. A realm that could support millions of refugees.

A realm swarming with basilisks.

Emet reviewed the land from above. He picked a good location—arable land by a river. That river could provide access to Port Addison. The mountains could defend a settlement and its farmlands. This was the place.

He gave the order. The transporters began to descend.

Their engines billowed the grass and scattered pebbles. The transporters touched down—and the marines stormed out.

They fanned out, forming a ring around their vehicles.

The engines shut down.

The land was eerily silent.

"All right, soldiers," Emet said. "Get to work. Get these walls up!"

New soldiers emerged from the transporters—these ones workers. They carried wooden slats, metal poles, and barbed wire. Other workers carried power tools. They would form the walls of a new colony.

No sooner had they placed the first stake in the ground than the hisses rose.

The first basilisk emerged from the grass, rearing, taller than a man. The beast was covered with green scales, and it cried out in fury. Across the grasslands, another basilisk rose, then another, and soon a hundred aliens were screeching.

The workers paused from their labor. They stared from side to side. The basilisks were moving in.

"Get those walls up!" Emet barked. "Marines—form a defensive ring around the workers. Move! Fast!"

Emet and the other soldiers formed a human wall. Within the perimeter, the workers toiled furiously, digging foundations.

One basilisk, the green creature who had first spotted them, slithered closer. The beast snapped its jaws at Emet. These wild basilisks did not speak the human tongue. Emet spoke through his communicator, translating his words into a language of hissing and clattering.

"Stand back, basilisks! We will not harm you. We are peaceful colonists."

"I'm not," Mairead muttered, hefting her pistols.

The basilisk shrieked. "You are humans! You are prey. You will all die. We will devour every ape."

Emet cocked his rifle. "Stand down, snake! Earth is not your world. This planet belongs to men."

The creature cackled. "Men are nothing but prey. Wretched apes! There will be no mercy to humanity. Your skulls will decorate our dens." The basilisk turned toward his fellow serpents. "Kill them. Kill them all."

With cries that shook the land, the basilisks attacked.

One of the aliens lunged at Emet, jaws opening wide enough to swallow him. Emet fired Thunder, delivering two lead bolts into that hellmouth. The creature slammed down dead at his feet. But two more basilisks attacked. Thunder boomed again. He drew Lightning from his holster, and he fired the electric pistol with his other hand, knocking another beast back.

Mairead was fighting nearby. She had removed her helmet, and her red hair billowed in the wind. She stood on a boulder, firing a pistol with each hand, driving back a group of basilisks. The Firebug laughed as she fought.

From every side, the snakes were charging. One basilisk grabbed a man's leg, pulled him down, and began to devour him. Emet fired his gun, destroying the alien. Another basilisk made it past the soldiers, grabbed a worker, and tore the boy apart. More bullets ripped through the basilisk.

More of the creatures appeared, crawling from their holes. The basilisks surrounded the humans, jaws snapping, claws lashing.

"Hurry up with that wall!" Emet said.

They worked furiously, hammering stakes into the ground, building crude walls. Other workers were constructing a guard tower. Most of these components had been pre-made back at Port Addison, but it would still take several hours to assemble them here.

And more basilisks came.

Soon a thousand were swarming, determined to overwhelm the humans with brute force. The bullets barely deterred them. Several basilisks slammed into a wall, and another worker fell.

"Mairead!" Emet said. "Get your squad up in a transporter! Strafe those snakes!"

She nodded. "You got it, boss."

Emet fired again and again, slaying more beasts. He suffered gashes on his sides but kept fighting.

Mairead raced into a transporter, started up the engine, and rose with a cloud of dust and smoke. Her squad of marines rose with her. The roaring engines bent back the grass, revealing more basilisks.

The transporters were no Firebirds; those deadly birds of war were fighting in orbit, assisting the Exodus Fleet. But with Mairead's troops leaning from the hold, the transporter became an angel of death. The machine guns fired, peppering the grasslands, ripping through the basilisks. The heavy vehicle circled the construction site. Several soldiers dropped grenades, and the land shook, and basilisks died.

The creatures finally retreated. Cheers rose from the humans. Soon the guard tower was up, and a flag waved above it. A flag with the symbol of Earth—a blue world sprouting golden wings.

Emet knew he had an unfair advantage here. He was fighting with weapons. The basilisks had deadly fangs and claws—but no guns.

And Emet knew this could all change.

The basilisks had a true military. Snakes in armor. Snakes with guns. Snakes with their own air force.

That army was waiting—just there above the sky. If Leona and Tom could not convince the Council …

Very soon, we might need more than wooden walls and a few machine guns.

He suppressed a shudder.

By nightfall, the new colony was established. It was small. No larger than a village. But guards patrolled its walls and stood in its tower. And at dawn, the transporters delivered a thousand colonists. These colonists would continue to build. To expand the walls. To claim more territory. To hold the enemy back.

I have half a million humans to house, Emet thought. And millions more trying to make their way home. I will not rest until they're all safe.

The next day, he flew with the transporters again.

They landed on a hilltop twenty kilometers south of Port Addison.

Again the bullets rang. Again rose the walls. And a thousand more humans had a home.

"We'll have to fight for every kilometer," Emet said. "For every soul. We will win this world stone by stone, tree by tree, and every handful of soil will be a victory. In space there is nothing but death for us. We will find life on Earth."

He lay in his tent, bone-weary, as Cindy tended to his wounds. He kissed her, and she slept in his arms until a new dawn. And a new battle began.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The first rocket exploded forty-seven seconds after takeoff in a shower of flames and smoke and jagged debris.

Leona and Tom stood below with the crowd of ants, watching the destruction.

"Muck," Leona muttered.

She knew accidents were normal. She knew the test rockets might explode. But still her heart shattered with that rocket.

We're running out of time, she knew.

The ants managed to collect some of the debris over the next few days. The trained aphids, who had been strapped into the rocket, were never recovered.

They got to work again. Leona and Tom supervised while thousands of ants toiled. They worked in smelters, creating a new metal tube. They toiled in laboratories, brewing fuel. Thousands worked as living calculators, doing meticulous math with paper and charcoal.

The entire Oridian nation dedicated itself to the task. Not just this city but the entire planet. Space mania was sweeping Oridia. Ants everywhere dreamed of becoming cosmonauts, as mighty as the great alien civilizations they had heard so many legends of. Generals clattered their mandibles on the radio, announcing that if the damn basilisks ever invaded, they'd meet ant warships in orbit. Scientists spoke of the wonders of the galaxy awaiting exploration. Juvenile ants, some barely more than larvae, played with toy starships—and even dolls of the famous Leona and Tom, the bringers of knowledge.

Finally, the second rocket was ready.

It soared for nearly two entire minutes before exploding in the stratosphere.

A few days later, they launched the third rocket.

It rose an entire twenty kilometers, the highest flight yet, drawing cheers from the ants. When it exploded at twenty-two kilometers up, only a quarter of the way to space, the cheers died.

After that, children tossed out their toys. Aphid farmers refused to offer more test pilots. And the Ant Queen grounded all other rockets.

The next morning, Leona woke up to terrible news.

"What do you mean, she's canceling the space program?" she said.

Tom nodded. "It's been all over the wires. The Ant Queen is tired of losing rockets. The program has ended."

"How can you be so calm!" Leona shook him.

He winced. "Would shouting, punching things, and stomping on a few ants help?"

"It's a start!" Leona turned and marched out of the den they shared. "I'll stomp a queen if I have to."

She stomped right into the queen's throne room, shoving aside the guards.

"What do you mean the space program is canceled?" Leona shouted.

The queen sat on her pile of soil. At one end, her workers were feeding her honeydew from jars. Her other end kept pumping out eggs. The car-sized ant looked at Leona.

"We've lost too many rockets," the queen said. "We're not ready to explore the stars. We need to explore these new gifts of technology more slowly. Maybe in a few years, or a few decades, we can wade into the cosmic ocean."

"We don't have a few years!" Leona blurted out. "Damn it, the Council is going to gather in a few days. A few days! And they'll draw the borders within this galaxy. You better believe the basilisks are gonna get a huge chunk. What will you do when they arrive here? Fight them off with sticks?"

The Queen Ant glared. "It seems to me, human, that you care only about the basilisks around your own world. Do not condescend and pretend to care about us ants. You have used us for too long. We are a proud species, not slaves to humans."

"Used you?" Leona cried. "Slaves? I gave you great gifts! You were using damn gas heaters when I showed up. I gave you electricity! I gave you physics, chemistry, engineering! I gave you computers and medicine!"

The queen regarded her, and her eyes narrowed. "But you did not give us spaceflight."

"We're almost there!" Leona said. "We just need a few more tests, and—"

"Silence!" the queen snapped. "You've brought nothing but a curse upon us. You turned our fair city into a realm of smog, dirt, and filth. You turned our lives of earnest endeavor into an obsession with forbidden knowledge. You turned a happy, industrious civilization into a land of failure and despair. And all the while, you scoff at our primitive lives, and you boast of your own superiority. I am weary of your insolence. Leave this hall! And leave this city. You are banished! Leave now and never come back."

Leona stormed out of the hall, fists clenched, fuming. But inside, deep under her anger, there it was—her fear.

Tom was waiting outside.

"I heard from here," he said. "So, new plan—you stage a coup and become the new Ant Queen."

Leona paused, tilted her head, and gave him a sidelong glance. "Did you just tell a joke, Tom Shepherd? You?"

He nodded. "I do that when the cosmos is about to end."

"Then I hope you never tell a joke again," Leona said. "But no, I have no plans to begin living off aphid vomit while pumping out eggs. But I do intend to fly off this planet. With you. Today." She grabbed his hand. "We better hurry."

They hailed a steam-powered taxicab and hopped in. The ant driver pulled levers, and the automobile trundled over the cobbled streets. Along the roadsides, the other ants stared, hissing, clattering their mandibles.

"Look at the humans," one said.

"False prophets!" said another.

"Bringers of misery."

"Bringers of smog and death!"

Leona gritted her teeth. "Why do they hate us? Just because we crashed a few rockets? We brought them gifts!"

Tom sat beside her, head lowered. "We forced gifts on them. Gifts they weren't ready for."

And we weren't ready for the centipedes, Leona thought. And we weren't ready for the Hydrian empire. And I wasn't ready for the scorpions to murder my husband and steal my child. But the universe isn't about being ready. It's about being able to stare change in the face—and adapt.

The chariot took them to the gates of the city. From there, Leona and Tom walked. But not into exile.

They walked to the last remaining rocket.

The only one the ants hadn't tested yet.

It was, in fact, the first rocket the ants had built. A rocket they had deemed too risky to fly. A rocket that was more of an exercise than an actual attempt to build something spaceworthy.

Today, it'll have to take us to the stars, Leona thought.

Tom frowned at her. "Tell me you're not thinking about flying in that thing."

"Actually, I hope not to think about it too much," Leona said. "It's more of a Nike moment. Just do it."

Twentieth century reference? Rowan was rubbing off on her.

"Leona!" Tom tugged at his hair. "We'd have better luck attaching our jetpacks to a chariot."

"Don't give me any ideas," she said.

Tom gestured at the rocket. "This is just a prototype! We had no idea what we were doing when we built it. We had to completely revamp our designs after this."

"Maybe that's a good thing," Leona said. "The other rockets all exploded, remember?"

"Yes, I remember!" he said. "That's exactly what I'm remembering right now!"

"Tom." She grabbed him. "Now you listen to me. We must reach the Council within a few days. If we don't—we're dead. You. Me. Everyone we know and love. All of humanity. If we die in this rocket, we die for Earth. I'd rather die in a ball of flame than in a basilisk's belly." She stroked his cheek. "We've done suicidal things before. One more for the road."

He took a deep breath. "You're crazy, you know that?"

She grinned. "We're all crazy in this cosmos. Haven't you figured that out?"

They put on their spacesuits, helmets, and jetpacks. They walked toward the rocket.

Several ants greeted them, antennae fluttering in agitation.

"The news has come!" they said. "The queen has banished you!"

Leona nodded. "Yep. Banished us from Oridia. So you better get us up into space."

The ants glanced at one another, chattered amongst themselves, then nodded.

"Acceptable," they said.

Leona handed one ant her azoth crystal. "Slide this baby into the engine. This is no test flight. We're off to the stars."

And you better hurry, she thought. Before the queen's guards show up with big swords.

They took the elevator to the capsule atop the rocket—a small vessel, barely large enough for the two of them to squeeze into. The azoth engine was installed inside. But bending spacetime could only work in space.

And to get there, they had to ignite a rocket the size of a skyscraper filled with explosives. Leona gulped. Yes, better not think too much.

As Leona was entering the capsule hatch, she saw them in the distance. The queen's guards. And they had their swords.

She hopped in and strapped herself into her seat. Tom followed.

"Let's get this show on the road!" she said into her transmitter.

An ant answered from the control center below. "Teacher, there are guards at the door. They are asking about—"

"Ignore them and launch this rocket!" she said.

Thankfully, at least one ant below loved science more than authority.

The rocket began to rumble.

"Here goes nothing and everything," she muttered, clinging to her seat.

The rumble became a roar. Smoke and fire burst from the rocket. And suddenly they were soaring.

Leona gritted her teeth, pushed back into her seat.

"Ra damn, this kicks like a mule!" she said.

Immense G-force pressed her down. She had flown to space many times, but always in more advanced transport. Now she was basically riding atop a barrel of explosives. They were flying ten times faster than a bullet, she knew. And she felt every one of those Machs.

Only her years as a pilot prevented Leona from passing out. Tom was not so lucky.

She tried to check her monitor, to see how long they'd been flying . But everything was rattling. She could barely see. Gauges shattered. Control panels tore loose.

The capsule suddenly jerked. Leona was sure this was it. That the explosion was here.

But no. It was the first rocket booster detaching. It plummeted down toward the ocean.

The second booster ignited with a roar, shoving the shuttle upward. Leona felt herself beginning to black out. She clung to consciousness with all her might.

How long have been we soaring for? A minute already? Two? Longer than the other rockets?

The world was fire and smoke and pressure and pain. She didn't know if she was alive or dead. The weight of heaven and hell seemed to be pushing against her.

For Earth, she thought. For Earth. For Earth. For Earth. Stay alive. Oh Ra above.

The second booster detached.

They roared upward on their last tank of fuel.

And above Leona saw them. The stars.

The last of the fuel burned, shoving them out of the atmosphere—and into space.

The last piece of the rocket fell back toward Oridia. The capsule—this cramped little can—glided toward deep space.

They had made it.

Leona gulped down a huge, shaky breath. The G-force released her. She slumped in her seat.

"Ra damn," she said.

Tom woke up, blinked, and rubbed his eyes.

"We're still alive," he said in wonder. He laughed. "You did it, you crazy lunatic! I need to change my underwear, but you did it!"

Leona grinned at him.

I don't think I ever heard you laugh, Tom Shepherd.

At that moment, she saw a glimpse of the man he must have been before the war. Carefree. Joyful.

She placed a hand on his knee.

"Told ya," she said. "We crazy lunatics rule the cosmos."

The planet was already growing small behind them. Ahead spread the stars.

Once they were far enough from Oridia's gravity well, Leona took a deep breath and flipped a switch. Inside the capsule, right below her feet, the azoth engine activated.

The stars stretched into lines. And they were off at warp speed. Heading toward the distance. Toward the Council. Toward a shred of hope for Earth.

CHAPTER THIRTY

After seventeen years of service in the Heirs of Earth, fighting in space, followed by a grueling year in the Human Defense Force, fighting on Earth, Lieutenant Colonel Ramses "Pharaoh" al Masri took his first vacation.

He figured that he had earned it.

He flew his Firebird over the Atlantic. He flew alone. He was not flying to battle. Not to liberate a gulock, face monstrous aliens, or bomb distant worlds. He was flying in Earth's sky. He was flying on his own free time.

It felt weird.

Between the ocean and sky, he took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves

For half my life, I've been on edge, he thought. How the hell does one even relax?

Ramses had never known peace. He had grown up inside a damn asteroid, hiding with a small community of humans. Even as a boy, he had hated hiding. At age sixteen, he had smuggled himself into deep space, a stowaway on a supply barge. But what was a human to do? Nobody would hire a damn human.

So he joined a drag racing outfit, one of the illegal ones where homemade space-racers tore through asteroid fields, competing for the roaring crowds. Ramses had grown up among asteroids. He was good at dodging them. So he raced. For money. For fame. Zipping around asteroids, black holes, and planetary rings. All while the cameras rolled and the crowds booed the villainous Human Lightning, the wretched pest in the red space-racer, the one aliens tuned in to watch lose, crash, and hopefully burn.

Two years later, when the Peacekeepers shut down the drag race operation, Ramses found himself out of work.

That was when a crazy old man named Emet Ben-Ari found him.

The tall, bearded human had shown up, asking to buy the space-racer pods. And to buy Ramses with them.

And so the space-racers had been refitted, loaded with weapons, and turned into Firebirds. And so Ramses, a dumb lanky teenager, had become a fighter pilot.

And so he had fought in battles.

And so he had slain hundreds of aliens.

And so he had watched so many friends die.

And so he had come to Earth. Here to this blue planet. The world he had dreamed of in a distant asteroid, during the races, throughout all his wars. The dream had come true.

For eighteen years, I fought for you, Emet Ben-Ari. Half my life. Yes, I deserve this day off.

He glided over the North African coast and saw it ahead.

The land of his ancestors. The land he had dreamed of so often in his long exile.

He glided over Egypt.

"I'm home," he said softly.

The Nile stretched across the desert, a verdant strip across landscapes of sand. The pyramids were still there. Two thousand years since the exile, one alien invasion after another, and the damn things still rose from the desert, as solid as always.

Land of the pharaohs, Ramses thought. My land. It's real.

He spiraled downward. Several meters above the desert, he engaged his stabilizing thrusters, raising clouds of sand. His Firebird thumped down.

He popped the canopy, stepped out of his cockpit, and inhaled the hot desert air. The sun beat down. Before him soared the head of the sphinx, its body buried in sand. The pyramids rose farther back, as eternal as the dream of Earth.

All the other works of humanity were gone from the world. Sand and soil buried the ancient cities. Only a few thousand humans lived on Earth, concentrated in a single, distant colony. All of humanity's labors—their songs, art, bustling lives and industry—all gone. All just faded memories. Yet the pyramids remained. And the head of the sphinx emerged from the golden dunes, gazing stoically across the deserts of time.

Leaving his starfighter behind, Ramses walked across the dunes. He left his helmet too. He wrapped a scarf around his face, blocking the sandy wind. He reached the sphinx, and tears filled his eyes.

He had seen old photographs of this wonder. Today sand buried most of the statue, hiding the paws and body, rising up to the sphinx's shoulders. Ramses placed his hand on the ancient stone face and closed his eyes. A jolt ran through him—but not painful. Antiquity was flowing through the old sandstone. These stones had seen so much: empires rise and fall, humanity exiled and reborn.

And I'm part of that story, Ramses thought.

"I'm back, old girl." He pressed his forehead to the stone. "I never forgot you. The seed of the pharaoh returns."

He took a step back and bowed his head.

He had to admit to himself: those last words felt dishonest.

Was he, Ramses al Masri, truly descended of the great dynasties of ancient Egypt? His father had claimed so. His father was also a compulsive gambler who had beaten Ramses as a child. How could the man have traced their heritage so far back?

And yet Ramses had clung to the story. For the same reason, he supposed, that the others clung to their own tales. Emet claimed to be descended of Einav Ben-Ari, the Golden Lioness who led Earth in its golden age. Rowan believed herself descended from Marco Emery, the Poet of Earth, and Addy Linden, the great heroine of old. Mairead sometimes boasted that she was descended of William Wallace himself, the great Scottish hero. As far as Ramses knew, those stories had no more credence than his.

We all need a connection to Earth, he thought. We all need to believe that the blood of heroes flows through our veins. This has always been my anchor.

Something rustled behind him.

Ramses spun around, raising his rifle.

A camel stood on a dune, snorting. The animal spat at him, then sauntered off.

Ramses took a shaky breath and lowered his gun. He was still antsy. Two decades of nonstop warfare would do that to you, he supposed.

The basilisks are far from here, Ramses reminded himself. Unlike Earth snakes, basilisks snakes prefer cold climates. Now enjoy your damn vacation.

He began walking toward the pyramids. He had crossed half the distance when another sound rose behind him. A rustle. Soft breathing.

Ramses spun around again.

The camel was back there again—and a dark flutter like a scrap of cloth.

Ramses frowned.

The dark patch vanished. A trick of the shadows or his mind? The camel snorted and spat at Ramses again.

"Oh, muck off," Ramses muttered and flipped the beast off.

He turned back toward the pyramids and kept walking. This time, he pulled out his minicom and raised the screen, pretending to take a photo of the pyramids. Instead, he pointed the camera over his shoulder.

He took a few more slow steps.

And in his minicom's monitor, he saw her.

A woman behind him.

A woman in a dark robe, slinking across the dune, holding a knife. The camel walked beside her.

Ramses struggled not to gasp. He forced himself to keep walking casually, though his heart pounded.

How was this possible? Had somebody followed him here from Port Addison?

He took a few more steps.

The woman closed the distance behind him, knife raised. On the sand, her footfalls were silent.

Ramses spun around.

The woman froze, her green eyes wide. A gust of wind blew back her hood and her long black hair billowed. She took a step forward, knife raised, then froze again. She spun on her heel and began to flee.

"Wait!" Ramses pursued her. "Hold on there!"

She kept fleeing. But Ramses had longer legs, and he drew near. He reached out, about to grab her cloak, and—

The woman's camel reared before him. The beast spat—and the glob hit Ramses square in the face.

He blinked, fell back, and landed in the sand. The camel snorted, haughtily raised his head, and trotted away.

Ramses began to push himself up.

The woman leaped forward again. She kicked sand into his eyes. Ramses yelped, blinded. With a battle cry, the woman lunged at him. With sand in his eyes, Ramses heard more than saw the blade slice the air.

He rolled aside. He grabbed the woman's wrist, holding her blade aloft.

She screamed, struggling against him, but Ramses tightened his grip on her wrist. She spat on his face.

"Why does everyone keep spitting on me?" Ramses cried.

And still she screamed wordlessly. She kicked, and her foot found his shin.

Now it was Ramses who screamed.

The woman was relentless. She grabbed a handful of sand and flung it into his eyes, blinding him again. Her knee drove into his belly. Before Ramses realized what was happening, she was straddling him, her blade pressed against his neck.

"Move and I slice off your head!" she said.

Ramses groaned, blinking sand out of his eyes. It stung like hell.

"You're worse than a Ra damn alien!" he said, then yelped with pain as her knee pressed deeper.

"Who are you?" the woman demanded. "Are you one of them?"

He moaned, still blinded. "One of who?"

"Them!" The woman twisted his collar. "The ones with scales. The sky-reptiles. The demons who can take human form."

"What? No!" Ramses blinked some more, and finally the woman came into view. "What the hell are you talking about?"

She glared at him, still holding the knife to his throat. She was a young woman, probably in her twenties. Her skin was brown, her eyes startlingly green. A necklace of beads hung around her neck, and her robes were black and patched.

She isn't one of the colonists, Ramses thought. I would have remembered such a beauty.

"The sky-reptiles!" she said. "The enemies of Gaea. Those who devour us, who take our shape." She sneered. "I saw them take human form. A woman with the body of a serpent. Are you one of them?"

He tilted his head. "A basilisk? You think I'm a basilisk?"

Her eyes widened. She bared her teeth. "Do not speak their name, fool! It is cursed! You will summon them here."

Ramses pushed her wrist again, more gently this time. She no longer resisted, and Ramses sat up in the sand. He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes.

"I'm no serpent," he said. "I'm all human. Did you see that jet I flew here?" He jerked his thumb back at his Firebird, which lay in the sand a few hundred meters away. "Does that look like a basi—" He caught himself. "Like a sky-reptile ship? That's a human vessel. A Mark 1-C Firebird starfighter, in fact. Best damn starfighter in the galaxy, if you ask me." He raised his chin. "And you're speaking to the best damn pilot."

The woman frowned. "Who are you that you speak so strangely? We saw lights in the sky. Many nights in a row. Explosions above like burning stars. Are you from the great battles in the night kingdom?" She gasped and covered her mouth. "A djinn! A prince of the nether realms!"

What the hell? Ramses thought.

"My name is Ramses," he said. "I'm human. You know, human? Like you."

She drew back, crouched, and hissed like a wild animal.

"Liar! You came from the sky." She snapped her teeth at him. "From the Deep Shadow. Like the dark ones. Like the demons before them. From the kingdom of night. I saw you descend. Leave! I banish you! The Children of Gaea defend this realm." She brandished her knife. "Leave, impostor!"

Ramses heaved a sigh. "Let's try this again." He pointed at himself. "Ramses. Human." He pointed at her. "You?"

Her body was tense, still locked in a crouch, blade still raised. She was like a tigress ready to pounce. She glared silently as if choosing between fight or flight.

"Najila," she finally said. "Najila of the Gaeans. Human. A true human. Not an impostor like you. Reveal your scales!"

She grabbed his shirt and pulled it open, exposing his skin. A frown creased her face.

"Hey, baby, normally I like to buy a girl a drink first," Ramses said.

"You have no scales," she whispered, brow furrowed. "But you come from above. From the sky."

A suspicion blossomed in Ramses. Impossible. Utterly impossible!

"Where are you from?" Ramses said.

She sneered, eyes aflame. "I am a child of Gaea!"

He nodded. "All right. I don't recognize you from the colony. Did you make your own way to Earth? Did you flee the scorpion gulocks? What galactic arm did you hide in? Are you one of Tom Shepherd's people?"

"You speak so strangely," Najila said. "Yet you appear to be like me. Are you a lost child of Gaea?"

Her voice was softer now. Curiosity filled her eyes. But then she glanced back toward his Firebird, and she inhaled sharply.

Ramses remembered. He had painted a dragon onto the starfighter's hull. A scaly reptile.

"Najila," he began, "it's not what—"

"You are one of them!" she whispered, spun around, and fled.

Ramses leaped to his feet and moaned with pain. The damn woman had hurt him. He ran after her, slower this time, kicking up sand. She was riding her camel now, and he was falling behind.

But Ramses doggedly pursued. Could his suspicions be true?

Could Najila have been born on Earth?

It seemed impossible. No humans had lived on Earth in two thousand years, not until Leona had founded Port Addison.

And yet …

Could others have made it here first? Ramses thought. We thought we were writing history. That we were the first humans on Earth since the Hydrians destroyed it in antiquity. Were we second to the finish line?

"Najila!" he cried after her, running across the dunes. "Come and talk to me."

He stumbled down the dune. Knowing he had to find her. Had to learn where she was from. Had to protect her. She was part of Earth's story—and she was getting away.

"Najila!" he called, but was forced to stop at the bottom of the dune. Her camel was already three dunes away, galloping toward the Nile.

Ramses paused, panting, then spun around. She had a camel? Well, he had a Firebird!

Let's see her outrace a Ra damn starfighter.

He was running back toward his Firebird when ten more camels emerged from behind a hill.

Ramses froze, still far from his Firebird.

The camels galloped toward him. Men in dark robes rode the animals. Men with whips and gleaming swords.

"This day keeps getting better all the time," Ramses muttered.

The camels rumbled toward him. The robed men raised their blades.

Ramses fired a shot into the air.

"Stand down!" he shouted. "Stand down or I will shoot!"

They ignored him. They kept charging.

Ramses had never shot another human, and he wasn't about to start now. Yet as the dromedaries barreled down on him, he had to do something.

He fired warning shots at the camels' hoofs, not trying to hurt them, just deter them. One camel tumbled, spilling its rider from the saddle. The man slammed into a second camel, knocking it down too. But the other animals kept galloping.

"Stand down!" Ramses shouted, raising his gun again.

They didn't stop.

As much as it hurt him, Ramses would have to use deadly force.

He pulled the trigger as a whip shot out.

The bullet went wide. The leather thong cracked the air, moving faster than sound, and leaped forth like a striking asp. The whip caught Ramses's rifle and yanked it from his hand.

A second whip wrapped around his leg, ripping pants and skin.

The camels raced around him, raising clouds of sand, circling in closer like a constricting basilisk. The swords gleamed. Ramses could not see the men's faces. Scarfs concealed them, revealing only dark eyes.

Ramses raised his hands.

"Hello, friends!" he said. "My name is Lieutenant Colonel Ramses al Masri of the Human Defense Force. Thank you for the show! I always do enjoy watching a good camel race. Now, how about we all settle down for a round of coffee and—"

The whips lashed, wrapping around his limbs and torso. Ramses thumped onto the sand. When he tried to rise, the men leaped onto him, held him down, and slipped a sack over his head. As they bound and hoisted him up, Ramses sighed.

This was not how he had imagined his vacation.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

When the robed men dragged him into their village, Ramses thought he had gone back in time.

I'm at the dawn of civilization, he thought. I'm back in ancient Egypt, the kingdom of my forebears.

The village spread alongside the Nile. There were no permanent buildings, only tents, but those tents were beautifully woven, their fabric mosaics of gold, red, and yellow. Sheep grazed nearby, and several camels were busy chewing their cud. Reed boats swayed at piers, and wooden irrigation tubes pumped water toward a field. Spiced ducks, pots of oatmeal, and flat breads were cooking over campfires.

If the robed men weren't dragging him by ropes, Ramses might have enjoyed this excursion.

The villagers turned to stare at him. Both genders wore long robes to protect them from the sun. These fabrics too were elaborate, embroidered with stars, ibises, and pomegranates. Many of the villagers wore adornments of clay, stone, and even precious metal. Children held wooden swords and dolls. They gaped as the robed men pulled Ramses forward.

Najila was there too. The young woman Ramses had met by the sphinx. He made eye contact with her.

"My dear Najila!" Ramses said. "Care to tell your friends here what a lovely fellow I am? They seem to have me all wrong."

"Silence!" said one of the men dragging him—a bearded, muscular brute. "Do not talk to my daughter. You talk to me, Amon, son of Nenet."

The burly Amon lashed his whip. The thong sliced Ramses's back. He gritted his teeth, refusing to scream.

"I'd rather your lash wasn't part of the conversation," Ramses said.

Amon whipped him again.

"Tuck your forked tongue behind your fangs," the man said. "I know you're basilisk scum."

Ramses swallowed a retort. He had no idea what was going on. What was this place? Who were these people? He wanted to get the hell out of here. But mostly, he wanted answers.

These people shouldn't even exist, he thought.

The men shoved him into the village square, a circle of packed earth between the tents and corrals. They stepped back, but they kept their hands on their whips. Amon wiped sweat from his beard and turned toward an embroidered tent.

"Mother Nenet!" Amon said. "We've brought the stranger before you. Will you come judge his worth?"

An elderly woman emerged from the tent. She was hunched over, leaning on a cane. Her brown skin was deeply wrinkled, her hair wispy and white. She must have been in her nineties. As she shuffled forth, her bracelets of tin and copper jangled.

When she reached Ramses, the old woman raised her head. He saw that she was blind, her pupils hidden behind milky cataracts. She reached out knobby fingers and jabbed his face.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," Ramses said. "I'm pleased to meet you. My name is—"

"Hush!" She frowned and kept rubbing her nubby fingers over his features. Finally she turned toward the others. "He feels human enough to me."

Amon grunted. "We know that Xerka, the Queen of Serpents, can take human form. This one too came from the sky. My daughter saw him fall. He must be one of them. A basilisk."

Growls and curses rose across the village. People whispered about a cursed word, about the serpents who must not be named. Men raised whips and blades, and children cowered.

"I assure you, I'm no Ra damn serpent," Ramses said. "I'm a paragon of humanity and manhood! And, if I might add, rather a splendid specimen too."

The old woman slapped him—hard. "Silence! Do not speak of Ra here. He is a wicked, forgetful god who abandoned us. We worship only Mother Gaea. I will not allow you to blaspheme here."

Ramses fumed. An instinct to fight rose in him. He was a senior officer in the Human Defense Force. Before that, he had been a captain in the Heirs of Earth. He had spent two decades battling scorpions and basilisks—foes far worse than a few villagers. He wanted to lunge at that bearded brute, grab a sword, and tear through his tormentors.

But he forced himself to take deep breaths, to calm himself.

"You are not my enemies," Ramses said. "You are humans. A human must never hurt another human. We have a common enemy, one you named. The basilisks!"

Nenet stared at him with her blind eyes. Her brow furrowed.

"I see honesty in you." She nodded. "I see goodness and courage. There are ways to see without eyes. You speak truth."

"Grandmother!" Najila stepped forward. The young woman's cheeks were flushed, her eyes flaming. "You cannot believe him! He's deceiving you—like he tried to deceive me. We have to inspect him for scales." Her flush deepened. "All of him."

Nenet turned toward her granddaughter. "There are places I cannot see, and I will not touch."

The old woman might have been blind, but Ramses swore he saw a twinkle in her eyes.

Najila groaned. "Fine! I'll do it." She turned toward Ramses and her eyes hardened. "Remove your clothes."

"No coffee date first?" Ramses said. "Not even a kiss?"

The young woman sneered. "Do it! Or I'll have my brothers whip them off."

"Kinky, but I think I'll pass on the whips," Ramses said. "Very well! I shall let you feast your eyes upon the greatest work of art you've ever seen, rivaling even the sphinx."

He undressed, held out his arms, and turned around slowly. Many in the crowd looked away, abashed, while mothers covered the eyes of their children. A few women tittered.

Najila huffed, moved closer, and examined his body. She even reached out to touch his skin. A few young women stepped forward to help her, then retreated, blushing, as their fathers scolded them.

"See?" Ramses said. "No scales."

Najila backed away and crossed her arms. She looked at her grandmother. "He's clean. But I still don't trust him. If he's not a child of Gaea—where did he come from?"

Ramses tilted his head. He looked at Najila, then at her grandmother, then at the rest of them. He pulled on his clothes, contemplating. Could it be?

Finally, he gave voice to the suspicion that had been brewing inside him.

"You were born on Earth." The thought spun his head, but Ramses plowed on. "Your parents were too. And their parents before them. Your people—the children of Gaea. You were never exiled, were you? Two thousand years ago, when the Hydrian Empire destroyed the world—you stayed here."

Nenet stared at him with those milky white eyes. She nodded. "We stayed."

Ramses felt dizzy. He clutched his head and sat down hard.

"I think," he said, "that we need some coffee—and a long talk."

As the sun set, the villagers brewed coffee in silver dallahs, much like the decorative pot Ramses had carried with him throughout his exile. But he had always drunk coffee made from mocha-flavored powder created in chemical mixers. Here was the real thing—hot, thick, bitter, and heavenly. Several young women served spiced chickpeas, roasted fowl, and flatbread dipped in olive oil. As they served Ramses, the maidens shyly lowered their eyes, then retreated in fits of giggles.

Ramses spent an hour telling his tale. About how humanity had survived in space, cowering, dying, fighting. About the great Heirs of Earth and the legendary Old Lion. About humans finally returning from exile, colonizing the world again.

For a long time, they listened. The children gasped when Ramses told of great space battles. A blushing woman asked Ramses to strip naked again so she could examine him for scales—just to be safe. Everyone lowered their heads and shed tears when they heard of the gulocks, of the scorpions butchering millions.

"And so we've returned to rebuild," Ramses said. "To raise humanity again on Earth. We didn't know humans were already here."

Elderly Nenet turned toward her granddaughter. "Najila, will you share our tale with Ramses? My voice is weary, and yours is young."

Najila sat by the campfire, wrapped in a robe, a mug of spiced wine in her hands. All her earlier fury and fear were gone. The firelight painted her young, fair face.

She's beautiful, Ramses thought. This village, this river, this world—it's so beautiful. Well, maybe not Amon. But the rest is quite lovely.

Najila spoke softly, gazing into the fire.

"We too have tales of the squids," she said. "You called them the Hydrians. In our lore, we call them the Amitites, the soul-eaters. They appear in our ancient texts—demons who descended from the sky, who flooded the world with a great sea. Most of the world drowned. In our tales, some humans grew wings and flew away from the flooded world. The winged ones were believed to have settled among the stars. I now believe those tales were about your people, Ramses."

"Fascinating," Ramses said. "In our stories, the Hydrians burned the world rather than flooded it. And we flew away in starships, not with wings. But mythologies are filled with stories of floods and angels."

"Not mythology." Najila shook her head. "Truth. At least a metaphorical truth, one that passed from mother to daughter for many generations. But not all humans drowned. And not all fled to the stars. Thousands survived the demons of many arms. They remained on Earth, even after so many left."

Ramses's eyes widened. "Thousands! So many survived?"

Najila nodded. "Our ancient books contain a story of a hero named Tanakamon. He lived a hundred years after the flood. He collected human survivors, and they joined in worship of Mother Gaea, the goddess of Earth. Tanakamon raised a great army of ten thousand, all brave human warriors. They rebelled against the Amitites, demons of many arms, those you call the Hydrians. Tanakamon's rebellion killed many. But they lost. They died." Najila lowered her head. "Only we remained. This village. We survived while all other humans fell or fled. Eventually the demons of many arms left this world. We do not know why. But other demons came. Creatures from the darkness of space. Great animals like river horses, and shadowy creatures with no solid form, and tall beings like naked black trees. They came to Earth. They harvested the soil. Then they too left. All only stories. Until the basilisks came. They are the ones still here, the masters of Earth. They have been here for several generations, and we fear them."

Ramses's mind reeled. So much new information! Not only had some humans remained on Earth after the fall—they had even raised an army! Had rebelled against the Hydrians! Had faced other alien invaders! Two thousand years of history had happened here. Human history. All stories the Heirs of Earth had never heard.

"This changes everything." Ramses clutched his head. "By Ra—I mean, by Mother Gaea. This changes the whole damn thing."

Najila frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

Ramses rose to his feet. He paced, wringing his hands, speaking more to himself than the children of Gaea.

"We refugees thought Earth was barren of humans. When we landed, we thought we were the first humans to walk here in thousands of years. Many aliens deny that humanity evolved on Earth, that this world belongs to us. They spread rumors about our origin. Some claim we rose from trash like maggots, others that we're demons from another dimension or invaders from another galaxy. Few aliens know that we have a planet of our own." He took a deep breath. "In a couple of months, the Galactic Council—a group of ambassadors from many alien races—will decide if Earth belongs to basilisks or humans. My friends Leona and Tom flew off to make the case for humanity. They were going to speak of our nobility and courage, and that's good. But this?" Ramses gestured at the village. "This is the ultimate proof. This village, you wonderful people—you are the strongest evidence we have. You've been living on Earth this whole time. You never left. You're a link in an unbroken chain, going back to the earliest days of humanity." He sighed. "If only the Galactic Council could see this place."

They all stared at him, faces blank. Ramses wondered how much they understood. They were intelligent people. But they had spent generations with only ancient scrolls and stories drenched in myth.

None of their stories were fiction, though. The old tales—of humanity evolving here, rising up, falling, rising again—they were all true.

And the Council had to hear them.

"Ramses," Najila whispered, "if the demons among the stars give the world to the snakes …" She shuddered. "They will devour us all."

Ramses stopped pacing. He stared at Najila, at her grandmother, at the rest of them.

"I won't allow that." He clenched his fists. "We're going to show them. That Earth belongs to humans. I'm going to fly out there. To join Leona. Tonight! And I'm going to show them that humanity never abandoned Earth. That this world has always been ours." He reached his hand down to Najila. "And I want you to come with me. To tell your tale among the stars."

She looked at him, her green eyes damp, reflecting the stars.

Before she could reply, Amon rose to his feet. Ramses winced, still feeling the brute's lash.

"I've heard enough!" The bearded warrior pointed at Ramses. "This miscreant came here to deceive us. To frighten us with false prophecies. To steal my daughter." Disgust dripped from his eyes. "I see how he looks at her."

Najila placed her hands on her hips. "Father, enough! Nobody steals me. I go where I please."

"You do as I say!" Amon rumbled. He pointed his sword at Ramses. "Leave this village. Go into the desert. You are banished from this place. You will never take my daughter from me."

"Father!" Najila cried.

"Son!" said Nenet, rising to her feet.

Yet Amon would not be placated. His fellow warriors drew their swords too, and Ramses found himself staring at ten drawn blades.

Ramses still didn't have his rifle. He was a skilled warrior. But he could not win this battle.

The Gaeans manhandled Ramses out of the village, ignoring their women's protests. They dragged him into the desert, shoved him onto the sand, kicked him to keep him down.

"Come back and your life is over," said Amon. "Gaea's warriors have no use for you." He spat on Ramses. "You brought with you nothing but curses. Return to your people and die with them. We will do what we've always done. Survive."

Ramses glared at the bearded Gaean. "Damn it, man, you have to listen to me! The only ones who'll bring curses here are the mucking basilisks when—"

Amon punched him. It was a blow so powerful that white light flashed, and Ramses fell. Stars shone around him. By the time his vision cleared, the men were gone.

Ramses lay on the sand, gazed up at the stars, and saw the distant lights of the basilisk armada. Thousands of ships above. Surrounding Earth. Ready to burn the world.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Ramses sat in the cockpit of his Firebird, staring at the sphinx ahead. The starfighter still stood on the sand, engines off. The pyramids rose before him, golden in the dawn.

He sat still.

"I have to go home," he said to himself.

Back to the Canadian plains. To Port Addison. To fighting the war.

He turned his head and looked toward the Nile. He could not see the village from here. He knew that if he returned, Amon and his boys would cut off his head.

Ramses looked away.

Damn it.

He turned on the engines. His Firebird roared and rumbled, but Ramses let it idle, not yet taking flight.

He tightened his lips, shoved down the throttle, and blasted upward in a cloud of sand.

He was about to head west. To fly home. To rejoin the fight at Port Addison.

He spent a few seconds flying in that direction, streaking over the desert.

Then Ramses groaned, turned around, and flew toward the Nile.

He engaged his stabilizing thrusters, slowing to hover above the riverbank. The blast of air bent the palm trees, rippled the water, and rocked the reed boats. Ramses descended toward the village, his thrusters ruffling the tents and scattering sparks from the campfires.

The men below emerged to the village square and stared up at the roaring starfighter. When they drew their swords, Ramses couldn't help but feel a little satisfaction.

Try whipping me now, he thought.

He entertained the idea of landing on Amon's tent, but decided not to be too much of a jackass. Instead Ramses landed in the village square. He opened the cockpit, but he left the engine running.

He lowered his ladder and descended a few rungs. The villagers all came to stare. Some children clung to their mothers, others to their toys. The men still held blades but dared not attack. Old Nenet stood among the villagers, a thin smile on her lips, that mischievous spark in her sightless eyes.

"This is my starfighter!" Ramses said. "Yes, I came from the stars. But I'm an Earthling now. A son of Mother Earth. A son of Gaea. Just like you. And I will fight! Like the heroes in the ancient tales. But this time—we will win! I am not only your ally. Not only your friend. I am your brother. So I ask you—join me. Fly with me. Together we will tell the universe: Earth is ours!"

Everyone stared, silent. Their expressions ranged from awe to fury.

A tent flap opened, and Najila emerged.

She was wearing a red skirt, a white blouse, and bronze bracelets. Her black hair billowed in the wind. She looked at him from across the square, and he saw tears in her green eyes.

She ran a few steps toward him.

"Halt!" her father said, and she froze.

Najila turned toward the bearded man. She stared at him silently, trembling.

"Return to your tent, Najila," Amon said. "Return or I'll whip you bloody."

She rubbed her eyes. Slowly, she shook her head.

Then Najila ran the rest of the way, climbed the ladder, and entered the starfighter.

Ramses looked at the villagers.

"I'll protect her," he said. "With my life, if it comes to that. I promise you. Goodbye, children of Earth. I pray to Gaea that we return to you soon."

He entered the cockpit. He settled down in his seat, and Najila sat on his lap. Ramses pulled the canopy shut—then soared.

A starfighter was too small for interstellar travel. Ramses considered swapping it for a larger vessel. But larger vessels would never make it past the blockade.

"Hold on, Najila," he said, breaching the atmosphere. "This is going to get rough."

She was gaping, face pressed against the canopy, looking down at the distant Earth.

"It's round," she whispered in awe. "The world is round."

"And we're about to go for a spin," Ramses said.

Only a few hundred kilometers above, the basilisk fleet was circling. Ramses had an azoth crystal in his ship—but azoth struggled to bend spacetime so near a gravity well. Today Ramses had no choice. He had heard of activating warp drives during a slingshot move around a planet. Mairead swore she had done it. Ramses had never been mad enough to try it.

There's a first time for everything, he thought.

He increased speed, orbiting Earth just above the atmosphere. He flew faster. Faster still. They grazed the sky, circling the globe at hypersonic speed. Faster. Another turn. Najila gasped and clung to him. The basilisks above noticed the Firebird and extended their cannons.

"Here goes," Ramses said, made another loop, and let the gravity hurl him forth like a stone from a slingshot.

He zoomed toward the basilisk fleet—and engaged his azoth drive.

Spacetime bent around him, not forming a bubble but a spear.

The starfighter stretched out—and blasted forth, faster than light.

Within instants, Earth was just a blue speck behind.

They flew through deep space, heading toward the stars.

"You all right, Najila?" Ramses asked. "I'm sorry for the cramped setting."

Her eyes shone with tears, reflecting the Milky Way. "It's beautiful. It's so beautiful. I never knew … And you spent all your life out here. Dreaming of coming home. While I've spent all my life gazing at the stars, wondering what lay among them."

"Danger," Ramses said. "War. Death. But also light and hope."

They flew by Mars, and Najila stared in wonder. Ramses increased speed, and they passed by the other planets. Finally they left the solar system behind, gliding through the deep dark ocean.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Often in her dreams, Rowan was lost in a labyrinth, crawling through dark tunnels, trying to find her way home. Sometimes they were the ducts of Paradise Lost, and the bonecrawlers were chasing her. In other dreams, she was lost in a basilisk hive, fleeing the serpents through the darkness. In most nightmares, she was simply lost in the tunnels of her mind. Seeking safety. Demons in pursuit.

Tonight, as Rowan walked the corridors of the HDFS Byzantium, she felt trapped in one of those dreams. The halls were narrow and winding, leading to many chambers. Sometimes at night, Rowan wandered them aimlessly, stuck in a waking dream. Yet tonight she walked with purpose. Tonight she had to make amends.

She climbed a ladder and reached a hatchway to the attic—or at least, the upper deck they had come to call "the attic." Coral lived here. Though they were flying in deep space, the weaver claimed that being up high made her feel closer to the stars.

Rowan raised her fist, but before she could knock, a voice said, "Come in, Rowan."

Rowan opened the hatch and climbed into the attic. It was a narrow, elongated room cluttered with crates of munitions. Coral was sitting cross-legged on a mat, candles burning around her. Her eyes were closed, and her long white hair flowed to her knees. She seemed deep in meditation.

"Aether still creeps me out a bit," Rowan said. "You magically knew I was coming, didn't you?" She shuddered.

Coral opened her lavender eyes. She smiled. "I'm low on aether. You just make a racket. And you whistle a little when you breathe."

"Yeah, well, that's thanks to my crooked teeth," Rowan said. "We can't all have perfect smiles."

Coral's perfect smile faded. She leaned back against the wall. Every day, the weaver seemed more faded. She was thinner now than ever. Rowan was much shorter, and had always been skinny, but she probably weighed more than Coral these days.

The aether is eating her up like a cancer, Rowan thought. Opening all those portals. It's killing her.

She sat by Coral and offered her a thermos. "I brought you some chicken noodle soup. From powder. But still tasty."

Coral took it gratefully. "Thank you."

Rowan waited. "You're not drinking it. I'll stay here until you drink the whole thing."

The smile returned to Coral's face. A weary smile, but it was there. "You sure are a bossy one, aren't you?"

"Coral, I came here to apologize for that. I've been bossing you around. Ordering you to use too much aether. I know how much it weakens you. And I'm sorry." Rowan lowered her head. "I haven't been myself lately. Sometimes I don't know who I am."

"You are the commander of Operation Exodus," Coral said. "You are a great warrior. A leader. You gave me orders, yes—because you need me to give my all. And I've tried to do so. For Earth. And for you."

"I've been jealous," Rowan blurted out. "I'm sorry." Her cheeks flushed. "Jealous of how beautiful you are. Jealous of how Bay looks at you. How you look at him. I heard about what happened during your mission to Elysium. How you slept with him. I accept it, don't apologize! But yes—I was jealous. So I was harsh. And cruel. And Coral—I'm so sorry. Because Coral, you are our greatest soldier. You are humanity's light in the darkness. And, at least on my end—you are a friend."

Coral took Rowan's hands. "Rowan, what happened between Bay and me is in the past. I know his heart. I know how much he loves you. How much he's always loved you. He is yours. He will always be yours."

"Do you hate me for it?" Rowan asked, then gave a sad laugh. "I sound like a tween girl. There's a war going on, and I'm worried about boys."

"You're worried about your heart," Coral said. "The heart is always precious, even when the cosmos burns. Hate you? Rowan, we are more than friends. We are sisters."

Rowan embraced her. For a long time, they were silent, simply holding each other.

"One more week," Rowan whispered. "One more week until the Galactic Council convenes. Until we know who gets Earth." She stroked Coral's hair. "Do you have one more portal in you? If not, we'll end our mission now."

Coral was quiet for a long moment. When she finally spoke again, her voice was soft. "I am weak. Weaker than I've ever been. I'm only a young weaver, not a great mistress of the power. An ancient named Sandalphon mentors me. He grants me gifts of aether. Every time I ask him for guidance, he is more reluctant. Worried about the light burning me. Hesitant to grant me more. I've explained the situation to him, and he knows about our war, so he gives me more light." Coral took a deep breath. "One more portal, yes. But no more. Because I'm close to death, Rowan. One more mission. Let's bring more humans home before the vote. And then—I must rest. For a year or more."

Rowan stared into her eyes. "Are you sure?"

Coral nodded. "I'll do this."

Rowan bit her lip. She looked at the circle of candles, looked into Coral's eyes.

And suddenly Rowan knew. She understood. She saw a path before her, and she knew who she was destined to become.

"Teach me to be a weaver," Rowan said.

Coral's eyes widened. "You want to join the Weavers Guild?"

She nodded. "Yes. You're the only weaver in the fleet. As far as we know, you're the only human weaver left in the galaxy. Earth will need more weavers to win the wars ahead. Will you teach me?"

Coral's eyes darkened. "Being a weaver is a long, dangerous journey, Rowan. One not every apprentice survives. It's not like learning to shoot a gun, program a computer, or even lead a fleet. It's a lifelong commitment. A new way of living."

"I'm not afraid." Rowan tilted her head. "I lied. I'm scared shitless, to be honest. But I'll do this. Let us be true sisters—sisters of light. Teach me, Coral. Let me share the load."

The weaver smiled shakily, tears in her eyes. "I will teach you."

Rowan's comm rang. Bay's voice emerged.

"Row, you awake, babe? You better get down to the bridge. I'm detecting something you'll wanna see for yourself."

Rowan stood up. "Drink the soup," she told Coral, gave her a knowing smile, and left the attic.

She hurried to the bridge. Bay was there, standing at the helm. Despite the late hour, he was dressed in his full uniform, complete with his blue overcoat. One sleeve was cut off, revealing his prosthetic arm. His beard had thickened over the past year. When Rowan had met him, he had rarely sported more than stubble. He had been lifting weights every morning—he said it helped his stress—and was no longer the scrawny boy Rowan had met a few years ago. Sometimes, he looked so much like his father.

He's no longer a cub, Rowan thought. He's a lion.

"Were you visiting Coral in the attic?" Bay asked.

Rowan nodded. "Yep. Girl talk. We braided each other's hair, gossiped about boys, and had a pillow fight in our underwear." She slapped Bay's head. "Forget where I was! What's going on?"

He blinked. "I want to hear more about that pillow fight."

Rowan groaned. "Bay!"

He shook his head wildly, as if shaking off his thoughts. He clicked a few buttons, pulling up an image on his monitor.

"Take a look." He tapped the monitor. "It's called the HSS Porter. It's a starship. A starship only a few AUs away. A human starship."

Rowan's eyes widened. "My God. It's huge. How big is that thing?"

"That's what she said."

Rowan punched him. "Seriously, Bay."

He winced and rubbed his arm. "Ouch! Fine. No jokes. If my readings are correct, the Porter is a kilometer long."

"Bloody hell!" Rowan rubbed her eyes. "I've never seen a ship that large. It's like a floating city."

Bay nodded. "She's a big one. According to Wikipedia Galactica, Porter used to be a cruise ship, operated by the Altairian civilization. You know, those tall green humanoids?"

Rowan nodded. "Yep, we'd get some at Paradise Lost. Nice fellows, mostly. Didn't cause trouble. One even bought me a meal once."

"Yeah, they're mostly harmless," Bay said. "They lost most of their fleet in the war, the poor bastards. Their cruise ship was hulked sometime between the battles. Took a lot of damage, was too costly to repair. But humans found her and patched her up. Row, the Porter sent us a message a few minute ago. I'll play it for you."

He tapped a few buttons. A grainy video began to play on the monitor. A gray-haired woman, her face deeply lined but her shoulders still squared, faced the camera. Behind her huddled a crowd of humans wrapped in blankets.

"Earth! I pray to Ra that you hear this message. I am Mary Sage, captain of the HSS Porter. I ferry human refugees, most survivors of the gulocks. I have over a hundred thousand humans in my ship. Many are ill. Many are starving. Many have been traveling for years, trying to find their way home. We are only a few days away from Earth now, but I fear we will not make it." The elderly woman took a deep, shaky breath. "A few hours ago, we received a message from Empress Xerka. She called on us to turn back—or face destruction. We are continuing on our journey to Earth, hoping that you will aid us. We have nowhere else. Please, Earth! If you hear this message, send help. Bring us home."

The message ended.

Rowan stared at the blank monitor, eyes wide.

"A hundred thousand refugees," she breathed. "This will be our biggest rescue operation yet." She clutched Bay's arm. "Bay! There are just under half a million humans on Earth now. If we can bring these people home, raise our numbers above half a million—that will make a powerful case for the council when it votes."

"And if we fail," Bay said grimly, "everyone on that ship dies."

"If we lose this war, every human in the galaxy will die," Rowan said. "So we cannot fail! How far away are we from the Porter?"

"We can be there in a few hours, if we fly at top speed," Bay said.

Rowan stared at the monitors. Icy claws grabbed her chest.

"The problem is," she said, "the basilisks will be flying at top speed too."

She tapped a few buttons, zooming out. The Byzantium's sensors were picking them up now. A hundred starships heading toward the Porter. Basilisk starships.

Some were Copperheads—the small starfighters of the enemy. Others were Rattlers—the larger warships, each the size of a human frigate. And one …

"The one at the lead." Bay paled. "These readings can't be right."

They both stared at the monitor. Rowan rubbed her eyes.

A colossal starship was leading the basilisk fleet. It was even larger than the gargantuan Porter. The sensors were picking up its signature now, displaying its stats.

"Impossible," Rowan said. "They don't build ships this big. The damn thing is the size of Central Park. A ship this size shouldn't even exist."

The monitor displayed its name: The Ophidia.

Rowan shuddered. She had heard of this dreadnought. Here was the flagship of the basilisk empire.

Queen Xerka's personal starship.

"She's there," Rowan whispered, and her eyes stung. "Queen Xerka. She's aboard that ship. I can feel it."

"Nonsense," Bay said, but his voice was tense. "Xerka will be back on Sskarsses, her homeworld."

Rowan shook her head. "No. She came here to oversee the slaughter. She won't take prisoners this time, Bay." She looked at him. "She's flying to the Porter to kill them all."

Bay's face hardened. "And we're going to stop her."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Sixty human starships flew through the darkness.

They were all that remained of the Exodus Fleet.

Most were not warships. Most were built to haul refugees, not fight. Even the warships among them had once been tankers and freighters, and they were aging, dented, scarred by too many battles.

They were the only hope in the darkness.

They flew to war.

They flew toward the Ophidia. The largest warship humanity had ever encountered. The flagship of Xerka herself.

Bay stood at the helm of the Byzantium, staring ahead into the darkness. Any moment now, he would see the enemy fleet with the naked eye.

He spoke the words of his father, of the Heirs of Earth. "Wherever humans are in danger, we will be there."

Yet this was no longer the ISS Byzantium, an Inheritor starship. The Heirs of Earth were no more.

This was now the HDFS Byzantium. A ship of the Human Defense Force. Not a ship of exile but a ship of Earth.

Bay raised his chin.

The galaxy was burning. War was flaring. But Earth had an army. Earth was defended. And that made Bay proud.

He spoke into his comm, broadcasting his words to the fleet.

"All warriors of the Exodus Fleet. This is Major Bay Ben-Ari aboard the HDFS Byzantium. We're moments away from the enemy. We're outnumbered. We're outgunned. We're far from any help, days away from the rest of Earth's fleet. But we're going to win this battle. The enemy is strong. He'll fight well. But we're going to plow through the sons of bitches. We're gonna hit those bastards so hard they'll wish they never hatched. We're gonna grab those snakes by the balls and swing them around our heads like rattles. This will be our great battle. This will be a battle against Xerka herself. And years from now, as you're playing with your grandkids on Earth, they'll ask you: What did you do in the war? And you'll tell them: I fought in Operation Exodus! I fought with that crazy bastard Bay Ben-Ari, the Young Lion himself, and we killed that bitch Queen Xerka and saved the Earth. Onward, warriors of humanity. To victory!"

He ended the transmission and took a deep breath.

Rowan nodded at him. "Nice speech. Not quite as elegant as the ones your dad delivers. But effective."

Bay nodded. "I've been reading my Patton."

He could see it now.

A dot of light off his starboard bow. The Porter—and aboard her the hundred thousand.

A moment later, lights appeared off the port bow. A hundred of them, moving fast. Moving closer.

The enemy fleet.

For a moment, terror overwhelmed Bay.

His heart pounded. Cold sweat drenched him. His knees shook.

I need my dad here, he thought. I can't do this alone. I need the Old Lion.

But then he inhaled deeply. He took control of his body and emotions. He was no longer that lost boy who wandered from gambling pit to brothel. He was Bay Ben-Ari, an officer, a commander of a fleet. And he was ready for this.

"Giddy up," Bay whispered.

He turned the Byzantium toward the enemy ships. His fleet turned with him.

They charged.

The enemy fleet did not turn to meet them.

Instead, Xerka was still leading her ships toward the Porter.

Bay gritted his teeth, diverting more power to the engines.

But the basilisks were faster. They were hurtling toward the Porter. They were going to reach it first.

"Bay!" Rowan cried. "They're—"

"I know, I know!" he said, leaning on the throttle.

He stared, chest tight. Xerka was still ignoring him. In frustration, Bay fired his cannons, knowing they were out of range, but desperate to draw Xerka's attention.

Her Rattlers kept flying toward the Porter.

According to the computers, Xerka would reach the refugee ship several minutes before Bay.

A burst of radiation washed over the Byzantium, and every monitor on the bridge turned on, revealing the same image.

Bay gasped. Rowan cursed softly.

An alien was staring at them. A creature half basilisk, half woman.

From the waist up, she was a beautiful woman, her breasts bare, her face young, her skin purest white. Her eyes were deep red, and her white hair cascaded. But her hips morphed into the body of a serpent, coiling and covered with glimmering white scales like mother of pearl. She sat on a throne of skulls. Human corpses hung behind her on chains, partially devoured.

"Hello, apes," she hissed, and a forked tongue flicked between her full red lips. "I am Xerka. Watch as I destroy the Porter and slaughter every ape aboard. Enjoy the show—before I slaughter you too."

The video feed ended.

"Bay, she'll be within range of the Porter in two minutes!" Rowan cried from the nav station.

And Bay knew they were not going to make it.

That they would fail.

Coral wandered onto the bridge. The weaver was wrapped in her blanket, and she still held the thermos of soup. She placed the broth down and removed the blanket, revealing white robes embroidered with runes. Tattoos began to glow on her body.

"Coral, you need to rest!" Rowan said.

But the weaver ignored her. She stepped closer to the viewport, closed her eyes, and held out her hands.

In the distance, Xerka's warship opened fire. It did not fire laser beams like the Rattlers. Instead, it unleashed a furious bolt of crackling energy. The missile flew toward the Porter at terrifying speed. The refugee ship was yawing, trying to flee. But Bay knew it was too slow.

Coral's hands shone, and the weaver gasped.

It appeared in space before them, only seconds away—a portal.

Bay could see the other end—just ahead of the Porter.

He understood.

He narrowed his eyes, and he flew the Byzantium through.

The frigate reemerged into space ahead of the Porter.

The crackling ball of energy was hurtling toward them.

"Row!" Bay shouted.

"I see it!" Rowan cried, swiveling the gun turret.

She opened fire.

Her shells flew out—and slammed into the spinning projectile.

The basilisk missile exploded in space.

The explosion was massive. Light flared like a supernova. Radiation washed over the Byzantium. The ship tilted, nearly careened out of control.

"Die, you bitch," Bay said, turning the Byzantium's cannons toward Xerka's dreadnought.

Rowan opened fire again.

Coral collapsed. The portal vanished before another human ship could fly through.

The Byzantium was alone.

Her shells hammered Xerka's warship.

Explosions bloomed across the Ophidia.

But the dreadnought kept charging. Bay got a clear look at it now. It was shaped like a snake's head, covered in armored scales. Its portholes blazed like red eyes, and its cannons jutted forth like fangs. It was a beast that could devour worlds.

The entire Byzantium was barely larger than one of its cannons. They were like a mouse facing a cobra. And behind that dreadnought flew its companions: a hundred Rattlers, great machines of war, all storming toward the Byzantium.

Every instinct in Bay screamed to turn, to flee, to beg.

But he kept the Byzantium steady.

He faced the oncoming giant.

Behind him, the Porter—a large ship, but one without any weapons—was pulling back to a safe distance. It was only the Byzantium who stood between those refugees and Xerka's wrath.

And so Bay stood his ground.

He broadcast a message.

"You will not kill them, Xerka," he said. "You will not harm another human! I am Bay Ben-Ari, descended of the Golden Lioness, a son of Earth. You will not harm my people! I faced the scorpions in battle—and slew them. I will face and slay you too. We are humans! We are proud and strong! We fight for Earth!"

"For Earth!" Rowan cried at his side.

Bay shoved down the throttle—and charged toward the enemy fleet.

Rowan fired the guns.

And behind them, the rest of the human fleet finally caught up. Sixty warships, their engines roaring, their cannons firing. They stormed toward battle, and the cosmos shook.

The shells exploded against the enemy.

Heat and light filled space.

"For Earth!" they cried, a hundred voices rising together. "For Earth!"

More blasts hit the Ophidia. Shell after shell pounded the enemy. Several Rattlers exploded. A wall of fire rose through space.

But the Ophidia still flew, her shields dented. Most of her Rattlers still flew with her.

Now the basilisk fleet opened fire.

Lasers and missiles flew toward the Exodus Fleet.

"Defensive row!" Bay shouted.

His ships moved quickly, forming a line in space—the Byzantium in front, the others behind in single file. Most of the enemy projectiles missed them.

But some slammed into the Byzantium.

The shields trembled. The ship jolted. Several decks cracked open.

"Assault formation—fire!" Bay shouted.

His fleet expanded, now forming a wall in space—and they fired their guns. More explosions rocked the enemy.

"Firebirds—launch and flank!" he cried.

The starfighters emerged from the hangars and roared forth, flanking the enemy ships. The birds unleashed a fusillade of missiles, pounding the Rattlers. Humanity's fleet hammered the enemy from all sides.

But the Rattlers' shields were thick, their weapons devastating. Their missiles shattered the mirrors coating Earth's ships, making room for lasers to pierce the hulls. Human ships burned. A tanker exploded. Firebirds winked out.

As the battle raged, Coral still lay on the floor. The weaver had regained consciousness but was too weak to even rise. Bay ached to run to her, to revive her, but dared not abandon his post. He kept flying the Byzantium, dodging missiles and lasers, firing on the enemy.

Another human ship exploded.

Two more shattered.

"Bay, we can't beat them!" Rowan cried.

"We don't have a choice," Bay said.

"They're stronger, they outnumber us, and they're tearing us apart!" Rowan said.

Only a handful of Rattlers had been destroyed. The others were mercilessly pounding the humans. Above them all loomed the Ophidia, its shadow falling over the battle.

Xerka's ship.

Several Firebirds were trying to attack the Ophidia. But the dreadnought's cannons took them out. Frigates were shelling the massive basilisk ship, but her shields held, and her cannons destroyed all her in path.

"We have to take out the Ophidia!" Bay said. "If that dreadnought falls, their fleet collapses."

"Nothing can destroy that ship!" Rowan said. "None of our weapons can break through its shields."

"One weapon can," Bay muttered. "Brooklyn, you still there in the system?"

His old AI answered, displaying a message on a monitor. "Here, dude!"

"Take the wheel," Bay said.

He left his station, and he knelt by Coral. She looked at him with glassy eyes. Her eyes, once vibrant lavender, were now so pale they were nearly gray.

"Coral." Bay held her hand. "I need you to open one more portal. A small one. Just large enough for Rowan and me. A portal from here to the Ophidia's bridge."

Rowan turned her head toward them. "She can't! Small portals are harder than big ones. It'll kill her."

Bay kept his focus on Coral. He stared into the weaver's eyes, waiting.

Coral nodded.

"I understand," she whispered, voice so soft, fading away. "I'll do it. Help me up, Bay. Help me stand."

As the battle raged around them, warships firing and shattering and blazing, Bay helped Coral to her feet. She trembled in his arms, so thin.

Her tattoos glowed.

And suddenly Coral let out a scream—a tortured scream that tore at her throat, and blood dripped from her mouth.

Before them, shining on the bridge of the Byzantium, a portal opened.

They had no time to summon more soldiers, Bay knew. It was up to him and Rowan.

"Row," Bay said. "Come with me. Let's kill that bitch."

He leaped through the portal.

Cursing, Rowan followed.

The portal petered out behind them, vanishing into shadows.

Bay and Rowan tumbled down a flickering tunnel of light, then crashed into a dark chamber.

They banged their knees on a tiled floor.

They looked up, and Bay's heart lurched.

They were on the Ophidia's bridge. And he saw her there.

Xerka. Queen of Serpents.

Bay and Rowan screamed and fired their guns.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The bullets slammed into the Basilisk Queen and shattered, doing her no harm.

Xerka brushed off shards of lead, then smiled at Bay and Rowan.

"Hello, apes!" Her forked tongue flicked between her fangs. "Thank you for surrendering yourselves."

Rowan stared at the creature, disgust churning in her belly. She had seen horrors in space. The bonecrawlers in the ducts. The hydra in the depths. The scorpion emperor. Yet somehow this creature seemed worse than them all.

Xerka slithered forth, her human body balanced atop her basilisk tail. Yet even that human body was alien—the eyes blood-red, the mouth serpentine, the skin unnaturally pale.

The Ophidia's bridge was cavernous. Crimson columns rose from a floor of white tiles, supporting a vaulted ceiling. A throne of human skulls loomed. Fresh human corpses hung from chains like carcasses in slaughterhouses, blood still dripping. Several armored basilisks lurked in the shadows, hissing, scales clattering.

A viewport gazed out into space, showing the battle. The Rattlers were hammering the human starships, tearing through their shields, then their hulls. The Exodus Fleet was falling apart.

Rowan took in the surroundings in seconds. Then she returned her gaze to the pale queen.

"What are you?" Rowan whispered.

But Xerka only smiled mysteriously. And her guards swarmed.

There were six armored basilisks. Their scales were crimson. Their armor was black. Their fangs were long and gleaming. The creatures lunged.

Bay and Rowan opened fire.

At this range, their bullets tore through armor and scales. Several basilisks fell. But the rest survived the assault, leaped, and slammed into them.

Rowan fell down hard. Her back hit the tiles. A serpent reared above her, bellowed, then leaned in to bite.

She fired Lullaby. She put a hole through its head, splattering blood and brains.

Another basilisk grabbed her leg and bit down hard.

Rowan screamed, her flesh tearing.

She shoved off the dead basilisk and fired again, but her bullets hit at the wrong angle, glancing off the new enemy's armor. The alien tightened its jaws around her leg, ripping more muscle, and her blood poured. Rowan screamed again.

Nearby, Bay was battling two basilisks. One had wrapped him in a crushing embrace. He could not fire his rifle, and he let out a hoarse cry, struggling for air.

Rowan pulled her trigger, but Lullaby was empty. The serpent finally released her leg and slithered up her torso, cackling, licking her.

"Sweet prey," the beast hissed. "I want you alive when I digest you. I will enjoy your squirming."

Rowan pawed for another magazine.

The basilisk grabbed her with its claws, hoisted her up, and closed its massive jaws around her head and shoulders.

The beast began to swallow, pulling Rowan deep into a dark, sticky gullet. Digestive acids bubbled below. Her legs dangled, kicking.

Her torso inside the alien, Rowan slammed home her new magazine—and fired.

She tore through the esophagus.

The creature gagged, vomiting her out onto the floor.

Rowan fired again and again, knocking the beast down dead. She rose to her feet, dripping saliva, and turned toward Bay. He had slain all but one of his foes. The remaining basilisk was crushing him. Only Bay's head emerged from the bundle, turning blue.

The basilisk holding him looked at Rowan, sneering.

She fired twice, hitting both its eyes, and the basilisk unfurled. Bay slumped to the floor, breathing raggedly.

Rowan looked around at the devastation. The basilisk guards were all down, torn apart, bleeding. One was still twitching. Rowan tightened her jaw and fired, ripping off its head.

Bay rose to his feet. Rowan helped him stand. Her Harmonians flowed across her leg, healing her wound. Some flowed from her into Bay, healing him too, then came back to her. The pair stood together and looked back at Xerka.

The queen studied them. She licked her lips and smiled.

"Very good, my pets," Xerka hissed. "Such feisty prey!"

Rowan stood over the corpses of the basilisk guards. She spat and stared back at Xerka.

"Who are you?" Rowan repeated. "Why are you part human?"

Xerka smiled—a cruel smile filled with fangs. A predator's smile.

"I am your parents," she hissed, slithering closer.

Rowan's hands shook around her gun. She kept it pointed at the creature.

"Stop lying!" Rowan said. "And stay still!"

But Xerka moved closer still, scales chinking. She licked her teeth.

"Oh, but it's true, little one," Xerka said. "You see, once I was very much like my guards. A mere serpent. Just a serpent like the billions of them. But I had a special gift inside me. The ability to absorb the DNA of my prey. To suck their blood, flesh, and essence. To weave their very core into my own cells. To be a true huntress, one must understand her prey. To become her prey. So I became human. I absorbed them. Began to understand them. Think like them. Even look like them. All so I could hunt them. And hunt you, Rowan."

Bay stepped forward, rifle raised. "Well, bitch, right now we're the mucking hunters. Eat lead."

He fired. But the bullets shattered against Xerka's scales. A few bullets pierced the humanoid portion of Xerka's body, but the queen seemed barely to feel the wounds. She swayed even closer, smiling wickedly. Her claws dripped blood.

"What did you mean about my parents?" Rowan demanded. Her voice shook.

Because Rowan saw something there. Something in that pale face. Something impossible. Something familiar. Something that made her body tremble.

Xerka undulated toward Rowan, reached up, and stroked her cheek.

"Ah, your face … So fair. So pure. Yes, Rowan. I heard tales of you, the heroine of Earth. The girl who slew the scorpion emperor. I knew that I had to hunt you. To break you. To understand you. So I flew to a world called Harmonia. The world where your parents died. I dug in the caves until I found their bones." Xerka's eyes widened, two pools of blood. "I broke those bones into powder, and I digested them, absorbed them, wove their DNA with my own. Until I became like them. Like your parents. Like you. You are my daughter, Rowan."

And finally Rowan understood.

She recognized Xerka's face.

It was her own.

Horror filled Rowan, spinning her head, bursting from her in tears and a scream.

She aimed Lullaby at Xerka's face and emptied a magazine at point-blank range.

Her bullets slammed into Xerka's teeth, her eyes, piercing her sockets, shattering her skull. Rowan kept firing until her gun clicked, empty.

She lowered the weapon, sobbing and gasping. Xerka still stood before her, but the bullets had finally done their job. The queen's head was torn open, the brain exposed, the face ravaged.

Rowan stared, panting, waiting for the queen to fall.

But Xerka remained upright, balanced on her serpentine body.

Her ravaged head began to glow.

Tiny blue beings, smaller than grains of sand, flowed across her wounds. Mending. Healing. Reforming her head.

Rowan's heart sank. She let out something halfway between gasp and sob.

"Harmonians," she whispered. "You have Harmonians inside you."

Of course she did. She had taken more than bones from Harmonia.

Xerka's wounds closed, her face perfectly healed. Ghostly white. The eyes red. But there was no mistaking it: a face so much like Rowan's.

"Now you will die …" Xerka whispered. "And you will become a part of me."

Bay and Rowan fired again, but it was useless. With a flick of her tail, Xerka knocked Bay's rifle from his hands. With her claws, she grabbed Lullaby and tore it free. The basilisk queen discarded both weapons—then pounced.

They tried to fight her.

Rowan kicked, punched, screamed. Bay roared and pounded with his fists. But Xerka was so strong. Her claws ripped into them, digging deep into the flesh. Her body wrapped them both, smooth and scaly.

"Should I eat you alive or dead?" Xerka said, tongue flicking. "Still or squirming?"

Her serpentine body formed another loop, squeezing Bay and Rowan against each other, face to face. Their chests pressed together. Both wriggled, struggling to free themselves, but their limbs were pinned to their sides. They gasped for air, but their lungs could barely expand.

"Ah, the two lovers in a last embrace." Xerka cackled. "Kiss, apes! Kiss for the last time."

She tightened further. Bay and Rowan gasped, unable to even scream. Their chests pressed together so tightly Rowan worried their ribs would snap. Tears on her cheeks, Rowan looked into Bay's eyes.

"I love you," she mouthed, unable to sound out the words.

"I love you, Rowan," he said, eyes filled with pain.

"Goodbye, daughter," Xerka cooed. She stroked Rowan's hair, a gesture almost loving … then tightened again.

Rowan gave a last gasp, then breathed no more.

She began to feel lightheaded. Floaters danced before her eyes. She knew that within seconds, she would die. But she would die in Bay's embrace. She could think of no better way to go.

She tilted her head back and gazed through the viewport. She could see the Rattlers firing on her ships. Destroying Operation Exodus. And she knew they would soon destroy the Porter too, killing the hundred thousand aboard.

I'm sorry, Rowan thought. I'm sorry I failed you.

Shadows spread. Her vision was fading.

And she saw a light.

A soft, beautiful light. A glowing tunnel.

Is this the passageway to the afterlife? Rowan thought.

But a figure stepped through the light—and entered the bridge of the Ophidia.

A human figure, wreathed in luminescence.

Xerka screamed and unwound her body. Bay and Rowan fell to their knees, gasping for air.

The figure stepped closer, robes billowing, eyes glowing.

"Coral," Rowan whispered.

The portal closed behind the weaver. Coral floated forward, her heels in the air, her toes just grazing the floor. Every tattoo on her body glowed. She seemed woven of aether.

Xerka reeled toward the weaver, shrieking. "Leave this place, demon!"

Coral smiled thinly. "I am no demon. I am human."

She held out her palms, and bolts of aether flew. They slammed into Xerka, knocking her back.

The basilisk queen screamed. She lunged at Coral. Another blast of energy shoved the creature back.

Rowan and Bay rose to their feet. They reloaded their weapons and opened fire. The bolts of aether and bullets kept hammering Xerka. Whenever the queen tried to charge, the barrage shoved her backward.

Yet Xerka was still alive. Whenever the weapons hurt her, the Harmonians healed her.

"Coral!" Rowan shouted. "Open one more portal!"

The weaver looked at her through the effulgence. "I will not flee."

"Open a portal to space!" Rowan cried. "You have to do this!"

Coral seemed to understand. She took a deep breath. Her barrage of aether bolts died.

Xerka screamed and pounced.

Coral raised her arms, and a new portal materialized—a portal leading outside the ship. To open space.

The air began fleeing the bridge, shrieking and churning. Blood and bullet casings rose from the floor, sucked into the maelstrom, draining outside.

"Die, you bitch," Rowan said—and hurled herself toward Xerka.

With all her strength, Rowan barreled into the basilisk queen and shoved her toward the portal.

Xerka shrieked.

The queen tried to resist. Rowan was not particularly strong. But with the vacuum tugging them all, it was enough.

Flailing, Xerka tumbled through the portal—and out into open space.

From the other side, the queen reached out—and grabbed Rowan's leg.

Rowan screamed.

The basilisk queen yanked her out into space.

Air roared across them, draining from the Ophidia. Xerka clung to Rowan's leg, digging her claws, grinning. She stared at Rowan, face twisted in a lurid grin.

My own face, Rowan thought.

She fired Lullaby and hit Xerka in the forehead.

The queen cried out and released her. The beast tumbled into the darkness.

A mechanical hand reached through the portal. Bay's hand! It grabbed Rowan and pulled her back into the Ophidia.

Rowan fell to her knees on the deck, and the portal vanished.

Silence fell. Shadows filled the bridge.

Trembling, Rowan pushed herself to her feet. She looked around. Coral had fallen, and Bay knelt by her, cradling her in his arms. The weaver's glow was gone.

The basilisk guards all lay dead, and Xerka was gone, but more basilisks were shrieking deep in the ship. Rowan ran toward the bridge doors, slammed them shut, then shot out the locking panel.

"We have about a minute to get out of here before a thousand basilisks stream onto this bridge," she said.

She looked at Coral. The weaver was lying in Bay's arms, so thin. She looked like a patient dying of cancer. Her hair was beginning to fall out, and her eyes were sunken into a gaunt skull. But she nodded, unable to even speak.

"Give me one minute," Rowan said. "Then open the portal."

"Row, we have to—" Bay began.

"A minute!" she said.

Rowan raced toward the dreadnought's control panels. She had a basic understanding of basilisk systems. Leona had hijacked several basilisk starfighters, and Rowan had spent long hours learning their technology. Rowan typed furiously, accessing the Ophilia's engines, creating a recursive loop. She nodded.

"This'll do," she said. "The engines are overheating. In four minutes, they'll reach critical mass—and this entire dreadnought is gonna blow."

Both Bay and Rowan both turned toward Coral.

"Coral?" Bay said softly, holding her in his arms.

"I … I'll try," the weaver whispered.

Her tattoos glowed, but only faintly. The ink was melting, pouring down her skin in silvery streams. For a long time she focused, but nothing happened.

Finally—a portal began to flicker, but vanished within an instant.

"Coral!" Bay said, squeezing her hand.

"We've only got three minutes left!" Rowan said.

The door shook. The basilisks were clawing at it. Dents appeared in the metal. The creatures were howling.

Coral tried again. She screwed her eyes shut. A flicker of aether glimmered around her fingertips. A wisp appeared in the air, then dispersed like smoke.

"Two more minutes before the Ophidia blows!" Rowan cried.

"Can't you reverse it?" Bay shouted, his voice nearly drowning under the screeching basilisks outside.

"It's too late!" Rowan said. "The engines are already in a feedback loop, overheating like nuts. Coral, you gotta try. Come on, girl! You can do this!" She gripped Coral's hand. "I'm with you, sister. I'm here."

Coral smiled at her, but her smile was so weak, her eyes glassy.

Her glow was fading.

The door burst open.

The basilisks stormed onto the bridge—dozens of them.

Bay and Rowan opened fire. Their bullets tore through the creatures. Basilisks fell dead, but more crawled over the corpses, storming toward them.

One more minute.

The basilisks reached them. The claws lashed. A tail whipped Rowan and Bay. They fell, guns firing. The creatures surrounded them. More kept pouring onto the bridge. Hundreds.

Alarms blared.

Five more seconds to destruction.

Four.

Three.

Coral gasped, and light flooded her.

A portal opened. Small. Barely large enough to squeeze through.

Rowan fired her last round.

"Get in!" she cried, shoving Bay and Coral.

The two fell through the portal. An instant later, Rowan followed.

The portal vanished.

The three humans landed back aboard the Byzantium.

Rowan rose, shaking.

A colossal blast lit up space. A hundred kilometers away, the Ophidia exploded like a star gone nova.

Light and heat and debris flew across the battle, taking out dozens of nearby Rattlers. The Byzantium flipped over, her shields cracking under the barrage. Rowan fell to her knees and covered her head as radiation bathed the frigate.

And then—it was over.

The light faded.

Where the Ophidia had been, a basilisk dreadnought the size of Central Park, now only a cloud of debris remained. Most of the Rattlers around it had vanished in the explosion. The surviving Rattlers, seeing their flagship gone, turned to flee.

The HSS Porter, and its hundred thousand refugees, floated nearby without a scratch.

Rowan stared outside, seeking her.

Where are you, Xerka?

But she saw no corpse. Had Xerka perished in the vacuum? In the explosion?

Or are you still alive out there, Xerka? Somewhere aboard one of your ships? Rowan took a deep breath. I won't rest until I know you're dead.

She turned away from the viewport. Coral was lying on the deck. Bay was kneeling by her, holding her hand.

Rowan knelt too.

"Coral?" she whispered.

The weaver looked up at her. "Did we save them?" she whispered. "The refugees in the Porter?"

Rowan nodded, tears falling. "You saved them, Coral. You did it."

Coral too shed tears. "I'm sorry, Rowan."

"For what?" Rowan stroked her wispy white hair.

"I can't bring you back home," Coral said. "I wanted to bring the Porter past the blockade. To bring everyone back to Earth. But … I'm so tired."

"You'll rest," Rowan said. "I'll make you lots of soup. We'll nurse you back to health, Coral."

But the weaver's tears still flowed. "I told you before, Rowan. I've been using too much aether. Aboard Xerka's ship, the ancients would give me no more. I had to take the light from deep inside me. The light of my soul. Of my heart. I'm so sorry. I wanted to teach you, Rowan. To teach you to become a weaver too."

Rowan sobbed. "You will! You'll be fine, Coral! The battle is over. You'll be good again."

"Coral," Bay said, wrapping her in his arms. "Stay with us."

Coral smiled at them. They each held one of her hands. And suddenly Coral no longer looked so weary, so sick. She was beautiful and whole again. At peace.

"I love you, Bay," she whispered. "I love you, Rowan. I love Earth, and I'm so fortunate that I got to walk on her soil. That I got to see her blue sky. I have to leave now. To take my final journey. But I'll always remember you. Everything will be all right. It is good to die for Earth."

Her eyes gazed upward, as if seeing Earth's sky again.

Her breath died.

Her heart beat no more.

Bay and Rowan held their friend, heads lowered, tears falling.

"Goodbye, Coral Amber," Rowan whispered. "You are now one with the light."

Rowan walked toward a porthole, and she gazed outside at the stars. The remains of her fleet gathered around her. She looked toward Sol. From here, the sun was just one more star in the sky. Earth was invisible, and Rowan did not know if she'd ever see her homeworld again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

She floated in the void, a realm of darkness and light blended in chaos.

She was flesh and scale. She was consciousness and meat. She was serpent and simian. She was Xerka, queen of the basilisks. And she would live.

She watched her flagship destroyed. She watched many of her precious Rattlers burn. She watched the apes gloat, smug with their victory.

Yes, the humans won this battle. But Xerka knew the war was hers.

When the scaly warship approached her, when the basilisks pulled their queen into the hull, they found her smiling.

She was hurt. Maybe badly. But the Harmonians inside her, the creatures she had enslaved, would heal her. She crawled toward the bridge of the Rattler. She saw that the ship was fleeing the humans.

"Mistress." The basilisk pilots knelt before her. "Shall we return to battle?"

It took only moments. A few swipes of her claws. A few bites with her powerful jaws. And the cowards were dead. Xerka would allow no cowards in her army.

She took control of the Rattler, and she turned the ship around.

But she did not fly back to face Rowan and Bay. No, let that small human fleet languish in darkness for now. She would destroy them in time. Nor did Xerka fly to Earth. Ten thousand Rattlers already surrounded that planet, ready to open fire.

Xerka had a more important task now.

The Galactic Council was gathering in only a few days. If she flew fast enough, she would get there in time.

It would be there that Xerka would deliver the final blow to humanity. It would be there that she had her ultimate revenge.

"You hurt me, Rowan," Xerka said as the stars streamed outside. "And so I will kill you last. I will exterminate every other human—and make you watch. And finally, when you are begging for death, I will devour you. And then truly, my sweet daughter, we will be one."

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

They glided through space in a tin can, heading toward a blue star.

"There it is," Leona said. "Tangaroa. New seat of the Galactic Council. The center of the galaxy."

The blue star had many names. Humans had named it Tangaroa after an ancient deity of the sea. It was an ordinary system, ignored throughout history. No intelligent life had ever risen here. No empires had ever fought over its planets. That made it perfect for the New Galactic Order. It was here that the Milky Way's civilizations could forge a new start.

"The others are arriving," Tom said. "Look."

Hundreds, maybe thousands of lights shone around them, heading toward the star. The ants had installed a rudimentary telescope in their capsule, and Leona peered through the lens. Spaceships of every kind were flying all around. Spaceships from a panoply of civilizations. They ranged from dreadnoughts the size of villages to pods the size of shoe boxes. Some ships were spiky, others smooth. Some ships were made of metal, others of stone, and some of hardened organic shells. Many ships were filled with air, others with water. Some contained biological life, others robots. Thousands of alien worlds had sent their ambassadors.

Here, at Tangaroa, they would recreate the galaxy.

Leona lowered her head. "We should have spent the past year meeting with these species at their homeworlds. Lobbying for votes. Sharing humanity's tale of suffering and nobility. Instead we were stuck with a bunch of ants. Tom, can we still do this?"

He looked at her with kind eyes, and he took her hand. "I don't know. But we still have a fighting chance. We can still share our story."

Leona looked at all the other spaceships. The vessel she flew was, by far, the most primitive. After all, she had built it herself within only a year. Well, with help from the ants. It was horribly cramped inside. Leona had been stuck here with Tom for two weeks. By now, both were suffering from serious cabin fever. They had been bickering. Going mad. There was barely any food, absolutely no privacy, almost no sanitation. Over the past few days, both had felt their sanity fraying. Their minicoms offered some entertainment—movies, books, music. And they had exercised however they could. Still, by now both were ready to kill each other. Both knew that the trip had damaged their bodies and minds.

But they were finally here.

The journey was ending—and hopefully Earth's new golden age would begin.

Leona doubted the ant capsule could actually land. The thing could barely even fly. With the crude radio, Leona broadcast a signal across the system, sticking out a metaphorical thumb.

"Can anyone offer two humans a lift?"

The alien ships ignored her. Many, Leona was sure, were tempted to blast the capsule out of the sky.

"We humans defeated the Hierarchy," Leona muttered. "We saved the galaxy from the Skra-Shen. Yet even now, they hate us."

Tom nodded. "For thousands of years, they learned that humans are demonic, a pestilence, the enemy of civilization. It'll take a while to change hearts and minds. That's why we're here. To speak up for our kind."

Several signals were arriving from other ships, flashing across the capsule's monitor.

Filthy apes, begone!

Who let the pests in?

The scorpions should have finished the job.

Leona sighed. "We have our work cut out for us."

One ship came flying toward them, and Leona tensed, worried it would attack. She adjusted her telescope, and the ship came into focus. It was a silvery, dagger-shaped starship, graceful and glimmering.

An Aelonian ship, Leona knew.

She breathed out in relief.

A transmission reached her minicom.

She accepted the call. A familiar face appeared on her monitor. The alien had transparent skin, revealing glowing blood and organs. The skull was formed of pale crystal. It was a visage Leona had always found disturbing yet oddly beautiful.

"Admiral Melitar!" she said. "It's good to see you, my friend."

Melitar smiled. Or at least, gave the Aelonian analogy, which involved orange bubbles forming behind his skin.

"It is Emperor Melitar now," he said, and his blood turned indigo. "Though the title seems a bit outdated, given that we've lost most of our empire in the war."

Leona nodded. Yes, Aelonia had once been a mighty empire, its silvery ships reaching the far corners of the galaxy. At its height, it had ruled a quarter of the Milky Way. But the great Galactic War had decimated these glowing humanoids. Most of their planets had burned.

If she were honest, it was hard for Leona to feel sorry for Aelonia. She felt a little guilty about this, but couldn't deny it. After all, throughout history, the Aelonians had hunted humans. Had driven them into hiding. Had slaughtered entire human communities. The blood of countless humans stained their alien hands.

Yet during the war, both races had found a common enemy. They had fought the scorpions together. And Melitar, despite his people's tradition of hatred, had shown humanity great kindness. Leona trusted him. She had not known Melitar had risen to command his race. But she was glad to hear it.

"Would you give us a ride, my friend?" she said. "I doubt our ship can handle atmospheric entry."

Melitar nodded. "I'm surprised you even made it this far. I'll send out a shuttle to pick you up."

A few moments later, Melitar greeted Tom and Leona at the airlock of his starship, the long and silvery Iliria. The Aelonian gave them both warm embraces.

"Welcome, my friends!" said the luminous alien. "It is good to see you. We have much to discuss, I know. But first—rest from your long journey. Refresh yourselves. The Council vote is not until tomorrow. We will come up with a plan."

He accompanied them through his starship. The Iliria had no installed lightning, for the Aelonians glowed, filling the ship with their own light. The walk was strenuous. Leona had spent two weeks in zero gravity, trapped in a tin can. Walking down the corridors, her muscles protested every step. But here was a ship of opulence. She spent a luxurious hour under a hot shower—her first true shower in ages—while robots laundered her clothes. Tom emerged from his shower with his face clean-shaven, his silvery hair cropped short and neatly combed.

"We look like humans again," Leona said.

Tom nodded. "Hopefully that's a good thing."

A willowy Aelonian accompanied them into a terrarium. Glass panels afforded a view of the stars. Trees grew from pots, their fruit luminous. Small aliens, similar to dragonflies, fluttered between the branches on lavender wings. Robed servants set a table with a feast. Leona recognized none of the foods, but they all smelled delicious.

Melitar joined them for dinner. Leona and Tom devoured their food, barely pausing for breath. Both were famished. But Melitar ate little, instead sharing his tale.

"These are dangerous times," he said. "The Aelonian Empire was once the mightiest in the galaxy. But we lost most of our power. Our homeworld, the beautiful Aeolis, burned. Our fleets shattered. With the help of humanity, we won the war. To be more precise: Humans won the war while we helped. But it left my people weak. The future of Aelonia is uncertain. We too are worried about the vote. We too hope to cling to whatever worlds we still can."

"We humans only want one world," Leona said around a mouthful of sweet alien fruit. She gulped and took a sip of hot, velvety liquid. "We don't want an empire. We only want one planet among billions."

Melitar nodded. "And you deserve it, my friends. I will vote for you myself. A vote from an emperor, especially the emperor of Aelonia, carries weight. And before the vote, I will speak for humanity. I will tell the Council how you fought courageously at my side. How Ayumi, a brave human, destroyed the scorpion fleet. How Rowan, just as brave, slew the scorpion emperor. How Emet Ben-Ari, a good friend of mine, fought honorably alongside Aelonia. And how you, Leona and Tom, are among the noblest warriors I know. The other aliens might scorn you. But they will listen to me. I cannot promise you that I'll change every heart and mind. But I can promise you that few aliens will dare break rank with Aelonia, even in our weakened state." He smiled. "I believe that you can win. That the Council will award Earth to humanity."

Leona sighed with relief. "Thank you, my friend."

Melitar turned toward the terrarium's glass walls. "Ah, look outside! It appears before us. The new center of the galaxy."

A planet shone outside, covered in water aside from a handful of islands. Here was Tangaroa Ceti, a neutral world with no native civilization. Thousands of ships were orbiting the planet. Every spacefaring species in the galaxy had come to the Council.

"The voting begins in ten of your Earth hours," Melitar said. "I have a cabin for you on this ship, where you can rest. Tomorrow we'll fly down there together. And a new dawn will bring a new day."

The cabin was cozy, but it seemed palatial compared to the ant capsule. The blue light of Tangaroa streamed through the porthole. There was only one bed.

"I'm sure that after weeks in our tin can, you're sick of me," Tom said.

She nodded. "I am. And you're sick of me. But here we are again, stuck together in a tiny room."

"I'm not sick of you," Tom said.

Leona blinked. "Sure you are! I drive you nuts. I snore. And I bicker. And I chew too loudly."

"Truly, a horror to rival Xerka herself," Tom said.

Leona turned toward the porthole. She gazed out at that blue world. "I wonder if she'll come here too. Xerka."

Tom came to stand beside her. They watched the ocean world for a while. And then Tom did something that surprised Leona. He stroked her hair. She let him do it. He passed his fingers again and again through her brown curls. She turned toward him, and he kissed her.

They made love in the light of a blue world. His body was hard, muscular, the body of a man who had been fighting for long years. Both their bodies were scarred. The bodies of soldiers. Both were no longer youths; she was in her early thirties now, Tom in his mid-forties. But their lovemaking felt virginal to Leona. It too was a new dawn. A new life of hope. Of healing.

And of happiness, she thought.

Afterward, she snuggled up against him, and he held her in his strong arms. She kissed his cheek.

"I know that you don't believe we can be happy again, Tom Shepherd," she said. "But right now, I'm happy."

He held her close. "So am I, Leona Ben-Ari. So am I."

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Tom woke up early. He lay for a moment in bed, gazing at the beautiful woman beside him. Leona seemed so peaceful in her sleep. Her dark curls spread across the pillow, and her cheek rested on her palm.

I love you, Leona, he thought. For a long time, I didn't think I could ever love another. I lost so many loved ones. I wrapped my heart in iron. But here, you're not the Iron Lioness. I am not a man with an iron heart. Here in this bed, we are a man and woman. Humans. And I love again.

He checked his minicom. There were still three hours before the Council.

Silently, Tom rose from bed and dressed, letting Leona sleep. He padded through the shadowy halls of the Iliria, this graceful starship, making his way toward the terrarium. He had spent so long in space. He needed to sit among trees, even trees that grew from pots, and play his flute, if only for a few moments.

He entered the terrarium and inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of trees. He walked among them, seeking a place to sit, when he heard a soft chinking, then a loud series of cracks.

Tom frowned. He stepped around a few trees, following the sound, and froze.

His heart burst into a gallop.

Oh Ra.

Xerka, Queen of the Basilisks, was here aboard the Aelonian ship.

The queen had not seen him, and Tom retreated behind a bole. He peered between the branches, heart hammering.

The basilisk's long, scaly body was coiled, shifting and tightening. More cracks sounded from within. Finally Xerka uncurled her body. A corpse thudded onto the deck, its crystal bones shattered. The body stared with glassy eyes toward Tom.

Tom recognized the corpse.

It was Melitar.

Tom struggled to control his breathing. To make no sound. Xerka had still not noticed him. His mind reeled, and his heart kept hammering.

Several Aelonians emerged from behind trees and approached Xerka. Tom dared to feel relief, hoping the Aelonians would slay the basilisk queen. But they greeted her with satisfied nods.

One of the Aelonians was particularly tall and gaunt, even for his kind. He wore flowing burgundy robes and a hood. All Aelonians had transparent skin, revealing glowing organs. But while Melitar had glowed blue and silver, this Aeolian had insides the color of flame. He seemed nothing like the beautiful, ethereal Melitar and more like a fiery demon, his insides a vision of inferno.

Xerka smiled at the robed Aelonian.

"I have done as you asked, my dear Valik," the basilisk empress said. "Now will you grant my wish? You will vote for me in the Council?"

Valik stared with red, glittering eyes. "I will vote for Aelonia alone. My fatherland. The humans destroyed our grand empire. And so I will destroy them. It so happens our interests align, Xerka the snake. But never think that I serve you. My only goal, my only passion—is the destruction of humanity."

Xerka's grin widened. Her forked tongue slipped between her fangs and flicked. "Then we will be the closest of allies, my dear Valik. Together, we will purify this galaxy."

Tom's heart sank to his pelvis.

The cosmos seemed to be shattering around him.

We have to get off this ship, he thought. My Ra.

He took a few steps back, still hiding, when his boot snapped a twig.

Xerka spun around and stared, red eyes narrowing.

She saw him. Her smile widened into a toothy grin. The Aelonians spun around too.

"Hello, human pest!" Xerka cried.

Tom drew his pistol and fired.

His bullets slammed into Xerka and shattered against her scales. Her face changed, all amusement leaving it. Her jaw unhinged, becoming huge, larger than Tom's entire head. She lunged, claws extended.

Tom had never run from a fight.

But humanity needed him.

Humanity needed him below on that watery world, speaking on its behalf.

He knew he could not kill Xerka. So today Tom did something he had never imagined.

He ran.

He reached the corridor, then turned and fired again, shattering the terrarium's transparent walls.

The vacuum began sucking out the air, uprooting trees, filling the terrarium with shards of glass and wood and storming soil. Somewhere in the maelstrom, Xerka screeched.

Tom ran down the corridor and burst into his cabin.

Leona was against the wall, wearing the shirt and boxer shorts she had slept in. An Aelonian soldier stood before her, raising a dagger.

Tom fired, splattering the Aelonian's brains across the wall.

"We're getting out of here," Tom said. "To the hangar!"

Leona grabbed her rifle from under the bed. They ran into the hallway, only to see Xerka storming toward them, her scaly body rippling, her jaws obscenely extended. Saliva dripped between her fangs.

Both humans fired. The bullets slammed into Xerka, shoving her back, but barely seemed to hurt her.

Leona sneered and began charging toward the basilisk queen, but Tom grabbed her.

"Humanity needs us at the Council!" he said. "We can't help Earth by dying here!"

Leona grunted but let Tom pull her down another corridor. They ran, pausing every few steps to fire. Xerka kept pursuing, moving faster now. Her shrieks filled the corridors.

Tom and Leona raced through an archway, then slammed the door shut and locked it. The basilisk queen crashed into the metal, denting it. She screamed, clawing at the door, cracking the thick iron.

"What the hell is going on?" Leona cried, running onward.

"A coup!" Tom said. "Melitar is dead. The Aelonians sided with Xerka."

"Muck!"

They burst into the hangar. Their crude capsule was still there, but several Aelonians were busy tearing out its engine. They dropped their tools and raised their guns.

Tom and Leona returned fire. Several Aelonians fell. One of the enemy bullets grazed Tom's arm, slicing off a bit of skin and muscle. He grunted but kept firing. The last alien fell.

Behind them, Xerka's shrieks were getting closer.

"Our ship is Ra damn toast," Leona said, staring in disgust at the ravaged engine. "It would take hours to repair."

Clutching his wound, Tom ran toward the capsule and grabbed their spacesuits.

"We'll jump." He tossed Leona her helmet. "Like in the old days."

Leona tilted her head, then grinned. "I mucking love you, Tom Shepherd."

Even with the horror, the blood, the pain, he managed to smile and wink.

The hangar door tore open, and Xerka burst into the room, howling for death.

Tom and Leona kicked open the airlock door—and jumped.

They dived toward the ocean world below. Their jetpacks roared, leaving trails of fire. Tom looked up once, and he saw Xerka standing in the airlock, staring down at him. Even from this distance, he could feel her eyes boring into him.

He looked away.

They glided into the atmosphere and flew over the water, heading toward a distant island.

The Council was gathering, and Tom's chest tightened. Once more, iron encased his heart.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

The Galactic Hall was under construction, but flying toward it, Leona could still see its beauty.

It rose atop an island, shaped like a tulip blossom with four petals. She could judge its size by the shuttles circling it. The hall was colossal, larger than the greatest buildings from ancient Earth. Shimmering blue tiles covered one of the petals. Scaffoldings covered the other three wings, and robots were busy laying down more tiles. When completed, the building would shine like a beacon, visible to all horizons.

Yes, it's a beautiful hall, on a beautiful world, Leona thought. And this beautiful place might soon doom humanity.

She and Tom glided down and landed on the island. The Galactic Hall loomed above them, its four petals rising toward the sun. Shuttles kept landing around them, delivering ambassadors from thousands of motherships. Every alien that crawled, slithered, walked, flew, or swam was here. For the first time since the great war, the species of the galaxy were coming together.

Leona stood for a moment on the shore, looking around her. She still held Arondight, her trusty rifle. Tom stood with her, his own gun raised. Many of the aliens were giving them the hairy eyeball—a few quite literally. A few muttered under their breath about the filthy apes. One spat at them.

But Xerka wasn't here. Nobody was attacking. For now, that battle was over.

And the true battle begins, Leona knew.

They walked up the beach. Several aliens emerged from the water and crawled over the rocks. Other aliens flew above, flapping leathern wings. A towering alien stepped over Tom and Leona, his limbs like stilts. Other aliens buzzed between them, no larger than bumblebees but sentient enough to be Council members. A few aliens were robotic; they had abandoned their physical bodies long ago, and today traveled the galaxy inside their mechanical avatars.

"They're all looking at us funny," Leona said. "They hate us. Even after everything, they hate us."

Tom nodded. "Let them look. Let them laugh. All we can do is show them our nobility. Our pride. So we walk tall. And we'll tell our tale. We'll set the best example we can for humanity. And someday maybe we'll walk here as equals."

Leona sighed. "It's hard to be optimistic. Especially without Melitar here to speak for us. We fought in the great war. We saved the galaxy. If our courage in battle wasn't enough, what will be?"

Tom looked at her, seemed ready to speak, but closed his mouth. And Leona realized he was lost for words.

Finally, he said, "I don't know. But your father chose us. He believed in us. And Emet Ben-Ari is the finest man I know. So I'll face these aliens, and I'll talk to them. I'll try to make our people back home proud. That's all we can do. Even without Melitar here, we have to try."

"And if we fail?" Leona whispered.

Tom said nothing. They both knew the answer.

If they failed, if the Council awarded Earth to the basilisks …

Then we're all dead, Leona thought.

They continued walking in silence, climbing the hill toward the Galactic Hall.

The doorway was enormous. It had to accommodate aliens the size of whales, after all. Several Peacekeepers stood guard. They wore heavy red armor and helmets; it was impossible to determine their species. When the Peacekeepers saw Tom and Leona, they drew their stun guns.

The armored aliens glared.

"Surrender your weapons, scum," a Peacekeeper said.

Reluctantly, the pair handed over their guns. The Peacekeepers added them to a pile. The guards let Tom and Leona enter the hall, but kept their weapons trained on them.

"Your old friends?" Leona whispered to Tom.

The former Peacekeeper winced. "A time in my life I prefer to forget."

Leaving the guards behind, they entered a grand foyer. Robots were still bustling in some areas, putting the final touches on the building. One wall already featured huge murals that spread from floor to ceiling. As they walked down the corridor, Tom and Leona gazed at these towering frescoes.

At first, their eyes widened in wonder at the vibrant colors and sweeping compositions.

But very soon, their hearts sank.

"It's … about us," Leona whispered.

Tom stared, silent, eyes dark. She saw his hands form fists.

The first mural they passed featured human figures. They were painted hunched over, hook-nosed, with horns. They stood atop a pile of dead aliens. A second mural featured humans holding alien babies, sucking their blood. In a third mural, humans were bombarding planet Aeolis, capital of the Concord, the previous alliance of alien life. There were no scorpions depicted in that last painting; the humans were portrayed as the villains of the Galactic War, the destroyers of civilization.

"Why?" Leona whispered, eyes stinging.

Tom was silent, fuming.

They continued passing by the murals. Every single one was about humans. Every one portrayed humans as monsters. No murals about the scorpion gulocks. Nothing about the basilisks butchering refugees. Nothing about any other tragedy in the galaxy. Fictionalized evil. Humans are monsters. It was the only theme, mural after mural.

The last mural showed a hideous human, more like a goblin, clutching planet Earth in his claws. The planet was bleeding while the deformed human licked his bloody lips.

There were plaques beneath the murals, providing information on humanity. Leona read some of the signs with burning eyes.

Beware the human! He seeks to control the galaxy. A secret cabal of the apes plots to sink their claws into every star. To drink the blood of our young. They already devoured many worlds. Is your world next?

Other plaques featured similar rhetoric, warning that humans were diseased, vampiric, the most dangerous creatures in the galaxy.

Leona stood, staring, fists shaking. She wanted to point her jetpack's exhaust at the murals and burn the whole place down.

"Why?" She forced the words past stiff lips. "How could they do this? We fought the scorpions! We saved the galaxy! And they still do this to us. They still hate us so much." She lowered her head, and her tears stung. "They've already made up their minds."

"Leona." Tom placed a hand on her shoulder, and his voice was kind. "Do you know what separated Melitar from these aliens?"

She turned to look at him, tears in her eyes. "What?"

Tom smiled softly. "He met humans." He gestured at the murals. "Whoever painted these had never seen a human. They painted what they heard in tales. We're the galaxy's bogeyman. We've been the galaxy's bogeyman for thousands of years. A mythical monster. But once they actually meet us? Hear us speak? They'll see we're not monsters. Melitar saw. These aliens will too. Hatred stems from ignorance. You don't banish hatred with a fist. You banish it with a handshake. And that's what we're here to do. To shake hands." He glanced at a few aliens walking by. "Or hoofs. Or tentacles. It's all good."

Leona couldn't help it. She laughed. She wiped away her tears and nodded. "All right. Let's go shake some hoofs."

The corridor led them to the assembly hall. It was actually four halls—each visible from outside the building as a petal—all facing a central podium.

Two of these towering chambers were filled with water. One with salt water, the other with fresh water. Thousands of aliens of Type A1 filled these aquariums. Type A1 aliens were the most common in the galaxy. They were biological, usually carbon based, and breathed water. Leona recognized a few of these species. There were the Gouramis, a race of benevolent fish with beautiful fins like rippling banners. She saw the Menorians too, sentient octopuses who communicated by changing color. Some of the aquatic aliens didn't even have solid forms; they swirled through the water like blobs of ink. A few were like the Harmonians; colonies of many tiny organisms who formed a hive intelligence. Both these watery halls, the salty and fresh, brimmed with alien lifeforms. Here swam ambassadors from thousands of ocean worlds.

The third hall was filled with a fog of hydrogen and helium. Inside floated aliens who had evolved on gas giants. Here were the Type A3 aliens. Most reminded Leona of living balloons. Their bodies were puffy and lightweight, made for floating through thick atmospheres. Their worlds had no solid surfaces. These creatures could not walk, crawl, or slither. They hovered in their hall, mouths opening and closing, their tentacles streaming like ribbons. Some were tiny, barely larger than Leona's hand. Others were huge beings that looked like floating tents.

The fourth hall, where Leona and Tom stood, had a stone floor and air composed of oxygen and nitrogen, an environment familiar to most terrestrial species. This hall included two main categories of aliens.

The more advanced were of Type B. They had evolved as biological beings, but had abandoned their physical bodies. They now lived as consciousness inside machines. Some still had physical bodies that languished far away, attached to machinery with cables, remote-controlling their robotic avatars. Some had biological brains in their mechanical bodies. Others had no biological components at all; they had uploaded their brains into the matrix.

Some might eventually become Type C aliens. At that stage, they would move beyond physical bodies altogether, biological or mechanical. They would then exist as beings of pure thought. The ancients, those mystical beings who had built the Tree of Light and given the weavers their power, were aliens of Type C. But such advanced lifeforms did not care for the lives of lower beings. They had no presence in this hall. At least, not that anyone knew of.

Sharing the room with the Type Bs were the Type A2 aliens. Here was a broad category that included humans. There was no agreement on what exactly a Type A2 alien was. If you didn't belong to the other groups, they stuck you here. Most Type A2s breathed air and lived on land. Some lived underground in tunnels. Most were mobile. They could walk, crawl, slither, or fly. But some were sessile, possessing no self-locomotion. They were sentient mushrooms or plants, and they rode on motorized devices. Most Type A2s were carbon based, but some were silicon based.

This group was arguably the most diverse. It not only included humans but most of their enemies. An ambassador from the defeated scorpion empire was here. So were ambassadors from other species humanity had fought throughout the ages. There was a delegation of Scolopendra Titania centipedes, the aliens who had invaded Earth two thousand years ago. The marauders were here too, giant spiders whom Leona's ancestors had fought.

Among these aliens stood Xerka.

When Leona saw the basilisk queen, she inhaled sharply and reached for her rifle. But the guards at the door had confiscated all weapons. Leona clenched her fists, ready to charge across the hall and fight the queen with tooth and nail. Tom had to put a hand on her shoulder, to calm her.

"In this hall, we battle with words," Tom said. "If we attack her physically, we'd be doing her a favor."

Xerka noticed them. Across the hall, the hybrid turned to stare, her human body balanced upon her serpent tail. Several other basilisks coiled around her. The queen blew Leona a mocking kiss, then grinned wickedly, her red eyes taunting.

"One day I'm going to kill that bitch," Leona muttered.

"I'll help you," Tom said. "But not today. Not here. Remember the murals in the corridor?"

Leona snorted. "How could I forget?"

"Our task here is to prove them wrong. Let's set an example. During the war, we showed these aliens that we're skilled warriors. Now let's show them that we can be peaceful too."

Leona grunted. "You're peaceful. You're the flute player. I'm more about bashing things."

Tom nodded. "Yes, I was only a cop for decade, then a rebel for another decade, then a soldier for the past couple of years. But we can't solve our problems by fighting forever. We have to make peace. You don't make peace with friends. You make peace with evil bastards who hate your guts."

"Well, we've certainly come to the right place then," Leona muttered, glaring at a group of snickering aliens.

Trumpets sounded. Peacekeepers arranged themselves around the central podium. The lights dimmed.

An alien fluttered up to the podium. He reminded Leona of a drum. His skin was stretched tightly over a bony frame, and he communicated by vibrating that skin, producing hums and bangs. Leona's minicom translated the drumming.

"Welcome, beings of the Milky Way galaxy!" said the alien. "From the ashes of war, we rise again. Old empires have crumbled. New empires rise. Much of the galaxy lies in ruins. The survivors, heroes of the war, look up to the stars, seeking to claim new homes. And so, we have gathered here, on this neutral world, to assign every star to its rightful owner. To set new borders. To create a new galactic order. And may peace reign forever!" The alien paused for cheers, then continued. "Every species will have a chance to speak, to lay claim to their territory. Let the great council begin!"

One by one, aliens approached the podium.

The first was a naked, birdlike being with a heavy beak. It reminded Leona of a plucked toucan. Its species inhabited a single star system, where it had colonized two planets and several moons. It lay claim to these worlds, and the Council voted. Leona and Tom voted too, using their minicoms. The vote passed nearly unanimously; the only objection came from a species of large worm that shared the same system. The naked bird returned to its perch, ownership of its system granted. The worm crawled away, defeated. The first worlds were drawn onto the new galactic map.

Water flooded the podium, and a gilled alien swam up. It lay claim to its ocean world. This time, the vote passed unanimously.

One by one, the aliens swam, walked, floated, or flew to the podium. Most asked for a single star system. Some asked for larger areas. A few of the more ambitious species claimed hundreds of stars, and disputes over fringe worlds lasted for what seemed like hours.

Leona found herself dozing off. When she could take it no more, she sneaked out to the bathroom, then grabbed a bite at the local cantina. When she returned, she gave Tom a break. And still the aliens kept talking, bickering, sometimes shouting.

The discussions continued for a day.

Then two days. Then three.

Tom and Leona napped in their seats. Ate in the cantina. Listened to hour after hour of aliens argue over who owned which star.

There were a lot of stars in this galaxy. And a lot of aliens. And a lot of talking.

But Leona tried to listen to them all. To vote when she understood the issues. She wanted to take part in this new galactic order. Not merely to claim her world and run back home. But to be part of something grander.

We must be members of the galaxy, Leona thought, accepted among the other species. Like we were under the rule of Einav Ben-Ari long ago.

Finally, on the fourth day, the Council decided to discuss Earth.

Leona and Tom were dozing off when it was announced. They perked up at once. Both rose to their feet. Leona wasn't sure about Tom, but her heart was pounding.

Yet the Council host did not call Tom and Leona to the podium.

It was not humans summoned to speak for Earth.

It was Xerka.

As the twisting basilisk slithered toward the podium, she passed Tom and Leona. She paused to hiss words for their ears only.

"Don't forget to vote." She scoffed. "It will amuse me to see a single vote for filthy apes."

Xerka took the stage.

She balanced atop the podium. For a long moment, she was silent. Thousands of aliens, from all four halls, stared.

Finally Xerka pulled out a skull. A small, serpentine skull.

She held it up, and tears filled her eyes.

"This was my son."

Silence filled the assembly hall.

Xerka wiped her tears away.

"He was a precious child," she said, voice choked. "I loved him. With the full love only a parent can know. How many of you have children?" She looked across the hall. "You know how much you love them."

Leona inhaled sharply. She couldn't help but think of her own child who had died.

Xerka's voice rose louder, trembling, torn with pain. "He was my son! And the humans murdered him!"

Leona leaped to her feet. "Bullshit!" she cried.

Her voice rang across the hall. Aliens glared at her, hissing. Several Peacekeepers placed their paws on their guns. Grumbling, Leona sat down, fists clenched in her lap.

Xerka continued. "See how the humans mock my pain!" Her voice was hoarse, and she let out a sob. "They attacked our peaceful world. A beautiful world called Earth. It is not the only world in my empire. But it is the most precious. It is precious to me … Because it was where I was raising my child. Where so many basilisk mothers were raising their children." She pointed at Leona. "And then the humans attacked! Brutally, without mercy! Laughing as they slaughtered! They made me watch as they murdered my child—and they laughed! They laughed as I wept! I watched it all. How they suffocated him. How they drank his blood in their demonic rituals. How they tossed the bones at me in mockery."

Across the assembly halls, aliens cried out in horror. A few wept. Everyone was glaring at Leona. Some aliens spat at her.

"She's lying!" Leona said.

"Would I lie about my dead child?" Xerka said, raising the skull. "Council, I entreat you. We must stop the humans. Or they will murder all our children!"

Leona ran forward, trying to lunge toward Xerka. But the Peacekeepers grabbed her, dragged her back.

"You're a filthy liar!" Leona shouted.

Tom grabbed her too. He pulled her back down—firmly.

"Leona!" he whispered urgently. "Do not prove her point!"

Leona's pulse pounded in her ears. "They have to know the truth!"

Tom held her hand. "Leona, they all just saw you shout and run toward Xerka, fists raised. After she convinced them that we murdered her child. Shouting at her, attacking her—it will only make things worse."

The hall had erupted in chaos. Aliens were shouting, pointing at Leona. Some insisted on kicking her out, others called to execute her. Some aliens were crying out for order. Peacekeepers were moving across the hall, urging ambassadors back to their seats or perches.

In the chaos, Leona stared at Xerka across the crowd.

The Basilisk Queen stared back, gave an almost imperceptible smile, and winked at Leona.

Finally order was restored.

Xerka placed down the skull.

Probably a baby snake she murdered herself, Leona thought.

The queen spoke again. "I would like to invite a friend of mine to speak. To share his own tale of humanity's evil." She reached out her clawed hand. "Valik, will you come share your story?"

A lanky Aelonian rose from the crowd. He wore black and burgundy robes, hiding most of his transparent skin. But his face was visible within his robe. A face like a glass jar filled with flame.

"That's him," Tom muttered. "The Aelonian who helped murder Melitar. I saw the whole thing."

Valik stepped onto the stage. He leaned across the podium, staring at the crowd with hard, narrowed eyes. Those eyes were filled with fire, with a simmering hatred that made Leona shudder.

Valik spoke with a deep voice that filled the hall. "Only hours ago, the humans murdered Emperor Melitar, the hero of the war!"

Gasps sounded across the hall. Leona rose to her feet again, was about to shout before Tom pulled her down.

"It is true!" Valik said. "I saw it myself. The great Melitar, the hero who defeated the scorpions, who slew Sin Kra in single-handed combat. The humans shot him in the back like an animal."

This time Leona couldn't help herself. She leaped up.

"You liar!" she cried. "It was Rowan who killed Sin Kra. And it was you and Xerka who—!"

The Peacekeepers fired.

Electric bolts slammed into Leona. She gasped and fell, shuddering as electricity crackled across her. Tom helped her up. Her legs twitched, and it was long moments before Leona could breathe properly again. Tom held her protectively, staring at the Peacekeepers as if daring anyone to attack again.

Tom won't sit here meekly forever, Leona knew. She could see the warrior rising in him again. She could see the Tom Shepherd with the cold eyes, the man who had killed countless enemies. If they awoke the beast, he would fight.

But yes, perhaps Tom had been right. This was a place to fight with words. For now, she would have to suffer this slander. She only hoped she got a chance to fire back.

Xerka returned to the podium. She spun in a slow circle, staring at all four chambers. Finally she spoke again.

"There is a reason why, for thousands of years, civilized species have hated humans. There is a reason why, wherever humans go, aliens regard them as pests. On world after world, thousands of civilizations realized what you all already know. That humans are vermin! The demons of the galaxy! They antagonized the scorpions, drawing us into a galactic war. The war was their doing! Their plan! They sought to sow chaos, to have us kill one another—so that they can later feed upon the carcasses. And now these scavengers seek to claim a world of their own? I say: We must not only deny them Earth. We must exterminate every last human in the galaxy!"

A few species seemed shocked by this. They conferred amongst themselves, muttering about things going too far.

But most aliens roared in approval.

Thunderous applause, trumpeting, stamping feet, and roars filled the Council Hall.

From the podium, Xerka stared at Leona with satisfaction.

Aliens reached for their voting buttons.

Leona stood up again and marched toward the edge of the hall.

"I demand to speak!" she shouted.

Tom joined her. He cried out, voice booming across the hall. "Hear us speak before you vote! We too have a voice!"

Aliens began to shout them down.

"Kick out the pests!"

"Arrest them for genocide!"

"Wipe out humanity!"

Leona and Tom looked around, seeking some ally, seeing only hateful faces.

What can we do against such hatred? Leona thought. Will this always be our curse? I thought I could change things. That after so long, I could show them our worth. I was wrong.

Then one voice rose.

"Let the humans speak!"

Leona turned toward the voice. She was there, floating in the huge tank of salt water.

"Aurora!" Leona said.

The mollusk raised one of her eight legs in greeting. She was a Menorian, a member of a friendly race. Aurora had helped humanity during the great war against the scorpions. She had even helped Leona's own ancestor, the legendary Einav, during her ancient wars. Aurora was thousands of years old, wise, and kind. Leona shed grateful tears to see her friend.

Aurora's body changed colors, becoming blue with silver stripes, then a deep gold. Cameras across the hall picked up the colors, and a computer translated the words.

"Let us hear the humans!" Aurora said. "I have known them for many years. They are wise beings. They are friends. Let them speak!"

The aliens reluctantly settled down.

Leona and Tom stepped onto the podium.

They spun around slowly, facing all four chambers of this grand hall. Salt water. Fresh water. Thick gasses. Air and land. All types of aliens from across the galaxy, living and mechanical. The wide panoply of life.

And looking around her, Leona didn't see enemies.

She saw beauty.

"You are beautiful," she said softly. Microphones carried her voice to every translator. "You are wonderful. For so many years, our ancestors gazed up at the stars, and they wondered: Are we alone? Here before me I see a miracle. A great wonder. I see the rich variety of life. I see endless forms most beautiful."

They stared at her. Waiting. Silent. Perhaps confused. Where was the demon they had expected?

"Life is precious in all its forms," Leona said. "From the smallest single-celled organism to the starwhales who swim through the cosmic ocean. We humans are a part of this rich tapestry. Yet for many years, we languished like a loose thread. Lost. Discarded. But not less wondrous than the many threads that weave the rug. So today I ask you, my friends, to let us rejoin this tapestry. Let us weave ourselves into the universe again. We are only a single thread. But I promise you: We will make this tapestry even more wondrous."

"But you are killers!" one alien shouted.

"Killers?" Leona said. "We've only ever killed in self-defense. For thousands of years, aliens tried to exterminate us. The Scolopendra titaniae, the centipedes from deep space. The marauders, great spiders from the depths. The Hydrian squids. The Skra-Shen scorpions. Many others, some of whom are here today. In almost every world we lived on, we were treated like vermin. And they tried to exterminate us. So we fought back! We refused to die! You call us killers. I call us survivors!"

"You drink the blood of children!" cried another alien.

"That is not true," Leona said. "We love our children. And we know you love yours. All those tales you heard? Stories! Fairy tales! For thousands of years, we humans have been an oddity. Among ten thousand alien civilizations in the Milky Way, we humans have been the only one without a homeworld. The only one lost in the darkness. So you made us into villains. You demonized us. Hunted us. Blamed us for all the evils in the cosmos. But now we have a home again! We found our lost world! We have settled on Earth! The news has been spreading across the galaxy. Half a million humans now live on Earth. A culture! A civilization! A species." Tears filled her eyes. "We do not ask for empires. We do not ask for even a star system. We ask for but one small planet. One among billions. We ask for the world we evolved on. The world we have always yearned to return to. The world we have resettled. We ask for Earth."

Now Tom stepped forward, and he spoke too.

"My name is Tom Shepherd. I am a human. For that reason, I was placed in a gulock. I was stripped naked. My hair was shaved. My body was branded. I watched the scorpions murder my wife and our unborn child. I watched the scorpions murder thousands. They murdered millions of us. They tortured us, broke us, nearly destroyed us." Tom lowered his head. "They skinned us alive. Burned the still-living bodies in great fires. That pain will never leave me. Every night I still see the bodies. Still hear the screams." He looked up, eyes red. "Yet I still believe in beauty. Because I saw beauty in humanity. And I see beauty in the cosmos. And there is beauty too on Earth. There are not many humans left in the galaxy. Let us last few survivors return home. Let us be free." He held Leona's hand. "Let us find new life."

Now everyone was silent.

Many aliens lowered their heads.

They're not monsters, Leona realized. They were fed lies. They're ignorant. But they're not heartless. We can change their minds. We can regain not only our world—but acceptance.

Xerka returned to the podium. Her eyes flared with rage. Saliva dribbled down her chin. Her fangs shone. The basilisk shoved Leona aside.

"You invaded Earth!" Xerka shouted. "You are conquerors and murderers! You never came from that world, lying apes. You evolved in the pits of the galaxy, rose from the sewers. You are demon spawn!"

In the silence that followed, the doors to the hall slammed open.

Two new humans stepped inside. A man and a woman.

"We did evolve on Earth!" cried Ramses al Masri. "And I have proof."

CHAPTER FORTY

Ramses crossed the hall, holding Najila's hand. Aliens of every kind watched them walk by. They stared with eyes. They sniffed with snouts. They screamed at them with sonar cries. They reached out tentacles, fingers, and whiskers to poke and prod. Aliens scaly, feathered, blobby, biological and mechanical. Towering and tiny. The variety of life.

Najila squeezed his hand tighter, looking around with wide eyes. This was her first time on another world. She was trembling, but she kept walking. And Ramses was proud of her.

They reached the podium.

Ramses nodded to Leona and Tom.

"Hey, Curly. Hey, Shepherd."

Tom nodded. "Hey, Pharaoh."

Leona only rolled her eyes. "I told you guys. Don't call me Curly." She gripped the Egyptian's arm. "What the hell are you doing here, Ramses? And who's your friend?"

Everyone was watching them. Including Xerka, who lurked nearby, hissing, her red eyes glittering.

Holding Najila's hand, Ramses spoke into the microphone, addressing the crowd. "This is Najila, a human. A human born on Earth. To parents born on Earth. To a family that has never left Earth. Najila has never hidden in space. Never cowered in some rundown space station or burrowed into a forgotten asteroid. Never known the claws of scorpions. Never known the pain of a refugee. Her family is an unbroken line—running back countless generations to Earth's ancient past. You wanted proof that we evolved on Earth? We never left Earth! There have always been humans on Earth. Here is your proof!"

"Lies!" Xerka screeched. "Filthy lies from deceiving apes!"

"Yes!" Ramses said. "We are apes! Risen apes. We evolved from apes who lived in Earth's ancient forests. Apes are our heritage. Earth is our birthright." He pulled out a stack of photographs. "Here are images of Najila's village by an Earth river called the Nile. Here beyond the river, you can see the sphinx. The pyramids. Monuments that are seven thousand years old—built by humans, by Najila's ancestors. If you wish, you can analyze a sample of Najila's DNA. You will find no traces of the microscopic variations in those humans who were exiled into space. You will find the signature of generations spent on Earth. You may also analyze DNA in Earth's native animals; you will find we share a lot of our chemistry. The evidence is clear." Ramses turned toward Najila, and his voice softened. "Najila, will you share your tale?"

The young Gaean trembled. But she nodded. She spoke softly, but her voice gained strength with every word.

She spoke of her people. Of their old tales and legends. Of sunlight on the Nile and stargazing from atop the pyramids. Of a line that she could trace back for thousands of years. She ended her tale with tears in her eyes.

"The basilisk queen might tell you that I'm lying. But I speak the truth, from my heart. Earth is the only home I've ever known. Earth is the only home we humans have ever had. Let us be like you. Let us be a civilization. Let us be Earthlings."

Najila ended her speech and stepped into Ramses's embrace. He kissed the top of her head.

"I'm proud of you, Najila."

Humanity had spoken.

And the voting began.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Emet sat outside under the stars. The others gathered around him. As campfires burned, they all stared at the radio. It lay on the ground, crackling with static. About to deliver the most important news in history.

The Galactic Council was light-years away from Earth. But the basilisk fleet, which was orbiting just a few hundred kilometers up, had ansibles installed. Those ten thousand Rattlers had a live connection to the Council. From here in the colony, human hackers had tapped into the Rattlers' network.

Here on Earth, Emet could hear everything going on in the Council.

And he was proud.

Proud of Leona and her impassioned speech. Proud of Tom and Ramses and Najila. Proud of humanity.

He held Cindy's hand. Other colonists gathered nearby. Across the land, half a million humans gathered around their own radios. Across the galaxy, on every world and in every starship that had an ansible, humans were listening. Seven million humans, the entire population in the cosmos. They would all hear their fate decreed.

Would Earth be returned to humanity?

The votes began to come in, one by one.

Beside Emet, Mairead was ready to keep score. She held a marker, prepared to write each vote on a large wooden board.

The first to vote were the Aelonians.

Under their new leadership, they voted: No.

Emet's heart gave a twist.

No.

No to humans living on Earth.

Emet clenched his fists. His friend, Melitar, would have voted yes. But Melitar was dead. Murdered.

Yet thousands still needed to vote.

The next species vote was announced. The Tarmarins, a race of scaly aliens from Til Shiran, voted no.

Emet exhaled slowly. He had expected that. The Tarmarins had never been friends to humans.

Another race voted. The marshcrabs of Arkraba, the creatures that had once governed Paradise Lost.

No.

A fourth race. The Silicades, a race of living crystals. No.

The Esporians, a species of sentient mushrooms. No.

The giddy excitement across the colony turned to grimness. Mairead kept tallying the votes on the board. So far: five noes. Five votes against granting Earth to humans. Nobody had voted yes yet.

Another species voted—the basilisks this time. Their vote was not surprising.

Six noes.

More votes came in. No. No.

Faces were somber across Port Addison. Eyes were cold.

The Gouramis swam up to vote. These sentient fish had been human allies since the days of Einav. They had fought alongside Emet in many battles, and they had fought alongside his ancestors. Emet held his breath, waiting for their vote.

Yes.

They voted yes!

A cheer rose across the camp. Men and women embraced, kissed, even applauded. Mairead wrote the first "yes" on the board. Eight noes, but there was one sign of hope. One yes. One vote to give Earth to humans!

The Skra-Shen scorpions rose to vote next.

Everyone on Earth held their breath.

The memories of the scorpions' genocidal campaign were fresh. Their emperor Sin Kra had led the Hierarchy, had nearly driven humans to extinction. The Skra-Shen empire was decimated now, down to only a single planet. They were ruled by new leaders.

And they voted yes.

The scorpions, the great enemy of humanity—they voted yes!

Voices rose across the camp. Some cheering. Others calling to ignore a vote from the killers. Nevertheless—Mairead wrote a second yes vote on the board. Two votes for humanity!

The Paevian cats, those wretched felines who had so willingly sent Ayumi and her community to the gulock, voted no. The Bonecrawlers, those skeletal creatures who had once hunted Bay and Rowan in the ducts, voted no. The Markonite hoggers, porcine creatures of bristly fur and tusks, voted no. The Trilians, aliens like living musical instruments, voted no. The sluggers, a race of cruel mollusks, voted no.

The no votes kept pouring in.

And then, the Rawdiggers, those miners who had helped smuggle human refugees throughout the war—they voted yes!

The Menorian octopuses, perhaps the greatest allies of humanity—they voted yes!

The Altairians, tall green humanoids—they abstained, perhaps fearing repercussions from the basilisks who roamed near their world.

The bloated Blorins—no.

The Nanadakis, a race of friendly little humanoids with four arms—yes!

The centipedes, the infamous scum from ancient Earth history—no.

The blobby Klurians. The Kalatians, a race of spinning metal balls. The stony Meduzians. The parasitic Weegles. No. No. Abstained. No.

The furry Silvans, disks with many tails—they voted yes!

The votes kept coming, faster now. More noes.

The night went on.

Finally there was another yes, but it seemed insignificant in the sea of no votes. This time no cheers rose from the camp.

More noes came in.

Dawn broke, and the voting finally ended.

The Galactic Council had decided.

Around Emet, everyone stared at the wooden board, silent. They had all known the outcome hours ago. Yet they stared. There it was before them.

Seven alien species had voted yes—voted to grant Earth to humanity.

Many species had abstained.

One thousand, three hundred and twelve species had voted no.

Some humans were fuming, cursing, vowing revenge. Many were weeping. Others stood in stunned silence.

"We lost," Cindy whispered. The nurse turned toward Emet, eyes huge and haunted. "How could we have lost?"

Mairead let out a howl. The young pilot smashed the wooden board, cursing and shouting. Then she spat, stormed into her Firebird, and roared up into the sky.

Emet stood in the center of the camp. Everyone turned to look at him. Hundreds of eyes. And he knew that across Earth, half a million people were looking to him for guidance. That across the galaxy, millions more counted on him for wisdom.

And Emet had never felt the burden so heavily.

He had prepared for this eventuality. They all had. But now Emet felt paralyzed.

Fear flooded him.

He let it claim him—for only a moment.

I faced the scorpions in battle, he thought. I faced death countless times. I will not back down now.

He shoved the fear aside.

"Hear me, people of Earth!" Emet said. He spoke to those around him, and he spoke through his comm to half a million souls on Earth. And he knew the basilisks above could hear too. "This is President Emet Ben-Ari. Two years ago, we defeated the scorpions, a race that sought to annihilate us. For two thousand years before them, we survived purge after purge. And through the fire, we made our way home! We resettled Earth! Today the galaxy showed that their hatred is still strong. That the lies about us still infect their minds. But we do not need their approval! We know in our hearts—Earth is our homeworld. We will not leave this world. We have nowhere else to go. Space holds nothing but brutality, hatred, and violence against us. It is here, on Earth, that we make our stand. We will not respect the Council's vote. I declare independence for Earth. I declare by our own authority: This is our world, a free world that belongs to humanity. We will remain on Earth, and we will defend it!"

They all looked at him. Silent. He saw the devastation in their eyes.

Cindy came to stand at his side. Then others joined him. More and more warriors. Friends. Fellow humans. And Emet understood the message.

They were not only looking to him for leadership, not only standing behind him.

They were standing with him.

The sky began to rumble. The basilisk fleet was shifting formations.

Emet spoke into his comm. "All human colonies—this is a red alert. All civilians—head into your bunkers. All soldiers—head to your battle stations. May the spirit of Earth bless us all."

Across the colony, air raid sirens began to wail.

The colonists ran.

Emet waited outside until everyone was in the bunkers. He stared up at the sky. And he saw the fire spread.

He leaped underground into shadow.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Leona stood in the Council in stunned silence.

We lost.

It seemed impossible.

She blamed herself. She should have argued more convincingly. Should have somehow saved Melitar. Should have gotten here earlier, lobbied for more votes.

Then fury filled her. Horrible, consuming rage at the aliens around her. The hateful creatures that filled this cruel galaxy.

Then sadness. Nothing but sadness.

Aliens roared and shouted and jeered across the Council Hall. The walls shook. The Peacekeepers tried in vain to keep order. Everyone was looking at the humans. Pointing. Some hurled their shoes, even their comms. The voices blended into a cacophony.

Above the din, one voice rose, louder than the rest.

Xerka's voice.

The basilisk queen coiled up around a column, rising to a vantage point above the others. Her shriek rang out.

"Kill the humans! Destroy humanity!" She spread out her arms. "Who will fly with me to Earth? Who will join me in wiping out the infestation?"

Valik raised his arms, letting his robe's dark sleeves roll back. They revealed muscular arms filled with fire, and claws tipped his fingers.

"I will fight at your side!" the Aelonian announced. "The Aelonian fleet will fight!"

An Esporian, a man-sized mushroom, puffed a cloud of spores. A translator converted this fungal language into words. "We will fight!"

Inside a tank of water, a scaly, elongated alien with a mouth full of fangs roared. "We will fight!"

A furry alien howled—a canine the size of a rhinoceros, sprouting horns and spikes. "We will fight!"

A gelatinous cube wriggled, its translucent body filled with half-digested victims. The blob's wobbling produced sound waves. "We will fight!"

Other aliens cried out too, vowing to join Xerka.

"We will fight together!" Xerka shouted. "A united coalition against the pests. To Earth! We fly to Earth! We fly to victory!"

Leona turned toward the others. Tom. Ramses. Najila. They all stared at her, wordlessly accepting her leadership.

"We have to get out of here," Leona said.

Ramses nodded. "I have a starfighter. But it won't sit four. Even if we could squeeze in, we'll run out of oxygen and water pretty fast."

"No choice," Leona said. "We'll use the Firebird and make it work. Come on, we run for it!"

They sprinted through the assembly hall. Aliens pointed, shouted. A basilisk leaped toward them, and the humans skirted the snake. Peacekeepers raced onto the balcony, electric guns raised.

"Stop them!" Xerka shrieked.

A Peacekeeper fired. One electric bolt slammed into Leona's shoulder, and she yowled and clutched the wound. But she kept running. Another bolt hit Najila, and she fell. Ramses grabbed her, slung her over his shoulder, and kept running.

The humans had no weapons; they had left them at the door. Leona wasn't sure they'd even make it to that door.

A Peacekeeper came running toward them.

Tom lunged at the alien cop, delivered a punch to his throat, and the Peacekeeper fell. Tom wrestled the alien's gun free, and then fired at the balcony. Peacekeepers tumbled down. But more raced down a hallway, firing their stun guns.

The humans burst into the hallway and ran past the hateful murals. Three more Peacekeepers were waiting at the exit. Leona and Ramses leaped aside, seeking cover behind a column, while Tom knelt and fired. The silver-haired soldier took a blow to the chest, but his armored spacesuit kept him alive. Tom kept firing, hitting the Peacekeepers one by one. They all fell.

They ran toward the exit. Leona saw Arondight on a pile of weapons. She grabbed her beloved rifle, but the Peacekeepers had discarded her ammo. She kept running, her rifle useless in her hands.

The humans raced outside. The sea was storming, and waves smashed against the island, spraying them with salty mist. Many shuttles were hovering above or parked on the beach. Leona spotted the Firebird. It looked like it had flown through hell and back, and it only had one seat. But right now it would be enough save their lives.

They were running toward it when a Peacekeeper jet swooped and fired its guns.

The Firebird exploded.

Tom knelt at once. Eyes narrowed, he fired at the sky. He hit the Peacecar, and its engine blazed. The vessel crashed into the sea, leaving a trail of smoke.

The humans approached the Firebird—or what was left of it. Nothing but mangled metal.

They stood back to back. Leona, holding her rifle like a club. Tom, holding the stolen Peacekeeper gun. Ramses was weaponless, Najila in his arms.

Xerka emerged from the Galactic Hall.

She undulated down the beach, grinning. Several basilisks accompanied her, fangs bared. Many other aliens were joining them—a mob with murder in their eyes.

Tom fired. Again. Again. But the bolts glanced off Xerka's scales. He kept firing until his gun was out of charge. The humans retreated until their heels hit the water.

They were trapped.

Leona stared from side to side. And there, she saw it—several hundred meters away. A geode-ship.

At first glance, it looked like an asteroid fallen onto the beach. It was a round boulder, as large as a house. But from the right angle, Leona could see the crystals inside. Lavender crystals the size of men. Azoth crystals.

This was no mere geode. It was a starship. A Menorian starship.

"Run!" Leona shouted.

She sprinted toward the geode-ship. The others followed. As they approached, a hatch opened on the stony vessel. A purple octopus emerged, tentacles beckoning .

"Aurora!" Leona cried.

The octopus changed from purple to deep red, then golden spots streaked across her. Leona didn't need the translator.

"Hurry!" Aurora was saying.

They were only a hundred meters from the ship when Xerka reached them.

The basilisk queen leaped toward Leona, jaws wide open, claws extended.

Leona spun toward her, arms raised, knowing she was going to die.

Tom shoved Leona aside. Xerka slammed into him instead, clawing and biting. They fell onto the sand.

Leona activated her time-twister.

The implant thrummed inside her head, hammering at her skull. She cranked up the setting, taking on the agony, slowing time to a crawl.

Around her, droplets of water hung in the air. Xerka and Tom were locked in battle. Aurora still beckoned. Time barely moved.

But Leona, moving in her own time, had only moments. Left activated for too long, the time-twister would crack her skull.

Nearly weeping from pain, she ran up the beach.

Several Peacekeepers were emerging from the Galactic Hall, guns raised. One of the electric bolts streaked past Leona, moving incredibly fast even with her time-twister on. She reached the Peacekeeper, pulled his gun free, then ran back to the beach.

Xerka was winding around Tom now, crushing him. Her jaws were opened in a huge grin, wide enough to swallow a man. Tom was screaming, his voice deep and distorted.

Leona aimed and fired.

Her blast slammed into Xerka's head, burning the skin, knocking out a fang.

Xerka's body loosened, freeing Tom. Her claws had torn open his flesh.

Leona fell to her knees. The pain blinded her. She could do no more. She released her time-twister. The veil of agony lifted, and time resumed its natural flow.

Xerka screamed and fell, electricity arcing across her head. Tom clutched his wounds, and blood gushed between his fingers. The other basilisks were charging.

"To the ship!" Leona shouted.

They ran, crossed the last few meters of sand, and reached the geode-ship.

"Get in, hurry!" Leona said.

She turned and fired her gun. Xerka was coming toward them again, her face cracked and smoldering. Leona hit the basilisk with bolt after bolt, chipping her scales. But the creature never slowed. Leona kept firing, giving her friends time to climb into Aurora's ship.

Xerka crossed the last few meters and lunged at Leona.

The basilisk's jaws opened, ready to swallow her.

Tentacles grabbed Leona and pulled her up.

As Aurora pulled her into the geode-ship, Leona fired a final bolt, hitting Xerka.

Then she was inside the ship, and the geode's engines were rumbling. They rose from the beach, raising clouds of sand.

"You are a traitor, Menorian!" Xerka screeched from below, the sand whipping her. "Curse you! Curse the Menorians! Curse the human pests!" The queen cackled, eyes mad. "Your worlds will burn!"

Leona flipped her off. "Go tie yourself in a knot, snake."

She pulled the hatch shut.

The geode-ship soared through the sky and into space.

Crystals glowed above Leona, and the ship burst into warp speed, leaving the Council far behind.

Her adrenaline wore off, and Leona fell to her knees on the polished stone deck. She took ragged breaths, trembling. A wound smoked on her shoulder, and her leg was bleeding. She raised her head and looked around her. The chamber was dark and smooth, like being inside a shell, and the crystals shone and vibrated above. Aurora was here, along with several other Menorians. The octopuses moved around the humans, tending to their wounds.

"Young lioness." Aurora stroked her hair. "I am sorry."

They were all looking at her. Ramses and Najila sat embraced. Tom's face was hard, one hand holding a bandage to his chest, the other hand curled into a fist. The Menorians were silent, waiting, bodies the deep blue of mourning.

We lost.

Leona's eyes stung.

But we still fight.

"Aurora." Leona placed her hand on her friend's soft, boneless body. "Thank you. For voting for us. For saving our lives. Thank you for everything."

Yellow spots appeared on Aurora's body. "You are welcome, my friend. Should I take you back to Earth?"

Leona looked at her friends, then out a porthole to space, then back at Aurora. She spoke softly.

"No. Take us to your homeworld."

Ramses leaped to his fleet. His eyes flashed. "This is war, Leona! We can't abandon Earth!"

"We won't, Ramses. We're not flying to exile. We flew into space to find allies, to find help for Earth. And that's still our mission." Leona turned toward the Menorians. "Take me to your world. I want to speak to your king." She clenched her fists and sneered. "And I want to buy some weapons."

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Rowan sat in the dented HDFS Byzantium, gazing at the photograph on her minicom. A photograph she loved with all her heart.

It was not a photograph of her family. Not a photographed of loved ones or dear memories.

It was not a still from a favorite movie, not the photo of a favorite musician or actor. It was a photograph of no particular significance.

It was a photo pulled at random from the vast archives on the Earthstone. A photo from ancient Earth. It was a photo from a long-lost country called Holland, showing a windmill rising from fields of tulips. Children were playing among the flowers, while a boat lazily floated down a river.

Rowan had no Dutch heritage, not as far as she knew. Her eyes were almond shaped, perhaps hinting at some distant Asian ancestry. Her hair was dark brown, and her skin was olive toned, perhaps a relic of the old Mediterranean or South America. She knew—or at least believed—that Marco Emery and Addy Linden, both heroes from old Earth, were her ancestors, but little about any other people in her family tree.

It didn't matter. Those old distinctions? Meaningless.

Here was a photo of Earth. And it was beautiful.

It was why Rowan fought. To someday see children play among fields of tulips. To see a boat float down a lazy river. To lie in the sunlight and gaze upon the blue sky. She was not fighting for glory, not even for family; she had no family left. She was fighting for this photograph and a billion like it. For a memory of Earth that had been, and a dream of the Earth that could still be.

And now Earth was beyond her reach.

She looked outside the porthole at the remains of the Exodus Fleet. A year ago, she had sailed out with a hundred starships. She now had fifty. One among them was the vast Porter, a ship larger than all the others combined, and inside it huddled a hundred thousand refugees.

And they were running out of water, food, and air.

Bay entered the room, holding a plate of pancakes. "Hey, Row. I made some pancakes! Want some?"

She sighed and kept gazing outside, silent.

Bay came to stand beside her. "Uh oh. If Rowan Emery is saying no to pancakes, something is seriously wrong."

"Bay." Rowan stared toward the distant stars. Toward Sol. "I keep thinking about it. About Earth—just there, a few light-hours away. Ten thousand basilisk ships around it. And Coral gone. And us stuck out here, without a portal to take us home, maybe without hope." She gave a weak laugh. "So yes, I'd say things are seriously wrong."

Bay put down the pancakes and embraced her. "I love you."

She kissed him. "I know." Suddenly tears flooded her eyes, and she trembled. "Bay, we lost the vote. And I'm scared. I've been fighting this war for five years now. Five years of battle, of dreaming, of heartbreak. And I've been scared many times. But not like this. For the first time, I feel hopeless."

Bay held her close in his arms. He kissed the top of her head. "Row, let me tell you a little story. About two years ago, maybe three, we were fighting on some distant moon. I think it was Helios, maybe another one; they all blur together. The scorpions had my unit surrounded in a forest. They were closing in. We were all scared shitless. We starting talking about going on a banzai charge—a suicidal run at the enemy. We'd have died, but died in glory. Just when we were about to panic, Ramses said to us: 'Boys, whenever you feel scared, make a pot of coffee.'"

Rowan nodded. "Sounds like him, the crazy Egyptian."

"So he pulled out that silver pot of his, and right there in the middle of the battlefield, with the scorpion units tightening, he brewed coffee. We sat and drank. We were halfway through our mugs when it began to rain. I mean really pour. Thunder, lightning, the works. Mud flooded the hillsides and a river overflowed. The scorpions not only lost our tracks. The buggers were swept off. Thanks to that bastard's coffee, we lived to fight another day."

"Lovely story," Rowan said, "but I fail to see the point."

"Here's the moral," Bay said. "Sometimes you're stuck. You're scared. You don't know what to do. At times like that—stop! Don't panic. Don't do anything rash. Make a cup of coffee. Sip it slowly. And wait. Maybe your fortunes will turn. Well, we don't have coffee on this ship. But we do have those delicious pancakes I made. And I think the principle is the same."

She kissed him—deeply—and only let go once he was gasping for air.

"I love you, Bay Ben-Ari."

He smiled. "I know."

The speakers on the Byzantium beeped. Fillister, who was installed into the system, spoke urgently.

"Row! Row, you better come to the bridge!"

Bay and Rowan left the galley, ran down the corridor, and burst onto the bridge.

They saw it at once.

One monitor showed a graphic of Earth, including the position of the basilisk warships. Those warships were now firing on the planet.

"Earth is under attack!" Rowan said. "We have to go back! We have to join the fight! We—"

"Row!" Fillister cried from the speakers. "Behind us!"

A new monitor lit up, this one showing a view from the stern. Rowan stared. She felt the blood drain from her face. Her heart sank.

"More ships arriving," she whispered.

For the briefest of instants, she dared to hope: Could these be allies?

She zoomed in on the image. And she saw them. And she could barely breathe.

A new fleet of Rattlers was flying toward Earth. There were thousands of the scaly warships, and a dreadnought flew at their lead. Rowan had the sinking feeling that Xerka herself was leading that fleet.

Then she saw the others.

Another armada was flying there too. A host of silvery, dagger-shaped warships. Aelonian warships! They had once been human allies. Now they flew in Xerka's army.

More fleets appeared. Alien fleets. Crystal ships. Bulging organic ships. Ships of dark iron with claws and spikes. The ships of seven alien civilizations were flying toward Earth. Thousands of warships. An unholy alliance, following the basilisks to war.

This fleet had one purpose, Rowan knew.

To destroy Earth.

"It's begun," Rowan whispered. "The War for Earth. The true war. The one we were always preparing for."

Bay squared his shoulders. "And we will fight."

Rowan held his hand, then turned toward the dashboard. She tapped a few buttons, opening a communication channel to every ship in her fleet.

"This is Major Rowan Emery. A few moments ago, the basilisk fleet began a massive bombardment campaign on Earth. Several other hostile fleets, belonging to basilisks and other species, are heading toward Earth to join the assault. There are one hundred thousand refugees aboard the Porter. At this moment, you are all soldiers in the war for Earth. Friends, we are going to join the fight. Every last one of us. We are going home. Godspeed, sons and daughters of Earth."

She closed the channel.

She held the yoke and pushed down the throttle.

The Exodus Fleet flew to Earth. To death and war. To a memory of sunlight and a dream of peace.

The story continues in The Song of Earth (Children of Earthrise V).

Click here to read the next book in the series:

DanielArenson.com/TheSongOfEarth

AFTERWORD

Thank you for reading The War for 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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Twitter.com/DanielArenson