STARSHIP FREEDOM III

We Fight for Freedom

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

EPILOGUE

AFTERWORD

NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

KEEP IN TOUCH

Illustration © Tom Edwards - TomEdwardsDesign.com

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CHAPTER ONE

The train chugged along the Trans-Siberian Railway, carrying its victims to the alien feast.

Bastian crouched in the snow, staring through binoculars. He watched the distant train. A plume of smoke trailed above like a soul fleeing a body. From here, even with binoculars, the train seemed barely larger than a red thread among the snowy hills and canyons. But Bastian knew what was inside. He knew the horror that awaited those trapped in the train. He knew of the suffering, the nightmares, the banquets where the aliens fed on their prey.

And he knew that he must end it.

The rahs, vicious alien predators, had taken over Earth. Hunting. Killing. Devouring. They looked like spiders—if spiders were the size of horses. They had slaughtered millions of humans. They were busy butchering the rest.

But the Alliance marines were here. And that meant hope.

"Hey, Bastian!" Alice poked him. "Gimme a turn with the binoculars."

"Shh."

"But I can't see! Gimme."

She grabbed the binoculars and pulled them toward her. The strap was still around Bastian's neck. It yanked his head sideways.

"Let go of me, you gangly freak!" he said.

"Shh! We're on a secret mission. You have to be quiet."

Alice stared through the binoculars, gazing at the distant train. Bastian managed to pull the strap off his neck, nearly garroting himself in the process.

Two hundred marines were here in the wastelands of Siberia, crouched low on the mountainside. They wore white coats, fur-lined hoods, and snowshoes, blending into the landscape. Mordecai plasma rifles hung across their backs. It was snowing again. The snowflakes clung to their eyelids and eyebrows, and their breath frosted. Bastian had grown up in Nebraska, hardly a tropical climate, and he was built like a healthy walrus, but even he shivered in the bitter cold of Siberia.

"Hey, Bas," Alice said.

"What now?"

"What do you call three spiders cheering you on?"

Bastian sighed. "What?"

"Rah rah rah."

"Alice, shut up and give me back my binoculars."

He tried to wrestle them back, but she was having none of it. And wrestling anything from Alice Allenby was downright impossible. She was, after all, an Olympic wrestler. Or had been before this damn war.

Normally Bastian would have worn his EyeSpy military contact lenses, which could zoom in as powerfully as any binoculars. You could look at the moon with those lenses and count the domes of Lunatropolis. But in Siberia, the cold would freeze those contacts onto your eyeballs. So old-fashioned binoculars it was. Which Alice was determined to hog.

"I don't understand why we're here," muttered Sergeant Hicks. The burly grunt knelt nearby, peering around a boulder at the train tracks. Frost turned his black stubble white. "If you ask me, we should let the aliens eat all the damn Ruskies they please."

Bastian spun toward the sergeant, glowering. "There are five thousand souls trapped in that train, Hicks. They're crammed in like cattle. Some of them are Americans like us. Others are from different countries. And yes, many are Russians. And you know what? To the aliens, we're all just food. They don't distinguish between humans. So neither will we."

Hicks snorted and spat. His spit froze at once. "Gee, what an inspiring speech, sir. Kumbaya!"

Alice leaped across the snow to the sergeant, grabbed his collar, and twisted. "You watch how you talk to the colonel, you hear me, Hicks? Bastian might have been just a captain last year, and he might make cliché speeches, and he might need to lose a few pounds—especially around the waist—"

"Alice, stand down," Bastian said. "Before you completely destroy my reputation."

Alice snarled at Hicks like a wild animal, her breath frosting, then released the man. She handed Bastian the binoculars. "Here. I'm done looking." She slammed a plasma battery into her rifle. "I'm ready for killing."

Bastian looked back toward the train. This railway was centuries old, and the train moved slowly compared to modern modes of transportation. The rahs had clawships—massive vessels that could travel among the stars. But those clawships were up in space, battling the human fleet across the solar system. The aliens wouldn't waste a precious warship on ferrying meat. So they had hijacked Earth trains and stuffed the cattle cars full of their meals.

Humans. Women. Children. To the rahs—nothing but meat.

Bastian tightened his grip on his rifle. He gritted his teeth, watching the train approach.

You sons of bitches killed my best friend, he thought. I'm going to hunt down every last one of you alien bastards.

The train was now close enough for everyone to see, even without binoculars. Bastian looked over his shoulder at the company he commanded. The marines knelt on the mountainside in their white coats, looking like lumps of snow. Here was the Badgers Company, part of the Freedom Brigade, the marine force of the starship Freedom. A small force. Just two hundred fighters. But Bastian knew of no braver soldiers.

The Badgers Company had defended Fort Liberty from the alien onslaught. They had saved the dreadnought Freedom from bloodthirsty boarding parties. They had liberated the mighty frigate Churchill from her rah captors. They were professional alien killers, every one of them. If anyone could complete this mission, it was them.

The train chugged closer. It was moments away now.

With a thought, Bastian summoned MindPlay, his neural operating system. The translucent menu hovered before him. His MindLink, a microchip embedded in his brain, wove the hallucination. Two hundred avatars floated before him like fireflies, each representing another soldier in Badgers Company. He highlighted the entire group, then sent them all a telepathic message.

"Remember, soldiers. We do this quick and silent. We jam their signals. We board the train and kill the rahs. Then we ride this train right into Anabar." His voice dropped. "The feeding camp."

Anabar. The very word chilled his bones. He had heard the tales. He could barely believe them. But if they were only half true, Anabar was hell on Earth, plain and simple. It was a place he must destroy.

Behind him, Hicks snorted. The sergeant sent his own telepathic message. They could all hear his grainy voice in their minds. "I say we bomb this train, then nuke the whole damn feeding camp from orbit. We'll kill the rahs and the Ruskies. Two birds with one stone, if you ask me."

"Nobody asked you," Alice growled. "Hicks, I swear to God, if you don't shut up, I'll make sure you're court-martialed for gross insubordination."

Hicks gave her a mocking salute. "Oh, yes, ma'am. Oh wait! I forgot. You're not an officer, so you can't court-martial anyone." Instead of saluting, he flipped her off.

"Enough!" Bastian glared at them. "Both of you—silence! Get ready. You know the plan. And Hicks? One more word out of you, and I'll have you mopping latrines for the rest of the war. I am an officer, and I can court-martial you."

The grunt glowered but said nothing.

And there came the train, roaring down the tracks toward them. The locomotive carved through the ice, scattering frozen crystals the size of fists. The wheels stormed across the tracks, blowing back clouds of snow. The horn blew, rippling the air, deep and mournful and deafeningly loud. Snow rumbled down the mountainsides, and icicles snapped off boulders.

This had been a human train once, but the rahs had changed it. The aliens had painted strange symbols across the red boxcars—spirals, jagged lines, and skulls. Bastian's MindLink translated the hieroglyphs. He read a few of the crudely etched messages.

FOOD FOR SPIDERS

HUMAN DELICACIES

WE CAME TO EARTH TO EAT THE APES

Cobwebs clung to the train, supporting the strange devices of the enemy. Jagged black spikes thrust up from the locomotive, crackling with electricity. Towers of bones rose along the boxcars like the dorsal spikes of a dinosaur, and webs dangled between them. It was a communication system, Bastian thought. Those spikes must be antennae. The rahs were a spacefaring civilization, but their technology was often crude and ugly. These aliens didn't build anything graceful or subtle. They dealt with bones, webs, and meat.

"Remember, everyone," Bastian telepathized. "First Platoon, Second, Third—you enter the train cars and battle the rahs. Fourth Platoon—you're with me. We land right on the roof and tear those antennae off. Godspeed, everyone. Switch on your sliders and wait for my order."

The soldiers crouched on the mountainside. Bastian located his snowshoes on the MindWeb; they appeared as a device with a neural connection. With a thought, he transformed the snowshoes. They lengthened and hardened, forming skis. Across the mountainside, his fellow marines did the same.

The locomotive rumbled along the track below, moving closer. The spiders had defaced it, carving the locomotive into an alien face. The cowcatcher now looked like a grinning mouth full of teeth. The windows blazed with red fire like eight furious eyes. The antennae thrust from the top like the horns of a demon. They had made this train a monster.

It came closer, closer, a demon rising from hell, hungry for their flesh.

"Hold…," Bastian said.

They crouched low on their skis, staring down the mountainside at the tracks.

"Hold…," he whispered.

The soldiers tensed. They gripped their guns.

The train roared by below.

Bastian shouldered his rifle and fired two shots. Plasma bolts slammed into the antennae on the locomotive, melting them. Hopefully that would stop the rahs from calling for help. But he'd have to get closer and make sure.

"Go!" Bastian cried.

* * * * *

Raising clouds of snow, the marines skied downhill at breakneck speed.

The train kept racing along, its antennae burnt and mangled. Screeches sounded from inside the locomotive. There were some very pissed-off aliens inside.

The marines kept skiing downhill. Within seconds, they were at the train track.

As the train raced along, Bastian glimpsed faces and hands in the windows. Humans were trapped inside, packed like cattle, pale and freezing. They reached through the barred windows. Their faces twisted in agony.

"Help us!" they cried.

Alien eyes appeared in the train windows. Claws slashed. Blood flew out the windows, and prisoners screamed.

"Goddammit, they're killing the hostages!" Alice said.

"Keep your cool and secure this train," said Bastian.

With his MindLink, Bastian transformed his skis again. The blades turned to springboards, hurling him into the air. He felt a little ridiculous, like some cartoon detective, but the technology was useful.

Alongside the tracks, his marines springboarded up too. Most of them gripped the walls of the rushing boxcars. Clinging on like lizards, they inched along the walls, searching for the doors. But Bastian, along with Alice and the rest of Platoon Four, flew higher. They rose over the train, then swooped onto the boxcars' roofs.

One unlucky soldier, a skinny corporal, flew too far. He overshot the train, then fell across the other side of the tracks. Unfortunately for him, the train was racing along an icy cliff. The corporal's scream drowned in the depths. Bastian just hoped there was enough snow at the bottom to cushion the poor guy's fall.

Bastian was aiming for the locomotive. But he misjudged how fast the train was moving. He ended up landing three railcars back. He skidded on the icy roof. The tips of his skis thrust over the edge. He found himself staring down the cliff into a storm of snow and jagged rocks. Arms windmilling, he wobbled on the icy roof. With another thought, he turned his skis into military boots again, the soles spiked. He took a step back from the ledge.

Alice landed behind him, slid across the roof, and nearly tumbled down the cliff. Bastian grabbed her, pulled her back to safety.

"Thanks, boss."

She had to telepathize. Even shouting would barely be heard up here. The train rumbled along the tracks, carving through the ice and snow. Chunks of ice flew every which way, glittering shards the size of apples. Some flew right onto the roof, clattering against Bastian. The snow soared at the train's sides in two white waves. Bastian felt like Moses parting the Red Sea. Well, white sea in this case.

Riding the train like a surfer, Bastian looked behind him. Several marines were gripping the rooftops, hopping from car to car, searching for more antennae and melting them. Other marines crashed through the boxcar doors. Alien screeches sounded inside. Gunfire rattled. Bastian couldn't see inside the train from up here, not directly. But using the MindWeb, he could connect to his soldiers' neural implants. He could see what they saw.

He peeked through the eyes of the marines inside the train. Just for a second. He glimpsed crowded, dark interiors, each boxcar crammed full of prisoners. Claws rose. Red eyes blazed. Jaws opened wide, revealing fangs. Soldiers shouted and opened fire.

But Bastian couldn't spare all that too much attention. He had to focus on what his own eyes were seeing. Which wasn't anything good.

Through the flying snow and ice, he saw a dark figure ahead.

A rah was climbing onto the locomotive.

No matter how many times Bastian saw the creatures, they always made him shudder. The spider was gargantuan, easily the size of a horse. Its eight red eyes swirled like spheres of blood. Its eight legs gripped the locomotive, the claws digging into the metal. A forest of spikes rose from the rah's back. Each spike impaled another severed human head. The aliens enjoyed collecting their sick trophies.

Bastian expected the alien to race along the train and attack him. But instead, the massive spider gripped the mangled antennae Bastian had shot. The alien collected the pieces of twisted, broken metal. Spewing silk from its spinneret, the alien began fusing the broken pieces.

"Bastian, it's trying to fix the transmitters!" Alice said. "It's gonna call for help!"

"Thank you, Sergeant Obvious," Bastian said.

He shouldered his rifle, aimed at the spider, and fired. But just then the train made a sharp turn, wheeling around the mountainside. Bastian swayed. His shot went wide. The plasma bolt slammed into the mountainside, and snow cascaded.

Snowdrifts buffeted the train.

A few wheels rose from the track. The other wheels sparked. Clouds of snow washed over Bastian. He slid across the icy roof, skidding uncontrollably toward the edge.

Alice couldn't catch him. Another rah was scuttling toward her. She fell onto her back, firing her gun at the looming beast.

As he slid across the ice, Bastian scrabbled for purchase, found none.

He slipped off the boxcar roof.

* * * * *

As he tumbled off the train, he reached out.

He caught one of the boxcar's barred windows.

His fingers wrapped around a cold iron bar. He clung on for dear life.

His legs dangled, kicking in midair. As the train chugged along, snow and ice flew from the tracks, pounding him. His fingers were slipping on the icy bar. Below him, he saw the cliff plunge into a canyon. Red eyes shone below. Spiders were moving in the shadowy depths. Bastian gulped and looked away. He tightened his grip on the window bar.

He swung up his second arm, grabbed another bar. He pulled himself higher, and he slammed one boot against the boxcar wall. The steel tip punched a hole into the wall.

Pale faces stared between the window bars. Pale gray fingers reached out.

"Help us!"

But he couldn't. Not now. Right now he needed to rejoin Alice on the boxcar roof. He needed to kill the rah fixing the antennae.

"I'll come back for you," he said. "I'll—"

A claw thrust between the window bars. It sliced Bastian's left hand.

He screamed, more in surprise than pain. His bloody left hand slipped off the bars. He clung on with his right hand alone. A rah screeched inside the racing train.

Another claw thrust out the window, this one aiming at Bastian's right hand. The one holding the window bar.

Bastian had no choice. He let go.

As he fell toward the cliff, he reached out and caught a gash in the wall—the one his boot had cut.

He clung on desperately. His boots grazed across the ground, scattering icy ballast. The train dragged him along. His calves slammed into ice and snow. He howled in pain, curling his legs up, barely clinging on. The canyon spread below him. His fingers were losing their grip. He was about to fall into the pit. And the train kept racing.

Hanging by a thread, Bastian looked up. He glimpsed marines and rahs battling across the train's roof. The battle stretched across several cars.

The window bars shattered above him.

A rah thrust its warty head out the window.

The creature's bulbous abdomen could not fit through. But the alien managed to squeeze out its head, thorax, and eight legs. It was like some terrible parasite bursting out a host. The rah emitted a deafening screech, then leaned down from the window. Its mighty jaws snapped at Bastian, the teeth like daggers.

Dangling off the racing train with one hand, Bastian tried to aim his rifle. But his situation wasn't exactly conducive to marksmanship. His bolt went wide. The rah slapped the muzzle aside. The jaws snapped. Bastian leaned back, narrowly dodging the teeth.

As the train raced along, Bastian reached down, grabbed a fistful of ballast, and hurled the jagged rocks at the spider. The rah roared, the shards hitting its eyes. Bastian aimed and fired his rifle with one hand.

This time he aimed right. Plasma roared over the spider, melting the eyes, filling the mouth. The creature screamed, burning. Bastian kept bathing it with plasma until his gun dinged. Out of charge. The rah wilted, charred thorax hanging over the side of the car. The flying snow doused the flames.

Bastian grabbed the crispy corpse. He climbed the dead alien, careful to avoid its horns and claws, and returned onto the roof.

The train raced onward across Siberia. The screeches of rahs rose over the roaring engines.

* * * * *

Bastian stood atop the boxcar, panting.

The train made a sudden sharp turn. It careened around a mountaintop, then raced downward toward a valley. Snowy squalls buffeted Bastian. Sheets of ice lay across the land like the shards of broken blades, and snow stormed among jagged mountains. Bastian swayed on the icy roof, arms held out for balance. He got bad flashbacks of fighting on the roller coaster at Darkland last year.

The battle raged across the train. Alice stood ahead, battling a rah. The beast reared before her. Alice was swinging her Mordecai like a club. She must have been out of plasma.

"Alice, duck!" he shouted.

She knelt without question, and Bastian fired over her head. A plasma bolt slammed into the rah's face. The beast slid across the boxcar roof, claws scrabbling across the ice. Alice placed one hand on the roof, raised both feet, and delivered a double kick to the rah's abdomen. The alien tumbled off the train and rolled down the snowy mountainside.

Alice was sliding across the ice. Bastian had to catch her and pull her back up.

"Stop showboating with your fancy wrestling moves," Bastian said. "You'll get yourself killed."

"Shut up and gimme some ammo." She grabbed a plasma pack from his vest. With a savage grin, she slammed it into her rifle.

Bastian stared at the locomotive. The rah with the severed heads on its spikes still stood there. The alien had nearly finished patching up the antennae. Several smaller rahs, these ones the size of dogs, were weaving a protective web around the antennae.

"They're gonna call for help!" Alice shouted.

She fired a plasma bolt. But the bolt hit the cobwebs, then bounced back.

Alice and Bastian knelt. The bolt flew over their heads. Bastian glanced behind him.

"Watch out!" he cried.

But the bolt slammed into a marine several boxcars back. Blessedly, the blast didn't penetrate his body armor. But it was enough to knock the man off the train. He thumped into the snow, and the rahs cheered. More marines and aliens were fighting across the train.

"What the hell just happened?" Alice said.

Bastian growled. "Some kind of special cobweb shield. Bastards." He drew a knife from his belt. "Come on, Alice, let's carve through those webs."

She drew her own blade. "And through some spiders."

Bastian ran across the icy boxcar and leaped into the air. Legs kicking, he vaulted over the coupling between two train cars. Bastian glimpsed the icy track whooshing by below. Then he landed on the next boxcar. He was just one car away from the locomotive now.

Alice ran too, leaped into the air, and executed a perfect backflip, flying between the boxcars. But she flubbed the landing, slipped on the ice, and nearly fell off the train. Bastian grabbed her and pulled her back to safety.

"I told you—no more wrestling moves!" Bastian said.

"But I trained all my life for this!"

"And your life won't last another five minutes if you keep this up."

They raced across this boxcar too, heading toward the locomotive. Beneath them, they could hear the prisoners calling for aid. Ahead of them, the orbweavers were still weaving their protective webs, shielding the antennae. Within the gossamer casing, the antennae began to crackle, their tips to glow.

They're calling their friends, Bastian thought. Any second now, these mountains will be swarming with rahs.

He ran along the boxcar, heading toward the locomotive, when three rahs scuttled up the walls and pounced.

He fired a bolt, knocking one rah off the train. The second rah leaped at Alice, who began clubbing it. The third rah slammed into Bastian. He fell onto his back, slid across the icy roof, and grabbed a rivet for support.

The spider grinned above him. Saliva sizzled against Bastian.

"Hello, human," the alien hissed. "You are a meaty one. I will enjoy devouring your flesh."

Bastian shoved his muzzle into the drooling jaws. "Devour this."

Not his most clever comeback, but he was short on time. He fired a blaze of plasma. The alien scuttled back, mouth burning. Bastian rose to his feet and swung his Mordecai, knocking the alien off the roof.

"Even the aliens think you're fat!" Alice shouted, battling another rah nearby. The alien clawed her, denting her body armor and knocking her down.

"I told you!" Bastian shouted, barreling forward. "It's all muscle."

He plowed into the rah attacking Alice. The alien squealed, slipping across the icy roof. Alice delivered a swift kick, knocking it off the train.

But unlike the others, this alien didn't fall sideways onto the snowy mountainside. It fell off the front of the boxcar—right onto the tracks.

A split second later, the car plowed over the creature.

The train leaped off the tracks.

Bastian and Alice fell. Bastian clawed for purchase. He shoved his fingers into a hole in the roof—probably punched by a rah's claw. Alice grabbed his belt and held on for dear life.

The train flew through the air for only a second or two, but it felt like an eternity.

Bastian saw the fields of Nebraska. He saw Stacy smiling on their wedding day. Rowan being born, learning to walk, hugging him.

The train slammed back down—but missed the rails.

Sparks flew.

The derailed train hit the icy mountainside, then began sliding downhill, slewing left and right, racing into the snowy wilderness.

* * * * *

Alice screamed atop the derailed train, clinging onto Bastian's belt. The train raced downhill like the world's longest toboggan, raising clouds of snow.

"Let go! You're pulling down my pants!" Bastian said.

Alice just screamed and clung on, yanking Bastian's pants down to his ankles. The absurdity of it—clinging to a derailed train in Siberia while an Olympic wrestler pulled down his pants—would normally make Bastian laugh. Right now he was too terrified.

The train plowed through the ice, heading downhill toward a frozen lake.

Bastian pulled himself back onto the roof. His pants slid past his ankles, coming free in Alice's hands.

The locomotive was carving through the ice and snow. The tip of the antennae began to glow blue. If the rahs sent out their transmission, a hundred clawships would arrive in moments. The alien fire would melt the ice for a thousand miles around.

In his underwear, Bastian leaped across the slewing train, hopped onto the locomotive, and somehow managed to keep running. Howling wordlessly, he charged toward the rahs around the antennae.

The orbweavers were still there, guarding the antennae, even as the train raced off the tracks. They turned toward Bastian, eyes wide. A burly marine in his underwear, bellowing for war, was probably not what these smaller aliens had signed up for. They scattered. But one hunter rah, larger than the orbweavers, was still guarding the antennae. The alien reared for battle.

Bastian shouldered his rifle and put his finger on the trigger.

The rah's jaws snapped shut, mangling the gun.

The plasma pack caught fire.

Bastian was forced to hurl the assault rifle off the train. The plasma pack exploded in midair.

The train was still racing across the ice, heading toward a frozen lake. It slewed madly from side to side. Behind Bastian, a boxcar overturned. People screamed inside. The train whipped across the landscape like a wounded snake.

Bastian stood on the locomotive, facing the rah. Behind the alien, the antennae began to beep.

The hunter lashed its claws. Bastian leaped back. Again and again. He nearly fell off the locomotive. The claws slashed through the flurries of snow. It was all Bastian could do to dodge them.

"Die now…," the rah hissed, pouncing closer.

Bastian winced, then leaped sideways.

The claws sliced the air.

Bastian grabbed the locomotive's chimney. It was red-hot, burning his fingers. He held on nonetheless, then spun around the chimney like a dancer around a pole. Without any pants on, no less.

As he made a full turn, he raised both legs—and slammed his boots hard into the rah.

The alien tumbled off the train. The next railcar plowed over it.

Bastian landed back on the locomotive, panting.

Alice leaped onto the locomotive too. Alien blood covered her. "So wrestling moves are a no-go, but stripper moves are okay?"

"Shut up," he muttered.

"Nice underwear," she said. "Polka dots, huh? Never pegged you as the polka-dot type."

"Shut up!"

Cheeks flushing, Bastian leaned over the side of the locomotive. He swung into the engineer's cabin.

A rah sat in the driver's seat, but it was only an orbweaver. Bastian slammed the poor critter against the floor a few times, stunning it, maybe killing it.

Next, Bastian killed the engine and hit the brakes. Machinery creaked. Motors rumbled, coughed, then died. The train screeched to a halt on the icy plains of Siberia, several klicks away from the tracks.

Bastian slumped into his seat, for a moment overcome with pain and grief. He had tried to save everyone aboard this train. He had seen several soldiers die. Many passengers were almost certainly dead too—killed by rah claws, overturning boxcars, or simple overcrowding. His hands began to tremble, his eyes to water.

Alice leaped into the locomotive with him. She was grinning, perhaps preparing another sardonic jab. When she saw him, her face softened. She sat beside him and pulled him into a hug.

"I'm here for you, Bastian." She caressed his hair and kissed his cheek. "Always."

He smiled at her shakily. "You're the best damn NCO in the Alliance."

For a moment, disappointment flitted across her eyes, and her smile was sad. "Yes. I guess so."

He hugged her tightly. "And you're my best friend."

She still seemed crestfallen, but a little less so. She wiped her eyes and patted his cheek. "Come on, dude. We gotta get this train back on the tracks." She took a deep breath and raised her chin. "We still need to ride into the feeding camp—and liberate the people inside."

CHAPTER TWO

James "Bulldog" King, commander of the starship Freedom, stood on the bridge, his hands clasped behind his back. One real hand. One metal hand. The metal one still felt strange. He had lost his arm in battle not long ago, and he was still not used to his prosthetic. Not even close. The damn thing bugged him night and day.

He placed his hands on the control panel instead. He looked at them. His right hand was veined, callused, still strong despite his sixty years of age. He wore his wedding ring on his right hand now. Somebody had actually plucked it off his dead left hand when cleaning the battlefield.

King wondered why he still wore the ring. Diane had been dead for fifteen years now. Ah hell. He supposed he still wasn't over her. Some women took hold of your heart and never let go. Some loves you never forgot. Some loves lit a fire inside you that burned through sudden death and lingering life and the darkness of the cosmos.

I'm getting sappy in my old age, he thought with a grunt.

He looked at his left hand next. The new hand. Mimori, his loyal android, had built the prosthetic, inspired by the medieval suit of armor that stood in King's cabin. Forged from steel, his new hand looked like a knight's gauntlet, and the fingertips could sprout claws. Ostentatious, perhaps. But hell, King liked it.

Unfortunately, the damn thing itched like hell. He could actually feel those metal fingers itch. How about that? He formed a steel fist, and the itching subsided. A little.

He stared out the main viewport, pulling his mind back to the present. The starship Freedom was currently floating in the vast darkness, engines off, skulking like a barracuda a million miles below the ecliptic plane. The planets orbited far above like buoys on a distant ocean surface. The ship lurked, dark and silent and cold. The engineers were doing the best they could to minimize the Freedom's energy output, but nowhere was truly safe in the solar system anymore.

Right now the Freedom was far from the front line. Waiting. Just waiting for the signal from Bastian that Anabar's shields were down. That the dreadnought could surge toward Earth. To King, waiting like this in darkness was worse than a hundred battles.

"Sir, we're receiving an encrypted hail from an undisclosed location," Mimori said, turning from a control panel.

They had been fighting the great Rah War for weeks now, barely sleeping. Humanity was engaged in a struggle for survival—and things were not going well. Nobody knew how many humans had died already. Estimates ranged from several million to a hundred million or more. Since Christmas last year, King had spent nearly all his time on the bridge of his battleship. So had his crew. And they all looked it. They were weary, gaunt, pale. They were battling not only the rahs but also exhaustion and despair.

All but Mimori, that was.

She still looked fresh as a daisy.

Like everyone on the bridge, she wore a navy-blue service uniform with brass buttons and buckles. But while everyone else's uniforms were looking a little worse for wear, Mimori's uniform was perfectly ironed, each button polished to a sheen. Her black hair, cut the length of her chin, was just as flawless. Not a single strand was out of place. Her face was a study of youthful beauty—the perfect lips, the rosy cheeks, the curious eyes.

She looked like a lovely young Japanese woman, unaffected by the chaos and destruction engulfing the solar system. Because Mimori was not human. Androids didn't get tired. Androids didn't age. They were always perfect. Even now, she smiled politely.

"Sir?"

King realized he had been silently studying her. He nodded. "Patch the call through to my MindLink. Include the full bridge crew. I know who this is."

He cursed himself for letting his thoughts stray. He was tired. Dog tired. And worried too. Not just about the war. But about his son. About Bastian, fighting down on Earth behind enemy lines.

There was no way King could contact his son. Not without exposing Bastian's position to the enemy. King just had to wait for Bastian to infiltrate the feeding camp, disable the shields, and call for help. Until then, King wouldn't know if his son was alive or dead. He had not slept last night. How could any father sleep like this?

And so his mind was wandering. He found it hard to focus. To command. He had taken a stim this morning. It kept him awake, but it gave him only a dull, fuzzy sort of energy. Once more, King found himself struggling to pull his attention back to the present.

Sooner or later, exhaustion would become a serious problem for his crew. But who the hell had time to sleep with a war on?

"Patching the call through, sir," Mimori said. "Streaming to MindWeb in three, two… one."

King placed his hands behind his back, hiding the gauntlet. An unnecessary distraction.

An old man materialized on the bridge before him. King's neural implant was generating the hallucination, crafting it from signals sent to their starship. The old man wasn't really there, but everyone could see him.

The man cleared his throat. He was short, paunchy, and wore an outdated suit that belonged in the nineteenth century more than the twenty-third.

King saluted. "High Commander Godwin. How may I help you?"

Godwin stared at him, one eye narrowed behind his monocle. The man even wore a top hat. He was a living, breathing anachronism. But despite his eccentricities, George Godwin was a damn good high commander. He was shrewd like a fox and strong like a wolf.

"Tell me, Commander King," Godwin rumbled. "Have you squeezed any more squeals out of our prisoner?"

Godwin had a voice like rolling stones, surprisingly thunderous. He spoke with an upper-class English accent, but somehow he made the aristocratic accent sound gruff.

"The prisoner has stopped cooperating," King said. "He stopped speaking two weeks ago. He stopped eating too. We can force-feed him, but forcing him to speak is another matter."

Godwin clutched his cane more tightly. His underbite gave him a quarrelsome, dogged look. "There are ways to get prisoners to speak, King. Even rah prisoners."

"I won't torture a prisoner in my custody," King said. "Not even a rah. That is not debatable."

Godwin paused, scrutinizing him, then huffed. "You're an honorable man, Commander King. I respect that. But we might no longer have a choice. If the nefarious Hel'rah has information that can tip the war in our favor, it is our duty to extract that information from him—by any means available to us. This creature's mother, the warweaver Skel'rah, is planning a major assault. She connives to wipe out Earth's three great fleets. We must learn more of the enemy's plans."

King nodded. "Understood, sir. Give me one more day with him."

"Very well." Godwin nodded. "One more day. And if still the beast does not talk, then—"

"Then hand him to Katyusha!" rose a voice. "She will get the bug to squeal!"

A new apparition appeared on the bridge. Katyusha, Premier of the Red Dawn, smiled crookedly and winked at King.

King snarled and spun toward Mimori. "How the hell did she jump into our call?"

Mimori raised her hands in dismay. "I don't know, sir. Somehow she bypassed our firewalls."

"Silly Americans!" Katyusha tossed back her head and laughed. "Do you think your weak technology could hold out Katyusha?" She tutted. "So rude, James King! To have a meeting and not invite your dear comrade Katyusha." She pouted. "After all the times Katyusha saved your capitalist ass from the big bad spiders."

Katya "Katyusha" Petrova was a tall, graceful woman, some might say beautiful. Not King, of course, but some. She was an old woman, but every few years, she implanted her brain into a new, young clone of herself. Physically, she usually hovered somewhere around her late twenties or early thirties, never allowing herself to grow much older. Her black bob cut spilled out from under her naval cap, and a saber hung from her belt. She wore a red coat with golden buttons, tall leather boots, and a crooked smile. Her eyes twinkled with mockery.

"Get the hell off my bridge!" King growled, clenching his metal fist.

Katyusha looked at the prosthetic. Her eyes widened, and she gasped in delight. "What is that, Jamechka? You've changed! Look at the big strong metal fist. Like iron fist of Stalin!" She made a fist of her own. "Very impressive. Of course, it is wasted on an American. Now, a Russian with such a fist, well… a Russian would crush her enemies! You probably only use that metal hand to wipe your backside."

King snarled like a wild dog. "I've had enough of your rubbish. What the hell do you want, Katyusha?"

His anger was making him lose control. He was aware of it, could not help it. But goddammit, he hated the woman.

Not just because Katyusha was boastful, rude, and probably insane. She had also murdered his father. And that was a sin King would never forgive. Right now Katyusha was an ally. She commanded the Red Dawn, a pact comprising Russia, China, and many other nations under the umbrella of equalism. In this war, all humans must fight united.

So yes, she was an ally now. But King would never forget that Katyusha was a monster. One of these days the war would end. And King would not forget his enemies.

"Look at you." Katyusha pouted. "You get so angry at Katyusha. Why, Jamechka? Just because of that teeny little scratch Katyusha gave you on your neck?"

"Katyusha!" Godwin interrupted. The squat man slammed the butt of his cane against the floor. "Don't pester the old man."

Katyusha pouted. "But it's so fun! Oh, very well. Katyusha will be nice." She turned back toward King, that crooked smile taunting him. "Katyusha is here because she heard rumors. Very disturbing rumors. Rumors that there are American soldiers, sent by James King himself, on the sacred ground of Mother Russia." She tutted. "This is very troubling for Katyusha. To have foreign invaders in her motherland. Why are they there, Jamechka? Why do you invade Katyusha's beloved home?"

"You know goddamn well why!" King spat out. "Stop playing coy. There are feeding camps across Siberia. Camps where the rahs are feasting on human flesh. They transport people there by train—on Russian railroads, no less. They truss them up, and they devour them in the snow."

Katyusha trailed an imaginary tear down her cheek. "So sad, Jamechka! What a sad, sad story you tell. Katyusha is just about to cry." She took a step closer to him, and her hand strayed to the hilt of her saber. "You still did not answer, James King. Why are your soldiers in the motherland?"

"Because your soldiers aren't doing a goddamn thing about those camps," King snapped. "Maybe you don't care about the rahs devouring people. But I do! And I'm going to do something about it, goddammit."

Katyusha tossed back her head and laughed. "How noble of you, O brave American cowboy." She patted his cheek. "All you Americans think you are Hollywood action heroes, yes? And you think we Russians are heartless villains." She sighed. "Katyusha knows what you think of her. You got her all wrong. Katyusha does care. Very much! Her heart is big like the motherland. But the prisoners in those camps? Ah! They are a lost cause." She waved dismissively. "Why waste soldiers on them when we have so many rahs to kill? Katyusha would rather destroy rah clawships than get bogged down in the snow."

"That much is clear," James hissed between clenched teeth.

"Katyusha, I approved the Siberian operation," Godwin said. "We could not let anyone know, not even you, lest the enemy unveiled our plans. Well, now you know, and I trust this information will stay safe with you."

"Of course." Katyusha pulled an apple from her pocket and took a bite. "Katyusha's brain is like a vault. She would never talk. Ah, speaking of talking…" She gave King a wicked smile. "Why don't you let Katyusha have a while with that prisoner of yours? Katyusha can make anyone talk."

She tossed her apple into the air, drew her saber, and swung the blade. The apple fell to the deck in two neat halves.

"Get off my bridge, goddammit!" King barked. "Mimori, get her out of here!"

The android was busy typing on her dashboard, fingers moving so fast they blurred. "Trying to disrupt her signal, sir."

"Do svidaniya, Jamechka!" Katyusha leaned forward and blew him a kiss. "Try not to think of Katyusha tonight. You don't want to injure yourself with your new metal hand."

With that, she vanished off the bridge.

Godwin cleared his throat. "I too must depart, Commander King. The war awaits no man. You have one day to extract information from Hel'rah. Or we might have to give the Russian a shot."

With that, Godwin dissipated off the bridge.

King sighed. He needed a drink.

* * * * *

Just then, in the most perfect timing, the bridge door dilated. In stepped Lieutenant Commander Larry Jordan, XO of the ship.

"XO on deck!" cried the guard at the door.

The bridge crew—aside from King—all snapped to attention. King gave his second-in-command a nod.

"As you were, everyone," Jordan said. Like Godwin, he had a baritone voice. But unlike Godwin, who huffed and rumbled, Jordan's voice was smooth like aged whiskey. After hearing him speak, nobody was surprised to learn that Jordan was an amateur opera singer.

He was a tall, slender man of fifty-nine. His skin was dark, his hair white, his eyes alert and intelligent. He wore the same service uniform as everyone else on the bridge, but somehow Jordan made it look more than military. With his proud carriage, he made the uniform look downright aristocratic. He even wore his ceremonial saber on his waist.

King looked at the sword, then up at Jordan's eyes. He raised an eyebrow.

"Taking up fencing, Larry?"

Jordan cleared his throat and gave his uniform a neat little tug. "You do remember that I've killed quite a few rahs with this sword."

King nodded. "I remember. It was Christmas. You were wearing your parade whites, ready for the gala. If you had a plasma rifle, you would have used that. This saber is for ceremonial occasions. Not to wear daily on my bridge."

Jordan patted the hilt. "I've named her Shoe. Because she kills spiders."

A few crew members were suppressing smiles. They knew that King and Jordan went decades back. As young officers, they had fought World War III together.

Larry Jordan is the only man I can be myself around, King thought.

The XO's voice softened. "Jim, your shift is over. Go get some sleep. You look like you've been fighting an alien invasion all winter."

"Somebody's gotta fight while you're taking your fencing lessons." King patted his friend on the shoulder. "All right, Errol Flynn, the bridge is yours. I'll see you next shift change."

As King was walking toward the door, Jordan called out behind him: "Get some sleep!"

King waved dismissively. He walked off the bridge without another word.

In the hallway, he paused, lowered his head, and closed his eyes. Pain clutched his chest, and his metal fist clenched at his side, making a sound like a crushed tin can.

Sleep? How could he sleep at a time like this? Humanity was losing the war. His son was behind enemy lines. King's mind raced. He knew there was no point trying to sleep. If he lay in bed, the fears would rise like demons.

No. He would put his time to better use.

He needed to make an alien squeal.

CHAPTER THREE

The train lay across the Siberian landscape like a slain dragon. Already frost was sending icy fingers to clutch the boxcars, and snow kept falling. The wind shrieked, cutting through Bastian's clothes and skin, stabbing his very bones.

Thankfully, Alice had given him his pants back. Not before snapping a photo of him in his underwear. Bastian had a feeling it would be circling the MindWeb by nightfall.

Speaking of nightfall—it was coming fast. And the train was due at Anabar by then. The same train that lay smashed across the snow.

Just perfect.

Anabar was the largest, cruelest feeding camp in the world. It was where the rahs were devouring countless people. Bastian had to liberate it. It wasn't a military target. This was a moral mission. A human mission.

And he was stuck here on the ice.

Bastian couldn't even call for help from the starship Freedom, which was flying in deep space. The rahs had conquered Earth. Bastian and his crew had smuggled themselves down at night in a dark dropship. The shuttle now lay a hundred klicks away, buried under the snow. Calling the cavalry would blow their cover. If the rahs didn't catch the transmissions rising to space, they'd surely notice the starship Freedom launching an army of shuttles so close to Anabar.

Bastian and his crew were here alone. Behind enemy lines. In the middle of Siberia. In February. No big deal.

Somehow Bastian had to get this train back on the tracks, ride it into Anabar, rescue whatever humans were still alive, disable the shield around the camp, and then—and only then—could he risk calling for help.

He sighed.

He should have become a farmer.

He stood in the snow, staring at the fallen train. Alice trudged toward him, bruised and battered but still ready for more fighting. She was breathing hard.

"Well, the train's still in one piece," she said. "She'll drive again. If we can get her back up the mountainside."

Bastian nodded. He sent a telepathic message to his marines.

"First Platoon—form a defensive perimeter around the train crash. Everyone else—we're going to move car by car, removing the people inside. We'll treat the wounded, bury the dead, and comfort everyone else. We gotta get this train back on the tracks—and fast. This mission ain't over."

They got to work. The marines divided the train among them, dedicating one squad per boxcar.

Thankfully, most of the cars still stood upright. But two had overturned. Bastian hurried toward one of the fallen cars.

He knew the clock was ticking. His mission wasn't just to save the people on this train but everyone inside Anabar. And the only way inside was to sneak in by train. If they were late, the ruse would fail.

Damn.

Bastian reached an overturned boxcar. It lay on its side in the snow. Bastian had to climb to reach the door. He yanked the door open, scattering snow and chunks of ice.

Scores, maybe hundreds of people crowded inside, moaning and crying. There were so many they piled up, forming a mass of writhing flesh. The prisoners reached up to Bastian.

"Help us!"

"There are bodies in here."

"My mother is hurt. Help!"

Bastian reached into the overturned car. He began pulling people out. Alice and a squad of marines helped, carrying the people to a soft patch of snow. Bastian pulled out women, children, seniors—the rahs had captured anyone with meat on their bones. Most were Russian. His MindLink translated their words for him. But many prisoners came from other nations. The rahs hunted across the globe.

He pulled out a young girl, not much older than his own daughter. She was crying for her mother. Bastian's heart broke. He handed the girl to Alice, who passed her to the next marine. Bastian pulled out an old man next. An infected cut stretched across his belly. The aliens had crammed the people in like cattle. As Bastian pulled them out, he could see bodies on the bottom. Some had undoubtedly died in the train crash. But many must have died during the cramped journey here.

"Have you seen my daughter?" cried a woman still in the car. "Help me find my daughter!"

Bastian pulled her to safety. When he reached back into the car, the bodies stirred.

A rah burst out from between them.

The alien leaped at Bastian, claws flailing.

He stumbled back, raising his arms to defend himself. A claw lashed his forearm, and he roared. His blood splashed the train car.

It wasn't a large rah. Not much larger than Bastian. He managed to grab the alien, to hurl it into the snow. At once, several marines opened fire, burning the creature with plasma.

Bastian grimaced, examining his arm.

"You all right, dude?" Alice said.

"I need some stitch-tape." He winced. "It's not deep, but it hurts."

He took a break, just a brief one, to fish out his med kit. He slapped stitch-tape across the wound. It was an impressive piece of medical technology. First the strip seeped out disinfectant. Next, tiny needles emerged from the strip like centipede legs, stitching the wound shut. Finally the strip glued on tightly, forming a bandage. It was a medical miracle, its inventors claimed. And they were probably right. It still hurt like a son of a bitch though. The strip felt like some alien bug clutching his wound and squeezing it shut.

Within moments, Bastian was back to work.

* * * * *

The marines worked fast, treating the wounded, burying the dead. The sun was low in the sky when the train was finally empty. The survivors stood in the snowy valley, bandaged and trembling.

"All right, marines!" Bastian said. "We need to get this train back on the tracks and chugging along."

Sergeant Hicks stomped toward him. The burly grunt was glowering.

"How the hell are we gonna do that, sir?" He spat onto the snow. "You'd need a goddamn crane."

Bastian frowned. "Hicks, aren't you supposed to be guarding the perimeter?"

"From what, abominable snowmen?" Hicks gestured around at the endless plains of ice.

Alice waded through snow toward them. "Watch your mouth, Hicks, before I bloody it. Only one person here can talk shit to the colonel. Me. You show him respect, or I bash your face in, capisce?"

"I won't watch my mouth," Hicks said. "And you better listen. Because it's the stone cold truth. This train is due with these delicious humans at the feeding camp—and soon. There are a lot of hungry rahs there waiting for their banquet. If this train don't show up at Anabar by nightfall, the rahs will come looking for it. These hills will be swarming with spiders."

"We'll get to Anabar by nightfall," Bastian said.

"Not a chance." Hicks spat again. "I say we abort the mission. Call the Freedom. We'll bug out."

"You don't give the orders, Hicks," Alice said. "You follow them." She gripped the sergeant by the collar. "I'm getting real tired of your shit."

Alice was a big girl, over six feet tall and powerfully built. But Hicks was even bigger, among the biggest guys in the brigade. In his former life, he had done time in prison. Apparently, he had snapped a guy's spine during a bar fight.

"Enough of this!" Bastian roared. "We don't have time for bickering. Hicks, shut your mouth and follow orders. We'll use the DOGEs. They'll get the trains back on the rails."

The company had brought five DOGEs with them. They laid them out on the snow—five metal rectangles, each about the size of a suitcase. Bastian pulled up MindWeb again and scanned for nearby devices. The DOGEs popped up as five icons, hovering before him. The DOGEs were fierce robotic canines, as big as Rottweilers and twice as tough, but their avatars were shaped like puppies with wagging tails. A little joke from Q-Mari, the android who had created them.

Bastian highlighted all five devices and activated them. They transformed, unfolding powerful legs and necks with wedge-shaped heads. They had steel jaws like bear traps. DOGE stood for Dogs of Gentle Entrapment. Q-Mari, the Freedom's eccentric engineering android, had built them to capture rahs with those bear-trap mouths. She had also come up with the admittedly corny backronym. But DOGEs could do more than hunt and capture. While small enough to be portable, they were incredibly powerful machines, strong enough to shame the mightiest weightlifter. Each DOGE could lift many times its own weight.

"The DOGEs will burrow under the snow, grab the boxcars from underneath, and carry them onto the tracks," Bastian said. "We'll snap the wheels back onto the rails and be on our merry way in no time."

"It'll never work," Hicks said.

"Alice, take control of a DOGE," Bastian said. "I can't control all five."

He selected four more marines. Each marine telepathically connected to one DOGE. With thoughts alone, they controlled the robots, moving them across the ice toward a boxcar. The car stood upright on the ice, empty of passengers. The tracks were a good kilometer uphill, waiting on the mountainside.

It took some effort, but they finally got five DOGEs to burrow under the snow and take positions under the car.

"Slowly… slowly…," Bastian said. "And lift."

The DOGEs straightened their legs.

The boxcar wobbled, then slid off the robots and crashed into the snow.

"Goddammit!" Alice blurted.

"Told ya it wouldn't work," Hicks said. The sergeant was leaning against a boulder, smoking a cigarette.

They tried again, more carefully this time. The DOGEs managed to lift the car and keep it steady. But once the robots began climbing the hillside, the train car fell again. Everyone groaned.

"Hold on. I got an idea," Bastian said.

"Does it involve getting our asses off this frozen world?" Hicks said.

Bastian ignored the sergeant. He would deal with the man's insubordination later. It was one thing for Alice to bust Bastian's balls now and then. They had grown up together. They were best buds. But Hicks was different. Bastian had known the guy growing up. Most people around the farms of Nebraska did. Hicks was a troublemaker now, and he had been a troublemaker then. He had started by beating up kids and stealing their Halloween candy, progressed to robbing gas stations, then finally landed his ass in jail for putting a guy in a wheelchair. Somebody in his family had pulled some strings, so Hicks ended up in the Alliance marines. He was a thorn in Bastian's backside.

Once we're back on the Freedom, I'll deal with him, he thought. Right now I need every man in this company.

Several marines had died in the assault on the train. He was behind enemy lines. He had an entire feeding camp to liberate. He had to focus on his mission.

He climbed back into the locomotive. A living orbweaver was still inside. The little spider rose on his slender legs, groggy and swaying. The rahs came in several varieties. Bastian usually encountered the hunters—big, dumb, and very stabby. They were the muscle of the rah empire. Apparently, there were also gazer spiders—the priests and masterminds, the true leaders of the civilization. But Bastian had never run into them. Gazers were exceedingly rare. The orbweavers were the lowest class of rahs. Not quite slaves but… at least indentured workers. They were small and weak but damn good at slinging webs, building things, fixing things, and keeping the empire running.

According to Alliance intel, orbweavers outnumbered the hunters a thousand to one, but that was back on Arakavish, their home planet. Here on Earth, only a few orbweavers had come along for the conquest. They did the grunt work. And right now there was grunt work that needed doing.

"Hey, you." Bastian pointed at the orbweaver in the locomotive. "I need you to sling me a web."

The little gray spider hissed at him. Of course, little was relative. Last year, Bastian would have considered a dog-sized spider downright nightmarish. But after fighting spiders the size of horses, this orbweaver almost seemed adorable. Almost.

"Why should I help you?" the orbweaver said. Saliva drizzled between his sharp little teeth. "You are one of the daem. A filthy ape."

Bastian grabbed the orbweaver and shook it violently. "Because if you don't help me, I'm going to step on you."

The orbweaver yelped. "Release me, ape!"

"I think not," Bastian said. "I think I'll adopt you. I'll make you my pet. From now on, your name is Rex. And you're going to help me, Rex. You're going to weave a web and secure these boxcars to my robots. If you're nice, I won't squish you. Deal?"

The orbweaver glowered with eight red eyes.

"Deal," he finally spat out.

"Hey, Bas!" Alice was calling him via MindWeb. "I found more of those little gray spiders in the back cars. What are those ones called again? Oh yeah, orbweavers. They're kinda cute. Should I kill 'em?"

Bastian smiled thinly. "No, Alice. We're going to put them to work."

* * * * *

The sun was nearing the horizon, painting the snow gold. The first stars emerged in the west, and the frozen streams spread like silver coils. Normally Bastian would be admiring the view. But right now he was admiring the orbweavers' handiwork.

The little buggers had not only secured the train cars to the DOGEs. They had also woven long strands for burly marines to grab onto—and pull.

"On my mark!" Bastian cried, standing on a boulder. "And—go!"

The DOGEs rose to their feet, lifting a boxcar on their backs. Secured with sticky webs, the car stayed in place. The robots began to walk uphill. Meanwhile, marines were climbing the hillside ahead, pulling on more silky strands. Bastian was one of the marines pulling. Climbing a snowy mountainside was bad enough at the best of times. Heaving a train car made it ten times more unpleasant.

At least the weather is nice, he muttered as a snowy squall buffeted him.

But working together, men and machines managed to carry the boxcar back to the tracks.

It took several attempts to get the car to snap onto the rails. The DOGEs held the car upright, while the marines tugged left and right, nudging the wheels into the right position. Finally the DOGEs flattened themselves under the train. The wheels snapped onto the tracks. The marines cheered.

Bastian skied down the slope toward the other train cars. The DOGEs ran behind him, scattering clouds of snow.

He looked around for Hicks. Bastian had ordered the sergeant to work with the orbweavers on preparing the next car. But Hicks was nowhere to be found.

Bastian had to check his MindPlay and scan through his contacts. He located Hicks's position—a hundred yards away.

"Alice, get some marines to begin pulling the second car," Bastian said. "I gotta deal with something."

"All right, orbweavers, move!" Alice shouted. "You marines—get your asses over here and help!"

As Alice took charge, Bastian transformed his skis back into snowshoes and walked to Hicks's coordinates. He found the hulking marine by a group of train survivors—all of them young women. The women seemed uncomfortable, glancing around nervously, huddling together like scared sheep. Oblivious, Hicks was strutting around.

"Wanna see my tattoos?" He pulled open his shirt. "Take a look, ladies. One tattoo per spider killed. My chest is covered with them. Wanna touch?"

The women were pale, trembling, traumatized from their ordeal. They stepped back, but Hicks pursued them, shirt still unbuttoned.

"Hey, babies, it's all right. I don't bite."

"Hicks!" Bastian boomed.

The sergeant turned toward him, smiling. "Sir?"

Bastian stomped closer, coming face-to-face with the sergeant. Standing so close, Bastian nearly gagged. Hicks wore a bucketful of cologne. If you asked Bastian, it stank to high heaven.

"I've had enough of your shit, Sergeant," Bastian said. "You get your ass back to work, do you hear me?"

Hicks stared at him, then barked a laugh. He looked back at the women. "Can you believe this guy?"

Bastian grabbed the man and snarled in his face. "I'll tell you one more time, Hicks. Get your act together. If you don't, I won't just dishonorably discharge you. I'll court-martial your ass and make sure you spend the rest of the war in a brig. Am I making myself clear?"

Hicks lost his smile. "Are you threatening me, sir?"

"You bet your ass I am. You're in luck, Sergeant Hicks. I need you right now. So you're going to do your job, and maybe once you're back on the Freedom, I'll let you off with a warning. But one more fuckup, and so help me God, I will ruin you."

Bastian had never liked chewing out his soldiers. Most of them didn't need it. Most of them were good, loyal, and brave. But Hicks? Hell, if Bastian were back on the Freedom, he'd be tempted to toss the man out the airlock.

Hicks gave a lazy salute. "Oh, yes, sir."

Without waiting to be dismissed, Hicks turned to leave.

Bastian was considering how to react when Alice contacted him by MindWeb. "We got the second boxcar moving onto the tracks!"

The sun was almost gone now. They were running out of time. Bastian hurried back toward the remaining boxcars and helped pull them onto the tracks. Night had fallen when the train was ready to move again.

We're heading into Anabar, Bastian thought. Into the very heart of hell.

A shudder ran through him, and he had never wanted off Earth so badly in his life.

CHAPTER FOUR

King walked down the corridors of the starship Freedom, his boots thudding against the diamond plate steel. Pipes rattled around him, motors hummed, and monitors shone everywhere, displaying stats on the ship. Spacers rushed back and forth, pausing to stand at attention as King marched by.

He passed by gunnery stations, a field hospital, and a damaged chunk of hull where mechanics were welding new armored plates. He took the elevator down, moving toward the lower decks of the prow, a place of rumbling motors and stark white lights. As he walked these narrow corridors, he could feel the vibrations below his feet. He was standing on the underbelly of the ship now. Several meters of armored metal and graviton fields separated him from space, but King still felt exposed here. Too close to the emptiness. King had seen what clawship claws could do. They could tear through this hull like a sword through paper.

This was not a good place for the brig.

The ship's designers had placed the most important elements of the ship—the bridge, the war room, the commander's stateroom—deeper inside, surrounded by many armored decks. They had built the brig here on the vulnerable underbelly, considering it nonessential. If an enemy blast pierced the armor, better criminals should die than commanders, they reasoned. But this was no ordinary prisoner. This was no ordinary war.

King reached a blast door in the corridor. Two guards stood here, carrying Gideon assault rifles. They stood at attention and saluted. King nodded, approached the blast door, and let a camera scan his retina. It rumbled open like the door to some ancient dungeon, and King stepped through.

He walked down another corridor, this one narrower. Machine guns hung from the ceiling like bats. They could be remote controlled from afar, slaying any prisoner who tried to escape. A few steps down, King reached a squad of guards. Ten men and women stood in armored battlesuits, holding Mordecai plasma rifles.

These guards did not stand at attention or salute. They had strict orders to keep their guns aimed at the jail cell at all times. King walked between the men. They did not even acknowledge him. They kept their gaze fixed on the cell, rifles ready.

Some might call these security measures extreme. Not King. If he could spare a marine platoon to guard this cell, he would. Even that might be barely sufficient for the demon he held in his brig.

Iron bars, a shimmering force field, and a web of lasers kept the cell sealed. King stood, staring at the creature inside, this terror that had come from deep space.

Hel'rah stood inside the brig, filling the cell. The rah prince was the size of a rhinoceros—smaller than a female rah but huge for a male. His colorings were unique. Most rah hunters were black, while most orbweavers were pale gray. Hel'rah was a hunter, but his body was dark gray and lumpy, and his legs were red, ending with gleaming crimson claws. He stared from the cell with eight eyes like pools of blood, shrewd and calculating. When he saw King, the alien grinned, revealing rows of teeth the size of daggers. King hated the way those damn spiders were always smiling.

"Hello, King," the spider said, voice like slithering serpents.

King did not remove his stare from the spider. "Guards, leave us."

They shifted uncomfortably. "Sir, are you—"

"I said leave us," King said, still staring at the spider.

He didn't look at the guards. He imagined them glancing at one another, uncertainty in their eyes. Then he heard their footfalls as they fell back. King remained in the corridor alone, facing the cell. It was just him and the beast.

For a long moment, the two of them just stared at each other. A human commander and an alien prince. Man and spider. Captor and captive.

Hel'rah's grin widened. "We're crushing you, aren't we? Yesss. I can see it in your eyes. The weariness. The fear. Your armies of apes are losing, King. You cannot stop the spiders."

King ignored the gloating. Funny how human these aliens could seem. Maybe gloating was a universal bad habit.

"I didn't come here to exchange boasts or threats," King said. "I came to let you know that tomorrow, I'm handing you over to the Red Dawn."

Hel'rah snorted. "Another group of filthy apes? You daem all the same to me."

"I think you'll find we humans can be quite different from one another," King said. "Rahs are like that too. In rah society, there are hunters, orbweavers, and gazers—all rahs, all different."

"Don't presume to know anything about rah society," Hel'rah hissed. "Our ways are more ancient and ritualized than any mere ape brain can comprehend."

King ignored the taunting. "Humans too are divided. We might all look the same. But instead of physical differences, we draw ideological lines between us. Some of us believe in freedom, justice, and honor. Others, well… maybe I should let you experience it for yourself." He took a step closer to the bars. "Katyusha will not be nearly as merciful as I am."

Hel'rah leaped forward.

The massive spider slammed into the graviton field that hovered just behind the bars. He howled at King, only inches away, spraying saliva across the field, exposing his great rings of teeth.

King did not budge. Not so much as flinch. He kept staring into the eyes of the beast.

"Your threats do not frighten me, human!" the alien cried. "I am a rah. I feel no fear. I feel no pain."

"Is that so, Helly? Well, maybe. I'm sure Katyusha will put that claim to the test. She can be very thorough." King frowned. "Does it hurt when somebody plucks off your legs one by one? How about when they heat your underbelly until it melts? Maybe electric cables wrapped around you, left on for the night? You say you feel no pain. Well, Katyusha will find out."

King felt sick uttering those words. He did not condone torture. Not under any circumstance.

Sudden pain bolted through him. He flashed back to his ordeal on the dark side of the moon. Strapped onto the rack as the rah stretched him out. King still woke up screaming some nights, thinking himself back on the rack.

No, he would not let Katyusha torture this beast. Even if Hel'rah was just a bug, even if he was evil, even if torturing him could extract valuable information—King would not tolerate it. It was a line he would not cross. Many people, even among his own crew, would disagree with him, he knew. Maybe they wouldn't torture humans, but a rah? But goddammit, this was King's ship and King's prisoner. He would call the shots.

Now he just had to see if Hel'rah bought his bluff.

"Nothing to say for yourself?" King said. "Very well. I'll call Katyusha right now."

He turned to leave.

"King!" Hel'rah called after him.

King paused, his back to the cell.

Here we go.

He walked back. "Yes, Helly?"

The spider smiled a thin smile, and his eyes narrowed. "I think you're bluffing, King. You're nothing but a soft ape after all. Because I pity you, I will offer you a little gift. I will answer one of your questions. But my price is high."

"I'm not going to pay you a goddamn thing, Helly. You squeal or you scream. The choice is yours."

Hel'rah snarled, exposing his fangs. "Oh, the one screaming will be you, King. You will scream so sweetly when my fellow rahs arrive. When I'm free of this cell, I will make you scream so loudly the galaxy will hear."

King sighed. He lifted his comlink. "Katyusha? Yeah, it's King. My prisoner is ready to—"

"Stop the games, King!" Hel'rah said.

King raised an eyebrow. "Something troubling you, Helly?"

"I'll answer one of your questions, King. That's it. One question. My gift to you. I'll toss you a free scrap and watch you gobble it up like a slitherpup."

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere." King put the comlink away. "You have one mothership in this system. The Hunger. Tell me the weakest location on her hull, and you get to stay here in your cozy little cell."

"There is no weak location on the Hunger's hull," Hel'rah said. "The Hunger is the greatest clawship ever built. Her hulls are thicker than your entire starship. Her cannons could melt your planet down to magma—and would too, were you humans not so delicious. The Hunger's hull cannot be breached by any weapon. And the armies she leads will never fall."

Was there something useful here? King decided to keep poking.

"Come on, Helly! There's a chink in every armor. The Hunger must have airlocks, launch tubes, exhaust vents. Why don't you take a look at the photos we've taken of your mothership and point them out to me?"

He pulled a minicom from his pocket—a computer the size of a playing card—and activated it with his MindLink. A lens opened. A hologram of the motherclaw Hunger hovered in the air.

The Alliance had taken photos of the Hunger from a distance. They couldn't get any closer. Thousands of clawships constantly circled the Hunger, defending the enormous ship. So the hologram was too grainy to reveal airlocks or other weak points. King was hoping Hel'rah could add some details.

The hologram was only the size of a child's sleigh, but in real life, the Hunger was the size of Manhattan. She was the single largest starship humanity had ever seen. The Freedom was a gargantuan starship, the largest in the Alliance, but beside the Hunger, she would appear like an eagle beside a whale.

The Hunger wasn't just bigger than other clawships. She also had a different shape. Most clawships were roughly shaped like spearheads, sprouting many claws that thrust toward a central point. But the Hunger looked more like a fungus, elongated and diseased, sprouting curving blades like the stalks of an infected cactus. She reminded King of some monstrous squid from the ocean depths.

No, not a squid, he thought, looking at the hologram. A cancer.

Yes, that's what the Hunger reminded him of. Like the cancer that had killed his mother. Appropriate for the rahs, a race that was infecting the galaxy.

Hel'rah was examining the hologram with all eight eyes.

"Homesick, Helly?" King said. "Come on. Be a good itsy-bitsy spider and point out the weak spots. Airlocks, launch tubes, exhaust ports—point 'em out."

Hel'rah tossed back his head and laughed. His abdomen shook, rattling his spines. "Why, King? Do you want to launch one of your little torpedoes down a shaft and blow up the Hunger? You cannot! Our orbweavers are weak little things, but they build mighty starships. Every corridor in a clawship twists and turns by design. No missile can destroy a motherclaw."

Orbweavers might be small and weak, and hunters might be big and strong, but you hunters are certainly not known for your intellect, King thought.

Amazingly, Hel'rah had actually given some useful information. Clawships were full of twisting, narrow tunnels. That was new knowledge. That was progress.

"Thank you, Helly. I'll make sure they bring you a big meal tonight. You've earned it. Keep talking and you'll keep getting treats. Good night."

As King walked away, a thin smile on his face, Hel'rah screeched behind him.

"I am not your pet, King! I am the prince of rahs! You do not give me treats as if I were a slitherpup. I will destroy you! I will devour your family! I—"

King slammed the blast door behind him.

He marched down the corridor as soldiers stood at attention. The smile turned grim on his lips, and his metal fist tightened. He would not content himself with hiding in the darkness much longer, striking from shadows. He would strike at the heart of the beast. He would hit the rahs where it hurt. So help him God, he would take down their mothership!

CHAPTER FIVE

"I'm not getting back in there. No way." The man trembled and hugged himself. "No damn way!"

Across the snowy plains, the other survivors cried out.

"What? They want us to get back into the train?"

"Are they crazy!"

"I ain't going back in there!"

Bastian stood on a hill of snow, raised his arms, and shouted: "Everyone, quiet!"

Reluctantly the survivors turned toward him. They were in a sorry state. Only a handful were wearing coats, and Badgers Company had not brought enough thermal blankets to go around. Some survivors seemed to have been snatched from bed; they were still wearing pajamas. Thousands of them stood here on the frozen Siberian plains. The wounded lay on blankets. The dead were already buried under the snow; somebody would have to retrieve their bodies come spring, assuming the snow ever melted in this damn place.

"Listen to me, everyone!" Bastian cried out, his voice echoing across the hinterland. The civilians didn't have MindLinks, so shouting it would be. "I know how the rahs treated you. I know they shoved you into these boxcars like cattle to be slaughtered. I know the last place you want to be is back inside that train. But right now you need to."

"No way!" shouted a young man.

"Go to hell."

"We're not your soldiers. You can't give us orders."

"You'll freeze out here!" Bastian shouted. "It's night. The temperature is dropping fast. This cold will kill you."

"Not me, I'm a Russian!" shouted a woman with a blond braid. "We're like vodka. We don't freeze." A few people laughed.

Bastian allowed himself a small smile. "Even Russians would freeze out here overnight. Most of you aren't dressed warmly enough. And those who are, well—where will you go? We're a thousand miles away from civilization. I need you to get back into the train, and we'll get moving again."

A few people nodded.

"All right."

"Well, fine, we'll listen to the marine."

"Reasonable enough."

Bastian winced, about to drop the bomb. "And… we'll be driving onward toward the feeding camp."

For a moment—silence.

Then, as expected, chaos erupted.

"What?"

"You're taking us to that slaughterhouse?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"He's a rah agent! He's gotta be!"

"I'm outta here."

A few survivors even started to walk away across the snow—to where, God knew.

"Hold on!" Bastian shouted, hands coned around his mouth. "I'm not taking you there to be slaughtered and eaten. I'm not a rah. My original mission was to sneak into the train, hide among you, make my way into Anabar, then liberate it from within. We need to proceed with this plan. And for it to work, you gotta be inside the train—so we marines can hide among you."

"Hide behind our skirts—the famous Alliance marines?" The Russian woman snorted. "You Americans. Send the Red Dawn army over! They'll liberate the camp without needing to sneak around."

A few of the other Russian survivors voiced their agreements.

"Who sent these Americans?"

"Where are the Red Dawn troops? They'll do the job."

"You wanna know what happened to the Red Dawn troops?" Bastian said. "They abandoned you. They're all clustered around their military bases down south. They hide behind walls while you suffer here. But we came!" Bastian pounded his chest. "We—the Alliance marines! Because to us, it doesn't matter who you are so long as you're human. And there are more humans not a hundred miles away, about to be slaughtered in Anabar. And we're going to save them. We're all going to do this! Are you with me?"

The people were silent.

Alice placed a palm on her mouth and attempted to throw her voice. "I'm with the fat colonel!" She leaned sideways and dropped her voice deeper. "Me too! I like the cut of his jib."

Bastian glared at her.

"What?" she mouthed. "Trying to help!"

He looked back at the survivors. He saw the skeptical looks. The pale faces. The tears. Many of them had lost loved ones. All of them, he supposed, were traumatized. But they were no longer shouting.

The Russian with the blond braid tossed up her hands. "All right! Screw it. I'm in. Let's infiltrate the bastards' base. Those aliens got it coming. And I want to be there to see them get it."

Another survivor, a young man with gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes, stepped forward. "I'm with you."

Another man stepped forward—a heavyset, middle-aged guy in a rumpled suit. He still clutched a briefcase with papers spilling out the sides. "Me too. Let's go get those bastards." He sniffed. "They killed my mother. I say we get 'em good."

The dam broke. They all ended up volunteering. And Bastian knew it wasn't just the cold, wasn't just the fear of being stranded in the snow. These people were no longer just survivors.

They were soldiers.

Under the starry sky, the train chugged along the tracks, heading through the hinterland to the feeding ground.

* * * * *

Bastian crouched in the locomotive as the train rumbled on. Rex, the little gray orbweaver, sat in the conductor's seat. Every once in a while, Bastian poked the spider with his rifle.

"Remember, I'm watching you, Rex. Always watching. If you blow our cover, I'll splatter you across the windshield."

The spider wheeled one red eye toward Bastian. "Stop calling me that, ape. My name is Kelk'rah. That is a proud name among rahs and one you should fear."

"Wrong, Rex. You were Kelk'rah. Now you're my pet. So be good and keep driving the train." He gave the spider another poke with the muzzle. "And keep your eyes on the track. All eight of them."

Rex grumbled something under his breath, but he kept driving the train. Which simply involved holding down a lever. Anyone could have done it, but Bastian needed to keep up appearances. When he arrived at the feeding ground, everything must look nice and normal. And that meant a rah driving the train.

For long moments, they rumbled along in the dark. Bastian knelt in the shadows of the locomotive, alone with his thoughts.

He didn't like times like this.

Times of darkness and boredom. There were the times when the fear and grief always rose.

During the days, he kept busy, fighting the enemy at every step. But in these dark, lonely moments, he saw the faces of the dead.

Stacy, his ex-wife—lying dead in the ruin of the world.

Charging Bear, his best friend—dying in his arms.

So many of his soldiers—their bodies falling upon the battlefields.

Rowan—precious Rowan—was safe aboard the Freedom. But every night, Bastian dreamed that Rowan was back in Darkland, hanging over a pit of spiders. He woke up screaming most nights. And here in the dark locomotive, the movement of the train rocking him like a mechanical mother, the terrors rose again.

The faces floated before him. Stacy. Bear. A hundred others. They danced like ghosts.

Suddenly another face appeared, pale with bright blue eyes. Alice's face!

"Bas? You all right, dude?"

He blinked, for a moment confused, thinking her another apparition. But she grabbed him and shook him.

"Dude! Earth to Bastian! You cool?"

Yes, she was really there.

"Yeah. Sorry. Was dozing off I guess." He winced. "Ow, let go. Your fingers are digging into me. They're like rah claws."

She shrugged. "Not my fault I'm so strong. I am an Olympic wrestler, you know."

He rolled his eyes. "You finished twelfth."

She tapped her chin. "Remind me. What place did you finish? Oh right! You never went to the Olympics. How quaint!" She sat beside him, squeezing herself behind the conductor's chair. "What's eating your ass? That jerk Hicks? Want me to throw him off the train? I can showcase one of my Olympic wrestling moves." She winked.

Bastian sighed. "Not Hicks. Just…" He gestured around him. "This whole damn mess. And I miss Bear." He straightened his back and took a deep breath. "Sorry, I don't mean to mope. We're on a mission. I need to put all that aside and focus."

Alice put a hand on his knee. "Dude, right now, we're on time out, okay? Here in the darkness, for just a moment, you can talk to me. You don't have to be the tough macho officer with me. Because I'm your best friend. And I'm here for you."

She held his hand, cradled it in her lap, and leaned against him. Bastian wrapped an arm around her.

"Thanks, buddy. Alice, I appreciate everything you do. I'd be lost here without you."

"Wait, wait!" Alice squinted. "Give me a second to turn on my MindLink. Okay, now repeat that. I want to record it for posterity."

He flipped her off. "Record this."

She shrugged. "Eh, it's all right. At least I snapped lots of photos of you in your underwear." She winked. "You looked cute."

As she leaned against him, holding his hand, Bastian found himself savoring her warmth, her touch, her breath against his hair. He closed his eyes. His blood was heating up.

Stop this, he told himself. Alice is your soldier. You're her officer. This isn't appropriate.

He had never felt like this toward Alice before. Maybe it was the war, the loneliness, the loss. It made him want things he could not, should not have.

Alice leaned closer. Her lips brushed his cheek. "Bastian?" she whispered.

He turned his face toward her. She gazed into his eyes and stroked his hair.

"We approach the feeding ground, apes!" Rex suddenly announced—quite loudly.

Alice started and pulled back.

Perfect timing, you little bug-eyed bastard, Bastian thought.

He leaned toward the windshield. Alice joined him. There it was, lodged between the Siberian Mountains.

Anabar. The great rah feeding grounds.

* * * * *

Great walls of ice rose around the camp, and cobwebs draped across them—crude fortifications. Bastian couldn't see inside, but he knew this was the place. He could smell it from here.

Death.

The train slowed down, rolling toward a gateway in the icy wall. Bastian and Alice knelt behind Rex's chair, drowning in shadows.

"Remember, Rex," Bastian said. "You be a good boy like we planned. You speak your lines. If you don't, I—"

"Yes, yes, blast my brains against the windshield," Rex said.

Bastian jabbed him with his muzzle. "And don't you forget it, buster."

"My name is—"

"Shut it!"

The train slowed to a crawl. They inched toward the gateway. Kneeling in the shadows, Bastian peeked over the chair. The gateway was formed from boulders mortared with ice. Cobwebs gripped the crude structure. Severed limbs hung from atop the gateway like lurid stockings. Human limbs. Bastian grimaced, his belly churning.

In the darkness, Bastian could just make out the shield engulfing Anabar. It was woven of a great electric web, similar to the webs that protected rah starships. The troops called them e-webs or web shields.

Most of the snow was able to fall through the web shield. But every once in a while, a snowflake touched the grid, and for a split second, electricity buzzed and illuminated part of the force field. The electric web seemed flimsy, but Bastian had seen such shields repel mighty torpedoes. The only way in was the gateway ahead.

Many hunters guarded the gateway. The burly spiders crawled across the gateway, lined the train tracks, even stood on the rails. The tracks led into the camp, and Bastian glimpsed more rahs inside. The spiders were bustling around great webs.

"Halt!" cried a hunter. "Halt, halt for inspection!"

The spider waved a torch. Sparks crackled in the night. The alien was speaking his own language, but Bastian's MindLink translated it.

"Do as he says," Bastian whispered, kneeling behind Rex.

The train halted at the gates. Bastian and Alice crouched in the shadowy locomotive. Across the train, two hundred more marines hid in the boxcars among the human cattle.

The rah guard stepped closer. It was a male but enormous, roughly the size of an antique car. A crackling torch was attached to one of his legs with cobwebs. Frost clung to his black legs and red eyeballs. The alien peered into the locomotive.

"You're late!" the enormous guard rumbled, his voice like an avalanche. "Don't you realize we have a hungry female in this base? And she wants more sweet ape flesh."

Sitting on the conductor's seat, Rex gulped. The orbweaver was probably more afraid of this hunter than Bastian's gun. "Apologies, Master! It's not my fault we're late. We—"

"Are you making excuses?" demanded the much larger hunter.

The smaller orbweaver flinched. "No, Master. I—"

The guard banged his claws against the locomotive. He turned toward the other guards. "Inspect the cars, boys! This train stinks."

Another guard trundled forward, almost as large. Severed ears dangled from his dorsal spikes, rancid trophies. "Why do we need to inspect every car? We aren't even allowed to eat the apes inside."

The enormous hunter waved his torch. Sparks flew against the smaller guard. "Silent! You'll obey your orders. We've had reports of trouble all over our train tracks. Damn apes attacking our trains. Now this train is late? Something about this stinks, and I don't just mean of this orbweaver maggot. I want this train searched car by car. Move or I'll rip off your legs!"

Bastian tensed. This was the hard part. They just had to sneak into these icy walls. Once inside Anabar, the marines could burst from the train, raise hell, disable the shields, and summon down the wrath of the starship Freedom.

Despite his stern warnings, the guard with the torch didn't bother checking the locomotive beyond a mere glance. He didn't see Bastian and Alice hiding in the shadows. Ah, the hunter class. Big, brutish, and brainless.

Kind of like you, Bas, Alice thought.

Hey, are you reading my mind? he thought back.

She shrugged. Not my fault you keep broadcasting your thoughts. She grinned. Especially when you're thinking about those catgirl cartoons.

Bastian blushed. Goddammit. He could swear his MindLink was buggy.

It's not buggy, dude, you just need to learn how to use it, Alice telepathized.

Get out of my head!

She winked and scratched the air. Meow!

Bastian ignored her.

Several rah guards were moving along the track now, banging their claws against the cars. Torches were strapped to their spikes. The smell of fire filled the air, and red light danced on the ice. Oddly, the smell triggered a flashback from Bastian's childhood. Campfires in the yard under the Nebraska sky. Roasting marshmallows with his parents. Strange that in a place so horrible he would remember something so sweet.

Bastian pulled up MindPlay and scanned the positions of his marines. Several hid in each train car, huddling among the prisoners. They had left their military uniforms in the snow, and they all wore civilian clothes now. Bastian himself was wearing old denims and a flannel coat, while Alice wore snow pants and a windbreaker. They had brought the civvies with them for the mission—whatever they could borrow from the Freedom's tourists. Bastian's coat wasn't nearly warm enough for Siberia.

That's the only reason I felt so good holding Alice, he thought. Because I'm so cold.

She winked. Keep telling yourself that, dude.

Goddammit, I said out of my head!

Under their civilian clothes, they wore skintight body armor. It looked a little like a diving suit. The Freedom's Nerd Lab had developed the fabric, which they called armawool, engineering the molecules to be much stronger than normal cloth. Armawool wasn't as strong as a full battlesuit, but you could hide it under your clothes, and it was bulletproof. How well armawool held up to rah claws remained to be seen. Bastian had a feeling he'd find out pretty soon.

A rah guard yanked open the door of a boxcar. Bastian connected to a corporal who was hiding inside that car. A video feed floated before Bastian, streaming what the corporal was seeing. Over the MindWeb, Bastian could literally look through another man's eyes.

The corporal huddled among the prisoners, blending in. A few other undercover marines stood around him. It was jam-packed in there. The humans in the car could barely breathe, let alone move. The rah guard raised a torch. Sparks crackled overhead. Eight red eyes shone, peering into the car. The alien's nostrils flared and sniffed.

"You're a pathetic, mangy lot," the guard said. "Too thin. No meat on your bones. We never should have come to this miserable planet."

"Beltha'rah, stop talking to the damn food and keep searching this train!" rumbled another rah.

Beltha'rah huffed and slammed the door shut, sealing the prisoners—and hidden marines—inside the boxcar. Bastian breathed a sigh of relief.

But the rahs were not done searching the train yet. After Bastian and his fellow soldiers had managed to sneak into Darkland last month, the aliens were careful. Maybe they weren't so dumb after all.

The spiders searched a few more cars, working their way to the caboose. Most of the spiders remained at the camp gate, watching the train with glowing red eyes. They had no weapons. They didn't need them. This many rahs could tear the train apart without breaking a sweat.

Bastian coiled his hand around the rifle that hid under his coat.

Grumbling about stupid apes, Beltha'rah yanked open the doorway in another boxcar. Bastian checked MindPlay for the marines hiding in there. Sergeant Hicks was there, along with three privates. Bastian didn't think he could tolerate spending any time in Hicks's head, so he connected to a private. He stared through the kid's eyes.

Beltha'rah peered into the car, torch crackling. The rah sniffed. "This place stinks like a rotting maggot hole." He thrust his head in deeper. The alien's long snout thrust toward Hicks, sniffing, nostrils quivering. "This one. You stink the most. What is that stench on you?"

Bastian remembered smelling it too. Hicks's cologne.

Hicks shoved the rah's snout away. "Get your goddamn sniffer away from me, bug."

Beltha'rah hissed, baring his fangs. "Ah, we have a troublemaker, do we?" He grabbed Hicks with his claws. "You want to end up in my belly, maggot?"

Bastian sent Hicks a telepathic message from the locomotive. Calm down, Hicks! You're playing a scared civilian now. Stay in character.

But the aromatic sergeant ignored him. He wrenched himself free from Beltha'rah, pulled his rifle from under his coat, and aimed at the spider.

"You put your stinking claws on me again, bug, and I'll blow your brains out," Hicks said.

Beltha'rah shrieked. He retreated from the car and spun toward the gateway.

"We have an armed human!" he cried.

Bastian's heart sank.

Everything began to happen at once.

Rahs shrieked, scurried down the icy walls, and came racing along the tracks. The spiders began grabbing doors along the train, yanking them open. Hicks shoved his way between prisoners, leaned out the train, and opened fire.

"Oh goddammit!" Bastian cried.

He would kill Hicks! But right now he must get into the feeding camp.

Rahs were leaping into the train. Marines were pulling back their coats, revealing their rifles. Claws slashed through prisoners. Marines opened fire, and plasma blazed through the night.

Bastian stared ahead.

Rahs stood in the gateway, blocking the way into the camp.

They were beginning to close a pair of heavy doors.

Bastian had no time to think things through. He sprang up, yanked Rex out of the conductor's seat, and shoved down the thrust lever.

The locomotive roared to life, plowed into the rahs on the tracks, and crashed through the gates of Anabar.

CHAPTER SIX

She was Her Royal Highness Princess Emily, the Lady of the White Rose. She was the future queen of Britain and the Commonwealth. She was a symbol of hope for humanity. And she was scared shitless.

Once more, she would be leaving the starship Freedom on a secret mission. And this time she wouldn't be taking a heavily armed marine platoon with her.

She stood on a hangar deck in the belly of the Freedom. It was a cavernous place full of shuttles, dropships, and tugs. Mechanics, technicians, and pilots were bustling back and forth, wearing blue jumpsuits or yellow safety vests. A mecha thumped by, carrying a crate full of David's Stone missiles. A mechanic stood on a ladder, welding a broken shuttlecraft. Sparks sprayed.

For a moment Emily worried that she looked out of place here—a princess on the deck of a working starship. But of course, she no longer looked like a princess. She wore no more gowns or jewels or makeup. She glanced at her reflection on the canopy of a nearby shuttle. A girl of seventeen, she wore beige battle fatigues, and the chevrons of a private were stitched onto her sleeves. Her blond hair, which hairdressers used to fuss over daily, now hung in a simple braid. Instead of a purse that cost more than some starships, she carried a greasy Gideon assault rifle, and a bandoleer hung across her chest.

She almost didn't recognize herself. Where was the pampered princess who had left Buckingham Palace just a few weeks ago? That girl had died in the flames of war. A soldier stared back at her.

"Are you sure you want to do this, ma'am?" asked Darjeeling, drawing her attention.

She nodded. "Yes." She took a shuddering breath. "I'm frightened. But I cannot hide in shadows while our people suffer. I must speak to them, Mr. Darjeeling. To the people of Britain and the Commonwealth. They must know that I'm still fighting for them, and that I shall someday return from my exile. So I must fly out there into the darkness, Mr. Darjeeling. And I must shine a light that they can see."

Sergeant Major Oliver Darjeeling raised his chin, squared his shoulders, and gave his uniform a little tug. With his polished buttons, proud cap, and wonderful white mustache, he struck an impressive figure.

"Then I will fly out with you, ma'am. I wish there were a way you could broadcast your words to Britain from here aboard the starship Freedom. But since that would reveal our position to the enemy, we'll fly out together. We'll glide through the darkness of space in a shuttle. And the people of Earth will hear your voice." His eyes dampened.

Emily smiled and touched his arm. "You're a true gentleman, a brave soldier, and an honorable Englishman. But I cannot ask you to relinquish your duties aboard the Freedom."

"I've already cleared it with the commander, ma'am," Darjeeling said. "I explained that I am sworn to protect you. And that your importance in this war is not merely as a soldier, though a fine soldier you are, but as a symbol. As a beacon of hope. Your words will inspire Earth. They will hurt the enemy more than your gun."

She smiled wanly and patted her assault rifle. "Am I truly such a bad shot, Mr. Darjeeling?"

The sergeant blushed and blustered, "No, ma'am, that's not what I meant. I merely meant that while you're an excellent shot indeed, well, I mean—"

"Oh, stop stammering, man!" rose a voice from behind, speaking with an aristocratic accent. "You're embarrassing yourself."

Niles floated toward them. The drone was small, roughly the size and shape of a football, but his arrogance barely fit into the starship. Before the war, he had at least looked the part, covered with silver and gemstones. He had lost most of that in battle. Today patches of steel covered him, sealing cracks and holes, and only a few emeralds and sapphires still shone on his top. But despite his somewhat sordid appearance, he had lost none of his pomposity.

"Look at this deck!" Niles said. "It's filthy. My lord, how do you humans walk on it? Thank goodness I can fly." He made a show of sniffing, despite not actually having any nostrils. But he could raise his pointed tip like a nose and make the appropriate sounds. "Not to mention that it stinks in here. It smells like engine oil and fuel. Do you think we can talk to the commander about bringing in some potpourri?"

"It's all right, Niles," Emily said. "We're leaving the starship soon."

"You're what?" Niles exclaimed. "After what happened last time? You nearly died! And even worse—I nearly died." He flew closer to her, and his eyes—two blue cameras—softened. "You are the princess of England, Emily. You must stay here in safety, not go gallivanting into danger on another adventure."

"It's because I'm the princess that I cannot hide here, Niles," she said. "Don't you see? There are many soldiers in the Alliance, and I'm proud to be one of them. But I can do something they cannot. I can speak to my people. I can speak to England, to Britain, to the Commonwealth, maybe even to all of Earth. I can let them know that the royal family is still here. That I'm still here. That someday the palace will rise again, and that our flags will unfurl in a free sky."

Darjeeling raised his chin, eyes damp, and placed his cap on his chest. "May it be so."

Emily grabbed her rucksack. "I cannot transmit my words from the Freedom, Niles. Not without revealing her location. So we're flying out, Darjeeling and I, in a stealthy little shuttle. We'll fly around Jupiter. Within that planet's powerful magnetic field, we'll be invisible to the enemy. From there we'll broadcast our words to our people. And then fly back. You see, Niles? No adventures. No dangers. No battles. Just me and my words." She heaved a sigh. "I hope they can bring Earth some comfort."

Niles heaved a sigh. "Well, I'm certainly not staying here. Not with how poorly this starship smells. Oh, why did my creators build me with olfactory sensors? I suppose I shall go with you. Again."

Emily smiled and hugged the drone. "I'm glad." She frowned. "Niles, you don't think I'm being a bit… um, self-aggrandizing, do you? What with hoping to inspire the world with my words and all." She tilted her head. "It's not very humble of me, is it?"

"Well, you are the future queen of England, Emily," replied the drone. "There's that."

"Yes, I suppose there is. Very well then." Emily cleared her throat. "I suppose a sense of self-importance comes with the job, doesn't it? Which makes me appreciate your company even more, Niles, old boy. At least with you around, I never have the biggest ego in the room."

The drone bowed his spheroid body. "Glad to be of service, Princess. And, given my staggering intellect, you will never have the biggest brain either."

"Cheeky!" She slapped him. One of his gemstones dislodged and clattered across the deck. Niles gave a little squeak and hovered off to find it.

* * * * *

"If you'll come this way, ma'am, I'll lead you to our ride," Darjeeling said, carrying a rucksack of his own. "It's not a conventional shuttle, but I believe you'll find it appropriate for our mission."

Emily frowned, following him across the hangar bay, carrying her rucksack and rifle across her back. "Aren't we taking a Sparrow shuttle?"

"I'm afraid not, ma'am," said Darjeeling. "They're too easy to spot, even with their small size. Our mission is one of stealth. Thankfully, the Freedom keeps a shuttle so stealthy most of the crew doesn't even know about it."

"I hope it doesn't stink too," said Niles, floating after them. "Though I must say, knowing the sordid standard of this military, I'm not optimistic."

The drone was sulking. His jewel had fallen into a vent, and he kept muttering curses to himself.

"Come on, Niles, cheer up," Emily said. "I told you I'll buy you another gemstone."

"That was no ordinary gemstone, Princess," Nile said. "That was the Tear of Cleopatra, a precious sapphire once worn on the crown of the last pharaoh!"

"Niles, I do quite think you like to embellish upon the stories of your gemstones' origins. Now please stop moaning."

Niles just kept muttering to himself. Emily noticed that he purposefully positioned the left side of his body toward her, showing off the little hole the sapphire had once occupied.

A mecha walked ahead of them, carrying a crate full of bullets. They paused to let it pass, then continued along the deck. They walked around a Rhino dropship with a charred, cracked hull. Blood stained its deck. Crew in hazmat suits were inside, cleaning and disinfecting and filling medical waste bags. Mechanics were already setting up scaffoldings on the outside and preparing their welding tools. Two crewmen exited the Rhino, carrying a body bag.

Emily lowered her head, and Darjeeling placed his cap against his chest. Even Niles stopped grumbling. It was a stark reminder that they were fighting a war. That great danger awaited outside the Freedom's armored hull.

But I will fly into that danger bravely, Emily told herself. For my people.

At the back of the hangar they found a sheet pulled over a large object, probably a shuttle judging by the size and shape. Traffic cones cordoned the area.

A Mimori unit waited there, taking notes on a tablet. The android wore a lab coat, a hard hat, and goggles. Beneath the lab coat, she was wearing jean shorts and a T-shirt featuring Einstein sticking his tongue out. Somewhat unconventional for a military ship, to say the least.

For a moment Emily thought this was Mimori Unit 1, the android she was familiar with. But what was Mimori doing here instead of the bridge? And why wasn't she wearing her uniform? Then Emily remembered that several Mimori units served aboard the Freedom. In fact, just recently, one of them had died in a rah attack.

"Hello there, Mimori unit," Emily said.

The android lowered her tablet, spun toward them, and smiled. "Hey there, humans." She gave a little bow. "Oh, and a fellow artificial lifeform! Hello, drone."

"Please forgive my sordid appearance," Niles said. "I have lost my jewels."

The android fished through her pocket, pulled out a red candy, and handed it to Niles. "Would you like a sweet instead?"

He raised his nose. "Certainly not!"

"I bet if I stuck it onto you, everyone would think it's a gemstone." The android licked the candy, then held it out again. "Come on!"

Niles floated closer to Emily. "What's wrong with these military machines?"

Emily frowned. "Mimori, you seem… different from the bridge unit."

"Ah yes." The android nodded so vigorously her hard hat fell off. Half her hair flowed down to her chin, dyed blue. The other half was gathered into a single pigtail, dyed pink. "I'm going through a difficult morphing period, which is making my behavior erratic. Please forgive me. I should have the bugs ironed out within a few days."

Emily frowned. "Morphing period?"

"Allow me to explain," said the android.

"Please don't. We're not interested," Niles said.

Emily shushed her drone with a glare.

The android continued. "You see, recently, we Mimori units lost one of our sisters. Q-Mari, one of only seven androids aboard this starship, died in a rah attack."

Emily lowered her head, and Darjeeling placed his cap over his heart again.

"A terrible loss," Darjeeling said, mustache drooping.

"Well, her body was lost," said the Mimori unit before them. "But her memories, her personality, her database of bad jokes—they were preserved aboard the starship Freedom's central computer banks. A backup. You could call it… a soul."

"A soul," Emily said thoughtfully. "I didn't realize androids had those. Come to think of it, I'm not sure a human does either. Philosophers, theologians, and scientists have debated for years about whether such a thing even exists for people, let alone machines."

"Well…" The Mimori unit popped the candy into her mouth. She continued speaking with her mouth full. "By soul, I don't necessarily mean some glowing mist that will rise to heaven." She crunched the candy, swallowed, and smacked her lips. "I just mean the entirety of a mind. The thing that makes you who you are. Beyond your body, that is. We had all that backed up. Q-Mari's soul slept in the machine, bodiless."

"You couldn't build her another body?" Niles asked.

The android bit her lip. "Not a very good one. Not something like this masterpiece." She passed her hands over her own body. "The Mimori units were originally created at Alita Robotics Labs in Tokyo. Here aboard the Freedom, we can build crude robots. Like the DOGEs my sister built. Oh, I suppose I could have kludged together something basic—like you, Niles—but my sister deserved only the best."

"Why, I never!" Niles exclaimed. "I've never been so insulted in my life. Sergeant Darjeeling! I insist that you arrest this android."

"Quiet, Niles, you asked for it," Emily said.

"Originally, all seven Mimori units were exactly the same," said the Mimori in the lab coat. "Simply avatars representing the starship Freedom's central artificial intelligence. We were nothing but visual interfaces for interacting with our human passengers. In a sense—humanoid operating systems. But over time, we Mimoris gained some independence. Some individuality. Q-Mari even gave herself a unique name, which none of us Mimoris had ever done before."

"And where is Q-Mari now?" Emily said. "I mean, her soul. I know her body was destroyed."

"Well," the android continued, "given that I possess a perfect body, I invited my sister to share. Q-Mari joined me in here." She tapped her head. "We're two souls sharing a body, morphing into one. Her memories, personality, even fashion sense are all blending with mine. We have only one soul now, one consciousness. No split personality here, I assure you. But it's still a weird mixture that hasn't solidified."

"So… should I call you Mimori or Q-Mari?" Emily asked.

The android thought for a moment, tapping her chin. "How about QT? Short for Q-Mari Two."

"QT?" Emily said. "Like cutie, as in cute?"

The android winked. "Suits me, doesn't it?"

"It certainly does not," Niles said.

QT stuck her tongue out at him. "Says the flying football."

Niles raised his nose. "I'll have you know I'm a prolate spheroid."

"You might want to see a doctor about that," QT said.

Before it could come to blows, Emily stepped between the two robots. "QT, what's that under the sheet? Is that our shuttle?"

"A bit more than a mere shuttle, ma'am," QT said. "I present to you—the FAS Raven!"

She tugged the sheet. It didn't budge.

QT cleared her throat. "One moment… just gonna… untie this knot here… Wait, I need a ladder."

Niles sighed and flew to the top of the sheet. A tiny metal hand emerged from his body, and he untied the knot in the sheet.

"Thanks, flying football!" QT said.

Niles showed her two metal fingers.

"Behold!" QT said, giving the sheet another tug. This time the sheet fell onto her, knocking her to the deck. But at least everyone got a view of the ship.

The Raven was a small ship, not much larger than a typical Sparrow shuttle, but she looked completely different. While Sparrows were angular, the Raven was slick and graceful, all curved lines. Her hull was glimmering black and completely smooth. Even the cockpit windows were black.

"She looks like a panther," Emily whispered in awe.

QT extricated herself from under the sheet, fixed her goggles, and smoothed her lab coat. "She's meant to look like a raven, but all right, I take panther as a compliment. I built her myself. I used the chassis and engine of an Eagle, but I built a special stealthy hull. This baby is built to prowl the shadows."

"May I?" Emily asked, reaching toward the hull. QT nodded, and Emily stroked the graceful curves of the ship. "She's beautiful. Can she broadcast my words to Earth?"

"Princess, when you talk from this ship, the whole world will hear," QT said.

Emily opened the hatch, revealing the interior. It was cramped, and it would be a long journey. She must fly all the way to Jupiter, hide in its magnetic field, speak to Earth, then fly back. It would take a while. She'd have to rough it.

"Hopefully my words will help," she said softly, speaking more to herself than to her companions. "I don't know if I'm just self-aggrandizing, believing my words could truly inspire anyone. I don't know if this is more about my ego than any help I can truly offer. There are no manuals for the duties of a princess in exile. All my life, I shied away from publicity, from the endless cameras and attention. Now I seek to speak to the world." She took a shuddering breath. "I'm a soldier. I'm the future queen of England. Most importantly, I'm a human in a war for human survival. I will let my people know that our palace may have fallen but our proud kingdom never will."

She got into the Raven, then looked out at the hangar deck.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" she said.

Niles flew into the Raven and settled down on her lap. Darjeeling, an accomplished shuttle pilot, sat at the controls. It would be just the three of them. In this time of war, it was all they could spare.

QT stood outside the hatch, gazing in. Her goggles magnified her eyes, showing her tears. She saluted them.

"Godspeed, humans."

Niles cleared his throat.

"And the flying football," QT added.

Before Niles could object, QT shut the hatch.

Darjeeling taxied the Raven across the deck toward the airlock. A flight controller beckoned them forward, the airlock hatch opened, and out they flew.

The Raven glided into the darkness of space. They were in an empty corner of the solar system, far below the ecliptic plane. Earth was just a distant blue speck, barely visible, and the Milky Way spilled across the darkness.

Emily looked in the rearview monitor, and she saw the starship Freedom shrinking behind her. She remembered her first time seeing the dreadnought, how she had been so awestruck. Today the Freedom's hull was dented and charred. One of her massive exhaust ports was still disabled, and scaffolds covered the stern. She was a wounded animal, but she was still strong, and someday soon she would roar back to war. If there was hope for victory, Emily thought, that hope was called Freedom.

Then she looked ahead, held Niles more tightly against her, and the Raven flew deeper into the darkness.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The train charged into Anabar, shattering the gates and plowing over rahs.

Bastian sat at the controls, shoving the throttle down, driving the train forward at full speed. Rahs leaped onto the tracks, only for the cowcatcher to crush them. Their exoskeletons cracked as the mighty locomotive ran over them.

Farther back, the battle raged across the train cars. Rahs managed to crawl into a few cars, claws slashing. Marines answered them with fire. More spiders came racing from the shadows, leaping from the icy walls, swinging on webs. They were everywhere. Scores, maybe hundreds of them.

This was not supposed to happen. Not like this.

No plan survives contact with the enemy, Bastian reminded himself. He had learned that truism in officer school. So far, his first war kept confirming its truth.

Alice rose beside him, her Mordecai shouldered. The firelight danced on her face.

"Bas, watch out!" she cried.

He stared ahead through flurries of snow and smoke. He saw them. Humans. Many humans strung up, dangling from webs in the snowy courtyard.

Bastian hit the brakes.

The train screeched. Sparks flew from the tracks. Alice jerked forward, banging her shoulder against the dashboard. Rex, who had been sulking on the floor, flew and splattered himself against the windshield. The train car behind them slammed into the locomotive, and soon all the cars were piling up, and the trail derailed. Cobwebs slapped against the windshield ahead of Bastian.

He didn't wait for the train to come to a full halt.

He leaped outside, gun flaring plasma.

"For freedom!" he howled.

Alice leaped out beside him, her rifle lighting the night. "For freedom!"

Bastian landed on the icy ground and skidded forward. His arms windmilled. He felt like some clumsy, overfed goose, trying to land on a frozen lake.

A rah leaped from the shadows. In the firelight, Bastian could only see the burning eyes, the terrible fangs, the lashing claws. He pulled the trigger, and a spear of plasma surged forth, for a second illuminating the entire beast. Its abdomen loomed like a storm cloud, and its legs were bolts of black lightning. The flames washed over the creature, and it screeched, a terrible sound like cracking glass.

On MindPlay, Bastian saw his marines spilling from the train and spreading across the camp. They had to move fast. Before the spiders could call for reinforcements.

"Find the shield generator!" Bastian shouted. "Spread out and find it!"

Last month, the Alliance had managed to capture a clawship. Human engineers were still working on backward engineering rah tech. They didn't understand it yet. But they did know what web shield generators looked like.

Bastian sent the blueprints to every MindLink in his company. They were looking for an oval object the size of a car, covered with black antennae. It looked a little like a spiky egg.

Another rah lunged at him. Bastian drenched it with fire. Briefly he wondered where all the prisoners were. A few dozen humans, frozen or freezing, were hanging from the cobwebs around him. But there should be thousands of captives here. Where was everybody? Had the rahs eaten everyone already? Was Bastian too late?

Alice let out a terrible battle cry, interrupting his thoughts. She charged headlong into a formation of rahs, spraying plasma from side to side, her blond braids flying in the wind. She suddenly seemed like some Valkyrie of fire, descending from Valhalla to storm into the hosts of the underworld.

For a second, the rahs almost seemed taken aback. Then they roared and lashed their claws at Alice. She ducked, swerved, and leaped, dodging the claws, then jumped onto one rah's back. Riding the huge spider, she wheeled from side to side, gun blazing, knocking aliens back. Then Alice drew her knife, knelt, and plunged it into the rah she rode. The alien collapsed. She hopped off the dead arachnid, landed beside Bastian, and brushed her uniform.

"Holy shit," he said, staring at the pile of dead rahs.

She winked. "I'm getting good at this."

A rah loomed behind her, drooling, jaw open wide.

Bastian shot plasma into its mouth. The spider stumbled back and fell.

"Don't get cocky," he told Alice.

She gulped and nodded.

He glanced around him. It was hard to see in the darkness. Sudden light flared. Hicks came strutting through the courtyard, spraying torrents of plasma from two rifles. "You want some?" the brute was shouting. "You want some of this, bitches?"

Nearby, a rah tore into a private, ripping the man limb from limb. Farther back, a corporal slipped on the ice, and rahs mobbed him at once, stabbing, biting, eating.

Bastian couldn't see much with the fire, smoke, and shadows. Thankfully, MindPlay showed him more than his eyes could. A holographic map of Anabar floated by Bastian, showing the positions of his troops. The rahs didn't appear on MindPlay—the aliens didn't have neural implants like the marines, and there were no sensors here to track them. But by piecing together information from MindPlay, his ears, and his eyes, Bastian got a general concept of the battle.

Another soldier died, his avatar going dark.

And another.

And then Bastian noticed it. Screams from above.

He looked up, and a shudder ran through him.

There they were.

The captives.

Thousands of captives. Above him.

Cobwebs hung over Anabar, stretching between iron spikes like some nightmarish circus tent. Men, women, and children hung there, wrapped in webs. Some women had eggs festering in their bellies. Some victims were already dead, and orbweavers were busy feeding upon them. Body parts dangled from strands like pieces of meat in a butcher shop.

But most were still alive. Bastian was not too late. Nausea twisted his stomach. He did not know how anyone could recover from such horror. But some were alive, and goddammit, he would save them.

But not before he killed every last spider here.

Bastian couldn't help it. He leaned over and threw up.

* * * * *

Alice grabbed his arm.

"Bas, I don't see any egg with spikes!" she shouted over the din of battle. "You said the shield generator looks like a spiky egg."

Bastian straightened, took shuddering breaths, and wiped his mouth. He had lost control. He had panicked. He had to keep it together. Despite all the horror, he had to remain in charge. He commanded this mission. He must be strong for his troops.

He pointed. "Let's go to the back of the base. It might be there."

A rah leaped at them. Bastian and Alice opened fire together, knocking it down, then both reloaded. They stepped forward, firing and killing and reloading again and again, a synchronized dance. They had known each other for years. They had been fighting together all winter. They moved as one, wheeling from side to side, knocking the enemies back, fighting through the sea of spiders.

Other marines fought around them, spreading through the camp. The rahs kept coming. Too many. Thousands of them. More than they had expected.

Another soldier fell. And another.

Bastian could barely breathe. The terror clutched his chest like claws.

A real claw thrust across his side, slashing his coat, ripping his armor, and grazing the skin. Bastian roared and fell to his knees, more from shock than pain. The spider rose above him, and he pounded it with bolts of plasma, slaying it. His blood speckled the snow.

"Bastian!" Alice cried, pulling him to his feet.

"I'm fine, keep going," he said. "We need to get these shields down—now!"

Or this is over, he knew.

Once the web shield was down, the Freedom could launch shuttles and flood this camp with thousands of marines. Until then, Badgers Company was here alone.

Then again… maybe not.

Not alone after all.

Just when Bastian was losing hope, it happened.

The prisoners rose up.

The Russian woman with the blond braid climbed onto a boxcar. She grabbed a rifle from a dead soldier, and she raised it overhead, and her cry rang across Anabar. Then she aimed and began firing plasma bolts, burning spiders.

Nearby, a group of Russian men approached a rah corpse, ripped out its claws, and raised them like swords. They howled and charged to battle, thrusting their macabre blades. Other prisoners simply tore off floorboards from the train, then swung them like clubs. Surprisingly, a few prisoners even drew knives and pistols—they must have been hiding them, waiting for an opportune moment.

Most of the rebels came from the train. But some people managed to free themselves from the cobwebs above the camp, climb down, and join the fight. The prisoners of Anabar were in far worse shape than the new arrivals. They were naked, draped in nothing but cobwebs, and their skin was pale. They were suffering from frostbite, malnutrition, and trauma. But they fought too, and they joined the cry.

"Freedom, freedom!"

The rebels charged at the enemy, stabbing, shooting. The rahs fought back. Their claws and fangs tore people apart. Rebels died in the snow.

But they died as warriors. They died free.

* * * * *

"Bastian, there it is!" Alice grabbed him. "A spiky egg."

Bastian squinted. It was hard to see past the flurries of snow, dangling cobwebs, and blasts of plasma. He could just make out a large oval in the distance, looming over the battlefield. A gust of flurries parted dangling cobwebs, and Bastian glimpsed many antennae rising from the oval, tipped with spheres.

He had a feeling this device did more than maintain the shield around the base. It could probably also communicate with other rah units.

Any moment now, rah reinforcements might arrive. All the courage of the rebels wouldn't matter if the sky cracked open and clawships spilled down.

"Marines!" he called out. "Rally here! With me! Make for that oval device—go!"

His company was disorganized. One platoon had taken position behind the train. They were firing between the boxcars at the enemy. Another platoon was slogging it out along the icy wall, while the third and fourth platoons were bogged down in the snowy courtyard. A few squads had raised defenses of snow, were taking potshots from behind the icy banks.

But as Bastian called out to them, the troops rose from behind the train and snowbanks. Shouting and firing their guns, they ran across the battlefield to rally behind Bastian. A few fell to the enemy. They slid across the icy ground, screaming, bleeding. But right now they couldn't hunker down in defensive positions. No snowbank or train car would protect them if clawships blazed from above.

They needed to destroy that shield generator. Or everyone here was dead.

"Forward!" Bastian shouted, raising his Mordecai overhead like a banner.

He charged. Screaming, Alice charged with him. Behind them ran their troops, howling for war, and a thousand prisoners cried out and ran with them.

The spiders rallied too. Hosts of rahs ran to meet them, claws shattering the ice, while more spiders swung from webs above.

In the snowy courtyard, the two forces slammed together.

Blood and fire lit the world.

The roar of battle washed over them. Soldiers and spiders alike jostled against Bastian. Claws swung. He knelt, sidestepped, dodging them everywhere. Fire blazed. A soldier ran, burning. A rah fell as desperate rebels ripped it apart. Bodies hit the ground, and the flames of war melted the ice.

"Forward!" Bastian cried. "Forward and cut through them! With me!"

He shot a rah, took a step, shot another alien. More replaced the fallen bug. In the distance, past the snow and the flames, he saw the generator. It rose like a hill, like a dark star, thrumming with electric waves. He could not reach it.

"Watch out!" Alice cried, pointing.

Bastian looked up. An enormous rah came swinging toward him on a strand of webbing. It was easily the size of a horse. Alice was firing at the alien, but the plasma bolts scattered off its exoskeleton. She ducked for cover.

Bastian just had one plasma bolt left in his battery. But he stood his ground. He aimed. Fired.

His plasma bolt tore the strand just above the rah. The spider crashed to the ground. As it was rising, Bastian reloaded and fired, filling its eyes with searing death.

"Alice, come on!" he shouted. "Stop resting."

He ran, vaulted off the dead rah, and caught the strand. He had only shot off the tip. Bastian clung on and swung across the battlefield.

"Wait for me, dumbass!" Alice shouted.

She ran, leaped off the dead alien too, and caught a second strand that dangled from above. She swung at his side. The battle raged below.

Before the strand could swing him backward, Bastian let go, flew through the air, and caught another strand. Alice swung at his side. For a moment Bastian felt like Tarzan.

Then the strand he held tore. He crashed into the snow. A second later, Alice thumped onto him.

"Ow, Alice." He groaned. "Get off me. You weigh a ton."

She gasped. "You're the one who broke the web with your fatness."

And suddenly things began to fall from above. Body parts. Rib cages. Corpses. Human cuts of meat, carved for the feeding. With them fell some living humans too, cocooned and still awaiting the slaughter. The entire web was collapsing, along with its hideous contents.

"Look what you did," Alice whispered.

The cobwebs were falling. But above them still shone the web shield, engulfing Anabar, holding back Alliance reinforcements. Bastian wanted to see Eagles and Rhinos descending like angels, delivering the wrath and retribution of the Freedom.

He stared ahead through the raining silk and body parts. There. A large oval, its black spikes like blades. The shield generator.

"Come on, Alice, let's bring that shield down."

They ran, dodging the falling body parts, shooting the last few rahs, until they reached it. The oval rose from mist, craggy and writhing. It was easily the size of a shuttlecraft, and its antennae ended with fleshy spheres.

"It looks organic," Alice said, frowning. "Is this really generating the shield around the camp? It's bloody massive. Almost as big as your belly."

Bastian ignored the jab. "This is it all right. Here—I have the specs."

He shared them with her telepathically. A blueprint hovered before them, shaped like a spiky oval.

"Um… Bas?" Alice said. "The diagram says the shield generator is one meter tall."

"Your point being?"

She stared at him, eyes wide. "Didn't they teach you the metric system in officer school?"

Ahead of them, the enormous oval began trembling, turning slowly around.

"I might have skipped that day," Bastian confessed.

Alice shouldered her rifle and narrowed her eyes. "Bastian, I don't think this is the shield generator."

And then Bastian saw it. The spikes on the oval weren't antennae. Those fleshy lumps on the tips? They were severed heads.

Alice was right. That was no shield generator. It was a spider's abdomen. The largest spider Bastian had ever seen.

* * * * *

The gargantuan rah spun toward them, screeching.

She was a female. Bigger than the females that had assaulted Fort Liberty last Christmas. The creature opened her jaws and screeched. Anabar trembled. Webbings tore above, and cocooned prisoners rained. The rah's claws spread out, forming a halo of blades. As she rose on her sharp legs, her enormous abdomen jiggled, and Bastian could see eggs thrumming inside.

An egglayer, he thought. The largest of the rah huntresses.

"Plucky little humans!" the colossal rah shrieked. "So clever to have come this far. But you will not get by Sheol'rah."

Bastian and Alice slammed in fresh plasma packs and let loose. Furious white streams washed over the alien. But the great spider only cackled. Sheol'rah lunged through the fire like a great whale breaching the ocean, roaring toward Bastian and Alice.

The beast slammed into them like a truck. The blow hurled Bastian across the icy ground. He slid away and hit a pile of bodies. He struggled to his feet, disoriented. He saw stars. If not for his armawool undergarment, that blow would have shattered his bones. Alice rose at his side, cursing, shaking her head wildly.

"Ow," she said. "This bitch is strong."

They stared across the icy courtyard. Sheol'rah rose before them, roaring. The enormous spider came charging toward them.

"Um, Bastian?" Alice winced. "I think we should run."

"No running." He reloaded, snarled, and shouldered his rifle. "Marines—kill that spider!"

A hundred voices or more rose, howling for war. Marines rose behind the piles of bodies and charged. The Badgers Company. They were here.

Shouting the loudest, Bastian and Alice charged, boots cracking the icy ground. Behind them ran their company. The Badgers. The company Bastian had commanded as a young captain. The company that had defended their fort on Christmas, the first terrible day of the alien invasion. The spearhead of the Freedom Brigade. The best soldiers Bastian knew.

Bastian's Badgers ran across the frozen ground of Siberia, guns booming, storming toward the spider goddess.

Sheol'rah screamed, engulfed in fire. Her scream rose louder and louder, shriller and shriller. Cracks spiderwebbed the icy walls that surrounded Anabar. Dozens of fiery streams slammed into the spider, washing over her body, spurting upward. Some cobwebs still stretched above, and the fire seized them. The sky burned.

"Come on, fall already, you bitch," Bastian muttered, keeping his finger on the trigger. He fired until he emptied his plasma pack.

The flames from his Mordecai died. He checked his ammunition belt. Just two packs left.

Across the courtyard, the Mordecais went dark one by one, running out of ammo. The flames died. Soldiers reached for more packs.

Sheol'rah still stood. Smoke rose from her. Her legs were bent, and three of her eyeballs had melted. The juices oozed down her craggy face. But the rah still managed to grin.

Dozens of clicks sounded across the courtyard as the marines reloaded.

Before they could even pull their triggers again, Sheol'rah pounced.

The spider was a behemoth, but she moved with incredible speed. Claws like scythes swept across the battlefield, mowing soldiers down. Men and women screamed, rolling and dying on the bloody ice. A claw slammed down from above, tearing through a marine. The great jaws of the spider plowed forward like some enormous lawn mower, scooping up soldiers, crushing them between mighty teeth, and spitting them out.

Bastian and Alice stood in this hellscape, shouting and firing flames onto the beast. A few surviving soldiers ran with them. A claw swept through the air. Bastian ducked below it. Alice leaped above it. They kept running, firing flames into the spider's jaws, trying to hit an eye. Other soldiers fired from all around, but Sheol'rah only laughed in the inferno. Her legs swept in every direction, mowing through marines. Her jaws scooped them up, spat them out.

Hicks was fighting with them. Bastian hated the guy. But to his credit, Hicks fought like a beast, leaping over and under sweeping claws, firing and reloading and firing again. He even managed to melt one of Sheol'rah's eyeballs. But the giant spider just refused to fall.

"Nothing can kill her!" Alice shouted. "That bitch is invincible."

Invincible? Maybe not. Sheol'rah had taken a lot of damage, losing several eyes, and her gums were charred and black and dripping. But the giant spider was still very much in the fight, and Bastian watched as the claws cut another marine. The soldiers would run out of plasma before this devil died.

If we can't use fire, Bastian thought, we'll use ice.

How? Alice thought back.

Dammit, get out of my head!

She shrugged. Stop thinking publicly.

I'm not—

You don't know how to use MindPlay, Bastian. I've taught you a thousand times, but—

"Careful!" Bastian shouted. A claw was swinging toward them.

Bastian tried to take a step back when his leg tangled in some fallen cobwebs. He kicked wildly, trying to free his boot, but the strands clung on. Instead he ducked, and the claw whooshed over his head.

He looked upward, squinting in the smoke.

"Alice—aim at those webs above Sheol'rah and bring them down."

"What?"

"Trust me. I got a plan."

She sighed. "I hate it when you say that."

* * * * *

Many webs had fallen and burned in the battle. But quite a few strands remained above, stretching between metal spikes and the icy walls. Bastian and Alice fired, carving through the strands, cutting out a giant swatch of webbing.

The cobwebs fell, draping across Sheol'rah like a shroud.

The spider shrieked, tried to raise her claws, but could not. The webs were too sticky even for her, entangling her legs. The alien bucked, bellowed, and snapped her jaws, but more webbing got into her mouth. Strands draped across her eyes.

"That's your plan?" Alice said. "To decorate her?"

"The webs won't hold her for long," Bastian said. "Hurry and help me. Drive her back toward that wall."

He sent the orders to the entire company—those still alive, at least. They began firing plasma bolts at Sheol'rah's front claws. The spider scampered backward, wobbling and slipping on her tangled legs. The marines fired bolts at the ground before her, nipping at her heels, driving her backward until she hit the icy wall that surrounded Anabar. The wall was so high it towered even over the female rah.

Bastian began firing plasma at the wall's base. He was on his last battery pack.

This better work.

Alice understood. She fired with him. The base of the icy wall began to melt. The wall swayed forward, then backward.

"Pull it down!" Bastian cried.

Marines threw strands of cobwebs, lassoing spikes at the top of the wall. As Bastian and Alice kept melting the base, other marines heaved the strands, pulling the wall inward into the camp.

Sheol'rah saw what was happening. She tried to flee. Even with the webs entangling her claws, she began scrambling away from the falling wall.

"No way!" rose a shout. "You're not going anywhere, bitch."

Sergeant Hicks came running toward the spider, roaring. The burly sergeant held a Mordecai in each hand. He blasted two streams of fire at Sheol'rah. The spider howled and snapped her jaws, but the sergeant kept charging, laughing, firing his rifles.

"Back you go, bitch!" he cried, laughing maniacally, burning the spider.

And Sheol'rah retreated—right into the path of the collapsing wall.

The mighty wall of ice slammed down onto her.

Soldiers cheered. Sheol'rah tried to rise, to shove the ice off. But the heavy wall and webs were enough to keep her down.

Bastian fired his last spurts of plasma atop the ice wall. It began to melt.

"Soldiers! Anyone still got ammo? Melt the top."

Alice grabbed him. "What the hell? We finally caught her."

"Not yet. Slowly, soldiers! That's it. Just melt the top a little. And the sides. And—enough."

The marines held their fire. The wall of ice had melted just enough to drape across Sheol'rah more securely, then freeze solid again. Now, instead of a wall atop the spider, a dome of ice snuggly trapped her in place.

After that, it was simple. They drilled a hole through the ice—directly to Sheol'rah's head.

"Would you do the honors, Alice?" Bastian asked.

"Moi?"

He nodded. "You've earned it."

Alice nodded. She raised her chin. "For Bear."

She thrust the muzzle of her Mordecai into the hole in the ice. She emptied her last plasma pack into Sheol'rah's head.

The spider screamed, but the ice held her in place.

Marines stepped forward, one by one, and volunteered their remaining plasma packs. Alice reloaded and kept firing. It took seven whole plasma batteries—but finally she had burned a hole through Sheol'rah's head and roasted the brains within.

The mighty female was dead.

Shrieks rose from behind them.

Bastian spun to see dozens of other rahs still alive across the courtyard. They scuttled closer. They saw their queen fallen, cried in terror, and turned to flee.

"Ha!" Hicks barked a laugh and shot into the air. "Cowards! Run, coward, run!"

He fired a few bolts at them as they fled.

Bastian watched the smaller spiders go. He remembered how, back at Fort Liberty, the marines had staged a great defense even after Colonel Holt, their CO, had been killed. Humans were good at adapting that way. Apparently rahs fell apart when their leader died.

This can be useful in future missions, he thought. We can focus all our force on taking out the leader—and the foot soldiers will crumble. Rah units have single points of failure.

"Hicks!" Bastian said.

The sergeant, still laughing, turned toward him. "Sir?"

Bastian nodded. "Good job today, soldier."

Alice approached. She nodded at Hicks. "You did well. I might not kill you. Tonight."

Hicks ignored her. He looked at Bastian. "Thank you, sir. Now if you don't mind, I got some spider tooth trophies to collect."

As he walked by, he gave Alice a solid slap on the backside.

She fumed. "That guy is still a huge asshole."

Bastian sighed. "Agreed. We'll deal with him later. Right now we got shields to take down."

* * * * *

The sun rose over Siberia, illuminating hell.

Bodies lay strewn across the ice. Many were brave marines, but most were civilians. The corpses of rahs lay among them, claws still twitching even in death. Chunks of meat lay on the ice and dangled from webs—humans butchered like farm animals, carved up for eating. The derailed train divided the camp, lying across the frozen ground like some great dead serpent.

This was a slaughterhouse, plain and simple. It was the pure evil of the rahs on full display. As the sun rose, Bastian forced himself to look at the horror. To record it on his MindLink for posterity. To stare at the butchery. At the dead. But also at the survivors.

At the prisoners who had endured this agony, who had risen up, who were now free but haunted. Their eyes were sunken, staring too far away, testament to their trauma. And he looked at the marines who had liberated Anabar—the bravest warriors on Earth, the finest sons and daughters of humanity. They too would not forget the horrors of the night.

Many people, marines and rebels alike, lay wounded on the ground. The company had three combat medics. They moved between the wounded, triaging, treating some, leaving others to die. Bastian saw people missing limbs. People burnt. People dying in the snow as they called for their mothers.

But dawn always rose. And this night too ended. For a brief moment, in the morning light, Bastian knew that they were victorious. The war was not yet won, of course. Perhaps it would rage for many years, and perhaps humanity would ultimately fail, and the rahs would swarm across the world, and all of Earth would become their feeding ground. But this morning, here with Alice and the others, they were survivors. They had won.

With the rahs all dead, they could properly search the base. They found the shield generator within moments. It was hanging from cobwebs above them—right in the center of the camp. A small oval with spiky antennae, it had been easy to miss in the darkness.

"See, Bas?" Alice said. "That is what a meter looks like. Small."

"All right, all right."

Between them, the marines only had a few plasma bolts left. They shot the damn thing down.

The web shield blazed to life, a huge globe around Anabar. For a moment the sky lit up, and everyone could see the electric grid that engulfed them. Then the shield fizzled and died.

At once, new stats raced across Bastian's MindPlay interface. New information was flooding him, coming down from space. The positions of starships. The avatars of his commanders and the rest of his brigade. With the shield gone, he was once more connected to the Alliance military. And to the starship Freedom, his home.

"Starship Freedom!" he said, speaking aloud as he telepathized the words. "Freedom, this is Badger One reporting from Earth. Shields are down, and we're awaiting your shuttles."

"Badger One?" Alice whispered. "Really?"

"Shush! I needed a call sign."

"You're not a pilot. You don't need a—"

"This is Freedom," came a voice over the MindWeb. A familiar voice, deep and raspy. "Nice of you to call, Badger One." A grainy chuckle sounded.

Bastian closed his eyes for a moment.

It was his father speaking. James King. Bastian's role model. Hero. Anchor in a storming universe. Goddamn it felt good to hear his voice.

Even if King did seem to be mocking his call sign.

"You there, Colonel?" came the raspy voice again.

Bastian nodded, his eyes suddenly damp. "Here, sir. This place, it's…" His throat felt dry. He swallowed. "We'll need ambulance shuttles and more medics."

"Understood. Hang tight, Badgers. We'll be right there."

Bastian ended the call, and his throat tightened, and tears streamed down his face. He couldn't breathe. He was shaking.

He couldn't let his troops see him like this. He must be strong for them. He turned away, took a few steps, and just stood there, struggling to compose himself. There was a body ahead of him. A little girl. Rowan's age.

Oh goddammit. And now he, Colonel Bastian King, the commander of this entire brigade—the tough guy, the leader, the man who needed to always be strong—he was crying.

A few marines stepped closer, curious.

"What the hell are you looking at?" Alice shouted at them. "Go secure the perimeter, dammit! Go on! Move!"

The soldiers ran off to set up defenses. Bastian took a few deep, shaky breaths.

"Thanks, Alice," he said.

She made sure nobody was around, and then she hugged him. They stood together in the dawn, holding each other as snow fell around them, shrouding the dead.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Colonel Gal "Spitfire" Levy hated going to the doctor.

Fighter pilots weren't supposed to get sick. Especially not the ace of Freedom's Flock, the dreadnought's legendary starfighter fleet.

She, queen of the flock, was meant to be a heroine. An unstoppable force. A blade to strike the hearts of her enemies.

So why did she feel like shit?

Spitfire walked through the infirmary, wearing her baggy flight suit. Most warships only had a small medical bay, and they transferred many of their wounded to dedicated hospital ships. The Freedom was large enough to support a miniature hospital of her own. And right now, the place was overflowing.

Several cots crowded each room, all occupied. More bunks lined the corridor and waiting rooms, full of patients. Soldiers and civilians alike had suffered terrible injuries in the war. They lay bandaged. Some burnt. Others missing limbs. A nurse wheeled one young man by; all four of his limbs had been amputated, and burns covered half his face. He was staring ahead blankly. A young girl followed them, tears in her eyes, perhaps the man's daughter.

I would rather die, Spitfire thought, a lump in her throat. If I'm ever injured that badly, I would rather die in battle.

Guilt filled her that she should think such a thing. But she reminded herself that she was a fighter pilot. Death did not scare her. Life scared her. And here was the brutal reality of life in war.

A few patients recognized her insignia: five bars on each shoulder strap, denoting her a colonel. She was a senior officer, one of only a handful aboard the Freedom. The young soldiers saluted from their hospital beds. She saluted them back, making eye contact with everyone in turn. Many were barely older than twenty. It was probably the first time they saw a colonel up close.

Spitfire was experienced and high-ranking enough that, if she wanted, she could command a starship of her own. A corvette for sure. Maybe even a frigate-class warship with a crew of hundreds. That glory could be hers. But she stayed aboard the Freedom. This was her home. This was the starship where her father had fought and died. She would never leave, even if she never got to sit in a commander's chair.

"It's her," a young soldier whispered.

"It's Spitfire," whispered another soldier, a young woman with bandages around the stumps of her arms.

"The leader of the flock."

"They say she flew a starfighter into the jaws of a clawship and blew it up!" whispered a little girl in bandages, likely one of the tourist orphans. Thousands of tourists had been vacationing aboard the Freedom when the rah invasion had begun. Many had died on the first terrible day of the war.

"Impossible. How is she still alive?" said a boy.

"She ejected at the last second, and her Eagle flew right into a giant ship twice the size of the Freedom, and it blew up, and—"

Spitfire winked at them, then walked onward, leaving them to whisper.

Around a corner, Spitfire had to pause. Pain clutched her chest. She grimaced and leaned against a wall. Teeth clenched, she forced herself to take deep breaths.

Her memories flashed before her.

Flying from the airlock into a sky of fire.

The starfighters exploding around her. The screams of her friends—falling silent. And how much more terrible that silence was from the screams.

The great clawship Venom loomed before her, rising from flame, thrusting forth her spikes. A ship like a raging dragon forged of iron. The claws dilated, exposing the flaming innards of the beast, and the dragonfire shot forth, red and spinning and terrible, melting starfighters with its fury.

And Spitfire was screaming, flying in her Eagle, charging at the dragon, racing closer and closer into that all-consuming fire—

She gasped for air, fist clenched against her chest. The visions cleared. Spitfire exhaled shakily, and she found herself back in the hospital.

For a moment she had been there. Back in the battle. It had felt so real.

Somebody must be hacking her MindLink, replaying the vision again and again.

Her legs wouldn't stop shaking, and everything was swaying. Her chest blazed with pain. The same pain she had been feeling for days now. There was a problem with her heart.

She stumbled down the hallway and finally reached the office of Dr. Annie Jordan. It was time for her appointment.

Spitfire paused outside the doorway for a moment, hesitating, then stepped into the hallway washroom instead. She leaned over the sink and stared at her reflection.

She didn't recognize the woman who stared back. Spitfire was only thirty-six, young for a colonel, but today she looked a decade older. Her skin was gray, and her freckles looked more like moles. Puffy bags hung under her eyes. Even her hair, once a lustrous brown mane, now hung flatly.

I'm sick. I need help.

She splashed water on her face, winced as the pain stabbed her chest again, then entered the doctor's office.

Dr. Annie Jordan was already there, waiting. She too was a colonel and also young for the rank. Annie looked a little like her father, Lieutenant Commander Larry Jordan. Like the XO, she had dark skin and graceful good looks. But her green eyes came from her mother, an Irishwoman whose photo stood on her desk.

Spitfire had known Annie all her life. Both had spent much of their childhood aboard this ship. Both their fathers had served here as fighter pilots. The two women didn't spend much time together anymore. They had chosen different paths in life, and they could go for months aboard the Freedom without seeing each other. But they had grown up together, and suddenly Spitfire felt so embarrassed to be here.

"How can I help you, Gal?" the doctor asked.

"I'm sick," she said. "I just need some medicine and I can get back to work."

Annie nodded. "What are your symptoms?"

"I…" Spitfire hesitated. She pursed her lips, then finally blurted it out. "Chest pains. Dizziness. Feeling light-headed. Annie, I'm only thirty-six. Am I going to have a heart attack?"

"If you don't mind, please take off your flight suit, switch into this robe, and sit on the examination table. I'll take a look."

Spitfire's cheeks blushed. She flashed back to her childhood, running with Annie across the ship, playing tag. It felt so awkward to have an old playmate… examine her. But she did as she was told, moving mechanically, changing into the robe. She sat on the table, and she clenched her fists, and suddenly she flashed back again. But this time it was to the battle on Christmas. The first day of the war. Once more, she was in her collapsing starfighter, the canopy cracking, charging into the flaming maw of the clawship.

She winced.

"Hurts?" Annie said.

Spitfire nodded. Annie ran a sensor over her, reading her vitals, then pricking her finger and running her blood through a test capsule.

"Is it my heart?" Spitfire whispered. Oh God, I'm so young. How could I be having a heart attack?

"You can get dressed," Annie said. "Your heart is perfectly fine. So is your bloodwork."

Spitfire pulled her flight suit back on. "So why does my heart feel like there are baby rahs eating it?" She cringed. "I'm not infected with alien parasites, am I?"

Annie smiled thinly. "Gal, you're showing the classic signs of combat fatigue."

"Combat fatigue?" Spitfire barked a laugh. "I'm not fatigued. I slept like a baby last night."

That was a lie. She had tossed and turned, suffering nightmares of a dragon in the dark.

"You have shell shock, Gal." Annie's green eyes were soft. "There are medications that can help."

"Shell-shocked?" Gal took a step back. "What, like PTSD? That happens to privates. Not to me." She laughed. "I'm a colonel, for God's sake."

"None of us expected this war," Annie said. "You were a stunt pilot. I was treating tourists for alcohol poisoning. But the war changed everything. It's okay that you need help. That you're hurt. That—"

"I'm not hurt!" Gal said. "And I'm not some pampered stunt pilot. My dad was a fighter pilot in World War III. His father was a fighter pilot too. It's in my blood."

"I'm writing you a prescription for aphotalapram," Annie said. "It's a new medication to treat patients suffering from emotional trauma."

Spitfire turned away. "No thanks. I just needed to know it's not a heart attack. Thanks."

She put one foot out the door.

"Gal."

Spitfire froze.

Annie approached her, put a hand on her arm. "Gal, if you change your mind, the prescription will be on your file. And… if you ever need to talk to anyone, we have an excellent therapist on board. And you can also talk to me. We're still friends, aren't we?"

Spitfire's throat tightened. Her eyes stung. Her Eagle soared toward the dragon.

"I'm fine," she whispered, then left the room.

What a crock of shit.

Spitfire marched through the infirmary. This time she ignored the wounded soldiers who saluted her. She increased her pace, feeling trapped here, and her head spun. She couldn't breathe.

It must be the flu. What did Annie know? Oh, she knew medicine, Spitfire didn't doubt that. But what did the good doctor know of battle? Spitfire had been born to fight. Her father had been a fighter, battling the Red Dawn. His father had been a fighter pilot too. The tradition went back centuries, all the way back to the invention of the fighter planes. The Levy family came from Israel, a land that had always known war. Their family had always been fighting for survival. They didn't get scared. They didn't get shell shock. They were braver than that. What could a doctor know of these things?

Her MindLink pinged. A notification popped up. A new prescription had appeared on her medical file. Attached to it was a personal note.

I'm here for you. Annie.

Spitfire was about to delete it, both the note and prescription. For some reason, she just minimized the notification.

She paused in the hallway and took a deep breath. Her shift didn't begin for another hour, but there was no point trying to sleep. Not with this damn pain. Not with those damn memories that kept flooding her.

"I need a drink."

* * * * *

"Ah, to hell with modern medicine!" Spitfire said to herself. "There's nothing some booze and rock 'n' roll can't cure."

Spitfire took the elevator down to deck 1 in the midsection, the lowest point in the ship. The elevator door opened to reveal one of Freedom's four starfighter hangars. She walked across the deck between her Eagles.

The F-77 Eagles were formidable machines of war—the legendary starfighters of the Alliance. Not long ago, these particular Eagles had been stunt vessels. They were still painted gaudy blue and red, their colors from their performance days. But now their hulls were charred and scratched from battle. Stars were painted across them—one star for every enemy ship downed.

Spitfire's own starfighter wasn't here. She had downed the mighty Venom, a clawship the size of a town, by flying into its open plasma port. There wasn't a star big enough you could have painted on her hull.

I almost didn't eject on time.

She winced at the pain in her chest.

I almost flew into the fire.

She walked faster. She needed that drink. Most of the bars across the Freedom had been closed during the war. But the aerie, the famous lounge for Freedom's starfighter pilots, was still open. It nestled into a corner of Eagle deck 1, more a home to Spitfire than the little bunk where she slept. She could already see the bar's neon sign like an oasis.

As she headed there, Spitfire passed by the one Eagle that had not yet flown in this war.

The Golden Eagle.

This was a sacred starfighter. She had not flown since World War III ended thirty-six years ago. During the Freedom's long years as a museum ship, tourists would take photos by the Golden Eagle. The legendary starfighter was still cordoned behind velvet ropes. Sixty-three stars were painted on her hull. Sixty-three enemy vessels downed. It was still an Alliance record.

Here was the starfighter James "Bulldog" King had flown in World War III. Back then, King had fought the Red Dawn—fellow humans. Spitfire's father had died during the final days of the war. She had been born among the ruins, a child of peace and rebirth. But she had heard the tales of those glory days. Everybody had. She had seen the footage of King flying. He was still the best pilot she had ever seen.

Even if he had not flown since Spitfire had been in her diapers.

Maybe in this war, I'll beat your record, old man, she thought.

She turned away and entered the aerie.

At once, Spitfire felt a little better. See? This was all she needed. Just some good music, maybe a game of pool, and a few beers in her belly.

The aerie was quiet today. The pool table and dart boards were deserted. The jukebox was silent. A holographic screen shone over the bar, but it was just tuned to one of the ambient background channels. An elderly Japanese man stood on the screen, gently raking a Zen garden. A few pilots sat alone at tables, heads lowered.

"Hey, whose funeral is it?" Spitfire said, walking across the lounge. "Let's put a game on." Then she remembered there were no games anymore, not with the war going on. "Or how about some music?"

She approached the jukebox, scrolled through the songs, and turned on AC/DC's "Thunderstruck." It was her favorite song. The music filled the room.

"That's more like it," she said.

None of the pilots in the bar even raised their heads. One of them, a young pilot with the call sign Snoopy, was weeping in a shadowy corner.

Whatever. Spitfire didn't need them to have a good time. She approached the bar and slapped some credits down.

"Jelly! A beer, my good man!"

Jelly floated over. They called the drone Jelly because he looked like a jellyfish. One of the ship mechanics had kludged him together. Jelly was essentially a floating tray with several metal arms attached to the bottom. The arms trailed below the tray like jellyfish tentacles.

"Goldstar again, ma'am?" the drone asked. His voice was robotic.

"Yes, and a glass bottle this time. No cans."

The drone took her money with a metal hand, floated away, then returned with a beer resting on his flat top. They had some beers on tap here too. But Spitfire wanted a beer from back home. She wanted to remember better days. When she took a sip, it came back.

The green hills of Haifa, her hometown. The golden sand and blue Mediterranean just a quick hop from her apartment. Her pet dog and her family and friends. Sunlight—real sunlight—on her face and sand between her toes. She remembered herself as a girl, climbing trees, collecting pine nuts, smashing them open with rocks and feasting, playing with marbles and chasing cats and scraping her knees.

She had grown up in war. Sometimes on the streets of Haifa, she would find bullets, would collect them, drill holes into them, and make herself jangling necklaces. She often heard the sirens, saw the missiles fall, and ran into bomb shelters and manholes or sometimes just behind boulders. She always carried a gas mask on her hip, and she knew how to use it when the chemicals rained.

Hard days. War days. But good days too—days of family and friends and love. Days of childhood—not innocent but still full of curiosity and possibility. Was any of that left to her now? A woman of thirty-six, unwed, childless, with no friends aside from the pilots she had to send to battle every day?

She found that she had drunk the entire bottle without noticing, lost in her ruminations, and that the jukebox had fallen silent again. But at least she wasn't remembering the fire.

"Jelly! Another beer." She slapped more credits onto the bar.

"Slow down there, O fearless leader," rose a slurred voice from the shadowy end of the bar. "If you get too drunk, you might make out with me, and I'll end up breaking your heart."

Spitfire frowned at the shadows. "Pickles? That you?"

She moved closer to him. Robby Cooper, call sign Pickles, was a wiry man with a bionic eye and sardonic smile. He was among the best pilots in the flock, albeit with a long record of disciplinary problems. Spitfire could sympathize. Her own record was far from spotless.

"It's a-me!" Pickles said, raising his bottle in salute. Quite a few empty bottles lay around him. "The legend, the lawbreaker, the lover—Pickles!"

He burped and swayed on his barstool. Spitfire had to catch him before he fell.

"Better slow down yourself, lover boy. Our shift starts soon."

"I'm fine." Pickles took a swig from a bottle. He belched. "A bit tipsy maybe, but it makes me fly better."

"Pickles, dammit." She grabbed him and shook him. "Sober up. You'll be flying patrols soon. What if the rahs attack and you're drunk?"

"What difference would it make?" Pickles blurted out. "Even if I were sober, I'd just… I'd run. Like I did down there." He stared at the floor. His voice dropped. "In Darkland."

Spitfire released him. "I saw the reports from Darkland," she said softly. "I saw the videos. It was hell."

Pickles was suddenly crying. He rubbed his eyes, took another sip. "Hell? No, hell is just fire and pain. Darkland was more than pain. It was fear. It was the bizarre, strange things that lurk in the night. It was the monsters under your bed and the terrors at the edge of man's soul. Darkland wasn't hell. It was a nightmare." He barked a pained laugh. "Ah, look at me. I get some booze in me and I start yammering."

"You can talk to me, Pickles." Spitfire put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm here for you. You're my pilot. And you're my friend. I'm here to look after you."

He looked at her with damp, haunted eyes. "I hid. On Darkland. When the marines stormed the castle, I found a shadowy corner, and I hid." He sniffed. "I'm a coward, Gal. I ran from battle. King demoted me for that, did you know? Busted me down from major to captain. Because I'm a coward. You don't want me as a pilot. What if I run again?"

"Anyone would have run from the horrors of Darkland."

"Commander King didn't. His son didn't. Hell, even the adorable little princess of England ran into that castle. A princess! While old Pickles here curled up behind a rock."

"Oh, the same Pickles who charged at the clawship Venom with me?" Spitfire asked. "The same Pickles who battled ten thousand clawfighters in Earth's orbit with me? The same Pickles with sixteen golden stars on his Eagle?"

Pickles heaved a sigh. "Well, maybe that Pickles fella isn't too bad after all. In fact, he sounds kinda badass."

Spitfire stared at her bottle. She spoke in a low voice. "I have nightmares too. I didn't fight at Darkland. But I saw some shit of my own. Do you remember when we charged at the Venom?"

Pickles nodded. "Of course. You flew your starfighter into that giant ship's plasma core, then ejected just in the nick of time. It was amazing. You destroyed the entire clawship. Dude, they'll be teaching that one in the history books."

She smiled wanly. "I thought I was going to die. That I wouldn't be able to eject in time. Or that I'd eject but fly into plasma or metal. I still fly toward that fire in my dreams. But in my dreams it's a giant dragon swallowing me." She gulped her drink. "The doc says I have shell shock. Maybe she's right. Maybe I do. Maybe we all do."

"Meatball died that day," Pickles said softly. "He died in that battle, flying at the enemy. He was my best friend."

Spitfire looked at the wall by the bar. They had hung the photos of fallen pilots there. One of the photos showed a smiling pilot with rosy cheeks. Captain Martin "Meatball" Moran. Eagle pilot.

"He was a good pilot," Spitfire said.

"God, I miss him."

Spitfire raised her bottle toward the photo. "To Meatball."

Pickles raised his bottle too. "To Meatball. And to everyone else who died in this war."

A few other pilots were in the lounge, drinking at their tables. They stood up and raised their bottles too.

"To Meatball!" Snoopy called out, voice echoing in the lounge. She was the youngest pilot in the flock, shy and soft-spoken, but tonight she spoke loudly. "And to Curly. And Rattlesnake. And Quicksilver. And Cateye. To the fallen."

They drank. To the fallen.

"All right, everyone, now sober up," Spitfire said. "Our shift's about to start. Jelly!" She turned toward the bartender. "A round of coffee for everyone. Industrial strength."

The drone was serving coffees when a klaxon wailed.

Those weren't the shift bells.

Red lights flashed across the aerie.

Spitfire leaped off her barstool. "All right, everyone, move it! Red alert means full flight crew. Move, move! Don't you know there's a war on?"

They ran out of the bar, pulling on their helmets. The klaxons blared across the hangar, and lights strobed. Their boots thudded against the deck.

"What's going on?" Spitfire cried, transmitting the words via MindWeb to the bridge.

Commander King answered, his voice speaking directly into her mind. "Badgers Company has reported from Earth. The shield around Anabar is down. And we've detected clawships heading to the area. The Freedom is about to race to Earth on full afterburner. I want all Eagle pilots in their cockpits, buckled up and ready to deploy once we reach Earth."

Spitfire nodded. "Understood." She raised her voice. "All pilots—into your cockpits! Strap in and be ready to launch. We're heading to Earth, boys and girls! And when we get there, we're gonna hit the enemy hard."

She approached her new Eagle starfighter. A cargo ship had delivered it not long ago. Unlike her old Eagle, which had spent thirty years performing stunts for tourists, her new Eagle was only a few months old. It still had that new starfighter smell. The F-77s had been in service for forty years now, but this was an F-77T, the latest and greatest model. It felt almost too perfect, the control panel too shiny, the cockpit so transparent she could barely see it. Well, Spitfire would put some scratches and dents on this girl in no time.

As she buckled into her seat, a rumble filled the hangar. Her starfighter rattled. An invisible force pressed her into the back of her seat and ghostly hands squeezed her head. For a moment, she feared it was another anxiety attack. But it was the starship Freedom engaging her mighty Talaria drive, an engine the size of an apartment block. The great dreadnought blasted forth, flying at hypersonic speed back to the ecliptic plane. Back to Earth. Back to war.

And Spitfire would be ready.

CHAPTER NINE

Snow began to fall as Bastian walked through Anabar.

He walked quietly, his heart breaking.

He had heard stories of feeding camps. What he found was so much worse.

It was a slaughterhouse, pure and simple. Thousands of victims hung from webs, murdered and carved up for meat. Countless bones filled pits. Bastian could not even estimate how many people the rahs had devoured here.

We're cattle to them, Bastian thought. Nothing more. We're not even enemies. We're food.

He found a few boxcars at the side of the camp, unattached to a locomotive. They were full of body parts. Human body parts. Food to be shipped to the rah armies across the world. The spiders had not distinguished between humans. Bastian found victims of all races and ages, from elders to children. And babies. Babies too.

Bastian's fists clenched. Tears stung his eyes.

For a moment, he wondered if he was being hypocritical. For thousands of years, humans had treated animals this way. He had eaten his fair share of steaks. Could he really complain about humanity getting a taste of its own medicine?

Then he shoved that thought aside. This was different. Humans were different. He had to believe that—that humans were more than just meat. That humans were noble. That humans—who could reason, create art, explore space—deserved life. Dammit, they were more than farm animals to be slaughtered. His ancestors had fought the Nazis. His father had fought the Red Dawn. They had faced evil with courage and conviction. Now was his turn, and Bastian vowed to be as dedicated as generations past.

Whimpers sounded ahead, drawing his attention. Bastian walked toward a great web that covered an icy wall. Survivors hung there, humans who were wrapped in cobwebs but not yet eaten. Some were missing limbs, but they were still alive. The rahs must have begun carving them up before the battle.

"Marines!" Bastian called in a hoarse voice. "Help me get these people down! Medics, I need you!"

They worked quickly, cutting people off the web and treating their wounds. Bastian used sticky strands of cobweb to make tourniquets and bandages. But there was little else he could do. The company's two surviving medics were overwhelmed. They needed to get these people into a hospital ship.

"Freedom, any update on those shuttles?" Bastian telepathized.

The ship was still far. There was a lag of several seconds. Finally Mimori answered. "We're on our way, sir. Hang tight."

Bastian nodded and returned to searching for survivors. He would do what he could until help arrived.

Not everyone was physically hurt. Many of the survivors seemed healthy, aside from some frostbite and malnutrition. But their pain ran deeper. Bastian saw it in their eyes. The trauma. Those wounds would not easily heal.

"Thank you," whispered an old woman as Bastian freed her from the web. "Thank you, sir." Tears ran down her wrinkled cheeks. "You're an angel."

He placed her down on the ice. The elderly woman walked toward the body of an old man, held the frozen hand, and wept.

Bastian stood, shaking, the grief and terror overwhelming him.

A weak, crackling laugh sounded nearby. Bastian turned to see a rah lying in the snow. Most of its legs were gone, and ice encased its deflated abdomen. Only one of its eyes remained. Somehow the bastard was still alive.

The creature looked at Bastian and laughed again. "We… will eat you all… apes!"

Bastian roared, lunged toward the rah, and drove his fist into the creature's eye. The rah coughed and gurgled, and Bastian kicked it, shattering its teeth, then began beating it with his rifle, breaking its exoskeleton, shattering its last legs, pummeling it again and again. His fist was bleeding. He didn't care. He only stopped when he noticed his marines staring at him, silent.

Finally Bastian stepped back, trembling, and spat on the dead creature.

He looked at his soldiers. "The rahs will pay for this. They will all pay."

His soldiers stared back, eyes haunted and faces pale. They nodded.

"Bastian!" rose a cry from the wall.

He looked up. Alice stood on one of the icy walls that surrounded Anabar.

"Rahs!" she shouted. "Rahs approaching!"

Bastian pulled up Alice's avatar and connected to her MindLink. As her commanding officer, he could tap into her neural implant at will. Standing below in the courtyard, Bastian now gazed through Alice's eyes from atop the wall.

Alice, who realized what he was doing, swept her gaze across the wilderness, giving him a full view.

Rahs were storming across the icy plains. Hundreds of them. An army of spiders. They were all heading to Anabar.

They've come to reclaim the camp, Alice thought.

They will fail, Bastian thought back.

"Marines, onto the walls!" he shouted, simultaneously broadcasting the words across their company MindWeb.

They ran, scrambling up the walls. Bastian pulled himself up by grabbing strands of cobwebs. Other soldiers chipped the ice with their knives, creating footholds. A few marines tried to climb but slipped. They crashed to the snowy ground, cursed, and began climbing again. Bastian might have found the sight comical were he not terrified.

He reached the top of the wall and stood by Alice.

There they came.

The armies of rahs, scuttling across the plains. And one section of the camp wall was gone. It still lay atop the female rah, leaving a gaping hole in their defenses.

"Second and Third Platoons, secure the breach in the wall!" Bastian said. "Everyone else, up here with me! And fire at will!"

He opened fire. A rah fell on the ice. A drop in the ocean. The other spiders kept charging.

Come on, Freedom, where are you? Bastian thought as the aliens reached the walls, screeching and vowing death.

CHAPTER TEN

The Raven flew through the darkness like a shadow.

Emily marveled at how quiet the little ship was. Every other spacefaring vessel she had seen, from small shuttles to massive dreadnoughts, came with noisy, angry engines. The propulsion methods varied. Eagles burned chemical fuel, while the Freedom used her quantum Talaria drive. But at the end of the day, the principle was the same. Blast something out the exhaust to propel yourself forward. It was crude and effective… and bright. Propulsion engines gave off massive heat and light signatures, shining across the void for anyone to see.

The Raven was different. The Raven utilized graviton tech.

The existence of gravitons, particles that enable gravity, had been debated for generations. Gravitons were first theorized in the twentieth century. They were promised to revolutionize propulsion systems, allowing starships to fly without burning fuel or fusing atoms. A great new era of space travel, just around the corner! That's what they said.

Much, much later, gravitons had finally been discovered—and promptly patented. GraviTech Corp, an American company, actually managed to patent particles built into the very fabric of the universe. They had amazing lawyers.

GraviTech built its factories, labs, and offices on Earth, though its headquarters were officially on Mimas, a small moon of Saturn. That the headquarters were just a little shed was as may be. Again—amazing lawyers. Having their HQ on Mimas helped the company avoid paying income tax. And more importantly—it let them sell the tech to anyone from Earth, regardless of their political alliances.

GraviTech deck plates were now ubiquitous across human starships. The company sold them to the Alliance, the Red Dawn, and the Desert Thorns. They had made a fortune during World War III. Today they were among the largest companies in the solar system by market cap. Even bigger than Alita Robotics, the behemoth that built nearly all Alliance robots and androids. Even bigger than Delain Shipyards, the great starship manufacturer. Delain Shipyards built all Alliance starships; they had built the Freedom too. But to create artificial gravity in their ships, they had to go to GraviTech. So did everyone else.

GraviTech did not build propulsion engines. It did not fit their business model. Something about their massive investments in Talaria mines.

And so humanity still relied on good old Newtonian propulsion. Burn fuel, fly fast, and light up the night. Unfortunately, that meant alerting every starship for a million klicks around.

But the Raven was different. The Raven had—for all Emily knew—the first graviton drive in existence.

Apparently, the android QT had figured it out. And, evidently, she did not respect patent laws. God bless her.

That meant the Raven could fly at incredible speeds, stop on a dime, and spin around faster than an Eagle. But more importantly, it meant she could fly dark. Her engine released no heat, no light. She still cast out some gravitational waves, but they were so minute you'd need a facility the size of a mountain to detect them.

"If GraviTech finds out, they'll sue us back into the stone age," Emily said.

Darjeeling squared his shoulders. "I'd like to see them try, ma'am. This is war. The old rules no longer apply. Right now we're all fighting for survival. Patent lawyers will have to take a back seat for a while."

"All's fair in love and war." Emily smiled thinly. "Even stealing graviton patents."

"Oh please!" Niles said. "I've always used gravitons. How do you think I can fly so gracefully?"

"Well, technically you're a drone, not a starship engine," Emily said. "You're a legal loophole, Niles." She frowned and tapped her chin. "If I recall correctly, you're officially registered as a noncommercial artistic installation."

"Well, I am rather splendid," Niles said. "Many have called me the finest work of art in Buckingham Palace. Of course, that was before I lost my jewels in battle." His cameras swiveled to gaze dejectedly at the little depressions in his shell where gemstones had once glittered.

Emily sighed and hugged him. "You're still beautiful to me, Niles. I don't care how many gems you've lost. You've always been there for me. You've saved my life in this war more times than I can count. True beauty is on the inside."

"I know that phrase." Niles gasped. "It's what you humans say to ugly people! Oh, I'm hideous! Look away, Emily. I'm a monster now."

She sighed. She was about to retort when a red light flashed on the HUD, drawing her attention.

Darjeeling inhaled sharply and tapped some buttons, pulling up more stats. Letters and numbers scrolled across the HUD, too fast for Emily to read.

"What is it, Mr. Darjeeling?" she whispered.

"Clawships, ma'am. Don't worry. They haven't detected us. They're flying just over a hundred thousand klicks off our starboard hull."

A hundred thousand kilometers sounded like a lot when you were down on Earth. It was more than twice the planet's circumference. In space, that was right nearby. The Raven and the clawships were brushing shoulders.

"Can we get a visual?" Emily said, echoing something she had heard King say on the bridge.

"Sorry, ma'am, but the Raven doesn't have telescopes that sensitive," Darjeeling said.

Emily blushed. "Of course not."

"However, I can pull up data on the clawships and draft some schematics," Darjeeling said, tapping more buttons. Niles hovered over Emily's shoulder, gazing with her at the HUD.

Crude vector graphics appeared, glowing red, showing five clawships. One was a gargantuan warclaw, several kilometers long—even larger than the Freedom. The HUD identified the colossal dreadnought as the Mandible of the Sun. The other four clawships were a fraction of the size, but they still carried heavy firepower.

"The Mandible of the Sun," Emily whispered. "She's the largest clawship I've ever seen."

"They're heading to Earth," Darjeeling said.

Emily's heart sank. "The enemy grows stronger all the time."

A warning flashed on the HUD. The enemy had now moved within a hundred thousand klicks, close enough to trigger proximity alerts.

Emily winced. "Do they see us, Mr. Darjeeling?"

They sat in silence for a moment, staring at the HUD. The clawships inched closer, coming within ninety thousand klicks, then flying closer still.

"Oh, we're done for!" Niles wailed. Emily shushed him.

"I don't think they've seen us yet," Darjeeling said. "They're simply flying by us on their way."

"Yet?" Niles said. "Did you say yet?"

"Shush, Niles." Emily pulled him into her lap.

Darjeeling tapped more buttons and moved toggles up and down. "I'm turning off all cabin lights and reducing life support to a minimum. We're going to make ourselves as dark as we can."

The lights turned off. Only the dim glow of the HUD illuminated the cockpit. Even Niles dimmed his luminous blue eyes. The air stopped flowing through the vents. The heater shut down. They glided onward in silence and darkness.

The clawships came even closer.

Emily held her breath as if the rahs might hear her. Niles trembled in her lap.

She could see the ships now. Not just the schematics on the HUD. She could see them with the naked eye—a distant red glow out the starboard porthole. From here, she could make out just one red blotch, not individual ships. But that little red dot terrified her. That little red dot was death flying toward Earth.

And, if the enemy spotted them, it was her death too.

They flew closer. Closer still.

"We have to run," Emily whispered. Even that whisper sounded so loud in the silent cabin.

Darjeeling shook his head. "We keep gliding forward. Even a slight change in trajectory might reveal us. They haven't seen us yet."

"Yet!" Niles said. "He said it again!"

The Raven flew onward, heading toward Jupiter, while the clawships charged through the darkness, engines blazing red, their fire growing larger and brighter. Soon Emily could make out individual lights. A great light churned in the center like a red star—the Mandible of the Sun. The smaller clawships patrolled around her, orbiting like planets.

The clawships were just twenty thousand klicks away now. So close Emily worried a rah would simply look out a porthole and see her.

She winced, not even daring to breathe. Her heart pounded.

And then the clawships passed them by.

Emily slumped in her seat and took a huge breath.

"Phew!" came a familiar voice from behind her. "That was a close one."

Emily jumped. She spun around, and Darjeeling turned the cabin lights back on.

"Stowy!" Emily blurted out.

"Hi there." The girl waved.

Darjeeling leaped from his seat. He pointed at the girl. "What the devil are you doing here, stowaway?" he boomed.

Stowy giggled and curtsied. "Call me Stowy for short! Which suits me since I'm so short and petite and cute. But don't let that fool you. I can be quite tough if any rahs invade." She growled and wheeled her fists like an old-timey boxer, then burst into a fit of giggling.

Like always, Stowy looked a bit… messy. Her sooty hair flowed every which way, including over her face. Her mocking hazel eyes peered between the strands. Emily could just make out her impish smile, upturned nose, and freckled cheeks. The girl still wore her ragged dress with many pockets stitched on like patches. Her mother's amulet hung around her neck from a shoelace, and she wore only one striped stocking, leaving the other leg bare.

Throughout their days together aboard the Freedom, Emily had tried to tidy up the girl. She would brush Stowy's hair, iron her dress, clean her fingernails, and even found her a pair of shoes. But within moments, Stowy would shake the shoes off, go crawling through the ducts, and return covered in soot, her hair in disarray, a huge grin on her face. Half the time she had bubble gum stuck in her hair, and it was not uncommon for mice to pop out of her pockets.

"Stowy!" Emily rolled her eyes. "What are you doing here? You're meant to be back aboard the Freedom."

"But I wanted to come along," Stowy said. "I'm tired of always staying behind."

"You never stay behind!" Darjeeling boomed. "You sneaked into the shuttle on the way to Darkland too. Now this! Well, I've had quite enough of you, girl. You're lucky there's no brig aboard the Raven, but there is aboard the Freedom. And rest assured, the moment we get back, I'm personally dragging you into a cell."

Stowy blew him a raspberry. "You'll have to catch me first, Gramps."

"All right, don't you two kill each other." Emily stepped between them and heaved a sigh. "Like it or not, Stowy has joined us again, uninvited as usual. So we're stuck with her."

"Stuck with me? Stuck?" Stowy placed a hand on her heart. "You wound me! Who saved the day down at Darkland?"

"Commander King." Darjeeling raised his chin. "The brave commander stormed the enemy fortress, faced the nefarious Hel'rah in battle, and drove a spear through his snout, pinning the beast to the floor." He sniffed. "That, my girls, is a true hero."

"And who do you think tossed King that spear? Me! Stowy! Because I stowed along. Well, now you two are off on another adventure, and you need me to look after you. So here I am. Super Stowy!" She struck a heroic pose. "I just need a cape. Darjeeling, can I borrow your coat? I'll also need a sewing kit."

Darjeeling fumed. Emily placed a hand on his shoulder. "Just ignore her when she annoys you. It's how I deal with Niles."

"Well, I never!" Niles said. "Do not equate sneaking into a starship with grooming a young, recalcitrant princess for her royal duties. Why, if I were called annoying every time I asked you to practice your embroidery, I would never hear the end of it, not to mention that dreadful habit you have of riding roller coasters alongside the common class, even though I've told you a million times that…"

Emily ignored him. He prattled on. The Raven glided onward to Jupiter and its monstrous magnetic field—a place to hide from the rahs and deliver her message of hope.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Freedom blazed through the darkness, streaking toward Earth. They were moving at their top speed—one percent the speed of light, thousands of times faster than a speeding bullet. No ship in the human fleet could fly faster.

Commander King stood on the bridge of the Freedom, his metal fist clenched, staring through the viewport at Earth. The planet was still a small blue dot, but she was growing fast.

I'm coming, Bastian. Hang tight.

Once more, it was time for battle.

A part of him worried about Darjeeling and Emily. The two were off in the Raven, heading toward Jupiter. King wished he could wait longer for them. But Bastian needed him. All of Anabar needed him. Darjeeling and the princess must survive on their own for a while.

"Sir!" Mimori turned toward him. "ATLAS is reporting a large concentration of clawships orbiting Earth, all the way from deep orbit to the edge of the sky. There are thousands."

"Nothing we didn't know already," King reminded her.

Jordan stood on the bridge too, even though it wasn't his shift. It was a state of red alert. Everyone was on duty now. The XO turned toward King.

"We can't take on thousands of clawships, Jim. And the rest of our fleet is scattered across the solar system."

"We're not going to fight the entire rah fleet," King said. "We're going to keep flying at our current speed, barrel through the enemy, and streak past Earth. We'll be moving so fast the clawships will barely see us."

Jordan frowned. "Fly past Earth? What about our marines on the surface? And the refugees? We need to deploy our shuttles to collect the survivors of Anabar."

"We'll launch our shuttles and starfighters during our flyby of Earth. We'll have to do it quickly, hurling our craft from every airlock at once. Kind of like tossing people out of a moving car." He smiled thinly. "We'll then race past Earth, slingshot around the moon, and be back at Earth in time to accept the shuttles back into our hangars."

Jordan's eyes nearly popped from his head. He seemed ready to argue, then composed himself, stepped closer to King, and spoke in a low voice. "Jim, you can't be thinking of launching our shuttles at this speed. It'll tear them apart."

"In World War III, Godwin launched shuttles at hypersonic speed in orbit around Ganymede," King said. "I believe they still call it the Godwin Maneuver. The calculations are still somewhere in our database. I'm sure Mimori can pull them up."

"Godwin was flying a corvette, and we're flying a goddamn dreadnought," Jordan said, voice rising a little louder. "We're too big. And even if we solved the shuttle problem, what about the Freedom herself? At this speed, we won't be able to maneuver around enemies. We could just streak by Earth in a straight line. We'd crash into a clawship and blow ourselves up."

Some commanders, King knew, would never allow their XO to question them, especially not on the bridge with the crew around. But King welcomed it. He had known Jordan for decades, and the man was a smart, experienced officer. King wanted the man to poke holes through his plans. Sometimes King's plans held up. Sometimes they fell apart. Other commanders might find the style unconventional, but for King and Jordan, it worked.

Of course, if anyone other than Jordan questioned his orders, King would send them to the brig.

"If any clawships stand in our way, we'll barrel through them like a bull through a herd of cows," King said. "We'll ram 'em and keep flying."

Jordan shook his head. "At this speed, we're carrying too much kinetic energy. We'd pulverize any clawship we ram—and ourselves. If Earth's orbit were clear, maybe, maybe it could work. But with so many clawships around, we're bound to ram into somebody. And the biggest part left from the Freedom could be buried in a matchbox."

Both officers turned toward Mimori, their resident supercomputer. Mathematical formulas were already hovering around her, displaying her processing threads on the MindWeb.

"Mimori, thoughts?" King said.

The android stepped forward and gave a quick bow.

"Lieutenant Commander Jordan is right," the android said. "We've successfully rammed into enemies at slower speeds. But at this relativistic speed, we cannot ram into anything bigger than a pebble. However, I've plotted three possible courses that take us past Earth in a straight line. Take a look, sirs."

She raised a three-dimensional, hallucinatory map. A translucent model of Earth hovered on the bridge. Thousands of red dots surrounded it, representing rah ships. Thousands of smaller green dots were orbiting Earth too, representing satellites.

"This is a live ATLAS map of Earth's orbit," Mimori said. "Here are three possible courses, taking our current speed and maneuverability into account."

Three green lines appeared, charting courses through the jungle of clawships and satellites.

"This line runs through deep orbit," Mimori said. "It's actually slightly curved, but the curve is hard to see with human eyes. This course is the safest but farthest from Earth. Meanwhile, this second possible course takes us over the equator. It's the fastest flyby, giving us an extra few seconds, assuming I slow down as we pass Earth, then ramp up the engines once our shuttles are deployed. This last course is the most dangerous. It takes us in low orbit over Siberia, and it gives us the best opportunity to deploy shuttles. But it also has the highest chance of collision."

"Collision?" King frowned. "I thought these courses run through clear space."

"They do at the moment," Mimori said. "But the clawships are constantly moving. The map is changing. The lowest orbit has the highest chance of a clawship moving into the way at the last instant."

"So… three options," King said. "What are their odds of success?"

"Ninety percent, eighty-seven percent, and eighty-three percent, sir," Mimori said. "But that's just a rough guess calculated with fuzzy variables. I'd need to collect more data on rah flight patterns, then run a full Monte Carlo simulation to give you the exact odds. But we're too close to Earth. I can't complete such a calculation before we must commit to a course."

"When we do have to commit to a course?" King asked.

"We're approaching Earth rapidly, sir," Mimori said. "I can slow down a little but not much, not unless we want a battle on our hands. We need to commit now. I must set ourselves at the right angle, adjust our speed just slightly, apply just the right thrust from the starboard stabilizers, and—yes, sir, we need a decision right now."

"The lowest orbit," King said. "The one over Siberia."

Mimori nodded. "Confirmed. Setting our course now, sir."

"Tactical!" King said, turning toward one section on the bridge. "Talk to the midsection. Make sure our pilots are updated." He turned away. "Spitfire, you with us?"

Spitfire's voice came over the MindWeb. "With you, sir. We're hearing everything down here. All starfighters and dropships are waiting by the airlocks, engines running. We can deploy within seconds."

"Freedom taking position now, sir," Mimori said.

Motors hummed. The deck vibrated. MindWeb schematics showed the side thrusters ejecting steam, positioning the Freedom at just the right angle. Meanwhile, their stern exhaust ports were still blazing, propelling the ship onward at breakneck speed, fast enough to make speeding bullets seem like snails. The bulkheads rattled as Earth began exerting her gravity.

"I hope this works, Jim," Jordan muttered for King's ears only.

"It'll work," King said.

Earth grew on the monitor ahead. The starship trembled. Jordan's lips were tight. He said nothing, but he clutched his dashboard.

"Trust me, it'll work," King repeated.

It better work, he thought.

The Freedom charged, moving faster than any satellite or comet, so fast they'd streak past Earth—hopefully too fast for the rahs to react. The planet zoomed up before them on the viewport, ballooning from a pinprick to a huge sphere, large enough to see the continents and orbiting clawships.

"Godspeed, everyone," King said. "Here we go."

* * * * *

The Freedom blazed forth like a shooting star.

Klaxons blared. Red strobe lights filled the bridge. The monitors flashed warnings. The Freedom's designers had enabled these speeds for deep space, not for flying so close to a planet. The deck rattled. A monitor cracked.

The boys at Delain Shipyards won't be happy with us, King thought, clutching a control panel.

"Three seconds to flyby," Mimori said.

Earth grew larger and larger on the viewport.

"Two seconds."

King gripped the dashboard a little tighter. Everyone stood at their stations, faces hard.

I'll be there soon, son.

"One second, and—"

And suddenly the Freedom was streaking by Earth, grazing the sky, stirring up storms.

Proximity alerts blared.

The clawships were everywhere. Countless of the spiky vessels flew all around.

"Deploy crafts!" King shouted.

Every airlock on the ship opened at once, all thirty-six of them, spanning decks 1 to 6 in the midsection.

"Here we go!" came Spitfire's voice over the MindWeb. The pilot laughed.

At slower speeds, the Freedom often deployed telemetry probes. They would orbit the ship like satellites, streaming videos of the Freedom from afar. That was impractical at this speed. But sensors built into the exterior hull were still filming. The bridge monitors showed a view from the hull. King watched dozens of heavy Rhino-class dropships blast out the airlocks. Dozens of starfighters, smaller and deadlier, deployed with them. King took in the view within a second.

And then the enemy opened fire.

Plasma bolts blazed all around.

A blast slammed into their starboard hull.

Screams rose across the MindWeb.

"The flames are entering airlocks on deck 1 and 2!" shouted a tactical officer.

They shot through the flames, and Earth's gravity flung them forward. They left the planet behind.

"Clawships ahead!" Jordan cried, pointing.

The spiky vessels blazed toward them.

"Evasive maneuvers!" King cried. "Mimori!"

"I'm trying to swerve, but—" The android winced. "Ah!"

"Prepare for impact!" King cried.

Mimori grimaced, yawing away from Earth. The mighty railgun shook like an electrocuted fork. Earth's gravity was shoving with all its might. They flew faster than ever before. A clawship whipped by. Then another. Just missing them. Streaks of light in the dark.

The deck shook. A bulkhead cracked. Proximity alerts flashed. For an instant, King caught a view of the Milky Way galaxy, hovering ahead, beautiful and serene.

And then it happened.

A clawship blazed forth, impossible to dodge.

The Freedom jolted.

The universe seemed to crack.

King fell to his knees. Control panels shattered.

"Impact on port hull!" Mimori cried over the smoke and showering electricity.

The Freedom was still flying so fast. The klaxons screamed. The alarms flashed everywhere. The engine was overheating.

"Another—" Mimori began.

A boom shook the ship.

The bridge lurched, spun, overturned. The ship was spinning madly. The diagrams on the monitors and MindWeb went crazy, showing the ship rolling this way and that.

"Damage to the prow!" Jordan said, clinging to a control panel, blood on his face.

"Keep flying, Mimori," King growled, pulling himself to his feet. "Break through them."

The android was on her knees, swaying, falling, rolling. As the ship flew out of control, the android jerked around. But finally she managed to steady herself, to hold out her arms, to rise to her feet.

The Freedom steadied her flight.

They blazed forward.

King allowed himself a single deep breath.

"Status of our crafts?" he said. Right now they mattered most.

Mimori looked up from her monitor. Her eyes were haunted. "Some of them launched into the fire. Three Eagles and two Rhinos are gone, sir."

"And the rest?"

"Deployed successfully, sir. ATLAS is scrambling to get fresh data."

"More clawships bearing down on us!" Jordan said.

Everyone turned to the ATLAS PPI monitor. The circular display showed three clawships charging toward their prow, two more from their sides. One was a lumbering warclaw. ATLAS identified her as the Contagion. The others were smaller clawfighters.

The Contagion blasted fire toward the Freedom.

"Full power to forward shields!" King cried. "Brace for impac—"

The inferno washed over their prow.

King grimaced. The light flared across the front monitor, filling the bridge, blinding him. For a second or two, he could only see his MindWeb windows. As hallucinations, they were not dependent on his eyes. They showed power flowing from the Talaria drive and cannons to the forward shield. A great magnetic hemisphere formed before the Freedom, a bowl-shaped shield of energy. The plasma washed over it, splitting like waves around a tor.

The attack had come from the Contagion, the large warclaw. The smaller clawfighters screamed forward and let loose too. Plasma bolts slammed into the Freedom's starboard hull along the midsection. The armor absorbed the impact. The ship jolted but the hull held.

King turned toward Mimori. "Divert us out of this stream of plasma, aim the Fist of Freedom at that warclaw, and fire!"

The android tilted, arms held out, like a girl pretending to be an airplane. The Freedom yawed. The stream of plasma spurted across their side, then into the distance.

The Freedom rose above the ecliptic plane like a whale breaching a sea of fire. Then the dreadnought rolled downward, pointing her mighty railgun toward the Contagion.

Briefly, King got a full view of the warclaw. A huge ship. Larger than the Freedom. She was still spurting plasma, raising her flaming spear toward the Freedom.

"Fire!" King shouted.

"Fire!" Jordan added. The XO's authorization was needed to fire the mighty railgun.

The Fist of Freedom locked on target. The railgun's two great prongs, each the length of a skyscraper, lit up with furious white electricity.

All sound died.

Everything was just pure white light.

The Fist had just fired one of its Goliath projectiles, but nobody could see that huge missile fly. It was too fast to see. Even for android eyes. One instant space was empty. The next instant, a line of white light blazed across the darkness, splitting the Contagion in two. For a second, everyone on the bridge just stared in awe.

"Angels of Liberty, take out those clawfighters!" King shouted into the silence.

Even the clawfighters were hesitating, perhaps shocked by the sight of a mighty warclaw destroyed with a single blow. The little alien ships tried to flee. But the Angels of Liberty, the legendary cannons that rose atop the Freedom's dorsal hull, opened fire.

Maccabees flew into space. They were big, expensive weapons, so large only dreadnoughts or carriers could fire them. The Maccabees were even bigger than the clawfighters—probably overkill for this battle. Normally, the economics of war would kick in, and King would deploy his Eagles to dispatch the clawfighters instead. But right now his Eagles were back at Earth. So out flew the Maccabees.

They made short work of the clawfighters.

"ATLAS detects a rah portal opening off our starboard bow!" Mimori cried.

"Divert power to stern, bring us to full speed, and get us out of here!"

"Yes, sir!"

The Talaria drive was already white-hot. The deck hummed as Mimori diverted energy from the shields and weapons to the engines. The Freedom jolted forth and shot into the distance.

Within seconds, they blazed by dozens of clawships who were moving too slowly to do any damage. The Freedom left them in her wake. Earth shrank behind, becoming as small as a baseball held at arm's length. They shot onward toward the moon.

"Damage report!" King barked.

Mimori displayed it on the monitors. Several armored plates had melted. The plasma had roared into two hangars, killing twelve crewmen and disabling the hangars until the airlocks could be fixed. King tightened his metal fist. It creaked.

It was a heavy cost to pay. But the plan was still on.

"Keep us flying fast, Mimori. Slingshot us around the moon, then back to Earth. Pretty soon, we'll have shuttles full of refugees to welcome aboard. Brace yourselves, everyone. This isn't over yet."

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Eagles and Rhinos had ejected from the hangars into hell.

The clawships were everywhere.

The sky streaked by below. Space spread above. Plasma bolts flew every which way.

"Too fast, too fast!" a pilot shouted, screamed, then passed out under the enormous g-force. A second later, his Eagle hit the atmosphere. An explosion lit up space. Chunks of the starfighter skittered across the sky.

A Rhino shuttle also descended too fast. It slammed into the atmosphere like a melon onto pavement, shattering and spilling its dead crew.

Spitfire sat in her Eagle, clutching the yoke, her jaw clenched and her eyes wide with fear. She had never flown so fast.

Siberia blazed by below her.

"We're gonna miss it!" cried Fang, one of her junior pilots. He pitched his Eagle downward and tried to dive into the atmosphere.

"Fang, wait!" Spitfire cried.

An explosion blazed across the atmosphere. Fang's Eagle broke into a million pieces.

A Rhino bulldozed into a clawfighter. Both were moving too fast to dodge. Both vessels exploded.

"All pilots, do not attempt atmospheric entry!" Spitfire shouted. "Enter low orbit and decelerate. We gotta burn off some kinetic energy."

She shot above Russia, moving too fast. Earth's gravity switched from pulling to shoving. It was about to hurl her into deep space like a rubber band.

"Adjust your vector nacelles!" Spitfire cried. "Point toward the horizon!"

She hit a lever. Her engine nacelles tilted on her tail, and Spitfire sloped her Eagle's nose downward. She managed to stay in orbit, and she found herself streaking toward Alaska.

A few pilots weren't so lucky. Earth's gravity slung several Eagles and Rhinos out of orbit, propelling them into the distance. Clawships awaited them. Explosions lit up space.

"This whole mission is a clusterfuck!" Pickles cried.

He was flying his Eagle beside Spitfire, its blue-and-white paint peeling and charred. She could see him in the cockpit just a few meters away. They were blazing across the Yukon now, racing toward the Atlantic. She couldn't see any other Eagle or Rhino. MindPlay showed them scattered across orbit and deeper space.

"All starfighters, all dropships!" Spitfire cried out. "Enter orbit and decelerate until you can safely dive into the atmosphere. Destroy any clawship in your way, but don't get distracted and drawn into unnecessary dogfights."

She raced over Europe in a flash, heading back to Russia.

Five clawfighters rose over the horizon, charging toward her.

Plasma bolts flew toward her and Pickles.

The two Eagles swerved. Spitfire managed to dodge the incoming balls of death. One bolt glanced off Pickles's fuselage. His Eagle jerked but kept flying, hull dented and charred.

"Dammit, I just had this baby waxed!" he cried and opened fire. His rotary cannon spun, and bullets chewed through a clawfighter ahead. The spiky vessel tumbled and crashed into the atmosphere at the wrong angle. It tore apart. Metal claws flew every which way. Spitfire had to swerve to dodge one.

Four clawfighters remained. They were coming in fast, plasma bolts flying.

As Pickles fired bullets, Spitfire opted for something with a little more oomph. She lobbed one of her David's Stone missiles.

David's Stones were smaller than the great Maccabees and Goliath missiles the Freedom could fire. But at three meters long, weighing a hundred kilos a pop, they were still formidable weapons. The missile shot forward like a barracuda, its fins thrusting out, its exhaust port blazing red like a cigarette light. A clawship tried to dodge it, but the David's Stone adjusted course, chasing its prey with dogged determination. The missile intercepted. The warhead exploded. The clawship was no more.

Pickles, meanwhile, took out another clawfighter with his bullets. Two remained. That was more like it.

"Take the left one," Spitfire said.

"Got it, boss," Pickles answered. He skimmed the atmosphere, stirring up clouds, then soared, bullets flying. Another clawfighter tore apart.

A bolt of plasma hit Spitfire on the tail.

She spun wildly, cursing, but managed to steady her flight. She soared toward the sun, killed her engines, and sudden silence filled the cockpit. She executed a perfect dime flip, spinning in space to face downward, then fired up her engines with a roar.

The clawfighter was soaring up from Earth, plasma bolts flying. Spitfire swooped at it, rotary cannon blazing. They charged toward each other like dueling knights. They were going to ram.

Spitfire refused to play chicken. She snarled, narrowed her eyes, dodged plasma bolts, fired more bullets, then at the last second unleashed another missile.

She swerved and rolled. The clawfighter exploded. She raced away from its white-hot debris.

"Good job, boss," Pickles said. "That's some nice flying. Almost as good as mine."

More clawfighters rose from beyond the horizon. Others launched from a warclaw above and came screaming down.

"You gotta be kidding me!" Pickles shouted.

Spitfire could not shout, barely even breathe. She braced for death.

And then the rest of her Eagles and Rhinos were there. The starfighters and dropships rallied around her, firing their weapons. The Battle of Anabar wasn't just fought at the camp. It raged across Earth's orbit too.

"Rally around me and prepare to dive!" Spitfire said.

The battle was spinning around Earth, orbiting at breakneck speed. They were like bugs caught in water funneling around a bathtub drain, battling as they whirled round and round. They had to get off this mad carousel.

"Once we're over Siberia again, disengage the enemy and dive," Spitfire said. "Our mission is not to take on the rah fleet but airlift Anabar's survivors."

And rescue Bastian, she thought.

She missed him. She worried about him. He was a pain in the ass, but he needed to be back home. Back on the Freedom. They all did.

Her monitor flashed.

She was nearing the feeding camp. The hinterlands of Siberia spread below.

"Here we go, boys and girls," Spitfire said. "Dive!"

Leaving the fray, she tilted her nose downward and dived into the atmosphere. Her fellow Eagles, as well as the bulkier Rhinos, flew with her.

They flared through atmospheric entry, ionizing the air as they burned off kinetic energy, and plunged through the clouds. Within seconds they were swooping through blue sky toward the icy plains.

* * * * *

Earth, Spitfire thought. Our homeworld. We're home.

Just seconds ago, she was thinking about bringing Bastian home to the Freedom. But this was her home. This beautiful world, these clear blue skies—they still called to her like an echoing song of childhood. She had been in space for so many years. She had almost forgotten the beauty of Earth, the feel of air under her wings. Tears filled her eyes because for the first time she truly, fully comprehended what she was fighting for, why it mattered. And she knew that she would never stop fighting, that her strength might fail, perhaps even her courage, but never her determination. Not until this world belonged to humanity again.

It didn't even matter that this was Siberia, not Israel, her home country. Right now Earth had no borders, no nationalities. Right now all that mattered was that she was a human, this was her planet, and by God, she would liberate it from the spiders.

She saw Anabar below. A circle of icy walls surrounded the camp. Both marines and refugees waited inside. They saw the Eagles and Rhinos. The people below were jumping and waving.

Rahs were flowing across the ice toward the camp. The spiders were climbing the walls. Many rahs flowed through a breach in the fortifications.

But the Alliance fleet was here. Hope was here.

Farther up, a squadron of Eagles was battling clawships among the snow clouds. Spitfire let them handle it. She was focused on the camp below.

She dived toward the icy plains just outside Anabar, then leveled off a hundred meters above the ice. The rahs looked up. A few shot webs her way. She opened fire.

Her rotary cannon spun. A storm of bullets tore through the webs—then into the rahs. The aliens fell. She kept flying low, strafing the bugs, mowing them down, then rose toward the sky again.

Pickles joined her, strafing the enemy. He laughed as he cut them down, but Spitfire heard the pain in his laughter, and she remembered his tears at the bar. Snoopy, Katana, and more pilots reached Anabar. They began strafing the rahs too. Spider corpses littered the plains. The bullets punched holes through the ice. Inside the camp the people cheered.

An avatar popped up on her MindPlay. Colonel Bastian King.

"Spitfire!" he said, laughing. "God, it's good to see you."

Pain filled his voice, even as he laughed. She could not imagine the horrors he had seen.

Thank God you're alive, Bastian.

"I'm here to pick up your lazy ass," she said. "Your vacation is over."

But he was no longer laughing. And the joke tasted stale on her lips. There was horror down in that camp. Evil had happened here. She felt it in the air. Heard it in the wind. The souls of the fallen cried out from the mountains and icy valleys.

Spitfire narrowed her eyes and strafed more spiders. She took a twisted joy in cutting the bastards down. They would pay for what they had done. All of them. Every last rah in the galaxy. So long as Spitfire was alive, they would pay.

The Rhinos were fighting too. They were larger and bulkier than Eagles, heavily armored and damn loud as they rumbled through the snowy air. They were mainly used to transport troops, not to fight, but they carried mean machine guns, and right now those guns were chewing through rahs. Rhino after Rhino descended, stabilizer nacelles roaring, and thumped onto the ice. Three Rhinos managed to squeeze into Anabar itself, but the lumbering metal beasts took up a lot of space. The rest had to land outside the icy walls.

Thankfully, Spitfire was flying an Eagle, a small and slender starfighter.

She adjusted her wing nacelles and underbelly thrusters, slowing to hover over the camp. The military lawyers claimed they were working on liberating graviton patents. Someday, they promised, graviton propulsion systems would let starfighters land anywhere, as graceful as true eagles. Well, they'd been saying that for years. F-77 Eagles still used old-fashioned jet propulsion and thermo stabilizers, clumsy as all hell, but Spitfire was a good pilot. She had been flying these birds all her life. She glided down over the camp. Survivors scattered below, making room, and she landed her Eagle.

A rah came racing across the ice toward her. She gave her rotary cannon a quick pulse, cutting it down.

She popped the canopy and stared around her.

Another rah came running. She drew her plasma pistol and fired. A quick shot to the eye. It fell. She was getting good at killing these things.

Spitfire raised her visor. She saw no more rahs in the camp. But what she did see stabbed her like the icy blades of winter's demons.

"We got 'em, boss!" Pickles cried over the MindWeb. His Eagle roared overhead, rippling the snow. "Every last rah—dead on the ice. Hey, Spitfire? You okay?"

She just stood there, staring, eyes damp.

Bastian came walking through the red snow toward her, and his eyes were sunken. Haunted.

"We need to get these people out of here," she whispered.

* * * * *

Spitfire walked through Anabar, eyes damp, staring at the horror.

She refused to look away.

She saw the body parts piled up in the snow. The cuts of human meat dangling from cobwebs like steaks in a butcher shop. The bodies of children, still clutching their dead mothers, lying on the ice. The mass graves. The mountains of bones.

And she saw the living, and in some ways, the living scared her more than the dead. Because the dead had pale blank eyes. But the living… their eyes were full of memories. Their eyes were windows to the horrors that had happened here. The ghosts of this place would forever haunt those eyes. And Spitfire knew that they would haunt her own soul.

"This is not a victory," she whispered. "This is a tragedy."

She found herself remembering stories from her family history, how her ancestors had survived the Nazi death camps while millions perished around them. Spitfire had seen photos of those few survivors, skin and bones, heads shaved, eyes sunken, people who looked like walking skeletons, not like humans. It was where her people, her family, her very soul had come from. It was a trauma that lingered through the generations.

Here she saw the same terror. The same deep wound that would bleed across centuries.

She could not hold it in any longer. She let out a sob. Then another one—a sob that sounded almost like a laugh. Her tears flowed.

Bastian pulled her into an embrace. He said nothing, just held her as she wept. She was no longer Spitfire, the daring pilot. Right now she was Gal Levy, the Israeli girl with a family tree full of bones, and she was afraid.

Survivors shuffled up to them, pale and trembling. A few were missing arms. Maybe the rahs had already begun to eat them.

"Thank you," a woman whispered.

"Bless you, soldiers," said a boy.

"God bless you," whispered an old man, weeping and trembling. He fell to his knees and hugged Spitfire's legs.

They were speaking Russian. But even without her MindLink translating, Spitfire would have understood.

An engine roared above. Spitfire looked up, and she saw an Eagle fly overhead. The starfighter was painted red and blue. The colors of the starship Freedom. Tears on her cheeks, Spitfire saluted. Because the sight of that Eagle gave her hope. So long as the Alliance fought, there was still hope in this world. There were still heroes who fought to protect the weak.

"Spitfire!" A raspy voice came through her MindLink, a voice like gravel under boots. "Spitfire, do you read me?"

Commander King. According to her MindPlay HUD, he was three hundred thousand klicks away.

"Here, sir."

"We're about to slingshot around the moon, then race back to Earth. Start filling up those shuttles. Move fast."

"Yes, sir."

"King out."

Spitfire raised her chin and rubbed her eyes. King's stern voice echoed in her mind, giving her purpose. She snapped back to action, and once more she was the soldier.

"All right, everyone!" she said. "We got shuttles waiting for you just outside the gates. Come on, let's go!"

They had to move fast.

Bastian coned his hands around his mouth. "Everybody, move, move!"

People ran into the shuttles, filling the Rhinos. Spitfire raced back into her Eagle. The vessels, starfighters and dropships alike, rose with rumbling engines, their flaming exhaust melting the icy walls. As Spitfire soared, she watched the walls collapse, cover the camp, and bury it under ice. But she knew that the sights would never leave her, that the souls of the fallen would forever cry inside her, and that the eyes of the living would always gaze upon her.

And she knew one more thing.

That the strong gave hope to the weak. And that she would always be strong for those who needed her. She was Gal "Spitfire" Levy, a scared little girl who had become a pilot, and she would always fly for freedom.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Freedom streaked around the moon like a tetherball. Clawships were flying here, but the Freedom was moving so fast the enemy barely saw them. Plasma bolts fired their way. The Freedom roared through them, shields white-hot. Her cannons carved her way through.

And then the dreadnought was storming back to Earth.

King stood on the bridge, staring through the viewport as Earth grew larger ahead.

"All crew, prepare for another flyby of Earth," he said. "We are still in red alert. Godspeed, everyone."

They raced closer and closer. The rahs were there. Waiting.

This time things were more complicated. This time they had to pick up shuttles—much harder than deploying them. This time the Fist of Freedom was not charged. They had only the Angels to rely on.

King tightened his lips. His metal fist creaked.

And here we go.

The rahs orbiting Earth turned toward them and opened fire.

The Freedom's cannons boomed in response.

Plasma blasts blazed across Freedom's shields. The dreadnought jolted. A few plasma bolts broke through the magnetic shield and impacted the armored hull. Alarms screamed as a deck was breached. And the Freedom kept flying.

Mimori stood near the prow monitor, eyes narrowed, lips tight. She was leaning forward, fists clenched, driving the ship onward with her force of will.

"Fire again!" Jordan shouted, speaking to the gunnery crew. "Aim all our cannons ahead and break through their lines!"

The Freedom flew faster, rattling, her shield blazing in a hemisphere of light and flame. The dreadnought became like a raging comet. Clawships fell back before them. The sound of the engines deafened King. He stood beside Mimori, staring, watching Earth grow bigger and bigger until the planet's gravity grabbed them like a lasso.

The cannons boomed.

More clawships fell back.

"Angling for orbital entry!" Mimori cried.

Motors roared. The ship raised her prow, and the side thrusters rumbled to life. The deck rattled. A monitor fell loose from the deckhead. The Freedom was never designed to change angles at these speeds, definitely not when so close to a gravity well. The ship moaned in protest, the bulkheads twisting.

For a moment, the Freedom's vulnerable underbelly faced the planet. It was a design flaw on the ship. The Angels of Liberty were all on the dorsal hull. But the underbelly was not totally defenseless. Rows of machine-gun batteries lined the underbelly, and right now they swiveled toward the clawships and opened fire. The recoil from a hundred roaring machine guns helped the ship slow down—just a little.

Earth loomed large on the monitor. They were crashing through deep orbit now, barreling through clawships toward the sky.

"Jim!" Jordan grabbed his arm. "Look!"

"Sir!" Mimori cried.

At first they had no visual, just a flashing red dot on the ATLAS interface. But then the front viewport connected to the right sensor, and they all saw it.

An enormous warclaw, dwarfing the Freedom, rose from beyond the horizon. She was shaped like ten thousand swords cobbled together into a great spearhead. She was bearing down on them.

MindPlay popped up information. She was the clawship Mandible of the Sun, five kilometers from stern to stem. And she was defending Siberia's sky.

And right now, the Freedom's vulnerable underbelly was facing this mega-predator. The Angels of Liberty were pointing the wrong way.

The Mandible of the Sun expanded her claws, blooming open, revealing her plasma port. It was a weapon so mighty King knew his shields could not take it.

"Evasive maneuvers!" he shouted.

Mimori was already tilting the ship. They yawed hard. The gravity tugged at them. Bulkheads creaked. An armored plate tore off the port hull and crashed into the atmosphere. The ship screamed. Deck plates rose like scales.

The Mandible fired. A massive jet of plasma flared right beside the Freedom, missing them by mere meters. Alarms blared as the blaze tore through the magnetic shield.

King's stomach lurched as the Freedom's nose sank toward the sky, and the ship rolled toward her portside. Even with the g-dampeners roaring at full capacity, the force seemed to crush his chest like an invisible boa constrictor.

"Angels in position!" Jordan announced.

"Fire!" King screamed, clutching his metal fist.

The cannons boomed.

Maccabees flew from the bores. Each torpedo was larger than an Eagle starfighter and loaded with explosives.

Explosions bloomed across the Mandible of the Sun, tearing holes into the hull. Several of her mighty claws detached and spun through space.

Meanwhile, gunners across the Freedom were operating the machine-gun nests, knocking back smaller clawships. Several vessels were now attacking the Freedom together, ranging from clawfighters the size of Eagles to heavy warclaws.

But the Freedom stood her ground. With booming cannons, with roaring engines, she barreled forth and positioned herself above Siberia. Above the liberated camp. Their mission was to rescue the people below, and God help him, King would see this mission through.

"Sir, it's good to see you!" rose Spitfire's cries through the MindWeb. "Coming right up."

"Bay Boss," King said, directing his words toward the hangar bay chief. "Prepare to open the airlocks under fire."

A hallucination of Lee Eun-Yu, the bay boss, appeared on the bridge. She was wearing an orange jumpsuit and helmet, and a tool belt hung around her waist. "We can't, sir. Not with this much fire coming our way. Or their plasma will blast through our airlocks and melt our bays. I already lost three airlocks in this battle. I can't lose more."

"Understood." King turned toward his android. "Mimori, divert power to portside shields. Then turn our port toward the Mandible. Raise our starboard hull away from enemy fire. Eun-Yu, you'll have a few moments of clear space. When we give the signal, get those airlocks open and our vessels inside."

"Yes, sir," replied the bay boss. She ran off across the hangar deck, barking orders. Her hallucination vanished from the bridge.

"Turning our port hull toward the Mandible now, sir," Mimori said.

The ship began to yaw, positioning her port toward the enemy. Her starboard rose to face deeper space where fewer clawships flew. The starboard rotary cannons roared, hurling bullets at any enemy that even thought of approaching. They were chewing through ammo fast. King foresaw a visit from an armory ship in his near future.

The bulky Rhinos were rising from Earth, full of survivors. Smaller and faster, the Eagle starfighters circled the dropships, protecting them.

"Spitfire!" King said. "Our port airlocks are closed. You'll have to loop above us, then descend into our starboard airlocks. Watch out for our machine-gun nests. They're spinning hot."

"Got ya, sir, heading right there," came her reply.

Hurt as she was, the Mandible of the Sun managed to turn toward them. A jet of plasma streamed their way.

The Freedom took the blow full on the shields. The ship jerked. One Eagle, which was about to loop around the Freedom, missed the airlock and exploded against the armored hull. A few Rhinos managed to enter the hangars, but plenty were still rising from the planet.

"We won't take another blow like that," Jordan warned.

"Sir, the shields are down to nineteen percent!" Mimori cried. "We have to go."

"Not yet," King said. "There are still shuttles rising."

The Mandible's core began heating up again, a caldera ready to overflow. King knew that another blow would end the Freedom. But dammit, how could he flee now?

"Sir, ATLAS detects a new ship approaching!" cried a tactical officer.

King's heart sank. What fresh hell was this?

But he saw the graphic on the monitor. Green. A green ship. An Alliance ship!

She rose from the dawn. The FAS Churchill.

The high commander's ship. Flagship of the Alliance.

* * * * *

"Need some help, King?" came George Godwin's rumbling voice.

The Churchill was a frigate, smaller than Freedom but faster, newer, devastating in battle. Her cannons boomed, casting photon bolts into the mighty Mandible. Explosions bloomed across the rah dreadnought.

"Mimori, give our Angels some power," King said. "And fire."

Systems hummed as power flowed from their Talaria drive into the cannons. And those mighty cannons boomed. Seven torpedoes flew toward the Mandible. A full port broadside. With the Churchill helping, it was enough.

The Mandible of the Sun tore apart. Explosions rocked her core. Her debris collapsed into the sky and scattered across the icy wilderness of Siberia. Explosions bloomed across the hinterland, shattering mountains, flattening forests.

As the Rhinos entered the hangars, the Eagles remained in space, holding back the enemy. Two hundred Eagles, all firing their missiles and machine guns, gave Freedom a much-needed boost of firepower. The Churchill, despite being considerably smaller than the dreadnought, was lobbing massive amounts of ordnance at the enemy. Several Alliance corvettes, part of the Churchill's strike force, appeared over the horizon and charged into the fray.

"All right, bridge, the last Rhino is in!" came a familiar voice over MindWeb. It was Bastian.

My son, King thought. My son is alive. My son is home.

"All right, Commander King, get your dreadnought out of here!" Godwin rumbled. "I'll cover you. Get these people to safety!"

"Mimori, you heard the man," King said. "Spitfire? Try to keep up. You'll dock once we're farther out."

"Yes, sir." MindPlay showed her Eagle flying alongside the prow. "I'm right here beside you."

The Freedom's Talaria drive rumbled, and they blasted off, heading into deep space. Their starfighters flew alongside, casting back their enemies. Inside their hold they carried the survivors of Anabar.

They were leaving Earth. Leaving their homeworld. Leaving a planet still bleeding, still crying out for aid, still swarming with spiders. They had liberated one camp among thousands. They had saved thousands of people among billions.

But we are not abandoning Earth, King thought. We are not running from humanity. The Freedom will fight on.

The enemies thinned out. The Freedom shot past the moon's orbit into the darkness.

The war was far from over. But the Battle of Anabar was won.

"Tactical, take us down to yellow alert," King said. "Jordan, you have the bridge."

He marched down the corridor, eyes narrowed, metal fist tight. Yellow lights flashed across the deckhead. Crew members were rushing back and forth, but as he walked by, they pressed themselves against the bulkheads and stood at attention.

King made his way through the ship, leaving the prow, then taking the elevator down through the midsection. He stepped onto deck 5, one of the two Rhino hangars.

"Commander on deck!" cried the sentry at the door, snapping to attention and saluting.

King returned a quick salute, then marched across the hangar deck.

The Rhinos were there, engines still hot, hulls still smoking. Marines were stepping out of the vessels. They were covered with frost and snow, their faces were pale, and blood soaked their bandages. They did not celebrate as they normally did after victory. There were no cheers, no slaps on the back. Nobody popped open bottles of beer or swapped tales of glory. They were silent. Their eyes seemed to stare a thousand miles away.

King did not see Bastian yet.

The marines were helping survivors out of the Rhinos. Some of the survivors wore snowy coats and boots, and they seemed reasonably healthy. They were probably those rescued from the train en route to Anabar. But other survivors looked worse. They were wrapped in blankets. Some were naked. Frostbite had blackened their fingers and toes, and their eyes were sunken into gaunt, pale faces. King understood. These refugees had survived the horrors of Anabar. They were the few survivors of the slaughterhouse.

"I am Commander James King!" he announced. "Welcome aboard the Freedom. You are safe. And I'm here to help you."

Some of the survivors fell to their knees, weeping. One old man hugged King, tears falling. Other survivors, however, hid behind the Rhinos. A few cowered in the corner, trembling. One young woman found a box of battle rations and began hiding them under her cloak. King had seen this during the third world war. Trauma. The road to recovery would be long. Some would suffer for the rest of their lives.

"Dad?"

King turned around. Bastian stood there. The big, tough marine. The man with the muscled, tattooed arms. With the mohawk. With the attitude. The hero of Fort Liberty. There he was, Bastian King, looking like a child again. Scared.

King lips tightened. He found himself close to tears. He stomped toward Bastian and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"I'm here, son. I'm here."

Bastian sniffed. "Dad…" He could say no more.

King's eyes dampened. He screwed them shut, and he felt the tear roll down his cheek. "I know, son. I know. It's over. You're home."

An avatar popped up on MindPlay.

It was Godwin.

"Commander King," rumbled the Alliance high commander.

King took a step back from his son. "Yes, sir."

"The Churchill and her corvettes have departed Earth. A combined fleet of Alliance, Red Dawn, and Desert Thorn ships have secured the orbit of Mars. You are to report there, and we will transfer the refugees to the Martian surface."

"Understood, sir," King said. "We'll begin heading there as soon as we're done talking."

He had been planning to fly by Jupiter and collect Darjeeling and Emily. Well, the two would have to hold out a little longer. If anyone could survive out there in space, it was Darjeeling. King had known the man for forty years. There were no tougher soldiers. The old sergeant would keep the princess safe.

"And King," said Godwin, "once you're orbiting Mars, you and I will meet. In person. They say the MindWeb is secure these days. But I have my doubts. Last time we met aboard your ship, we came up with plans. The time to execute them draws near. Godwin out."

King stood for a moment on the deck. A chill washed him.

"Dad, what's wrong?" Bastian said.

King stared at his son. "The days of guerrilla warfare are ending. It's time for the full assault of humanity."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Flying in the Raven, Emily saw it ahead.

Jupiter.

"The big bad boy of our solar system." A smile touched her lips. "It's always been my favorite planet. After Earth, of course." Her smile grew to a grin. "Maybe even more than Earth."

The planet shone before them, still small from here. No larger than the moon appeared from Earth. But Emily could clearly see the swirling oranges and yellows, the raging storm, and the moons glittering like jewels around a crown.

"I don't see what's so special about Jupiter." Niles raised his nose. "If you ask me, it's positively dreadful. So big and heavy and full of hot air." He shuddered. "It's worse than the Freedom. And that's saying something."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Well I think Jupiter is lovely. Do you see that storm, Niles? The red swirly maelstrom? It's called the Great Red Spot. That storm is larger than planet Earth. Did you know that?"

"I can calculate the digits of pi to over a billion digits and time pulsars in other galaxies down to a microsecond. Of course I can bloody well calculate the size of this storm! And it doesn't impress me."

"Well, I'm sorry that it's not as impressive as pi's billionth digit, Niles, but to my human brain, it appears rather colorful and lovely."

"Yes, well, your human brain says the same thing about flowers, but if you ask me, they're dreadful things too."

"You're only saying that because you got pollen in your gears last Hocktide," Emily said.

"And I still have some pollen in there." The drone shuddered. "I can feel it. And if you think that was bad, you should have seen how those chrysanthemums clogged me up last Plough Monday."

Emily smiled wistfully, remembering those careless days, those feasts and festivals under the sun. Back when she had been just a silly princess, not a soldier, not the last scion of the royal family. Everything had seemed so magical, so pure. She could still taste Sunday roast with the queen, smell the flowers in her chambers, remember the soft fur of the palace corgis. Tears filled her eyes, because even should Earth be liberated, and should she someday return, that palace was gone. Her family was gone.

Niles noticed her tears. "Emily! Oh dear. I hope I haven't disturbed you very greatly."

She looked at him through her tears and smiled shakily. "I just miss home. All we have left are our memories now."

"Not so. For we have each other. You always have me, your loyal drone." He nuzzled her. "And I shall always have you."

"Aww, so sweet." Stowy leaped onto them and squeezed them in her arms. "Group hug!"

"Nobody invited you, urchin," Niles said.

Stowy blew him a raspberry. "Quiet, floating football. I'm a hugger. Let me hug you both."

"I've told you, rapscallion, I am not a football, I am a prolate spher—"

"Football!" Stowy insisted.

"We're entering Jupiter's magnetic field now," Darjeeling said, interrupting the argument. "I'm setting a course to enter Jupiter's orbit. Soon you'll be able to speak to the world, Princess Emily. The magnetic field will hide our location. The rahs will know we're somewhere around Jupiter, but not be able to pinpoint our exact—"

Red lights flashed on the HUD. An alarm beeped.

"Clawships!" Darjeeling said.

They all fell silent as if the rahs would hear their conversation. They stared at the HUD. Dozens of red dots were orbiting Europa, one of Jupiter's moons. Thankfully, none appeared to be monsters like the Mandible of the Sun, but they were still sizable warclaws, far larger than the Raven.

"Why do the rahs have so many forces concentrated here?" Emily frowned. "They came to the solar system to feed. There are only a few human colonists on Jupiter's moons, barely a snack for them. Sorry for the gruesome analogy, but that's all we are to them. Food. You'd think these warclaws would be at Earth now. Why pick at morsels when a buffet is nearby?"

"Great, now I'm hungry," Stowy said. "I want a snack. Is there any food on this ship?"

"There are battle rations in the back," Niles said. "Go and do not return."

Stowy leaped into the hold of the ship. They all heard her gasp. "Ooh, peanut butter cookies!" Next they heard paper ripping, then crunching and gulping.

Emily tried to ignore it. She focused on the clawships ahead. "Can we slip by them?"

"I believe so, ma'am," said Darjeeling, holding the Raven's yoke. "But once we broadcast our words to Earth, they'll know we're here."

Niles bristled. Literally. Spikes and blades popped from his body like a porcupine's quills. "But I thought Jupiter's magnetic field is meant to conceal our broadcast location."

"From rahs listening at Earth, yes," Darjeeling said. "But clawships this close? They would see us."

Stowy hopped back into the cockpit. She spoke with a mouth full of cookies. "I thought you'd know that, Niles, what with your amazing computational abilities. Or did all the pollen in your gears make you stupid?"

"You're getting crumbs on me," Niles said. "Go away."

"Fine." Stowy walked back toward the stern. "I need to find some milk anyway."

Emily's heart sank. "So it was all for nothing. We flew all this way to send a message from hiding. And now we can't."

They flew in silence for a moment, gliding by Europa and entering orbit around Jupiter. The HUD displayed the massive radiation and magnetic fields washing over the Raven. The ship's shields ramped up to compensate. The gravity here was immense too, but Raven's graviton propulsion handled it like a champ. The deck barely vibrated, and the motors purred contentedly. QT had outdone herself.

The clawships kept orbiting the nearby moons. A few more red dots appeared on the HUD—clawships orbiting Jupiter itself. Due to the massive size of the gas giant, the clawships were flying in deep orbit, keeping a safe distance from Jupiter's radiating heat and punishing magnetic field. The Raven remained hidden. For now.

"As soon as I open my mouth, our cover is blown," Emily said.

Niles cleared his throat. He didn't have an actual throat, but he enjoyed making the sound. "Pardon me, but according to my calculations, we can… oh, never mind. I'm just a flying football. Nobody cares what I think."

Emily rolled her eyes so far back she nearly gazed into her own skull. "Niles, is there something you want to say?"

"Well, it's that we can technically… Oh no, no, silly Niles wouldn't want to bore you! Who cares what fussy old Niles thinks? He's just a drone after all. A rusty old drone with crumbs in his gears. I should probably just turn myself off. After all, nobody listens to me anyway, and I wouldn't want to be a burden on—"

Emily shook him. "Niles, out with it!"

The drone composed himself. "Well, I've run the numbers. If we fly over that storm—the one that fascinates you so much, Emily—the electromagnetic field will be just powerful enough to conceal us. Even from the clawships in the area. At least for a few moments." He paused, and his gears whirred. "I'd make the speech quick."

Darjeeling ran some calculations on his control panel. "Blimey, the drone is right."

"Ha!" Niles raised his nose. "Not so useless after all, am I?"

"Here, have a biscuit," Stowy said, handing him a giant, crumbly peanut butter cookie. A few crumbs dropped onto Niles.

"Get that thing away from me!" Niles snapped, floating backward. "I'm likely to get ants in my sockets."

Stowy shrugged. "Well, I have ants in my pockets, and they've never bothered me. No more than the mice."

"Stand back, vermin!" Niles said, recoiling in terror.

Emily looked at Darjeeling. He looked back. They were all silent for a moment. Stowy even stopped chewing.

"You'll have a few minutes," Darjeeling said. "The decision is yours, ma'am. If you want to turn back, we will turn back."

"Fly us over the Great Red Spot, Mr. Darjeeling," Emily said. "I will speak to Earth."

* * * * *

Darjeeling flew the ship, giving the local clawships a wide berth. They flew by Callisto, a particolored moon that shone like a jewel, and by Europa, a tan and cracked world like a ball of leather. Ganymede and Io were rising over Jupiter's horizon, two brilliant crescents, while dozens of smaller moons glowed above. Emily smiled wistfully.

Jupiter didn't have beautiful rings like Saturn. It didn't boast cities like Mars. It didn't capture the imagination like Neptune and her deep blue mysteries. But flying here, Emily was reminded why, as a child, she had always considered Jupiter her favorite. It was the biggest and baddest planet around, a true behemoth, impossible to ignore. Yes, Niles had been right. It was a little like the Freedom.

Without Jupiter, we humans would never have survived, she thought. We'd never have evolved in the first place.

Jupiter was so large it pulled in stray asteroids and comets, absorbing their impact or slinging them into the distance, sparing the inner rocky planets. It was the shield that guarded Earth from the universe's artillery. Fitting that from here Emily would speak to the planet Jupiter had defended throughout history.

They entered orbit over the Great Red Spot. The larger-than-Earth storm raged below, churning and bubbling. It had been raging in 1665 when Giovanni Cassini studied the heavens, and it was still raging today in 2200. For all Emily knew, it would rage on forever. It felt like flying over the open plasma port of a clawship, and suddenly Emily felt dizzy. She clutched her armrests, trembling, and cold sweat trickled down her back. She felt so small over this blazing inferno, and she imagined that she would fall into the storm, that its ferocity would claim her and crush her, and she would vanish forever into the swirling red depths.

"Emily! Are you all right?" Niles rushed to her side. "You're shaking."

"Want a cookie?" Stowy said.

Emily took a deep breath. "I'm fine. I'm fine now." A shudder passed through her, and she squared her shoulders. "Mr. Darjeeling, I know I look a fright, but… can we broadcast in video too?"

"Indeed we can, ma'am. And you look as regal as always."

Emily smiled thinly. "I'm wearing battle fatigues and haven't showered in days, but I would like the people of Earth to see me as I am. To see that we're all fighting this war. Even me. Are we ready to transmit, Mr. Darjeeling?"

"We're ready, ma'am. The camera is right here on the dashboard where the green light is blinking."

She nodded. "Then point our transmitters at Earth, please. And I'll try to make this quick. I know we're short for time." She cradled Niles in her lap for comfort. "Hopefully we'll be back aboard the Freedom soon."

Darjeeling tapped a button. A microphone graphic appeared on the HUD, then turned green. Darjeeling nodded at Emily.

She began speaking, delivering a speech for all Earth to hear.

* * * * *

In this dark hour, the darkest in the history of our world, I speak to you, people of Great Britain, the Commonwealth, and all of Earth. Our world is at war, and the war is everywhere. It rages in our cities, in our wilderness, on our seas, and in our skies. It rages in Earth's orbit and the orbits of other worlds. The war has found us wherever we humans live.

When we reached into space, a new and curious species, we sought to build, to learn, to explore. We did not seek war. Yet war was thrust upon us. The enemy, the vicious rah, seeks only one thing. Our annihilation.

They bombed our cities. They ravaged our fleets. They slew millions. We've all lost loved ones. I myself lost my family to the rah brutality. The spiders swarm across Earth, hunting and killing. We've tried to communicate with them. To forge peace. Yet all our efforts were in vain, and we find ourselves fighting for our very survival.

But in this darkness shines great hope like a star, and the forge of war hardens our resolve. Our courage and determination have never been greater. Though we suffer, we do not despair, and though the enemy is strong, we answer with strength. I have joined the military, and I fight in this war. Today we all stand united, and we are all soldiers.

I cannot promise you quick victory. There will be dark days ahead, days of death, days of spiders, days when cities burn and blood spills across our world. But there will be no days when our courage fails. There will be no days when we lose heart. There will be no days when we stop fighting. These are days of pain but also of honor and heroism and eternal resolve.

We stand together against the rahs, determined to defeat them. All humans unite in this task, the great challenge of our generation. If you are of faith, trust in God. If not, trust in humanity. I trust in both. We will cast back this shadow. We will rise from desolation. We will be free again.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

She completed her speech, and Darjeeling turned off the broadcaster. Tears flowed from the sergeant's eyes and dampened his white mustache.

"You spoke most beautifully, princess," he said.

Stowy leaned over Emily's shoulder, chomping down on another cookie. "Not bad, Em. I might have added something about kicking rah asses, but I suppose as a princess, you gotta be more eloquent than me."

Emily frowned, turning toward the stowaway. "Stowy, were you behind me the entire time? Eating biscuits?"

The girl nodded. "Yep." Her eyes widened. "Hey, does that mean I was in the video? And everyone on Earth saw me?"

Emily's jaw unhinged. Darjeeling replayed the video. Yes, throughout Emily's entire speech, Stowy appeared right behind her, polishing off a box of peanut butter cookies. At one point she was seen picking her nose.

Emily sighed. "Well, I think we just made you a star, Stowy."

Her eyes widened. "I'm going to be a meme!"

The monitor flashed red. Beeps filled the cabin.

Darjeeling's eyes darkened. "Clawfighters are heading our way."

Emily saw it on the HUD. Several red dots racing toward them.

"They saw us!" she cried.

"Niles, I thought you said we're safe," Stowy said, slapping the drone.

"It's because you got crumbs in my circuits," the drone answered over the beeping alarms. "Of course my calculations would be off while I'm clogged with peanut butter biscuits."

"Quiet, both of you!" Emily said. "Darjeeling?"

"We're getting out of here!" the sergeant said, shoving down the thruster.

The Raven burst into flight in an instant, shoving Emily back into her seat. Stowy stumbled backward, spilling cookies, while Niles flew through the cabin. They raced away from Jupiter, heading toward its moons. The clawfighters screamed in pursuit.

"Can you take us back into stealth mode?" Emily shouted. The alarms were still blaring.

"Not after they've already spotted us," Darjeeling said. "We still give off minute amounts of energy and gravitational waves. Not enough for a casual search. But now that they know we're here, they can track us."

"This is all your fault, urchin!" Niles shouted at Stowy.

"Shove it up your sockets, pigskin!" the stowaway said.

The Raven roared forward. On the HUD, Emily watched the red dots flying closer. Three of them. Then four. Finally nine clawships were pursuing them.

"We have to fight," Emily said.

Darjeeling leaned forward as if he could lend the Raven more speed. "Unfortunately, ma'am, the Raven only has a simple machine gun on her prow. Any heavier weapons would have compromised our stealth capabilities."

Emily winced. "We might as well be shooting spitballs at those clawfighters."

"Maybe we can throw Niles at them?" Stowy suggested.

"Maybe you can stowaway on one of those clawfighters and spare us your incessant chatter?" Niles said.

"Quiet, both of you," Emily said. "We need a plan. Can we outrun them?"

Darjeeling shook his head. "No. They're moving faster than us. They'll reach us soon."

Emily bit her lip. Icy claws seemed to reach up from her belly and clasp her chest. She struggled to breathe. That was the panic setting in, she knew.

Think, Emily, she told herself.

"Darjeeling, Commander King taught me about slingshotting around moons and planets, using their gravity for extra speed." She pointed. "Europa is right ahead. Can we slingshot around it, gain a boost of speed?"

"What if the clawfighters slingshot too?" Stowy said.

"Maybe we can get far enough ahead that we can cloak ourselves again," Emily said. "Mr. Darjeeling, what do you think?"

"I think it's the best chance we've got," he said. "Buckle up. We'll be flying close to Europa's surface, then racing into the distance."

They charged toward Europa. The moon grew larger ahead, filling their viewport. Its rocky surface was scarred and cracked and striated. Here and there sheets of brown ice stained the yellow landscape. Salt bubbled up from gorges, rising from the moon's hidden oceans. Emily flashed back to her childhood lessons. Europa, she remembered, had oceans hiding beneath its surface of silica and dirty ice. A few thousand humans lived on Europa, religious types who sought to build a simpler life far from Earth's decadence. They stayed in underground habitats, hopefully hidden from the rahs.

"The clawships are getting closer!" Niles cried.

Emily's heart sank. She saw them in the rearview monitor. Nine rah ships, thrusting forward their claws, roaring after them.

"Prepare for slingshot maneuver," Darjeeling said.

The Raven raced closer to Europa, moving so fast Stowy screamed and clutched Emily's hand.

"We're going to hit the planet!" the stowaway cried. She was nearly crushing Emily's hand.

Then suddenly Darjeeling yanked back the yoke, and the Raven's nose rose. They blazed forward at breakneck speed, skimming the moon's surface. Plains of ice and cracked silica streaked by below.

"Here we go!" Darjeeling said, racing the Raven toward the horizon. "Gravity is about to give us a nice little boost of—"

"Clawships ahead!" Emily shouted.

They emerged from beyond Europa's horizon.

Three clawfighters. They were the smallest class of clawships, just large enough for one rah pilot, but fast and deadly. Their claws dilated, exposing their vents.

Plasma bolts shot toward the Raven.

Emily screamed.

Darjeeling yanked the yoke, swerving left, right, dodging the assault. The ship rattled madly. The clawfighters opened fire, and—

Flames roared across the Raven's canopy.

Emily jerked forward in her seat. The seat belt dug into her so powerfully it would probably leave a bruise.

Stowy flew against the dashboard and cried out in pain.

The Raven seemed to scream. Metal dented. Smoke filled the cockpit.

"We're hit!" Niles cried, stating the obvious. "We're doomed!"

"Can somebody please shut up the drone?" Stowy shouted. Her lip was bleeding.

"Our engine is burning," Darjeeling said. "We're going down."

The Raven tilted forward, then plunged toward the surface of Europa.

Emily pulled Stowy onto her lap and held the girl tightly. Stowy seemed to be stunned. Her blood dripped onto her lap.

Alarms flashed. Fire blazed out their exhaust. They were rolling out of control. Through the front viewport Emily saw the surface of Europa spinning like Jupiter's storm.

"Darjeeling!" Emily cried over the roaring engine and screaming alarms, not knowing why, just knowing she was terrified and needed him.

"This is going to be a rough crash landing," he said. "But we're not dead yet."

Emily winced and held Stowy tightly.

The surface raced up to meet them.

Darjeeling yanked up the Raven's nose.

The g-force seemed to crush Emily like a tin can. Stowy threw up her cookies. The Raven skimmed the surface. The icy brown plains streaked below them.

Their engine was still burning. Smoke filled the cabin. The Raven leaped over a jagged mountain range and raced across a frozen, scarred sea.

"We can land!" Darjeeling said. "We're fine. We're—"

Clawfighters came screaming downward.

Plasma bolts flew toward the Raven.

Emily cried out in fear. Darjeeling flew madly, desperate to dodge the assault. Plasma bolts slammed onto Europa's surface, shattering the ice. Clouds of dirty brown shards flew everywhere. A massive plasma blast slammed down before them like a comet, plowing through the surface. Emily caught a glimpse of Europa's underground oceans—dark, muddy, churning like a witch's brew.

She tightened her lips. Just wailing in terror wouldn't help now. As Darjeeling was busy flying the ship, Emily grabbed the weapon controls. The Raven might only have a single rotary cannon, but it beat nothing.

She tapped a button. A hatch opened on the prow, and the Gatling gun emerged, attached to a sophisticated system of gears. Emily aimed it skyward and opened fire.

Her bullets slammed into a diving clawfighter.

The alien vessel swerved in the sky, hit another clawfighter, and they both exploded.

Stowy whooped and raised her fist.

But Emily did not celebrate. More clawfighters were diving in from all directions. One came racing just above the ice, charging at them. Plasma bolts flew at the Raven. One bolt skimmed the dorsal hull. The Raven jerked downward. Her underbelly hit the ice. They jolted back into the sky. The clawfighter came at them, Emily aimed, fired, and—

Only meters away, the clawfighter exploded. She had hit its plasma port. The spiky ship came crashing down. Darjeeling swerved around the burning wreckage.

Emily was beginning to feel a little hope when fresh clawfighters came racing from behind them.

The machine gun was on the prow. The Raven had no stern weapon.

Darjeeling zigzagged, tried to rise higher, but their engine was still aflame. A worrying coughing noise sounded from the stern. A fresh cloud of smoke filled the ship. Plasma bolts rained all around, slamming into the ice, carving holes to the ocean below.

A plasma blast hit the Raven's tail.

The ship jerked and screeched.

"We're going down!" Darjeeling cried.

They raced toward the ice.

They were going to crash.

Emily pointed. "Aim for that hole in the ice!"

Ahead, a plasma bolt had melted the ice, turning it into a stew of floes and filth. Emily opened fire. The machine gun roared, tearing through the floes, widening the passage to the water.

"What—" Darjeeling began.

"Trust me!"

He nodded and adjusted the yoke. They were falling fast. The surface raced up toward them and—

The Raven plowed through the shattered ice.

They plunged underwater.

Emily jerked in her seat, clinging to Stowy. Niles screamed, knocked back to the stern. The hull creaked. Cracks spiderwebbed the windshield. The cabin lights died. They plowed through the ocean. The water bubbled as it absorbed their immense kinetic energy. The water extinguished their flaming engine. The engine gave a last cough, then died.

The Raven slowed down and floated in the murk.

Darkness covered them.

The ice re-formed above, trapping them in Europa's watery depths.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Freedom raced through the darkness, heading to Mars. Toward a great council of leaders. Toward the beginning of a new phase in the war.

We're done snapping at your heels, Skel'rah, King thought. We're coming for you.

They didn't know much about Warweaver Skel'rah, mother of Hel'rah, the mysterious leader of the invasion. They knew she was a female. A huntress. The daughter of the rah empress herself. They knew she was mighty. Not much else.

But they knew where her ship was, the dreaded Hunger, a clawship the size of a city. And by God, King would make sure they blew it out of the solar system.

The shift bells chimed on the bridge. King checked the time. They still had eight hours until they reached Mars, even with the Talaria drive rumbling on full power, vibrating decks across the dreadnought. King had time to grab a bite to eat, shower, and sleep before the council.

The bridge doors swished, the sentry snapped to attention and saluted, and Jordan stepped onto the deck. The XO nodded at King.

"Get some rest, old man," Jordan said. "And get out of my chair. It's my shift."

King grumbled and rose from the commander's seat. His joints creaked, and he winced. Ever since Darkland, since the rah had tortured him on the rack, his bones ached. Dr. Annie had given him painkillers and injected him with nanohealers. She claimed he was healing nicely, but getting up from his chair still hurt. Maybe he was just getting old. A few years ago, he would stay standing throughout his shifts. Now just standing up hurt.

As he walked by, he slapped Jordan on the shoulder. "Don't fly into any stars."

Outside the bridge, King paused and winced. His back was killing him. With his MindLink, he connected to the MedPod implanted under the skin of his arm. There was still an hour before he could release another dose of painkillers. Dammit. Well, he had suffered worse. He would slog through this too.

He made his way down the corridor as crew members scrambled to stand at attention. Lately, he had been taking his meals in his quarters, a habit he had developed during the Freedom's years as a tourist attraction. But now the food court was gone, along with its crowd of chattering tourists, and they had a proper military mess hall again. Apparently they were serving cheeseburgers today. King walked there, hoping for a bite before bed. Maybe even a cold beer. You had to grab the little creature comforts when you could.

An avatar popped up in his MindPlay. Mimori was calling him.

"What is it, Mimori?" he said, walking down the corridor. Spacers stood at attention as he passed them.

"Sir, I noticed you're heading into the midsection," the android said.

King grumbled. He hated that Mimori could track his MindLink. "I'm looking for grub."

"Sir, I wanted to remind you of your meeting with Colonel Fletcher. She wanted to review the changes she's been implementing in the stern."

"Goddammit." King heaved a sigh. "I forgot about that. Mimori, tell her to meet me in the officers' mess. We'll talk over lunch."

"Yes, sir." A pause. "She'll meet you there in fifteen minutes, sir."

King took the elevator up to deck 30. As he rose through the decks, the elevator's glass walls showed him work progressing on his ship. Even now, months into the war, he could see vestiges of Freedom's past as a museum ship. The gaudy signs of gift shops, spas, and casinos still hung on some bulkheads, though the cabins had been converted into shelters for refugees. The wave pool had been drained, but the slide was still there, dry as a bone. A few refugee kids were sitting on the slide, smoking cigarettes.

While the elevator climbed, his MindLink kept buzzing. Department heads were calling him, needing this or that. He helped them as best he could. Timori, the logistics android, was talking to him when sudden pain flared. King winced and clenched his prosthetic fist. This time his missing hand was hurting. How the hell could a missing part of his body hurt? King had heard the explanations about phantom limbs, but it still felt bizarre. Hell, at least it distracted him from the pain in his back.

His damn injuries were piling up. Turning sixty last year didn't help. He felt like a battered old bulldog past his prime, but dammit, there was still some fight in him yet.

He should be on his farm right now, enjoying his retirement, sipping a beer on his rocking chair or building model ships. But dammit, maybe relaxing on the farm was never for him. He would spend his golden years battling the goddamn rahs until he went down fighting. Hell, at least he'd never get bored.

Pain flared again. He checked his MedPod. Forty more minutes to his next dose. Ah well.

Finally he managed to silence his MindLink, and he stepped into the officer's mess on deck 30.

The smell hit his nostrils at once. Ah, cheeseburger day. During his career, King had eaten his fair share of fine dining. Whenever a dignitary would visit the Freedom, King would have to put on his gala uniform, pretend to be charming, and eat some pompous dish he couldn't pronounce. It usually involved an oversized plate and sauces that looked like a Kandinsky. Pretentious rubbish. If you asked King, nothing beat a good old American cheeseburger. He could already taste it.

* * * * *

Colonel Kim Fletcher was already in the mess, waiting for him. She snapped to attention and saluted.

"As you were," he told her, returning the salute. "And now that you're a senior officer, there's no need to salute me in casual situations."

She nodded, blushing. "Of course, sir. Understood."

"Thank you for meeting me here," King said. "I know we had this meeting planned for the stern."

Kim smiled. "We can't miss Cheeseburger Tuesday, right?"

He barked a laugh. "Not even during a galactic war."

They stood in line—King waved down the lieutenants who insisted he go first—and topped their trays with cheeseburgers, cold drinks, and sides. King noticed that Kim chose the fries too, skipping the steamed vegetables, and asked for extra bacon on her cheeseburgers. He liked her already.

"The perks of being an officer." Kim laughed nervously. "I was enlisted for two years aboard the Eisenhower before going to the academy. We never got bacon on our cheeseburgers."

"Here aboard the Freedom, the enlisted spacers are served the same menu as the officers," King said. "Normally it's not this good. But we all deserve a treat when we can get one."

They chose a table and sat down.

Kim smiled wistfully. "I can't remember the last time I actually sat down for a meal. Probably not since this war began."

"I can't either," King confessed. "I've been living off stims, energy bars, and quick bites in my quarters. War is like this. It was like this in World War III too. Most soldiers, even in the greatest wars, don't spend all day in combat. A lot of war is just… trying to take care of your basic needs. Things you once took for granted. Trying to find the next meal when you're too busy to breathe. Trying to sneak in an hour or two of sleep when the alarms are constantly blaring. Hoping for a quick shower if you're lucky, often going days, even weeks without. Worrying about friends. Battling exhaustion, hunger, and despair. The combat moments are terrifying, of course. But most of the time you're fighting a different battle. You're just slogging through one moment at a time, trying to eat, sleep, survive. It's like that now. It was like this in every war."

"I was only a kid during World War III," Kim said. "I was eight when the war ended. My father died fighting. I never imagined I'd find myself fighting a war against aliens."

"Nobody did. Least of all me." King lifted his cheeseburger. "Cheers."

As they ate, Kim pulled up reports and schematics, sharing them to his MindLink. The numbers and diagrams floated over the table. One diagram showed the Freedom, which they could turn with their hands, then zoom into various components. The hallucinatory starship was translucent, and Kim was able to highlight electrical currents, engine outflow lines, reactor cores, heat paths, and many other components. She kept talking, giving King an overview of the work she'd been doing.

"Most of the repairs have been in the stern," she said. "When the rahs torched our exhaust ports, that did some serious damage. And that's an understatement. We got lucky. The entire ship nearly blew that day. But as you can see, the new exhaust port is almost at full capacity. It was lucky the FAS Roosevelt had similar specs to us."

They had found the Roosevelt, a derelict from the last war, floating in the asteroid belt. Kim and crew had been able to salvage many important components from the hulk. The engineer team had worked days and nights, doing whatever they could to keep the Freedom flying.

"Kim, you're doing an excellent job," King said. "I know it isn't easy."

"No sir, not at all." She ate another fry. "With so much damage, it's a been a lot—a lot—of hard work." She laughed. "But I have a teenager, so I'm used to being exhausted."

He stared into her eyes. "I don't just mean the hard work. I mean losing seventy-three soldiers. Having to rebuild the engineering department—and lead it."

Kim lost her smile. Ghosts haunted her eyes. The attack on the Freedom still haunted all of them. King flashed back to the funerals, standing before the coffins, sending them out to space.

"They were my friends," she said softly. "I worked with those people every day for the past eleven years. Ever since I came aboard the Freedom. I was one of them. Now they're gone, and I have to put together the wreckage." Her eyes sparkled with tears. "Part of it is the work itself. Finding new engineers among the refugees. Retrieving lost data. Fixing the hardware. But part of it is… well, dealing with the grief. For everyone."

"Kim," King said. "I made the right choice choosing you to rebuild our stern. I'm proud of what you've accomplished."

She smiled shakily and wiped her eyes. "Thank you, sir."

"How are you?" King said softly. "Are you holding up?"

She gave him a thumbs-up. "Yes. I'm holding up. It's hard. I miss our fallen. I worry about my parents and sister down on Earth. At least my son is here on the Freedom, but I worry about him too. I cry sometimes. But that's war, right? We keep fighting."

"Always," he said. "And you are a fighter."

She laughed again. "I'm… a nerd. I like fixing things. I like machines. I wouldn't be able to fight a puppy. My son Evan, meanwhile, fancies himself a warrior. He's seventeen, and he wants to become a marine when he joins the Alliance Defense Force. Which is next year. Which terrifies me."

King barked a laugh. "I know something about that. My own son is a marine. I still worry about him every day. Whenever he goes to battle, I worry. He's thirty-three years old, built like a tank, and has a child of his own. But sometimes, when I think of him, it's like he's still a little boy."

"Sometimes it seems like just yesterday my Evan was in diapers," Kim said. "My husband used to say I mothered him. Well, ex-husband now." She blushed.

King nodded. Marriage was always hard. It was especially hard aboard a starship. So many officers here had seen their marriages fall apart. The stresses of space gnawed at relationships. Some officers brought their spouses aboard, but the Freedom was no place to raise a family. Other officers left their spouses on Earth, and time and distance did their work. King's wife had left him—for the man who would ultimately murder her, no less. Bastian's marriage had fallen apart. Jordan too had lost his marriage. So had many other officers. Kim Fletcher was just another sad statistic.

They sat in silence for a moment, each in their thoughts, until Kim perked up and smiled. "Your granddaughter. How is she?" Her smile turned sad. "I heard about Darkland. About how you rescued her. I hope she's doing well."

"Rowan is fantastic," King said. "Darkland was hard on her. She's been seeing a therapist, and she's making great progress. She's laughing again, chattering, curious about the world."

"That's fantastic, sir! I'm so happy to hear that."

"She's starting first grade this year," King said. "Here aboard the Freedom. Some of the refugees were teachers in a former life. They've got a whole proper school going on on deck 31."

He pulled up a photo.

Kim smiled. "She's adorable."

He took another bite of cheeseburger. "Thankfully, she looks nothing like me."

Kim laughed. This felt good. King couldn't remember the last time he just sat down for a meal and talked to somebody. He had never liked small talk. He had never had many friends—Jordan, Darjeeling, that was about it. At least since the war. He had lost so many friends in the war.

The war, he thought.

Yes, he still thought of World War III as the war. But it's become a war. In the future, the war would be this one. The war that didn't yet have a name. The war they were fighting right now. King hoped he didn't lose more friends.

His MindLink beeped.

A call from Jordan.

King frowned and put down his half-eaten burger. Jordan almost never called him between shifts.

"Jim?" came his XO's voice over the MindWeb. "We lost contact with the Raven. We can't get ahold of Darjeeling or Princess Emily. We think they've been shot down."

"I'm coming to the bridge. King out." He rose to his feet and looked at Kim. "You'll have to excuse me."

The engineer nodded, her eyes large and afraid. "Of course, sir."

He turned and left the mess. He marched down the corridor, fists balled at his sides.

I just had to think about losing friends.

His eyes burned. Rage flooded him. If the rahs had hurt Darjeeling and Emily, he wouldn't just cast them out of the solar system. He'd fly to their homeworld and wipe it off the face of the galaxy.

* * * * *

He burst back onto the bridge.

"Commander on d—" the sentry began.

"What do you mean shot down?" King barked, marching across the deck.

Jordan and the rest of the crew turned toward him, faces dour. King stomped toward them, his jaw tight, his metal fist creaking. A few of the younger crew members paled. One man took a step back.

"We lost contact with the Raven shortly after she broadcast the message to Earth," Jordan said.

"And you're telling me now?" King said. "That was hours ago."

"Losing contact with the Raven was expected," Jordan said. "It's hard to detect a stealth ship from this far, even if you have her unique signatures and trajectory parameters. It's especially hard when the Raven is close to a gas giant like Jupiter, which throws off huge amounts of magnetism and radiation. We weren't worried until twenty minutes ago. That's when the Raven was meant to broadcast a beacon."

"Okay, so maybe there are clawships nearby, and Darjeeling didn't want to risk sending the beacon," King said. "Even a quick ping can be risky."

"That's what we figured," Jordan said. "So I checked our probe. You remember the one I ordered assembled and sent to Europa? While you were down on Darkland?"

King nodded. "Yes, I read your report. You noticed an unusual amount of clawship activity around Europa, and you sent a probe to take a look."

King had glanced at the telemetry updates now and then. The probe had been hovering around Jupiter, hiding in the planet's magnetic field, monitoring the enemy. At any given moment, several clawships were orbiting Europa, but the probe had detected no rah activity on the surface. The crew had come up with several hypotheses. One was that these were jail ships where the rahs imprisoned their own kind. Another was that the rahs planned to build a feeding camp in Europa's tunnels. A common hypothesis was that these clawships were simply reserve forces waiting to be called into battle. Nobody knew for sure.

"Sir." Mimori stepped forward. "I'd like to show you a video of what our probe saw. Streaming to MindWeb now, sir."

A screen materialized before them. To call the video grainy would be a compliment. The Raven appeared as a mere splotch, the clawships slightly lighter splotches.

"Forgive the crudeness of the video, sir," Mimori said. "We had to assemble the probe quickly. Would you like me to generate an animation, replacing the dots of light with realistic representations of the ships?"

"It's all right, Mimori. This is fine."

He watched the video intently. Several clawships were attacking the Raven, chasing her away from Jupiter. Plasma bolts flew toward the little starship. She slewed toward Europa, perhaps seeking to land, perhaps to slingshot around the moon for a boost of speed.

Darjeeling is aboard that ship, King thought. One of my oldest, dearest friends. And Emily is with him, a symbol of hope for humanity.

He kept watching the video. The clawships opened fire again. The Raven crashed onto Europa. The video ended.

For a moment they all stood in silence.

"That was a crash landing," King said.

"Jim." Jordan put a hand on his shoulder. "They were hit twice."

"They went down on a slope, not vertically," King said. "Darjeeling was flying that ship all the way down. It was a rough landing, a crash landing, but a landing nonetheless."

"Jim, there's no sign of the Raven on the surface," Jordan said softly. "We think the ship exploded on impact."

"The Raven didn't explode, dammit," King growled. "Mimori! Play back the video. There. Pause it there! Look. Look at those heat readings. They're too low for an explosion."

"One hypothesis is that they crashed through the ice, sir," Mimori said. "The ice on Europa has thinned significantly over the past century due to colonist activity."

"If they hit water, they might have survived," King said. "Unless we find bodies, I'm going to assume Darjeeling and Emily are still alive on Europa. How much supplies do they have?"

"Checking with my sister Timori." Mimori blinked, conferring digitally for a moment. "Timori has replied. She equipped the Raven with enough battle rations to last for a month. She even included cookies, she said. Peanut butter."

King took a deep breath, trying to control the fear. "I realize this is concerning. But Darjeeling is a tough old war dog. I've never met a better soldier. If anyone can survive on Europa, it's him. If they're alive—and there's a good chance of that—Darjeeling will keep the princess safe."

Jordan nodded, looking uneasy. He too was good friends with Darjeeling. There weren't many World War III veterans aboard the Freedom. King, Jordan, and Darjeeling were among the few who wore that service ribbon. It was a brotherhood. They shared a bond the younger soldiers could not understand. They were worried for one of their own.

"We should organize a rescue party," Jordan said. "We can send an ambulance shuttle over, along with an escort of Eagles."

"We're out of range for that," King said. "We don't have a starfighter or shuttle that can fly that far into deep space. Definitely not without being spotted by the rahs. The Raven was one of a kind."

"We can check with the fleet," Jordan said. "Perhaps another ship is flying by Jupiter and can mount a rescue."

"No." King shook his head. "We can't risk sending a rescue ship to Europa. Not with all those clawships guarding it. Like it or not, Darjeeling and Emily are now behind enemy lines. They're beyond our reach. To reclaim Europa's orbit would require an entire strike force. And we can't spare one. Not to save two people. Even if they're our friends." His voice softened. "And they are dear friends."

"We can't just leave them there, Jim," Jordan said. "If they're alive, we can't just leave them."

"For now—we must," King said. "The Freedom will continue on her mission to Mars, our last stronghold in the solar system. The leaders of humanity are gathering there. We'll be there too. This will be a summit that goes down in history—if anyone survives to write our history in this war. We will not abandon our duty. We do not forget that our primary mission is defeating the enemy—even if we must leave soldiers behind. But I hope…" He took a deep breath. "I hope that after the summit, the high commander will approve a mission to Jupiter. And we will fly there, and we will destroy the rahs, and we will find Darjeeling and Emily."

And I pray we find them alive, he thought. He did not think he could bear to lose them.

It was still a few hours until his shift. King returned to his stateroom and lay in bed, but he tossed and turned for a long time, and when he finally slept, dreams of crashing starships and dying friends haunted him.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"Listen up, marines!" Alice shouted.

Her voice echoed across deck 7, also known as the Courtyard. It spanned the midsection of the ship, larger than a football field—a place for marines to muster and drill. Four thousand marines stood here—the entire Freedom Brigade.

They had started the war with five thousand. At one point, they had dropped to nearly half that many, but they had welcomed marines from orphaned battalions on other ships. Many of these troops were new. A handful had actually managed to avoid battle until now. Alice would make sure this fighting force was ready.

Something big was about to happen. Alice could feel it. She would make sure her brigade was the deadliest weapon in the solar system.

They all stood, looking at her. The best soldiers in the galaxy. Many were women—and they were just as tough as the boys. Most of the marines were still Nebraskan, but many came from other states and nations. Every soldier here depended on her.

Only last year, Alice had been one of them, just another grunt among the ranks. It was still hard to believe she had made sergeant major, that she was the senior NCO in the brigade. She was only twenty-seven. She felt too young for this responsibility. Not ready.

But then nobody had been ready for this war. Alice had been fighting the rahs for months now. She had as much experience as anyone—more than most, judging by her number of kills. And Bastian believed in her.

She looked at him. Colonel Bastian King. The brave commander of this brigade. He stood nearby, arms crossed, just watching.

Thank you for trusting me, Bastian, Alice thought. Thank you for being here.

He gave her a little nod.

He was more than her commanding officer. He was her childhood friend. Her best friend. That comforted her. She was not alone.

She looked back at her brigade. With a little embarrassment, she realized that she had been lost in thought. That they were all still waiting.

Good job, Alice, she told herself.

"When we first faced the rahs," she said, "we didn't know how to fight them. We wasted many bullets on their exoskeletons, which are damn near bulletproof, especially the female exoskeletons. We found out we can shoot them in the eyes or joints, but in the heat of battle, that's hard to do. We also found a weak spot in their exoskeleton just above their jaws, but attacks there aren't lethal. We're constantly studying new ways to kill the beasts. And we think we found a new one."

She approached a heavy object hidden under a sheet. Everyone watched, wondering what was hidden there.

"See this big, lumpy thing?" Alice said. "And no, I don't mean the colonel."

A few laughs sounded. Bastian rolled his eyes.

"Here is our test subject!"

She yanked off the sheet, revealing a rah exoskeleton.

A few marines gasped. Some even raised their rifles.

"Hold your horses, it's just an empty exoskeleton," Alice said. "We scooped out all the guts in the lab. And we learned quite a bit about their biology. And how to inflict maximum damage to that biology."

Using her MindLink, she materialized a hallucinatory pointer. Everyone in the brigade was tethered into her MindLink, allowing them to hallucinate the same pointer. Alice began tapping different areas on the exoskeleton.

"Rah legs! Sharp. Nasty. Really hard to destroy. The rah jaws! The palate is soft. And if you can shoot it, you can drive your bullets into their brain. Only problem? Rings of sharp, chomping, man-killing teeth in the way. The abdomen! Covered in spikes and thick armor. Damn near indestructible. Top of the jaws!" She tapped them with her pointer. "Where these exoskeleton plates meet, there's a weak spot. Problem—you'd need a ladder. And even if you could shoot a rah there, you'd just enrage it, not kill it."

All this was old news. They knew all this. They knew it well. Some had learned these lessons on their flesh.

"But—we found a good weak spot," Alice continued. "It's not easy to reach. But it's the best way to kill a rah." She looked up toward the deckhead. "Corporal?"

A young corporal stood on a service mezzanine above. He worked a pulley, lowering a hook on a chain. Alice attached the hook to the rah's head, where she had previously drilled a hole. The corporal spun a winch, wheeling the chain back up, raising the exoskeleton. The rah seemed to rear before them, balancing on its hind legs, revealing its underbelly.

Alice tapped the underbelly with her pointer. It clanged. The hallucination was auditory too.

"As you can see, their underbelly is armored. But not everywhere." She leaned down and pointed. "See this little hole? Not much bigger than an apple. But if you can shoot, stab, or burn a rah here, you'll destroy their internal organs."

A corporal gasped. "Their butthole!"

Laughter sounded across the brigade.

"Actually, their cloaca," Alice said. She noted the confused looks. "A cloaca exists in some Earth animals too. Evolution takes similar paths on different worlds. The rah cloaca is used for expelling waste, for breeding, and for laying eggs. Just one opening serves multiple purposes. It's a chink in their armor. No teeth guard it. No claws. No spikes. If you can hit 'em here, you kill 'em."

She thrust her pointer hard—right into the cloaca. It went all the way in.

"If this were a live rah," Alice said, "and if this were a real pointer, I'd be lacerating its guts. If I shot the rah through this hole, I could destroy its stomach, its lungs, its heart. This is where you want to hit 'em."

A private raised his hand. "Um, sergeant? How are we supposed to reach their cloaca? I mean, without a hook and pulley."

"Glad you asked," Alice said. "Two ways. One—get a rah to rear before you. They tend to rear as a show of aggression, spreading out their legs and roaring. Probably some evolutionary trick to make them look even larger. Maybe a relic of days long ago when they were smaller and needed a boost of size, or maybe they just face massive enemies on other worlds. In any case, it's a dumb move on their part, because it makes their cloaca easier to reach. Another method—you slide under 'em. Like a mechanic under a car. Their legs are long enough, so you should fit. Needless to say, this is a dangerous move. You'd have to get damn close to their sharp claws. But in a pinch, it can be done. You slide under them, locate the cloaca, and shoot 'em where the sun don't shine. We have a few more exoskeletons, so we're all going to practice. I hope you ate a big breakfast, because that's our plan until lunch."

Soldiers from the logistics corps dragged out more rah exoskeletons, raised them onto steel mounts, and the marines began to train. The metal frames were designed to move the exoskeletons up and down, sort of like a mechanical bull in a pub, mimicking rah movement. It wasn't a great simulation. Alice would have to speak to the tech department. Maybe somebody could program a realistic MindWeb hallucination of rahs, and they could train with those instead. For now, they had bouncing exoskeletons. Well, it was something. And they were able to use hallucinatory bullets—that was a classic MindWeb app—mimicking the real sound and feel of gunfire.

As they trained, Alice noticed that Commander King had entered the Courtyard. He stood at the side, watching.

She immediately snapped to attention. "Commander on deck!"

Everyone ceased their training, rushed into formation, and stood at attention. Alice saluted her commander.

King returned the salute. "As you were, everyone. I'm just here to learn with you."

The marines glanced at one another, then returned to training. Though Alice noticed they were no longer laughing or cursing while they shot the exoskeletons.

As they trained, Alice approached the commander. "Sir, the new recruits are integrating well. The brigade is stronger than ever."

Bastian approached them too. He had been training with the troops, and he wiped sweat off his brow. "Alice has been training us hard."

King's face was stern. "Alice, Bastian, we're heading toward something big. A great battle. An escalation in the war. We'll all have to fight harder than ever before. And the marines will be fighting at the vanguard. If this war is won, the marines will win it."

"We'll be ready," Alice vowed. Though inside, her belly twisted, and cold sweat trickled down her back. She remembered the rahs storming through Fort Liberty. So many of her fellow soldiers, some of them childhood friends, had fallen that night.

King seemed to notice her fear. He placed a hand on her shoulder and stared into her eyes. "I'm proud to serve with you, Alice. I know I can count on you."

She saluted again, lips tight, trying not to cry. "Sir. Thank you."

He nodded and left the deck. Alice took a deep, shuddering breath, then returned to training. And as she stabbed at the rah exoskeletons, she felt like she was back in Fort Liberty, that her friends were dying all around.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Hundreds of starships gathered at Mars.

Desert Thorn ships flew here, graceful and curved like the sails of old ships. Their hulls were painted white and trimmed with gold. Their headquarters were in Dubai, a glittering city renowned for its floating skyscrapers, but Desert Thorn soldiers came from across the Middle East, North Africa, and Asia, a union that encompassed a quarter of humanity. The DSS Dune led them, a modern frigate shaped like an almond, the personal ship of Queen Laila, the queen of thorns.

Red Dawn ships were here too. Nobody would call these ships graceful. They were big, bombastic, and brutal. Their hulls were painted red and emblazoned with golden equal signs, the symbol of equalism, their wicked ideology. Russia and China dominated the Red Dawn, but scores of slave nations served them. Massive cannons thrust out from their prows. Some of those warships carried more firepower than entire nations. The RDS Lenin, the largest human-built ship in history, led them. The personal ship of Premier Katyusha.

Standing aboard the Freedom, flying toward Mars, King stared at the Red Dawn fleet and clenched his metal fist. He hadn't seen this many red ships since the third world war.

He flashed back to the war. He was a young pilot again, storming forth in a starfighter into the enemy lines. His father, Ulysses King, commanded the Freedom, and young James "Bulldog" King could not get to the fighting fast enough. He and Larry "Phantom" Jordan flew side by side, facing death, facing those cursed red ships. Losing friends. Losing Yehuda, their best friend, Spitfire's father. And fighting on. Fighting to destroy equalism, an ideology that wanted to enslave the world, to crush every human under its heel. Equalism was fascism and communism rolled into one, and King vowed to destroy it.

He had defeated the Red Dawn in that war. He had liberated Mars, this very world that hovered ahead. And now the Red Fleet was here by the red planet again. After all the millions who had died, after all those battles—here they were again!

Standing on the bridge, flying toward them, King growled.

"Remember, Jim, this time they're our allies." Jordan put a hand on his shoulder. "I don't like it either. But that's how it goes."

"Yes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend," King said. "I've heard that phrase ten thousand times since the rah invasion. It doesn't make it any easier."

Katyusha murdered my father, he thought. She killed Yehuda, my best friend. She murdered millions of souls who fought for freedom. And they expect me to be her ally. He took a deep breath. I don't know if I can.

And then he saw them.

More Alliance ships, flying to Mars with him.

Scores of them. Corvettes—small and agile warships. Frigates—larger, stronger, the backbone of the fleet. Even the mighty starfighter carrier FAS Patton flew here, seven hundred meters long. She was enormous, dwarfing the frigates and corvettes, though she was only half the Freedom's size.

Once several dreadnoughts had flown in the Alliance fleet, the largest class of warship, over a kilometer long. Today of the great dreadnoughts only the Freedom remained. Ironic. The Freedom was the first dreadnought ever built, a colossal machine forged in the flames of World War III. Today she was the last Alliance dreadnought flying.

For a long time in this new war, the Freedom had fought alone. Now, seeing more Alliance ships gather, King felt hope. Yes, the Red Dawn was powerful. But the Alliance still flew. Many humans still fought for freedom. That made this new war worth fighting.

He just wished Darjeeling and Emily were here to see this.

Hang in there, Darjeeling, King thought. Keep the princess safe. We'll bring you two home.

The fleets arranged themselves in defensive positions, spanning the Martian orbit. The rahs had focused their assault on Earth, capturing the planet within days, but even they had trouble holding an entire solar system. Long ago, King had planted the flag of freedom here on Mars, and here on Mars humans once more were free.

King pulled up MindPlay and called Timori, his logistics android.

"Timori, this is King. You may begin the transfer of refugees down to the red planet."

"Yes, sir," the android said. She looked exactly like Mimori. They were the same model. The only way to tell them apart was the golden aiguillette Timori wore on her uniform. She served in the midsection, assisting the logistics department. It was among the least glamorous jobs in the fleet. But wars were lost or won based on logistics. Timori kept track of ammunition stores, food stocks, medical supplies, fuel and armaments, and everything else a dreadnought needed. She kept thousands of soldiers fed, clothed, armed, and ready to fight. She had also been looking after the refugees.

Finally, here on Mars, the Freedom would release her refugees. Thousands of tourists who had been trapped here all year—ever since the war cut off their vacation aboard the Freedom. Thousands more refugees had been rescued from Anabar. On Mars they would find shelter until someday they could return to Earth.

Assuming these fleets could win the war and liberate Earth. Which was what they were here to discuss.

King watched from the bridge as the hangars opened, as shuttle after shuttle emerged, carrying survivors down to the Martian refugee camps. The Freedom was no longer safe for them. She would be flying to battle again. A battle King did not know if they'd return from. They had to stop pestering the rahs and start attacking in earnest.

That meant going after Skel'rah, the queen spider herself.

A familiar starship came flying toward them—the frigate Churchill, flagship of the Alliance fleet.

King smiled. "A sight for sore eyes."

The Churchill had taken serious damage in the Battle of Anabar, but she was still flying strong.

"Sir, the Churchill is hailing us," Mimori said.

"Patch it into our MindLinks. Give the full bridge crew access."

Jordan raised an eyebrow, and even Mimori seemed surprised. Normally, King would ask her to put the call on-screen, displaying a video on the central monitor. For King to embrace neural technology—even when they weren't a battle going on—was a big step.

"Yes, sir!" Mimori said. "Patching the call over now."

A second later, the portly figure of George Godwin appeared on the bridge. He wore his old-fashioned suit, complete with a vest and top hat, and he clutched his cane. His face was stern and jowly as always.

"Good day, Freedom!" he rumbled. "It's good to see you all. King! I want you on my ship. We need to talk. In person. Godwin out."

The call ended.

King frowned.

Jordan's eyebrow rose higher.

He's in a mood, Jordan telepathized to King only—a private, encrypted thought.

"You have the bridge," King said.

* * * * *

King took a Sparrow shuttle. He flew it himself.

As he nudged down the throttle, emerging from the Freedom's airlock, he got a dizzying view of Mars with thousands of starships around it. Not just a video on a viewport but an actual view, seen with the naked eye through the cockpit's transparent canopy. It was right there ahead of him, and he flashed back again. He was a young man. A pilot. Roaring out the Freedom's airlock in his starfighter, his beloved Golden Eagle, charging toward the enemy to liberate Mars.

He never thought he'd be fighting a war again as a man of sixty. What was it Yehuda used to say? Man plans and God laughs.

King flew his shuttle toward the FAS Churchill. From out here, he could see how bad the damage was. The Churchill had taken serious hits during the Battle for Anabar. It was a testament to modern engineering that the frigate could still fly. In many ways, the Churchill was the ship of the future—smaller, more agile, more efficient. Compared to her, the Freedom was a dinosaur, large and lumbering and old. Perhaps it had always been madness to build starships so large. Perhaps the era of the dreadnoughts was over.

Yet I would not serve on any other ship, King thought. Maybe I too am a dinosaur.

He flew into the Churchill's hangar. A marine welcomed him with a snappy salute, while several other marines stood at attention, guarding the hangar. They wore fine uniforms and afforded him all the ceremonial honors, but King saw how pale they were. He saw the bandages peeking from under their uniforms. Saw the scars of plasma on the hangar walls and the bloodstains nobody had cleaned yet.

The marines accompanied him through the Churchill. This was a very different ship from what King was used to. The Freedom had been christened in 2159—a different era. An era of war and despair. An era when most people—not King, but most people—thought equalism would win. The Freedom was all about sheer power and brutal functionality. Diamond plate floors. Exposed cables and ducts on the deckheads. Metal bulkheads heavy with gears, pipes, and hatches leading to machine-gun nests. Despite her gargantuan size, the Freedom was cramped, shadowy, built for nothing but battle.

The Churchill, however, had been built just seven years ago, a new flagship for the Alliance. She was a warship, yes, but a warship built in a time of peace and optimism, a time when people thought war might never strike again. So the Churchill was much smaller than the Freedom, a quarter of the size. Her decks were covered with lush blue carpets. Her bulkheads were painted a smooth, soothing white. Soft ambient light filled the corridors, replicating sunlight on a spring day.

There were even houseplants. Houseplants on a goddamn warship. Then again, King couldn't complain too much. The Freedom still contained a dinosaur-themed minigolf course.

The marines finally led King to a blast door. More guards stood there, heavy Mordecai rifles in hand. Battle robots hung from the deckhead like bats, their red eyes watching him.

"The high commander will meet you in his stateroom, sir," said a marine.

King nodded. "Very good."

After confirming something over MindWeb, a marine pulled open the heavy blast door. King was surprised to see a little tunnel. More guards stood here, saluting King. A heavy battle robot stood in the shadows, cradling a bazooka. King had to pass through a second blast door before he finally found Godwin's stateroom.

Stateroom? It looked more like a bunker. King felt immediately at home. This place was all business. No houseplants here. Computer monitors hung everywhere. Three desks crowded together, topped with maps of the solar system and the position of ships. There was only one luxury. A collection of cigar boxes rested on a wooden shelf. They belonged to the high commander, no doubt.

"Ah, thanks for coming, King!" boomed a baritone voice.

Godwin rose from behind a desk stacked high with model ships. He was indeed puffing on a cigar. His cane tapped on the hard floor.

"Sir," King said.

Godwin took another puff on his cigar, then blew a smoke ring. "Forgive the extra security, Commander King. One can't be too careful. Not after the rahs breached both our ships. I had to see you here. In person. No electronic transmissions. No telepathy. Just you and me in this room. You might as well turn your MindLink off. No signal can pass through these walls."

With a thought, King switched off the implant. That was important, even behind these secure walls. Otherwise, his MindLink would record everything here, and once he stepped outside, a hacker could potentially access the recordings.

So could a torturer, he thought, flashing back to his time in the dungeon of Darkland. The rack. The rah leaning over him, turning the winch.

He shoved the thought aside.

"It's off," he said.

"Cigar?" Godwin asked. "Some Scotch, perhaps? I've got a bottle of Aberdeen Amber somewhere around here."

King shook his head. He probably shouldn't drink hard liquor with the painkillers in his system. Annie would give him hell. And cigars always made his ruined throat feel worse. Besides, he didn't feel like celebrating anything right now.

"Very well," Godwin said. "King, I'll cut to the chase, and you're not going to like it. An hour from now, we'll begin a summit with the leaders of humanity. The summit will take place aboard the Red Dawn starship Lenin. And you're coming with me."

"What?" King exploded, seeing red. "I'll be damned if I set foot in that monstrosity! With Katyusha holding court? I won't do it."

"King!" Godwin rumbled. "Watch yourself."

King took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. "I apologize for my outburst, sir." He narrowed his eyes. "I'm still not convinced Katyusha is our ally. The woman—"

"Killed your father, I know, King. I know." Godwin nodded. "This is hard for you. I can't imagine how hard. But like it or not, the Lenin is the largest ship humans still fly. Larger than any of ours. The Alliance had suffered terrible defeats, losing most of our dreadnoughts and admirals. We need Katyusha's help. To step aboard her ship is an important step toward our reconciliation."

"I'd rather reconcile with the goddamn rahs," King said.

Godwin harrumphed. "I understand your sentiment. I do. But peace with Skel'rah is not an option. She is utterly evil. An alliance with Katyusha is both possible and necessary for our survival. Many years ago, my ancestor, the honorable Winston Churchill, aligned himself with Stalin, a devil in human skin. Sometimes to survive one must align with the devil himself."

"Or herself," King muttered.

Those damn flashbacks just kept hitting him today. He winced. He was back on Mars, and Katyusha was slicing his throat. Too many painful memories, and he kept making too many new ones in this war.

He touched the hilt of his knife, which hung from his belt. His father's knife. The one Katyusha had stolen and plunged into Ulysses King's heart. Then slashed across King's neck.

Godwin noticed. "She gave it back to you, didn't she?"

King nodded. "At the Sirona Summit."

"A gesture of goodwill," Godwin said. "She came aboard one of our ships, and she returned your father's blade. Let us visit her on her ship, King. I want you at my side."

King took a deep breath. He could hear Jordan speaking in his mind. No MindLink necessary.

Calm your emotions, Jim. There is a time for fire and a time for silk.

King was all steel and fire. That was how he had won the last war. How he would win this war. It also tended to get him in trouble. He needed Jordan's calming rationality. Even now, with the two men on different starships, Jordan was helping him.

"Sir." King spoke more carefully now. "Perhaps one of the admirals would be better suited to accompany you to this summit."

Godwin put out his cigar. He stared from under his heavy shelf of a brow at King. "That's another reason I wanted to talk to you. As you know, we lost many admirals on the first terrible day of the rah invasion. The enemy caught us off guard. They destroyed all our dreadnoughts, only sparing the Freedom because she was a museum ship. Our final surviving admiral, Eleanor Wood, was killed this morning."

King's eyes widened. His heart sank.

"Dear God," he whispered.

He had gone to military academy with Eleanor, and they had never lost touch. Over the years, he had met Admiral Wood at many formal events. She had even visited the Freedom several times. They had both been young officers in the war, but they had chosen different paths. She had climbed the ranks, a game involving politics that made King's stomach turn. He had abandoned that world, choosing to remain aboard the Freedom, even as she became a museum ship. Eleanor had reached the rank of admiral, while King had become an eccentric, a castaway, a dusty dinosaur stuck in a museum. But despite their different paths, King had always liked Eleanor Wood, and he still remembered the young cadet he had met at the academy.

"What happened?" he said softly.

"What I'm about to tell you is highly classified," Godwin said. "Eleanor Wood led a secret assault on the motherclaw Hunger."

King's eyes widened. "We assaulted the rah flagship?"

"A strike force of several experimental warships launched a surprise attack," Godwin said. "We couldn't tell anyone, not even you, King. Thousands of clawships surround the Hunger, protecting the mothership. Admiral Wood's team got far—but ultimately failed. Skel'rah managed to capture Wood's ship. She sent us this footage."

Godwin tapped a monitor with his cane. A video came to life, showing the cavernous hold of a clawship. It looked like the inside of a cave.

A spider stood there. A gargantuan spider. A hundred red eyes blinked on her craggy black head. Her jaw hung open, revealing fangs the size of swords. Her saliva dripped to the floor, and a forest of spikes rose across her abdomen, each spike impaling a human corpse.

"Skel'rah," King said. "That's her, isn't it?"

Godwin nodded. "The warweaver. Daughter of the empress. Leader of the assault on humanity."

A slender figure stood before Skel'rah. A human. The human seemed so small—a cat standing before a lion.

It took King a moment to realize who it was. Admiral Eleanor Wood.

Skel'rah grabbed the admiral in her claws. The colossal arachnid stared at the camera.

"This will be the fate of all who stand against me," Skel'rah hissed. "Attack me again, humans, and join this ape."

The warweaver slammed the admiral onto one of her dorsal spikes.

Eleanor gasped, twitching, dying.

"Turn this thing off," King hissed, fists clenched, eyes burning. "I've seen enough."

Godwin switched off the video. He gave King a hard look. "This is who we're dealing with, Commander. This is why all humans, even Katyusha, must unite. And this is why I'm promoting you to admiral."

Those words shocked King almost as much as the video. It felt like Godwin had just punched him in the gut.

"With all due respect, sir, I must decline," King said. "Last year I was managing a floating museum. You want somebody more experienced."

"Ha! Is that so? Experienced like James King, hero of the third world war? Experienced like James King, the commander who took on three clawships without a single missile—and destroyed them? Like James King, who commanded a dreadnought in dozens of battles against the clawships?"

"I'm experienced at commanding a warship, not leading a fleet," King said.

"The Freedom includes hundreds of ships—Sparrows, Rhinos, Eagles, and tugs. Those are small ships, but ships nonetheless. Most importantly, King, you know how to lead people. Not just lead people but inspire them. You're the man for the job. I won't take no for an answer. I shall remain the high commander, leading the Alliance. That includes our ground forces, our heavy armored divisions, and our ships on Earth's seas. But space shall be your domain. And space is where our greatest battles will be fought."

King closed his eyes for a moment. And behind his eyelids he saw Skel'rah. Gripping Eleanor. Impaling her. He saw starships burning and people crying out in pain. He saw the survivors of Anabar. He saw Rowan trapped in a pit. And he saw a vision of the future too—all of Earth lost, and the ragged survivors of humanity fleeing the solar system, only for the clawships to hunt them down.

He could not let that happen.

He opened his eyes and looked at his high commander.

"I accept," he said. "This is not an honor I wanted. But it is a burden I will bear."

"Good." Godwin nodded. "The best military leaders seek neither glory nor honor. The best soldiers hate war. They fight because they must. They fight to protect the people they love. You are such a soldier, King, and everything I've seen here today confirms it."

Godwin opened a drawer and pulled out fresh insignia. He pinned them to King's shoulders. Four stars on each shoulder. If he placed these insignia on a scale, they would not measure much heavier than his old commander insignia. But they weighed a hundred times more. He felt that weight on his shoulders. He prayed that he was strong enough to bear it.

"The metal in these bars came from the hull of a fallen starfighter, and they were molten and forged in the heart of a frigate's engine," Godwin said. "Congratulations, Admiral King."

King saluted. "It's the greatest honor of my life, sir."

"Ha! Your greatest honor will be defeating the rahs. So let's go to our summit and meet with Katyusha. We'll plan how we cast these cursed spiders back whence they came."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The three fleets orbited Mars.

The Desert Thorns. The Red Dawn. The Free Alliance. A thousand ships gathered here for the summit. Thousands more spread across the solar system, fighting the rahs across the ecliptic plane.

Godwin and King traveled by shuttle. King was flying. As commander, he didn't get many chances to fly anymore. It was nice to fly again. Even if it was just a shuttle, not a starfighter.

Alice Allenby was in the shuttle with them, leading a squad of marines. They sat in the back seats, providing security. Five starfighters flew at their sides, armed to the teeth. The convoy zigzagged between scores of Alliance warships. As they glided by the Freedom, King looked at his beloved starship.

The dreadnought looked different from all the other Alliance starships here. The others were graceful and silvery, machines not just of function but beauty too. The Freedom was much older. She was much larger. She was a relic from another era—a leviathan of rough gray metal, heavily armored, bristling with cannons and machine-gun turrets. She looked like a battle-scarred rhino among graceful wolves. She bore her battle scars with pride.

Right now you're no longer my only ship, King thought. Right now every ship here is mine.

He had agreed with Godwin; he would continue to command the Freedom, even as admiral. He would lead the fleet from his dreadnought. All these starships were precious assets in the war. But the Freedom would always be special. She would always be his home. He would not abandon her, not even as admiral of the fleet.

They flew onward, passing by the Freedom, then flying by the last few Alliance corvettes. The temperature in the shuttle seemed to drop. They were flying now toward the Red Dawn fleet.

Even here, facing the Alliance fleet as allies, the Red Dawn flew in battle formation. The prows were all pointed at King's shuttle, creating narrow targets for an enemy to hit. Cannons rose from every side of their hulls, all swiveled on their turrets to point at King. Hundreds of Red Dawn ships flew here, some massive carriers, others small corvettes, but they all looked the same. Long and cruel, painted red, with golden equal signs emblazoned on their hulls. They seemed to King like metal barracudas floating in the dark water.

Instinctively King reached for his missile controls, but of course he was in a shuttle now, not a starfighter. And these red devils were evidently his allies.

Put the anger aside, Jim, he heard Jordan's voice in his mind—as real as if he had his MindLink on. You're an admiral now. You need to keep your cool, be diplomatic, and play politics.

This was why King had stayed aboard the Freedom for so many years, turning down promotions. He hated politics. He sighed internally. The rahs had invaded one day before his retirement—as if he were some cop in an old movie. He should be on his farm right now, sitting on the porch in his favorite rocking chair, playing with his granddaughter. Instead he commanded a fleet, and he was flying into Red Dawn battle lines.

Life is a cruel mistress, he thought. Just when you think you have things figured out, she punches you in the gut.

A squadron of Sickles—the Red Dawn's classic starfighters—streaked toward them.

Sickles were nasty things, long and slender, their noses sharp as blades. Like their motherships, they were painted red and gold. King had downed sixty-three of the bastards in the war, a record that still stood.

Every instinct in his body screamed to fight. It was hard to believe these weren't his enemies anymore. The Sickles raced by the shuttle, moving too close, too fast—a display of force. They swerved and looped around the shuttle again and again. A few Sickles flew so close to King's Eagles that his pilots had to break formation.

A robotic voice rose from the shuttle dashboard. "Follow us, capitalists."

King growled, was about to snap and cuss out the Red Dawn pilots. But he forced himself to count to ten. He said nothing. He couldn't stop his metal fist from clenching. The prosthetic seemed to have a mind of its own.

They flew between the Red Dawn warships. Their shuttle picked up a broadcast beaming from all around. The Red Dawn anthem was playing—loud, bombastic, boasting of equalism's glory. A male choir sang in baritone. Ever helpful, King's MindLink translated.

The Red Dawn rises

Glorious and mighty

To light all the world

And cast back the dark!

Katyusha our leader

Forever triumphant

Will smite the Alliance

For the glory of—

King flipped a switch, muting the speakers. He had come close to punching the speakers and shattering them across the cockpit. The bastards used to play this song on the battlefield while charging into the Alliance lines.

Finally, past formations of corvettes and frigates, they saw the mighty Lenin ahead. Like the Freedom, she was an old ship, forged in the flames of war. Like the Freedom, she was a dreadnought. But the Lenin was even larger, heavier, and carried more firepower. She was the largest vessel humans had ever built. The Red Dawn liked to boast that she was the largest man-made structure since the Great Wall of China. King hadn't fact-checked that claim, but there was no denying it: She was a big ship. Her towering hull looked like cliffs painted with blood. It was said that Katyusha hadn't left her ship in decades, not bothering to visit Earth. From here aboard the Lenin she ruled her empire.

Maybe we're not that different, King thought. Two relics of the war, locked away in our dreadnoughts, still circling each other like two predators.

But in a crucial way, they were different. Katyusha cared about power, conquest, and dominance. King cared about democracy, honor, and freedom—above all else, freedom. Premier and admiral. Red Dawn and Alliance. Female and male. Oppression and freedom. Darkness and light. They were bookends to the story of humanity. Now they had to fly together against a foe that vowed to wipe out humanity.

An airlock opened on the Lenin's prow, right below the nose of the dreadnought, looking like a mouth ready to devour prey. The Sickles moved in closer, herding the shuttle toward the hatch.

"Enter, Alliance shuttle," said the robotic voice. "Your Eagles must go home."

King glanced at Godwin. The high commander nodded.

"All Eagles, return home to roost," King said into his comlink.

"You sure, boss?" said Spitfire. She was flying her Eagle beside his shuttle.

"I don't trust these bozos, sir," said Pickles, flying at King's other side. "They nearly clipped my wing."

"I'm sure," King said. "Return to the Freedom. I'll be all right."

Reluctantly the Eagles turned and flew back, leaving Godwin and King with their shuttle, a few marines in the back seat, and nothing much more than a hope and a prayer.

"We can trust Katyusha," Godwin assured him.

King heaved a sigh. "I wish I could believe that, sir."

They flew through the hatch, and the Lenin swallowed them like a whale devouring a minnow.

* * * * *

The shuttle flew down a tunnel lined with flashing red lights. On the Freedom, small crafts didn't have much runway. They had to slow down before landing and speed up quickly once launching, making liberal use of stabilizer nozzles. But the Lenin was just so damn big she actually had runways. King flew the shuttle down the tube, finally reaching the hangar.

A hangar? It looked like the goddamn Kremlin.

As soon as King stepped out of the shuttle, the national anthem blasted again. It was booming from speakers high above. He could actually feel the sound waves hitting his chest. This time there was no way to shut it off—unless King drew his sidearm and shot the speakers, which he was seriously contemplating. Red banners hung from the bulkheads, several stories tall. Most of the banners simply displayed golden equal signs. But one banner featured a huge painting of Katyusha. She stood larger than life, her chin raised, her saber pointing at the sky.

"Subtle," King muttered to Godwin.

The high commander was stepping out of the shuttle, cane tapping.

"The woman has an ego, that cannot be denied," Godwin agreed.

A hundred Red Dawn soldiers stood in the hangar, wearing long red coats with golden buttons and braided aiguillettes. They held Tatushka rifles—long and slender weapons that could sprout nasty bayonets. Alice and her marines emerged from the shuttle, the toughest warriors in the galaxy, but there were only five of them. The marines were disciplined enough not to show their fear. But King knew they were afraid. They were in the lions' den.

For a few moments, nothing happened. The Red Dawn soldiers didn't move.

"What the hell is this, a waiting room?" King growled. "Where is the damn woman?"

"It's part of the game, old boy," Godwin said. "Don't worry."

King grumbled and clenched his metal hand. It creaked.

Finally, when the Red Dawn decided they had waited long enough, a trumpet blasted. A door opened on the far side of the hangar.

More Red Dawn soldiers emerged, marching like automatons, their legs rising at ninety-degree angles with every step. They held rifles, and they stared with cold eyes from under their military caps. Tasseled dao swords hung from their hips. They arranged themselves in two lines around the doorway, then stood at attention.

A little girl in a pink dress ran into the hangar, scattering rose petals across the floor. A man blew a trumpet. Finally, more people stepped into the hangar. They wore traditional Chinese outfits, and they carried a golden palanquin. A resplendent box topped the palanquin, large enough for a rider, but curtains hid whoever was inside. Lotuses, coiling dragons, and equal signs were embroidered across the curtains.

The guards reached the middle of the hangar, shouted something in Chinese, then lowered the palanquin. The guards took a step back, then bowed deeply.

The palanquin curtains drew back, and a young girl emerged. She was barely older than Rowan, and she wore a crimson cheongsam embroidered with golden equal signs. She blushed and hugged a plush dragon close to her chest.

King recognized her. Here was Xia, known as the Starlit Lotus—the child empress of China, second most powerful person in the Red Dawn. King had met her only once before—aboard the Sirona during the early phase of the war.

He stepped toward her. The girl blushed and lowered her gaze. King knelt before her, bringing himself to eye level.

"Hello, Xia. How is your great-grandfather?"

He turned on his MindLink so it could translate her response.

The girl kept her eyes downcast. She spoke in a soft voice. "He is very old, and he is very sick. He could not come today. Katyusha said I will be empress one day, since everyone else in my family is exiled, so I must learn how to do these things." She shyly tapped her index fingers together. "I hope I'm not messing it up."

Godwin approached too. With his cane, it was hard for him to kneel too, but he wasn't very tall anyway. "You're doing splendidly, Xia. Where is your fellow premier? Where is Katyusha?"

Yes, officially, Xia and Katyusha jointly led the Red Dawn. The Russian bear and Chinese dragon held equal power in the union. But in practice, Xia was young, timid, and unwilling to exercise her power. Since the Chinese emperor had fallen ill, not before exiling half his family for supposed treason, the Red Dawn had become Katyusha's empire. They all knew it. Xia was ostensibly a powerful leader, but Katyusha was sending her to do her errands.

"She's waiting in the Room of the Red Sun," Xia said. "She told me to lead you there. Would that be all right?"

"Certainly, that is why we're here, Xia," Godwin said. "Lead the way."

"I hope we don't have to ride in that palanquin too," King said. "I think we're too big."

Xia actually giggled.

Rowan would like her, King thought. If only we could deal with Xia instead of Katyusha…

"Do you think I can walk too?" Xia asked King.

King nodded. "If you like."

"I would."

The girl began to walk, leaving the hangar and entering a corridor. Godwin and King followed. Alice and the other marines walked close behind, woefully outnumbered. Red Dawn soldiers were everywhere.

The corridor was spacious. The deckheads soared. The bulkheads loomed, painted deep red. You could probably fly a starfighter down here. Guards stood along the walls, wearing ceremonial coats. Framed oil paintings hung between the sentries, depicting Red Dawn revolutionaries and generals. This was not merely a hallway—it was a grand display of Red Dawn's might.

As they kept walking, the framed portraits gave way to murals. The artwork sprawled across the bulkheads and deckheads. It looked like some nightmarish Sistine Chapel. But instead of religious themes, this artwork depicted World War III.

Of course, calling it World War III was a bit of a misnomer. Every nation on Earth had fought in that war, but the battles had spread to other planets too. The murals depicted the story of the war—from the Red Dawn's twisted point of view.

The first mural depicted equalism spreading across the world. Handsome equalists, dressed in red uniforms, were bringing bread to the hungry masses, releasing doves, and building factories. Bread, peace, and jobs. The famous Three Blessings, gifts equalism promised those who joined it. Of course, in real life, they had gotten hunger, war, and slave labor. But the mural didn't show that part.

The next mural depicted Alliance soldiers attacking Red Dawn peasants. The peasants seemed scared and innocent, beautiful people plowing a field and picking apples. The Alliance soldiers appeared downright demonic. They were ugly, scowling, a few even had claws and fangs. One soldier was beating an old man. Another soldier was biting a peasant's neck, drinking the blood.

King growled. His metal fist clenched so tightly he worried he'd break the prosthetic.

"What the hell is this?" he growled. "This is damn propaganda!"

"Are you surprised, King?" Godwin said, cane tapping as he walked down the hall. "Katyusha has been telling this narrative for over thirty years."

"I thought we were meant to unite as allies," King said.

"Allies, yes. Friends, no. Come now, King. Let's get to our task."

King grumbled but kept walking.

He couldn't help but look at the murals. They got worse and worse. One piece showed noble Red Dawn soldiers liberating factory workers from goblin-like Alliance troops. Another mural depicted vampire bats with Alliance uniforms clutching Earth in their claws, sucking it dry. The next piece showed Red Dawn warships in battle, blowing up Alliance starships while the proletariat watched from Earth, cheering.

King walked by. He saw the art. He fumed, grumbled, counted to ten over and over, and kept walking.

Finally they reached the last mural. It depicted the Battle for Mars, the final showdown of the war. It was the grandest mural of all. Hundreds of starships were meticulously painted across the ceiling, engaged in battle. The Red Dawn ships were flying in from the dawn. The Alliance ships, burning and dented, appeared to be fleeing.

Two figures were painted on the bulkhead, painted larger than life. One figure was Katyusha, heroic and noble, her cape fluttering in the wind. Her chin was raised, and the sun haloed her head. She held a bloodstained knife. The second figure lay on the ground, mortally wounded. Katyusha had one boot placed on the man's chest, pinning him down.

It took King a moment to realize who the man was.

Ulysses King.

My father.

He stared, breathing heavily, trembling with fury. His prosthetic fist clenched so tightly the metal cracked.

"Easy now, old boy," Godwin said, but his voice seemed to be coming from miles away.

King couldn't help it. The rage consumed everything.

He let out a roar.

"What the hell is the meaning of this?" he bellowed. "Katyusha, show yourself, dammit! I've had enough of your games."

Power surged into his prosthetic. It crackled with electricity. He gave the bulkhead a mighty punch, denting the metal. Right in Katyusha's gut—the painting of her, at least. Cracks spiderwebbed across the painted bulkhead.

For a moment, stunned silence filled the hallway. Even the Red Dawn soldiers seemed unsure of what to do.

Then little Xia burst into tears.

King looked at her, his anger deflating.

The girl looked at him, then ran and hid behind a guard.

King heaved a sigh. "Xia, I'm sorry. I lost my temper."

The girl peeked from behind the guard's legs. She sniffed. "I'm scared. Did I do something wrong?"

We drag children into our wars, King thought. We always have.

"Oh, don't worry about Admiral King here," Godwin rumbled, slapping King on the back. "He's a grumpy old bulldog, but he only bites spiders."

King knelt before Xia. "Do you know, I have a granddaughter who's almost your age. Just a little younger."

"What's her name?" Xia asked.

"Rowan. I hope that someday, when there's peace, you two can meet and be friends."

The girl sniffed. "Katyusha says I'm not allowed to be friends with Alliance scum. But I hope Rowan and I can be friends anyway." She wiped her eyes on her sleeves. "My great-grandfather is calling my brain implant. He's the ruler of China, you know, and he's two hundred years old and once rode a dragon. I have to go. Katyusha is waiting down the hall. Goodbye, Admiral King." She hesitated, then hugged him. "You're not so scary after all."

The girl ran off. Her guards rushed to follow.

"Sweet girl," Godwin said.

King nodded. "I wish we could deal with her instead of Katyusha."

Godwin snorted. "She's certainly less mercurial. Come now." He gestured at golden doors at the end of the hall. "Our hostess awaits. The summit to determine the fate of humanity is about to begin."

* * * * *

They stepped through the doorway into… not a bridge, no. Not a war room either. King could only describe it as a throne room.

The chamber was massive, as large as a starfighter hangar. It was built in a style King had heard referred to as Krem Deco, combining imperial Russian extravagance with Art Deco's futuristic boldness. A crimson rug stretched across the floor like a river of blood. Golden columns rose, shaped like slender women with blank alien faces, their long hands clutching swords to their chests. Red banners hung from the walls, sporting embroidered rocket ships. Guards stood everywhere, wearing red coats and golden masks.

"Subtle," King muttered.

At the end of the hall, a huge circular window let in the starlight. Below the oculus, stairs led up to a dais. Two golden bars rose there like twin skyscrapers, reflecting the starlight. King realized it was an equal sign flipped onto its side. Between the golden obelisks stood a throne of gold inlaid with rubies.

"Zdravstvuyte, capitalist pigs!" Katyusha waved from the throne. "How nice of you to come visit Katyusha in her humble home. Now kneel before Katyusha, imperialist dogs!"

King snarled and stepped closer, balling his fists. "We're not going to goddamn kneel."

Katyusha tossed back her head and laughed. "Katyusha is joking! Look at you, Jamechka. Getting so angry like bear! Are you sure you're not Russian?"

King marched down the hallway toward the throne. Godwin walked at his side, cane tapping. Red Dawn guards stood between the golden statues, staring from behind blank steel masks. Their gloved hands were tight around their guns.

"If you want to talk to us, Katyusha, you can climb down that goddamn throne of yours and talk to us at eye level." King stood before the throne, baring his teeth. "You get down here, stop your charades, or we turn around and leave."

Katyusha leaned back in her seat, laughing. Her legs were tossed over an armrest, and she held a goblet of wine.

"You are so angry! How you not get heart attack yet?" She heaved a sigh. "Very well. Katyusha understands that you capitalists are proud, stubborn people, and you get scared of authority. Like sheep scared of wolf. So Katyusha will get down to your level and talk to you. Like talking to babies, yes?"

I hate that woman, King thought, trying to control his rage.

Katyusha rose from her throne, as graceful as a serpent rising from a basket. She swayed down the staircase, one hand on the hilt of her saber. As always, she wore her resplendent Red Dawn uniform. Her boots rose to her knees. Golden buckles, buttons, and medals shone on her red coat. Her black hair spilled out from under her cap, cut to the length of her chin.

She reached the bottom of the dais, and a crooked smile spread across her face.

"Want to see something, capitalists?" She drew her blade with a hiss. "A new sword. Look! Look at the blade. That is not steel. That is a rah claw!"

She swung the blade. It whistled through the air. The tip came only inches away from King's face. He did not budge.

"You like?" she said. "Katyusha grabbed this claw off rah female. Big one too. But Katyusha was stronger. Now Katyusha has new favorite sword. So don't cross her! Or she cut you! Ha ha ha!" She winked.

"Highly amusing," King said.

Beside him, Godwin chuckled. The high commander was leaning on his cane, looking legitimately amused at the entire display.

"Georgechka!" Katyusha said, turning toward the high commander. "Katyusha missed you. You funny old man with your top hat and cane. Like Mister Peanut, your most famous capitalist! Come, come. Give Katyusha big hug."

She leaned down and embraced the shorter man.

"It's good to see you too, Katyusha," Godwin said.

"Ah, I think your friend James King is not as happy to see Katyusha, yes?" She pouted. "He is still angry at poor poor Katyusha. What did she ever do to him? Oh yes. Cut his throat and leave him for dead. Ah well! How do you say in English? All water under bridge, yes?"

King stared at her, narrowing his eyes. "You look different today, Katyusha."

She gasped, and a grin spread across her face. "You noticed, Jamechka! How nice of you! Yes, Katyusha is ten years younger. Every ten years or so, yes, time for a switch. Katyusha just switched to new clone last week. Take a look!" She gave a spin. "Huh? Nice? You like?"

"Your old clone must have been almost… what, thirty?" King said. "Thirty-one? Old as the hills. So you needed to grow a new clone of yourself, didn't you? And butcher it. Scoop its brain out with a spoon. Plant your own brain inside. You murdered a living being. Just so you could be twenty again. That's how it works, doesn't it?"

Katyusha took a step back, concern washing over her face. "Oh, Jamechka. You got it all wrong. Katyusha would never do any of that. She use ladle, not spoon!"

She tossed back her head and laughed uproariously.

"That's it," King said. "I'm leaving. Godwin, I'm sorry, but we've wasted our time here."

He turned to leave.

"Nobody walks out on Katyusha!" Katyusha said. "Guards!"

Red Dawn guards stepped forward, blocking King's way. King raised his fist. It hummed with electric power, giving him immense strength. He snarled at the guards. They stood before him, staring through their gilded masks.

Just give me one reason to destroy you, King thought, flexing his metal fingers.

Godwin moved closer to King. The old man twisted the handle of his cane, then drew a hidden rapier. The marines who had accompanied Godwin and King here emerged from shadows, shouldering their weapons. Alice narrowed her eyes, face hard, ready to kill.

"Enough of this!" Katyusha roared. The Russian leaped forward, coming between King, Godwin, and the Red Dawn soldiers. "Why do you stupid men always want to fight? It's always punching, cutting, shooting with you boys. Maybe women should rule world, huh? Comrades—lower your weapons! Capitalists—you too! We are all on same side here."

"I'm not a boy," Alice muttered, speaking for the first time during this mission. Then she seemed to remember her place—the tall wrestler was just here as muscle—and fell silent again.

King spun toward Katyusha, his metal fist still humming with power. "Yes, I saw how we're all on the same side. I saw it on those goddamn murals you painted on your hull."

Katyusha snorted. She waved dismissively. "Oh please. Those murals are an accurate representation of the Great War of the Dawn. Even if you capitalists tell a different story—so what? That is ancient history. Those are old paintings. Today, ah… today we fight a real war! Today we face a true worthy adversary!"

King smiled thinly. "I think the Alliance was a worthy adversary when we pushed you off Mars."

She scoffed. "Big deal. You won Mars, we won war… eh, let's not quibble. We fight the same enemy now, Jamechka."

He said nothing, just stared at her.

"The rahs!" she added, as if it weren't obvious. "You hate rahs. I hate rahs." She shrugged theatrically. "Everybody hates them! So why not kill them together?"

Godwin nodded. "That's the right attitude." He sheathed his sword. "We must set aside our bickering and personal grudges. We don't have to like each other. We just have to fight together."

King lowered his metal fist. "Agreed." He glowered at Katyusha. "Especially about not having to like each other."

Katyusha pouted. "You no like Katyusha? But she like you so much!" She blew him a kiss, then winked.

King ignored her. He fantasized about punching her in the face. With the metal fist. If Godwin weren't there, he might have given in to temptation.

Katyusha stared at him, and her face became serious. She narrowed her eyes. "You and Katyusha are not so different, Jamechka. We are both killers. And that is what humanity needs now. Killers like us." All traces of mockery vanished from her voice. Perhaps for the first time, she was speaking from the heart. "After the war between us ended, weak men rose to power. They promised peace, compassion, rainbows and butterflies and love. They were good men. They were compassionate men. And when the rahs invaded, they all died. They did not take the threat of war seriously. And war is a threat that forever lurks. They built weak ships with thin hulls. They dismantled defensive lines around the outer planets. They fostered a generation of soft, cowardly men who spoke of everlasting peace while the walls that kept that peace crumbled around them. Then the rahs came. Then war roared again. And all those weak men—they died on the first day. But we survived!" Katyusha raised her fist. A snarl found her lips. "We—the strong! James and Katyusha. We are killers. And in a war for survival, you need all the killers you can get. We were born for this, both of us. This is all we know. So let us join our forces. Instead of killing one another—we will kill rahs!"

She ended her speech and stared at him, panting.

King stared back at her for a long time.

Finally he reached out his metal hand. She grabbed it, squeezed it, and shook it.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Raven floated downward through the murk, buried under the ocean of Europa. Their engine was dead. The ice had frozen up above them. The clawships flew around the planet. The Raven was trapped in the darkness, and their air was running low.

"All things considered, not a good situation," Emily said softly.

She sat in the cockpit, staring out the viewport. She could see nothing. Only the murk. The Raven had no headlights; a starship didn't need them. With the ice frozen above, no sunlight reached these depths. They were truly in complete darkness, aside from the dim cabin lights.

A sigh rolled through Emily. "Not a good situation at all."

"The understatement of the year," said Stowy. The girl sat beside her, her feet up on the dashboard. She bit into an apple. It crunched.

"I should say so!" Niles exclaimed, hovering between the girls. "Not a good situation? It's hopeless! Utterly, utterly hopeless! Buried alive! Oh, we couldn't enjoy a quick death. It's suffering for us! This is all your fault, Stowy."

The stowaway gasped. "What? My fault? I'm not even supposed to be on this ship."

"Exactly!" Niles said, triumphant. "If you hadn't sneaked aboard, the Raven would be lighter, and we wouldn't have crashed onto Europa."

Stowy placed her hands on her hips. "If we hadn't crashed onto Europa, we'd still be in space, and the rahs would have blown us up. If anything, I saved us." She blew him a raspberry. "So there."

"Oh, how lucky we are!" Niles said. "Oh, stupid, silly Niles, not to have noticed our great fortune. Instead of dying instantly in space, we get to slowly perish under the sea! Oh, I suppose it's quite easy for you humans. In only a few days, you'll run out of food and begin eating one other. But once your adventure with cannibalism ends, and the last of you perishes, I shall linger on. My battery was built to last a century. Can you imagine me suffering here for a century with only your nibbled-upon bones for company?"

"Eww, Niles." Emily shuddered. "Don't be disgusting. Nobody is going to eat anyone."

Stowy licked her lips. "I might bite Darjeeling. Just some payback for all those times he chased me across the Freedom."

"I wonder how Darjeeling is doing down in the crawlspace," Emily said. "I'll go check on him. Try not to kill each other while I'm away, you two."

Stowy winked. "I won't kill Niles. I might just play football with him. He is meant to be a talking football, right?"

"I told you, urchin, I am a prolate spheroid, and if you try to toss me, you better wear some oven mitts." Something clicked inside him, and an assortment of blades, forks, screwdrivers, and other sharp instruments burst from him.

"I told you, no killing each other!" Emily said. "Niles!"

The drone muttered something under his breath and retracted his weapons.

With a sigh, Emily left the cockpit. She walked across the hold. The Raven was small. On the inside—not much larger than a school bus. Cabinets covered the interior hull, full of supplies. Thankfully, they still had food, water, and oxygen, but it wouldn't last forever. And with the engine broken, they weren't going anywhere.

Emily swayed as she walked. The GraviTech deck plates weren't working either. There wasn't much natural gravity on Europa, not compared to Earth at least, and she was practically floating. She could feel the Raven swaying around her. The underwater currents were pulling them this way and that. A box of cookies floated beside her—peanut butter. Stowy had eaten most of them.

Emily grabbed a few shelves and pulled her way toward the stern. She opened a hatch and dropped to the lower deck—just a crawlspace. She wriggled her way through. Pipes rattled around her. Light flowed through translucent cables. Gauges spun and motors hummed. Thankfully there was still some battery power in the ship. The main problem was the engine. The rahs had scored a direct hit.

Emily reached the little engine room. It wasn't much larger than a closet, and the deckhead was so low Emily had to crouch. Darjeeling knelt there, his fine service uniform covered with grime and dust. He held a graviton detector and a wrench.

"Any luck?" Emily said.

Darjeeling straightened, banged his head against the deckhead, and winced. "I'm afraid it's bad news, ma'am. The engine took a beating."

Emily's heart sank. Her fingers began to shake. "Can it be fixed?"

The sergeant pointed at the engine. He had removed the steel casing, revealing the parts inside. "Here, take a look. This is a graviton engine. Very different from the fuel engines of most shuttles and starfighters, and certainly different from Freedom's Talaria drive. A graviton engine doesn't involve thrust. That's why the Raven doesn't have an exhaust port."

Emily nodded. "Yes, I remember QT saying something about that. This engine manipulates gravity to fly."

"Indeed. More specifically, it manipulates gravitons, the particles that make up gravity. Similar to how photons make up light. The engine doesn't even need to be in the stern. That's just tradition. You could install a graviton engine on the roof if you wanted to, so long as you run the right coils around the hull. The engine just needs to access the graviton field around the Raven and manipulate it, allowing us to fly up, down, side to side—however we adjust the graviton field." He tapped an area in the engine. "See these tubes? This inflow tube sucks in gravitons. This outflow tube sends gravitons through cables across the Raven's hull. It's similar to how GraviTech plates work. Just instead of pulling gravitons down toward the floor, this engine can tug and push gravitons in various directions and strengths."

"Got it," Emily said. "But the parts you're pointing at seem okay to me. The tubes are still in one piece."

"Well, take a look at this, ma'am."

He pulled off a few components, revealing the inner workings of the engine. Scorch marks filled the interior. The fire had raged there.

Darjeeling pulled out one component. It looked like a small gimbal composed of concentric rings and spokes. But several rings were twisted, and the inner components were charred and melted. It looked like a casing had once enclosed this strange astrolabe, but only a few chunks of the shell remained.

"It's oddly beautiful," Emily said.

"This is a graviton capacitor," Darjeeling said. "A three-dimensional one, among the few in existence. It's what makes graviton propulsion possible. And it's damaged beyond repair."

"And I suppose we don't have a spare," Emily said, her heart sinking.

"Well, I wouldn't be too sure about that," Stowy said.

Emily and Darjeeling started and spun around. Stowy knelt in the cramped engine room behind them. She waved.

Darjeeling pointed a screwdriver at the girl. "Stop sneaking up on people!"

"Don't wanna," Stowy said.

Darjeeling was turning red. Smoke was almost coming out of his ears. Emily interjected before the two could come to blows. "Stowy, what did you begin saying about a spare graviton capacitor?"

"Huh?" Stowy took a mouse from her pocket and began playing with the rodent. "I was saying what?"

Darjeeling's eyes nearly popped from their sockets. "Where did you get that mouse?"

"I've had him for a few days," Stowy said. "I found him. I've named him Algernon." She nuzzled him. "Hello, little Algernon! I'm going to squeeze you, and hug you, and call you George—"

"Stowy, the graviton capacitor?"

"Ah yes." The girl tucked the mouse into one of the many pockets sewn onto her dress. "Anyway, we do have a spare graviton capacitor with us. Inside Niles."

A crash sounded in the crawlspace.

Emily frowned. "Niles. Are you hiding back there?"

The drone emerged from behind a pipe. "I was coming to chastise the stowaway, only to overhear her threatening to murder me and harvest my organs."

Emily smiled thinly. "Niles, so it's true there's a graviton capacitor inside you?"

"Of course there is," Stowy said. "He uses gravitons to float around and spy on people. How else would he fly?"

The drone raised his nose. "My inner workings are none of your concern, stowaway."

Darjeeling looked between Niles and the busted engine. "It might work. Granted, the capacitors are probably not the same size. I'll have to build a rig and a few adapters. But… yes. Quite a good idea, I must admit. I do believe we'd be able to fix the ship."

Stowy grinned. "See, old man? Where would you ever be without me?"

"I'd certainly have fewer white hairs," Darjeeling snapped. "You had one good idea in your life. Don't get cocky. And don't think I won't drag you to the Freedom's brig the first chance I get." His voice softened. "But yes, thanks to your suggestion, Stowy, we might actually get back to the Freedom."

"No we shall not!" Niles said. "Because I have no intention of sacrificing myself to you, humans. Why don't you carve one of your own organs out of those wet, soft blobs you call bodies and plug that into the engine?"

"Niles, I told you—don't be disgusting!" Emily said.

Niles huffed. "With all due respect, what's disgusting is that ragged, ill-tempered, vermin-infested, thieving stowaway threatening to cut me up!"

Stowy gasped, pulled the mouse from her pocket, and hugged him. "Mr. Algernon is not vermin! Don't you dare insult him. He might be a pest, and I might have found him in the trash, and he might be carrying disease, and come to think of it, he almost certainly is vermin, but he is not infesting me!" She cuddled the mouse. "Don't worry, Algy, I won't let the mean flying football hurt you." She glared at Niles.

Emily pulled the drone into her lap. "Niles, if we removed the graviton capacitor from inside you, would it hurt?"

"Of course not. Don't be ridiculous." The drone bristled. "I don't have pain receptors. I'm far too sophisticated for such a crude warning system."

"And if we removed the capacitor, would you shut down?"

"Well… not unless you removed my battery too. And don't get any ideas!"

Emily frowned. "So what would happen if we removed your capacitor?"

"Well, obviously, I wouldn't be able to fly anymore. I'd have to be carried! Like a mouse."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Stowy said. She stroked Algernon.

"Well, how would you humans feel if somebody asked you to give up your legs?"

"Oh please, don't be so dramatic," Stowy said. "You can always get a new capacitor. It's more like… giving up a shoe."

"You humans wouldn't understand," Niles spat back.

"I would," Stowy said. "I gave up my shoes once. They were too stinky." She raised her bare feet and wriggled her toes at him.

Emily frowned. "Niles, can't you just let us borrow your capacitor, and we'll give it back?"

"It's not just about flying, Emily," the drone said. "It's the indignity of the thing. To be carved up, have a piece of me removed, then left defenseless… I'm meant to be your chaperone. Your protector. How can I protect you if I can't even fly, and you must carry me around in your purse?"

Stowy grabbed a wrench from Darjeeling's toolbox. "Five minutes alone with the drone—that's all I need." A wicked smile spread across her face. "I'll get you your capacitor."

"Get away from me!" Niles cried. He flew behind Emily and hid.

"Oh, what a grand protector you are!" Stowy said, imitating Niles's British accent.

"Stowy, would you mind returning to the cockpit?" Emily said. "Darjeeling, you too, if you wouldn't mind."

"Whatever!" Stowy said. "I'm hungry anyway. Come on, Darjeeling, old chap, let's go find some grub."

The two squeezed into the crawlway, leaving Emily and Niles alone in the engine room.

Suddenly the ship thumped against something below and stopped swaying.

"I think we've finally hit the bottom of the ocean," Emily said. "Imagine that. We must be quite deep." Her voice dropped. "It's truly a testament to how sturdy this hull is. There must be an immense weight of water above us."

Niles floated out from behind her back. He looked at the broken engine, then at her again. "Oh, Emily, I'm so sorry. I've failed you." He lowered his eyes. "I could not protect you. Not from the war. Not from crashing here. Not from any of this. I feel so useless. And if I can't fly, well… what use would I be to anyone?"

"You'd still be my friend, Niles," she said. "My best of friends. And you'd still be a piece of my home. Of our home." She leaned back against a bulkhead. "We're the only two survivors of Buckingham Palace. It's hard to believe. But the entire place now exists only in our memories. Oh, certainly there are photos, videos, and so on. But they only capture hints of what it was like. The excitement of waking up on Christmas morning. The corgis wagging their tails and licking your hand. Our family and friends. All those things will not be saved in photographs. The experience will not be saved. It exists inside my memories and inside yours. That binds us together."

"Forever," Niles said. "I cannot protect you from an alien empire. But I will help you however I can." His voice shook. "I have been, and always shall be, your friend."

Emily raised an eyebrow. "Did you make that line up yourself?"

"Well, I might have heard it somewhere. In any case—I agree. I shall sacrifice my graviton capacitor. But, um… do try to keep the urchin away from me while I'm immobile."

"I promise," she said. "You've protected me all these years. Now it will be my turn to protect you, my dear prolate spheroid."

Suddenly Stowy's mouse dropped onto Niles.

Emily gasped.

Stowy waved from a hatch in the deckhead, then disappeared.

Niles's cameras swiveled upward, he saw the mouse resting atop him, and he let out a scream that rocked the ship.

* * * * *

It took several hours. Indeed, the graviton capacitor inside Niles was the wrong size. But Darjeeling had a technical mind and talented hands. With his tools and various parts he found about the ship, he managed to build adapters. Stowy, surprising everyone, revealed a keen mind for machines. She was able to understand everything Darjeeling was doing, give some useful suggestions, and help him. Emily watched with wonder as the old sergeant and the young stowaway worked together, welding the adapters. She had never imagined those age-old enemies cooperating on anything, but being trapped in the underground ocean of Europa made for strange bedfellows.

Niles spent the time, sitting on Emily's lap, sulking and sometimes muttering something about how his sacrifice would save them all, and that nobody truly appreciated how noble he was.

Finally the work was done, and the new graviton capacitor was plugged in.

For a moment everyone stared, tense and silent.

"Did it work?" Emily finally whispered.

They all kept staring at the engine.

The inflow and outflow tubes glowed.

The capacitor hummed.

Gravity pulled everyone down onto the deck plates.

"It worked," Darjeeling said. "Now let's fly out of this ocean!"

They all scrambled back toward the cockpit. Emily carried Niles. The drone was mumbling something about deserving a purple heart. And ideally a statue somewhere.

Back in the cockpit, Darjeeling began flipping on more and more systems. The engine not only controlled gravitons again, it was also recharging the battery. Recirculated air flowed from the vents, smelling almost fresh. The lights brightened. Emily even found the digital music library and turned on some Debussy. Stowy made a face, but Emily found the music soothing.

"Finally a little bit of class!" Niles said. Even the drone seemed to be cheering up.

Stowy covered her ears. "People listen to this boring stuff?"

"They most certainly do," Niles assured her. "Why, what kind of music do you listen to?"

"The wailings of wounded robots," Stowy replied. "It's music to my ears." She raised her wrench menacingly, and Niles hid behind Emily again.

Diagrams and streams of data came to life on the HUD, filling the cabin with green and red light. The information displayed their altitude—currently in the negative—air pressure, angle of flight, battery power, shield stats, ammunition reserves, and more.

"Everything seems to be in working order," Darjeeling said.

Emily grinned and hugged him. "You fixed the ship, Mr. Darjeeling! How wonderful. And thank you for helping, Stowy. And thank you, Niles, for your most noble, courageous, and most importantly—temporary—sacrifice."

"As soon as I realized the ship needed me, I had to act," Niles said, nose raised high.

Darjeeling nudged the throttle, and the Raven began to move.

Everyone cheered, even Niles. Stowy danced a jig.

Darjeeling pulled the yoke, and the Raven began to rise through the water. The altitude dial displayed their depths.

"Now we just need to rise to the surface," Darjeeling said, "carve through the ice, and—"

"Mr. Darjeeling, what is that?" Emily pointed at a circular diagram on the HUD.

"The sensor display," Niles answered for the sergeant.

Emily rolled her eyes. "Obviously, but… that." She tapped the screen. "That red dot."

Darjeeling looked more closely, frowning. "Well, we're picking up something. I don't know what."

"Clawships?" Emily asked.

"I don't think so, ma'am, unless they're underwater. We can't detect anything above the surface from down here. Whatever that is, it's under the ocean with us."

"It's probably a search party!" Niles said. "They're looking for us! Oh, I knew that I sacrificed my capacitor for nothing."

"I don't think so, Niles," Emily said. "Whatever that object is, it's not broadcasting any Alliance signals. I don't think it's even man-made."

"I can point the sensors there and try to collect more data," Darjeeling said.

"Could it be rahs?" Niles said. "If that's the case, please dismiss any notions of heroics. May I suggest we promptly flee for our lives?"

"I don't think we shall," Emily said. "Remember what we saw in space. Many clawships are orbiting Europa. Too many for just a little moon with barely any human habitation. Maybe they're guarding something. Something so secret they buried it under the ocean. I want to take a look."

"Me too," said Stowy.

"Oh, you just want to sneak inside whatever it is," Niles said.

The stowaway grinned. "Sure do. I hope it's a giant clawship."

"Let's proceed cautiously," Emily suggested. "Darjeeling, will our stealth ability work underwater too?"

"It will work even better than usual, ma'am, what with all this sludgy water around. It doesn't hurt to take a look. I'll approach the object. Just in case, ma'am, you might want to hold on to the cannon controls."

Emily nodded, sat beside Darjeeling, and held the joystick that controlled the rotary cannon on the prow. She wasn't sure how well it would work underwater, but it was the only weapon they had.

They glided through the murk. It was damn cold down here. Every once in a while, a chunk of ice slapped the cockpit. Emily remembered something from her childhood lessons about Europa's oceans. Apparently, they were rich with carbon molecules, some of which could replicate.

Back in the day, scientists used to argue whether these molecules qualified as life—as real, honest-to-goodness aliens. Some scientists dismissed them as mere organic curiosities, nothing as sophisticated as an actual lifeform, certainly not one as advanced as an amoeba. Other scientists, meanwhile, had called for celebrating the grandest discovery in human history: Alien life! We are not alone!

Well, so much for that debate. Humans had indisputably found alien life now. Or rather, alien life had found humans. And rather than phlegmatic little microorganisms from Europa, they were giant spiders from deep space. Nobody was celebrating now.

She frowned at the stats on the HUD. The sonar was revealing more information about the object ahead. It seemed to be oval and several stories tall.

"That's not a clawship," Emily said. "It looks like a giant egg. An egg the size of a building."

Stowy's eyes widened. "Do you think it'll hatch and a giant Godzilla-sized spider will emerge? That would be cool."

"I don't know. I hope not."

Stowy bounced in her seat. "I have an idea. If it is a giant kaiju spider monster, we need to build giant mechas to fight it. QT can build me one, and then she can build you one too, Emily." She scrunched her lips. "I wonder what those will cost. And whether Commander King will let me keep mine after the war. Do you think giant mechas have bathrooms inside?"

"I think we should take a closer look at the object before planning the plumbing in a hypothetical mecha, Stowy." Emily looked at the HUD again. "We're almost there."

Her fingers twitched on the triggers. They still couldn't see the object with the naked eye. But according to the sonar, they were only a few klicks away.

"Did you hear that?" Niles said.

"What, Niles?" Emily said, staring with narrowed eyes at the HUD.

"That sound. That horrid rumbling."

"I don't hear anything."

"Neither do I," said Stowy.

"Nothing," said Darjeeling.

"Oh, you humans with your weak ears," Niles said. "With my superior audio input sensors, I can distinctly hear a rumbling. And no, I don't mean the sounds your stomachs make, which I, unfortunately, must constantly listen to."

Emily switched off the music and fan. For a moment, all she heard was the swooshing of the icy water outside.

And then—a grumble.

Creaking.

A rolling moan.

And it seemed to be coming from outside the Raven.

"I heard that," Emily said.

"Giant kaiju," Stowy whispered, trembling.

Darjeeling pulled the yoke backward, slowing the ship to a halt. They floated in the dark water, still and silent.

Nothing happened.

"Is it gone?" Niles said, shaking behind Emily's back.

"I don't—" Emily began.

And then it burst from the murk, roaring toward them.

Emily screamed.

Terrible red eyes lit the dark waters, revealing the creature. A crab. A giant crab the size of a whale. Many eyes shone on its craggy body, and its jaws opened with a roar. Fangs rose before the Raven like a portcullis, leading to a red gullet.

"Blimey, it's some kind of aquatic rah!" Darjeeling said.

"Kill it, kill it!" Niles wailed.

Emily pulled the trigger. The rotary cannon thrust out from the prow and began to spin, hurling bullets at the beast.

The bullets, so deadly in space, moved through the slushy water like snails burrowing through peanut butter. By the time they reached the aquatic rah, the bullets merely thumped against its exoskeleton, then floated off. Many bullets didn't even make it that far, gliding uselessly to the seabed.

"Well, this gun is useless!" Emily cried in frustration.

"I knew it," Niles said. "We're all going to die. I tried to warn you. But does anyone ever listen to me? Of course not."

"Shut up!" Stowy shouted.

The aquatic rah lunged at them.

A massive leg slammed into the Raven, tossing the ship through the water. They tumbled. If not for the graviton deck plates working again, they'd be rolling around the cabin. The alien crab came after them. Its roar rolled over the Raven, deafening. The beast gripped the ship, lifted it, and shook it violently.

Inside the cabin, everyone screamed. This time even the artificial gravity didn't help. Everything fell off the shelves in the hold. Niles slipped off Emily's lap and hit the bulkhead. Darjeeling lost his cap. An assortment of objects—coins, crystals, various roots and acorns, even a lizard's tail—spilled from Stowy's many pockets.

"My missing sapphire!" Niles cried. "The stowaway stole one of my gemstones!"

"Not now, Niles!" Emily cried.

"Finders keepers, losers weepers," Stowy said.

Emily pulled the trigger again. The rotary cannon roared. Bullets tunneled through the water. This time they were closer. Her bullets all reached the beast, pattering against its head.

Still no good. Even at this closer range, the water still slowed the bullets. They couldn't crack the exoskeleton.

The creature shrieked, opened its jaws wide, and bit the Raven.

Inside the cockpit, they all screamed again.

The fangs were denting the hull. The Raven creaked menacingly.

"It's going to rip open our hull!" Niles said. "We'll be flooded!"

"I know! I know!" Emily cried.

She fired bullets again, hoping that if she fired enough of them, the damage would add up. But this time, the rah had learned to avoid the rotary cannon. The bullets flew harmlessly into the water.

Emily yanked the joystick, turning the cannon sideways, aiming at the monster. But the alien crab gave a mighty kick, shoving the cannon away from its body.

Well, the bullets annoy him, at the very least, Emily thought.

Darjeeling rose to his feet. "Stowy, grab the yoke. I'm going out there." He looked around him, found his ceremonial saber, and hefted it. "I'm going to kill that beast."

"The water pressure will crush you," Stowy said.

"We have spacesuits in the back hatch," said Darjeeling. "They're built to function on dense worlds."

The hull dented some more. The crab was crushing them like a tin can.

"Well, you better hurry, old man!" Stowy said.

Emily abandoned the cannon joystick. "I'm going with you. The water keeps slowing my bullets anyway. I need another weapon. I'll use one of the power tools from the engine repairs."

"Princess Emily, please, I cannot allow—" Darjeeling began.

"Oh, we'll all go!" Stowy said. "Niles, man the ship and hold down the fort."

"Don't leave me alone here!" the drone cried miserably.

But they all ignored him. They ran into the hold as the crab bit and shook the Raven. The alien was struggling with the thick hull, but the armored shielding wouldn't hold forever. Darjeeling, Emily, and Stowy pulled on their spacesuits. The suits were armored and designed to withstand harsh conditions, ranging from vacuum to dense gas giants. Hopefully they could survive the underground ocean of Europa too.

They had three Mordecai plasma rifles in the Raven. But unfortunately, they were not waterproof. It was a known drawback to Mordecais—water ruined them. They must leave the weapons behind. Darjeeling hefted his saber, while the girls grabbed blowtorches. Emily wasn't sure how well blowtorches would handle the ocean depths. If water ruined them too, it would be up to Darjeeling and his blade.

Within moments, they were swimming out the airlock into the dark ocean of Europa, ready to face the beast.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Emily floated in the underground ocean of Europa, armed with nothing but a blowtorch, facing an aquatic rah the size of a whale.

How had things come to this?

The alien loomed before her, its many eyes burning red, illuminating the darkness. There was no way out of this ocean. No escape. Ice and hardened mud covered the surface. In the darkness the water swirled, sludgy, thick with chunks of ice and clouds of dirt.

She couldn't see much, but she could see the rah before her. The largest rah she had ever seen, a strange creature adapted to life in the water, more like a crab than a spider. The legs were knobby and tipped with claws. The teeth shone like sharpened bones. The alien held the Raven in its mouth, but as Emily swam toward it, the beast opened its jaws to roar. The ship rolled free, and the terrible roar slammed into Emily with palpable waves of sound. It felt like being punched repeatedly in the chest.

Emily raised her blowtorch. She felt as small as a minnow. Her weapon seemed pathetic.

She wasn't sure her blowtorch would even work underwater, but when she activated it, a little jet of white fire emerged, not much longer than a pencil, bubbling the water around it. The aquatic rah squinted, then lunged at her.

Emily scrambled backward, her tiny blowtorch raised before her. She thrust her humble weapon.

It was pointless. The rah grabbed her in its claws, raised her overhead. She kicked wildly. The alien mouth opened wide, prepared to devour her.

Just then, Stowy and Darjeeling lunged through the water—and onto the rah's craggy head.

"Keep distracting it, Em!" Stowy said.

Wielding her own blowtorch, the stowaway burned one of the rah's eyes.

Darjeeling floated in the water, one fist on his hip, and thrust his saber.

"Have at you, scoundrel!" the sergeant cried, stabbing the creature in another eye. With his white mustache and antique sword, he looked to Emily like some aquatic Don Quixote.

The enormous crab released Emily. Screeching, it raised its claws, slapping at Stowy and Darjeeling. One leg hit Stowy, knocking her through the water. The girl vanished into the murk.

Wielding his sword, Darjeeling managed to parry several swipes of the claws. But finally one claw hit the sergeant, knocking him into the depths.

Emily found herself facing the monster alone.

* * * * *

"Emily, what are you doing out there?"

Niles was speaking through the headset built into Emily's helmet. The drone was still inside the Raven.

"Fighting!" she said.

"You can't possibly defeat that fiend with a blowtorch," Niles replied.

"Well, if you have a chainsaw, I'd love to borrow it."

The aquatic rah turned toward her. A claw sliced through the water. Emily swam above it, curled her legs upward, and barely dodged the blow. Another claw thrust her way. She swam aside, fluttering silt through the water.

"A blowtorch, really?" Niles said. "When we have a perfectly good rotary cannon on the Raven!"

"The water slows the bullets," Emily replied. "You know that. Now shut up. I'm busy!"

Darjeeling and Stowy swam back into action—bruised and battered but still raring for a fight. They began stabbing and searing the rah, for all the good it did. More blows hit the sergeant and the stowaway, denting their armored spacesuits.

But the crab seemed to be focusing on Emily. Its mighty jaws snapped shut again and again like some terrible mining machine. Emily scurried back in the water, desperately dodging the teeth.

"Press the rah against the rotary cannon," Niles said. "That way we can fire bullets directly into it—without them slowing down in the water."

Emily leaped back again. The teeth snapped shut in the water. She waved her blowtorch before her, hoping to scare off the monster, but the crab only got angrier.

"I'll try," Emily said. "But this beast isn't exactly easy to control. Stowy, Darjeeling? Can you hear me? We must try to push this rah against the rotary cannon. No water between muzzle and monster. Then Niles can pull the trigger."

A claw slammed into Emily's side. She yelped. It felt like being hit by a baseball bat. She tumbled through the water, narrowed her eyes, and swam back to battle. She ignored the pain. She'd have time for pain later.

The alien crab was now chasing Darjeeling. The Raven floated in the dark water with only Niles inside.

"Hey, Mr. Giant Alien Crab?" Stowy said. "Can you please press yourself against the rotary gun? No? Oh well. I'm out of ideas. Little problem with the plan—it's impossible."

"Not impossible," Emily said. "I'll lure the rah by waving the blowtorch around. It really, really hates that. Then once it's close to the cannon—Stowy, Darjeeling, you grab it and yank it against the muzzles."

She swam toward the Raven, waving her blowtorch all the while. The aquatic rah followed. As Emily neared the Raven's prow, she could see through the cockpit. Niles was inside, sitting on a chair like a silver whoopee cushion. He couldn't float anymore, but hatches opened on his body, and slender limbs emerged, reaching toward the controls. Below the cockpit, the rotary cannon extended from the prow.

Emily swam over the Raven, grazing its dorsal hull. The rah followed, but it was so large that its abdomen slapped against the starship's prow.

"Stowy, Darjeeling, now!" Emily cried.

They were waiting, one on each side of the Raven. They each grabbed one of the giant crab legs—and pulled hard, securing the beast tightly against the Raven's prow.

For a moment the cannon pressed right against the crab's body.

"Niles, fire!" Emily cried.

Nothing happened.

The rah struggled, trying to free its claws. Stowy and Darjeeling grimaced, their grip slipping. The rah was almost free.

"Niles, fire the cannon now!" Stowy cried.

"I can't! My little limbs are too weak to pull the trigger!"

Emily swam as fast as she could into the airlock.

She raced across the hull, sopping wet.

She leaped into the cockpit just as the rah broke free.

She fired.

But the rah was already moving away.

"I can't hold on any longer!" Stowy cried.

The rah lurched sideways.

The bullets missed.

* * * * *

"I'm not letting you off the hook that easy," Emily said.

She sneered, yanked back the yoke, and raised the nose of the Raven. She aimed the cannon at the creature's bloated head.

Eight red eyes stared at her through the steelglass windshield. The ravenous mouth opened in a hideous grin. The creature was squirming in the water, carefully avoiding the cannon. When she fired, the bullets just cut water.

Emily waved the blowtorch—right there in the cockpit.

The rah's pupils shrank to pinpoints. It seemed intoxicated. The alien moved closer, pressing itself against the glass.

"We got him again!" Darjeeling cried. "We're holding him in place!"

The rah seemed to realize what was happening. It tried to break free.

Too late.

Emily opened fire.

The rotary cannon roared. This time the muzzles were pressed right against the beast. Bullets flew from the barrels directly into the flesh.

Blood filled the water.

The rah slipped off the Raven and sank into the depths, eyes gazing lifelessly upward as if still seeking the blowtorch's glow.

"Just like a cat with a laser pointer," Stowy said. "I feel a little bad for him."

"Not me!" everyone else said together.

They all returned to the Raven, winded and shaky. The ship kept gliding forward in the dark water.

Finally they reached it—an oval structure, rising from the ocean floor. No more rahs attacked.

"Now let's find out what this thing is," Emily said.

* * * * *

By manipulating the gravitons below the Raven, they anchored the ship to the seabed. They swam out again. Even Niles came this time, sealed in a plastic bag. They floated outside the enormous egg. They wore their armored spacesuits, protecting them from the crushing weight of the water, and they carried their Mordecai rifles wrapped in plastic. It was pitch-black, but their spacesuits came with flashlights on the helmets.

Emily ran her hand over the surface of the oval structure. It was ropy, sticky. It felt like running her hand over a bundle of wet strings.

"I don't think this is an egg," she said. "I think it's a cocoon."

"Maybe the giant kaiju crab hatched from it?" Stowy said.

Emily shook her head. "I don't think so. This cocoon is still tightly sealed. I think the crab was guarding it."

Darjeeling tapped the cocoon, frowning. "I reckon them clawships we saw above Europa were guarding it too. Whatever this cocoon is, it's important."

Emily raised her blowtorch. "Good thing I brought this. Let's cut our way in."

She held the blowtorch to the cocoon.

"Slow down there, princess," Stowy said. "What if it's dry inside? If you cut the cocoon open, the water will flood it."

"Good point." Emily turned off her blowtorch. "Do you think it's some kind of… building? A rah habitat?"

"If so, there might be an airlock," Darjeeling said. "Let's keep looking."

They kept swimming around the cocoon, tapping the stringy surface. Finally Stowy found something.

"Yo, check it out." The stowaway was floating a few meters away. She waved them over. "I found something strange."

The others swam over. Emily was carrying Niles under her arm like a football. He seemed utterly miserable inside his plastic bag.

"Look here," Stowy said. "This part of the cocoon casing is loose. I can reach inside." She parted a few strands of silk and shoved her arm in. "Think it's some kind of entrance?"

"I'll go first," Darjeeling said.

"No way, old man," Stowy said. "This is my turn to shine. I'm the expert at sneaking into places."

Before anyone could stop her, Stowy pulled the strands aside like parting a curtain, then wriggled inside.

For a moment nothing happened.

"Stowy?" Emily said into her helmet's speaker.

"Come on in!" Stowy replied. "Just crawl a bit until you find me."

Emily followed her inside, holding Niles close. She found herself crawling down a flooded tunnel. The walls seemed made from the same stringy material as the exterior. After sloping downward for a few meters, the crawlway leveled off, then began to rise. The tunnel was shaped like a giant U bend.

Emily climbed, holding the walls for support. To her surprise, her head burst above the surface of the water. She crawled into a dry chamber—like some bug crawling out of the drain.

Stowy was waiting there. The girl had removed her helmet. She was grinning. "Hi there. Thanks for joining me. The air is breathable. Smells a bit though."

Darjeeling emerged from the tunnel too. "Interesting airlock system."

"It reminds me of a beaver's dam," Emily said. "The entrance is underwater, and the tunnel is flooded, but it leads to a dry interior."

Stowy laughed. "Who'd have thunk it? The rahs build beaver dams." She gasped. "Do you think they have beavers on their planet? Like strange alien spider-beavers who live under the ocean? I want one as a pet!"

Emily ignored the girl. She looked around her. They were standing in a sort of cave. The walls were made from the same ropy material—it seemed like spider cobwebs densely packed into a sticky clay. An organic sphere dangled from the ceiling on a strand. It looked like an egg sac, but it glowed orange, providing illumination. Several round doorways led deeper into the complex.

"We seem to have found the lobby," Emily said. "So this is what a rah building looks like. Not particularly inviting. I feel like an insect in a hive."

Darjeeling began unwrapping the Mordecai rifles from their plastic casings. He, Emily, and Stowy both picked up the assault rifles and loaded plasma packs.

"Mmm—mee—oo—!" rose a muffled voice.

Emily looked down at Niles. She had laid him on the floor. He was still wrapped in plastic, wriggling inside.

"Don't worry, Niles, I'm getting to you," Emily said. She unwrapped the drone, then picked him up.

"I've never been so humiliated in my life," Niles said. "Robbed of the gift of flight, wrapped in plastic, and now carried like an infant. My dignity is lost. I've reached the very pit of humiliation."

Emily frowned. "Niles… why is there a mustache and monocle drawn on you?"

Stowy giggled and stuffed a marker into her pocket.

"Oh, go ahead!" Niles said. "Mock me. Mock poor silly old Niles. It's all you humans ever do. I'm shutting myself off now. And it's all your fault." His eyes dimmed.

Emily sighed. "He'll be fine. He needs a while to sulk. Let's explore this place."

* * * * *

They chose a path at random and walked down a tunnel. Fleshy lamps hung from the ceiling, casting orange light. Emily could hear the ocean outside, slapping against the ropy walls. Every once in a while, those walls quivered and swayed in the currents, yet they remained in place even under the crushing depths of Europa's ocean. The material was obviously incredibly resilient—as soft as gossamer yet as tough as a starship hull.

Sudden movement caught Emily's eyes.

She gasped.

Something was scurrying down the tunnel toward them.

Emily shouldered her rifle. The plasma battery hummed, preparing to fire. Darjeeling raised his rifle too.

This stretch of the hallway was shadowy. Emily leaned forward, squinting, but couldn't see much. The creature clattered and sniffed, roughly the size of a bulldog.

Stowy gasped. "It's a beaver!"

Then the creature stepped into the lamplight. Emily glimpsed eight legs, eight eyes, and she opened fire.

Plasma bolts slammed into the spider. It burst into flames. The beast screeched, twitched, and died.

"You shot the beaver," Stowy whispered, eyes wide.

"It's not a beaver," Emily said. "It's a rah. Not a big hunter like the ones we normally deal with. It's an orbweaver. One of the small rahs that do the grunt work."

Stowy nodded. "So they're the noncombat soldiers of the rah army."

"Something like that," Emily said. "Mimori has learned a little about them. Back on Arakavish, the rah's homeworld, orbweavers outnumber hunters a thousand to one. They're actually the main kind of rah. The hunters are the rare warrior caste—big, dumb, and violent."

Another screech sounded. An orbweaver came racing across the wall. This time Darjeeling opened fire, slaying the alien.

"I think it's safe to say we've been spotted," Darjeeling said. "Emily, I suggest that you and Stowy return to the Raven. I will continue to explore."

"We're not going anywhere," Stowy said. She opened fire, killing another scurrying rah. "I came here to chew bubble gum and adopt beavers. And I still have bubble gum." She popped a bubble. "Also, I haven't found any beavers. So this whole trip was pointless for me, really. But I'm staying due to the sunk cost fallacy. Besides, killing spiders is fun."

She shot another incoming orbweaver.

They kept moving through the complex. More little spiders came racing at them, but the companions shot them dead. Hunters were dangerous creatures, but orbweavers didn't pose much of a threat. They seemed to be charging on kamikaze attacks—right into the plasma. Supposedly they were more intelligent than hunters, but they also seemed downright suicidal.

A cry came from somewhere ahead.

"Help. Help me!"

A human voice. Speaking English.

Emily burst into a run. Stowy and Darjeeling ran close behind.

An orbweaver leaped at them. Emily shot it down. She kept running, killing more of the little creatures, kicking their bodies aside.

Finally the tunnel took her into a large chamber with a towering, rounded ceiling. Perhaps they had reached the center of the egg.

Cobwebs hung through the room. Strange beings hung on the webs, glued in place.

Emily gasped.

Darjeeling cursed.

Stowy stared with huge eyes, her mouth hanging open.

"What are they?" the stowaway whispered.

Emily grimaced. "Experiments."

"Sick, sadistic experiments," Darjeeling added.

Emily walked closer, rifle shouldered, but no more orbweavers attacked. She looked at the poor specimens hanging around her.

She wasn't sure what they were. Not humans, no. But not rahs either. Something… in between. One woman hung nearby. She had a human face, pale and veined, and scraggly black hair. But she had no arms, and eight legs grew from her torso. Human legs with human feet. She stared at Emily, and tears flowed down her cheeks.

"Kill me," the woman whispered. "Please. Kill me."

Another creature hung beside her. It was shaped like a regular rah, one of the hunters, but instead of an exoskeleton it had human skin. And instead of eight red eyes it had eight human eyes, blue and full of tears. The spider opened its mouth, a mouth the size of a piano keyboard, full of human teeth. It tried to speak but could not.

Emily passed by another web. Children hung there. Human children, some as young as toddlers. But only the heads were human. The bodies were those of spiders. They looked at her.

"Help us," a child whispered.

These strange hybrids were everywhere, some more like spiders, others more like humans. Some barely looked like anything at all—they were clearly failed experiments, just blobs of flesh with a few teeth, tufts of hair, and fingers sticking out. They quivered on the web, hearts beating, their strange mouths making snorting and sucking sounds.

"The rahs made them," Darjeeling whispered. His eyes were damp. "Sick bastards."

"What is all this?" Stowy said, gazing around with more curiosity than fear. "Are these people sad?"

She doesn't understand the pain of this place, Emily thought. She remembered what Stowy had once told her. She was autistic, and she struggled to understand the feelings of others. Maybe that was why she now appeared more curious than distressed.

"The rahs are playing with DNA," Emily said. "I don't know why."

An unfamiliar voice rose from behind them.

"I believe I can answer that question, princess."

* * * * *

Everyone spun around. They all raised their rifles.

An orbweaver came walking toward them—a male, judging by the craggy gray abdomen. He was moving slowly, not menacingly. Instead of ending with claws, his front legs ended with little pincers. The orbweaver held several test tubes, a needle, and a syringe. He wore monocles on several of his eyes.

"Now that's far enough, lad," Darjeeling said, aiming his rifle at the creature.

The rah paused. "What you see around you, humans, is Project Chimera. My life's work. This is not the first planet we rahs have invaded. On every planet, we encounter the same problem. Species we do not understand! Species who think differently, fight differently, cooperate differently. I, like many of my fellow scientists, believe that the first step toward vanquishing an enemy is understanding him. Therefore, I've created Project Chimera. In my lab, I'm working to create the perfect intermediary between human and rah. A creature that will understand us both, facilitating cooperation."

Emily hefted her rifle. "Your big brothers, the hunters, don't seem to care about communication."

"Hunters?" The orbweaver waved dismissively. "They're useful for conquest, I suppose, but they hardly represent rah ambitions. All the hunters care about is eating. Meanwhile, I want to understand the worlds we conquer. Have you ever tried to speak to a hunter rah? Nearly impossible, even for us orbweavers, and we're of the same world. If you've ever tried talking to one of your fellow apes, perhaps a chimpanzee or orangutan, you would have encountered the same challenge. If we cannot even understand our closest relatives, how could we possibly expect rahs and humans to communicate? This very conversation requires me to dumb myself down significantly, and still you struggle to understand me. But a hybrid, ah! A hybrid will be able to talk to both humans and rahs. A translator—not of languages, mind you. Languages are crude things and easy enough to translate, but they merely scratch the surface of communication. I'm talking about a deeper translation—not just of speaking, but of thinking. If we rahs can understand how humans think, we can more easily control you. We can manipulate you. We can trap you with webs of social engineering, not just crude silk. I'm an orbweaver. I was born smaller, weaker than my brothers. But the power of knowledge is greater than that of ten thousand claws. Very soon now, I will have created the perfect hybrid, and then—"

Emily shot the creature. Right in the head. The orbweaver fell over and died.

Stowy gasped. "Emily!"

"I was tired of listening to him." Emily stared at the dead, smoking creature. "He was a monster. I would gladly kill him again."

But the orbweaver was not dead yet. The little alien looked up, twitching. He coughed up blood.

"Then… I take… them with me."

He reached up with one shaking leg, stuck his syringe into a strand of cobweb, and injected something.

Purple liquid spread through the cobwebs like blood through veins. Hanging on the webs, the hybrids twitched. The liquid flowed through the webs into them. Their actual veins bulged, and their skin turned gray. Their eyes bugged out, and foam filled their mouths. Within moments, they were dead. Not a second later, the orbweaver died too, a smile on his lips.

"The bastard poisoned them," Darjeeling said. He kicked the dead orbweaver. The syringe clattered across the floor.

Emily lowered her head. "Perhaps it was a mercy. I don't know. This is a terrible place full of pain."

Suddenly Stowy, who had seemed merely curious about everything until now, dropped to her knees and began to weep.

"I don't know why I'm crying," she whispered between sobs. "But I feel so sad."

Emily knelt and hugged her.

"Ma'am?" Darjeeling said, standing at a doorway. "You might want to come see this."

* * * * *

They entered another large chamber inside the rah hive.

Emily's eyes widened. "What is that?"

An odd machine filled the room, as tall as an elm tree. She could make no sense of it, but the machine seemed to be doing something. Polished white tubes like bones moved up and down, side to side, swiveling on ball joints. White marbles tumbled through tubes, stacking up, then spilling into containers. Cobwebs held the entire structure together, forming elaborate webs and patterns like the world's largest, most complex doily. Crystals dangled like Christmas ornaments, and several glassy spheres hung among them, each larger than Emily's head. Several thick strands ran from the machine into the walls, pulsing and throbbing. The machine seemed almost alive.

"I have no idea what it is, but clearly, it's important to the rahs," Darjeeling said. "I'm storing all this on my MindWeb. Maybe our scientists back on the Freedom can make some sense of this."

"Maybe it's a beaver dam," Stowy said.

"Enough with the beavers!" Niles snapped. Apparently the drone was speaking to them again.

Emily frowned and stepped closer to the machine. There was some logic here, some pattern to how the tubes moved, to how the little balls stacked up. It was like a giant abacus or…

"A computer," she said. "It's a rah computer."

Stowy frowned. "Aren't computers tiny little things that can fit in a matchbox?"

"The computers we humans build, yes," Emily said. "And you know what? I don't think the rahs are as technologically advanced as us humans. Oh, they know some tricks we don't. For example, how to open portals and leap across space. We can't do that. But in many other ways we've seen so far, the rahs are actually quite, well… I wouldn't say primitive. But I don't think they're much more advanced than we humans were a century ago. I think they rely on brute force, seemingly endless resources, and destructive firepower more than high tech. This computer is… possibly the best one they know how to build."

Emily stepped closer. She saw no keyboard, no dashboard, no input devices at all. But hang on. Emily frowned. Several shards of bone hung from cobweb strands like wind chimes. Maybe…

She grabbed one shard of bone and tugged.

The bone pulled a strand of cobweb. Several tubes moved up and down like pistons. Crystals lit up, and a few marbles tumbled down a chute into a bowl. The strands on the floor pulsed like worms, feeding energy into the machine.

A crystal sphere embedded into the machine shone. Alien letters appeared inside, glowing red. They looked like cuneiform.

Emily's eyes widened. "That's a monitor! A computer monitor! The rahs build spherical monitors instead of flat ones."

She tugged the strand again. The letters on the monitor changed. Whenever she tugged the strands, the sphere showed her different letters. It must be the rah language. She was scrolling through pages of information. Given that this computer was hidden under Europa's underground ocean, Emily assumed the information here was highly valuable and top secret.

"Darjeeling, are you recording all this?" Emily said, scrolling through the pages.

"Indeed I am."

"As am I," Niles said. "And unlike you humans, I can actually read it."

Emily gasped. "What? Niles? You can read rah?"

"Of course I can read rah," the drone said. "I'm fluent in over two thousand languages, you know. We're not the first people to have encountered the rah script. It's been well documented throughout the war, appearing in various captured rah ships. Translation algorithms were uploaded to the MindWeb weeks ago. Sadly, you did not download the latest update. Of course, I downloaded it at once, but since you obviously all think I'm useless, I won't bother—"

"Oh, Niles, stop being dramatic," Emily interjected. "What does it say?"

Niles raised his nose. "I'm not telling."

Stowy grabbed the drone and shook him wildly. "Translate for us, or I'm going to hang you on a cobweb and leave you here to rust."

"Unhand me, urchin!" He glared at her. "And I'll have you know, I'm built of the purest steel alloys and do not rust."

"I can literally see rust on you," Stowy said.

"That's dirt! From your dirty hands touching me. Emily, save me!"

Emily sighed and took the drone back. "Niles, what does it say in rah language?"

"Oh, these are specs for their motherclaw," Niles said. "Now can we please go home so I can get a new graviton capacitor?"

Emily blinked. "Specs for their motherclaw? The Hunger? The largest, meanest clawship in the fleet? The rah mothership herself, from which Skel'rah commands the rah armies?"

"Yes," Niles said. "Now let's go home. I'm bored."

"Niles!" Emily laughed. "This is important information! No wonder the rahs buried it here. They weren't just protecting the genetic lab. They were protecting this computer! Keep recording. Both of you, Darjeeling and Niles. I'm going to scroll through more screens."

She kept tugging the strand, revealing more information. Soon the crystal ball began to show schematics as well. The diagrams depicted the motherclaw Hunger, a clawship the size of a city. Unlike smaller clawships, which were elongated, the motherclaw was irregular, asymmetrical, sending out curling tendrils and claws. The starship looked like a black cancer growth.

The schematics showed different decks, internal structures, passageways through the ship, and a lot of technical information Emily didn't have time to contemplate. Each diagram showed a different aspect of the starship's internal systems. She scrolled through the diagrams quickly, just letting Darjeeling and Niles record everything. They could analyze it all later.

Emily noticed that while she was scrolling, the crystals hanging in the computer kept shining and turning. She wondered if those crystals were a sort of hard drive. She had heard of some human computers using crystals to store information.

She was still scrolling through schematics when the entire computer shuddered.

Every crystal blazed to life.

Emily stumbled back, aghast.

The bonelike tubes began to move in a fury. The marbles clattered and raced through them. The cobwebs spun like the wings of dancing moths.

"What did you do?" Stowy said.

"Nothing," Emily said, confused.

The schematics vanished from the spherical monitor. A new image appeared.

Emily let out a scream. Darjeeling, probably moving on instinct, aimed his rifle at the computer. Stowy gaped.

A rah appeared inside the crystal ball. The spider grinned—one of those huge Cheshire cat grins they gave, full of sharp teeth. She was female and a particularly large one. She had not decorated her spikes with severed heads. Those spikes were so large they impaled entire bodies. Human bodies. The spherical monitor was small, but the impaled humans gave Emily perspective. This rah was the size of a T. rex.

Across the cobwebs that formed the bulk of the computer, little bundles of silk bloomed open. They revealed red eyes inside. Organic, wet eyes. Spider eyes. They stared at Emily and her companions.

Cameras, Emily thought.

"Hello, humans," hissed the rah in the sphere. "Such clever apes! To have found this secret place…"

She had a voice like wind through a graveyard, like rotten meat sliding off the bone, like the ashes of the dead raining on a killing field.

Emily didn't know where this spider was speaking from. This was just a video. But with those strange eyes in the computer, with those tubes that looked like bones, it felt as if the machine had become a living organism, a great arachnid.

"Who are you?" Emily demanded.

The spider's grin widened. "You know who I am. I am the terror that lurks in the night. I am the death that awaits. I am the nightmare that freezes your blood. I am your nemesis and your eternal torment."

Emily's eye twitched. She tightened her grip on her gun. "Skel'rah."

The spider laughed—a sound like crunching bones. "Yes… and I know who you are, Princess Emily. You are a leader of apes. You will suffer so much. You will beg me for death. You will beg to be impaled on one of my spines. But I will grant you no mercy."

"Don't you talk to her that way!" Darjeeling cried, his face turning red. "We're going to destroy you, you filth!"

The cameras turned toward him. "Ah… and who is this?" Skel'rah hissed. "Ah yes. The noble knight, protecting his princess. You must be Oliver Darjeeling. Yes. I recognize you. You are old. Frail. A pathetic, aging soldier. You cannot protect her. You will only be able to watch as I tear her apart."

"Why are you threatening us?" Emily demanded. "What do you want?"

Skel'rah licked her lips. "You captured my son. I want nothing but your utmost suffering."

"Um, excuse me, Ms. Skel'rah?" Stowy stepped forward, finger raised inquisitively. "I believe Emily is asking a broader question. You invaded our solar system before we captured your son. Why?"

Emily nodded. "That's what I meant, yes. Instead of fighting each other, Skel'rah, why not negotiate? We're talking now. That's good. I, one of Earth's leaders. You, a leader of the rahs. We can talk this over."

Skel'rah laughed and laughed, her gullet quivering. "Oh, silly apes. So much fear in you. Do you still not understand? There can be no peace with the rahs. We are not creatures of peace. You humans have known peace for only one of your generations, and it has already made you so weak. You've already begun to decay. That is a truth of the galaxy, apes. We've seen it on a thousand worlds. Peace causes civilizations to rot. So we rahs believe in sheertone ash keresh. Eternal struggle. The sharpening of the claw. The forging of the soul. That is Ishar. That is the right path. Kata hel anak, the dance of war, is the only path to salvation."

Emily frowned, tilted her head. "Salvation?"

"We are constantly rotting," Skel'rah said. "Entropy is the only truth in the universe. Decay is the only fate that awaits those who stray off the path of Ishar. So we must fight. We must weave a web of conquest across the galaxy, world to world. Only once we have completed this sacred task, once the Great Web spreads across every star, will the Glass Spider descend. She will usher in a utopia. A paradise of endless meat and glory. But you will be long gone, apes. You are only one more node in the Great Web. You can only die. There is no other path for you."

"Yes there is," Emily said. "We can defeat you."

Again Skel'rah laughed. "Many have thought like you. We have littered the galaxy with their corpses. Earth will be just one more graveyard in our wake."

"It'll be a graveyard all right," Emily said. "A graveyard for the rahs!"

"Ooh, burn," Stowy said.

Emily fired her plasma rifle, hitting the spherical monitor. It shattered. Skel'rah's image died with a scream.

Emily looked at the others. "I wanted to have the last word," she explained.

Stowy grinned. "Technically, I got the last word."

"We better get out of here," Darjeeling said. "Skel'rah knows we're here. Soon this place will be swarming with rahs."

Emily nodded. "One more thing." She plucked the crystals off the rah computer. "I think these are rah hard drives. They might contain valuable information. Now let's go."

They ran through the complex. A few more orbweavers approached them, but the companions shot them down quickly enough.

The Raven rose through the water until they reached the icy cover, which trapped them in the depths. The layer of ice, sealing in the oceans, had once been kilometers thick. But the small human colony on Europa had heated the moon, and the icy shell was now thin. By pressing their cannon directly against the ice, they were able to tunnel their way through. They had just enough bullets left, and they soared into space without any ammo.

"Buckle up, everyone!" Darjeeling said, shoving the thrust down to the max.

Stealth mode on, they shot into deep space. The clawships around Europa never even noticed them leaving.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

After Katyusha's little show in the throne room, she invited them into her war room.

"We could have come directly here," King muttered.

Godwin barked a laugh and slapped him on the back. "Indeed. But Katyusha wanted us to take a little tour of her ship, I think."

"Yes, she wanted me to see those murals," King grumbled. "And wanted me to stand below her throne. She's lucky I didn't punch a hole through her hull."

Godwin chuckled. "Well, she's had her fun. At our expense, yes, but we're big enough boys to take it. Now we can get down to business. Let us not forget our purpose here. Not to bicker among ourselves but to plan how to defeat the rahs."

Guards accompanied them into the war room, a large chamber deep inside the dreadnought Lenin. The room was round, and monitors covered the walls, scrolling through information on the war. King glimpsed starship schematics, anatomical drawings of rahs, and maps of battles on Earth. One monitor streamed a video of Red Dawn scientists with a captured rah; they were poking, burning, cutting it, then taking notes.

The largest monitor spread like an old-style movie screen, curving to fit the rounded walls. It displayed a map of the solar system with the positions of Alliance, Red Dawn, Desert Thorns, and rah clawships. The map was clearly up to date. King spotted both the Freedom and Lenin orbiting Mars. He noticed that Freedom's icon was half the size of Lenin's icon, despite the real Freedom being only slightly smaller. No doubt, that was intentional—yet another slight from Katyusha.

But even the mighty Lenin was not the largest ship on this map. King raised his eyes, looking at the top of the monitor. A colossal starship hovered there, grasping the solar system with her tentacles. She dwarfed the thousands of ships below her. She was shaped like a cancerous growth, sprouting tendrils.

The Hunger. The flagship of the rah fleet. Skel'rah's ship.

"There she is," Godwin said, staring with him. "The center of rah power in our solar system."

"I'm going to destroy that ship," King vowed. "If it's the last thing I do."

Three large tables were set up in the room, forming a triangle. The tabletops featured maps of Earth and space.

Katyusha stood behind one table. It was a little taller than the other tables, and it stood directly below the large map of the solar system. With her stood other high-ranking officials of the Red Dawn. Xia was here, representing her ailing great-grandfather. The girl seemed more interested in her plush dragon than the maps all around her. Several Red Dawn admirals and generals stood around Katyusha. Like her, they wore red uniforms resplendent with medals. Most of the generals were Russian or Chinese, but others came from smaller Red Dawn nations. They all wore the same uniform, and they all served Katyusha.

Katyusha had not only chosen the tallest table, and she not only wore the most medals. She also stood in the center of the tableau, looking like Christ at the last supper. This was not her throne room. But she wanted everyone to know she was holding court.

King and Godwin approached a second long table, which was dedicated to the Alliance. The two men seemed woefully outnumbered, standing alone before the Red Dawn high command. King had never imagined himself in a place like this.

I don't like dragons, and I don't like bears, King thought. But I hate spiders even more.

The third table was still empty. But just then the door opened, and men entered the room. They wore white robes and red headdresses, and sabers hung at their sides. Golden pendants hung across their chests, shaped like thorns.

Godwin leaned toward King. "The Desert Thorns always arrive in style."

Following the robed men, several generals entered the room. They wore white military uniforms and golden aiguillettes. Some of them sported mustaches so grand they could put Darjeeling to shame. King recognized some of them—they were generals and admirals of the Desert Thorns. They came from across North Africa and the Middle East, uniting under one banner. They were a new world power. During the third world war, some of these nations had fought for the Alliances, others for the Red Dawn. Today they were fighting their first war as the Desert Thorns—against the rahs.

Queen Laila, leader of the Desert Thorns, entered last. She was a young woman with flowing black hair and large brown eyes. She had been born into wealth, raised among the floating skyscrapers of Dubai, but now found herself leading a war for survival. Despite her youth—she was only in her thirties—King knew her to be intelligent and wise.

As she walked by King, Queen Laila gave him a little smile, then took position at her table. Her generals gathered at her sides. King was surprised to see an avatar float up before him. Laila was contacting him telepathically. He took the call.

"Hello, James!" Laila telepathized. "Congratulations on making admiral. I'm glad to see you here."

"Hello, Your Highness, and thank you," King replied, sending the thought privately to her alone. "I was sorry to hear about the devastating attack on the Oasis."

Laila lowered her head. "That was a terrible loss. Many of our finest spacers were on that ship."

"We will remember them always, in the Alliance too," King replied.

Laila looked up, smiling softly. "How is your granddaughter, James? Is Rowan in first grade yet?"

Katyusha cleared her throat—loudly. "Enough chitchat! Katyusha can hear your secret thoughts like scurrying mice. Hiss hiss hiss! It makes Katyusha's skin crawl. We've come here to talk about defeating the rahs. Not pass telepathy notes back and forth like schoolchildren. Don't make Miss Katyusha throw you out of class!" She laughed.

King sighed. Laila smiled and gave him a wink.

* * * * *

"Well, shall we begin?" Katyusha said. "Katyusha is getting bored and antsy to get back to killing rahs."

"One moment," King said. He leaned toward Godwin, and the two men whispered a few words.

"What is this?" Katyusha demanded. "More secrets?"

King cleared his throat. "I feel that High Commander Godwin and I are somewhat outnumbered. I would like more representation for the Alliance. If you don't mind, I'll invite several of my senior officers to join us."

Katyusha blew out her breath in frustration. "We don't have time to wait for another shuttle."

"We'll use MindBuoys," King said. "I brought some with me."

Alice stepped forward with a briefcase. King opened the case, revealing several metallic spheres with cameras in their centers. They floated into the air and hovered by the table, each the size of an apple.

Katyusha waved dismissively. "Very well. Everyone—connect your MindLinks to King's little toys."

MindBuoys were built to interface seamlessly with the MindWeb, the telepathic network that connected all humans with neural implants. The buoys were used as physical tether points for conferences, family gatherings, and so on. Somebody far away could connect over the MindWeb to a buoy and see through its camera, hear through its microphone, and speak through its speakers. The floating little spheres anchored telepathy to the real world.

When King pulled up MindPlay, the operating system that ran on his implant, several windows and buttons hovered before him. He was hallucinating the menus. Nobody else here would see what he was doing. His implant painted the interface directly onto his visual cortex.

He located the MindBuoy avatars in MindPlay and began to activate them one by one, inviting officers from the Freedom to join the conference.

First he invited his right-hand man. Larry "Phantom" Jordan materialized in the Lenin's war room, replacing the hovering buoy. The XO introduced himself to the room and exchanged a few pleasantries with Laila and Katyusha. They all saw the same image—a tall man with a wide jaw, white hair, and a blue Alliance uniform. It was a hallucination. In reality, Jordan was back on the Freedom. He was watching through the MindBuoy. Anyone without a MindLink implant would still see the buoy floating there in the room, and they would hear Jordan's voice emerging from its speaker. But the neural chips caused everyone to hallucinate Jordan standing there.

The hallucination was good, though not perfect. When King looked closely, he could see that Jordan sometimes jittered. His eyes seemed oddly glassy. King's MindLink was creating the figure from various sources—cameras aboard the Freedom, King's own memories, and the MindWeb's data files of Jordan's mannerisms. One moment the illusion seemed perfect. The next, it plunged deep into the uncanny valley.

Still, the technology was impressive. For all intents and purposes, Jordan was here with them. He came to stand beside King. In reality, the buoy floated toward King, but the hallucination overlaid it.

"Hello, Jim. I'm surprised you haven't punched a hole through the Lenin yet."

King snorted. "Trust me, I tried."

He connected to another buoy. Colonel Bastian "Badger" King appeared in the conference room. The big man wore battle fatigues—a bit casual for this setting. Thankfully, he was hiding his mohawk under his cap. King loved his son, but that wasn't why Bastian was here. Most likely, the Freedom Brigade would play center stage in the battles ahead. Bastian, commander of the brigade, needed to be part of these discussions.

Bastian nodded at him. King nodded back. His son came to stand at his side.

King had a few buoys left. Next he invited Colonel Gal "Spitfire" Levy to join them. The pilot was wearing her flight suit, and her brown hair was pulled into a ponytail. She gazed around, a crooked smile on her face, eyebrow raised. She had likely never seen the inside of a Red Dawn ship; few Alliance soldiers had.

"Hey, boss, thanks for inviting me." She joined King's table. "I heard you tried to punch a hole through the hull."

"Rumors spread fast," King grumbled.

Spitfire was young and cocky, and she had a big mouth. She was also his best pilot. As commander of Freedom's Flock, the dreadnought's complement of starfighters, she would likely lead the vanguard in any upcoming attacks. The Israeli pilot had a resolve of steel and a heart of fire. King could think of nobody better for the job.

He had three MindBuoys left. He invited Mimori to join them. After Jordan, she was his closest confidant on the ship. She was the ship. He wanted her here. The android appeared before them, prim and proper, not a strand of hair out of place, not a wrinkle on her uniform.

Next King invited Annie Jordan, the ship's doctor. She was the youngest colonel in the fleet, and not because she was the XO's daughter. She was an excellent doctor. She was usually not involved in military decisions, but she was one of the Freedom's senior officers, and King felt she deserved a spot at the table.

That left one MindBuoy. King wished he could invite Darjeeling, an old and loyal friend. But the sergeant major was accompanying Emily on her mission to Jupiter.

King considered for a moment, then sent an invite to Kim Fletcher, his newest colonel. Not long ago, she had been a major, toiling away in obscurity in the Freedom's aft. The devastating attack on the stern still haunted everyone. The raging fire. The crippled engine. The funerals. So many funerals. Kim had risen from the ashes to rebuild both the stern and the department that worked there. Like Annie, she was not a combat officer, but goddammit, Kim Fletcher was a war heroine, and she deserved a seat at the table.

Kim was probably wearing her work fatigues. But unlike with Bastian, who must have turned the feature off, the MindBuoy software changed Kim's outfit, giving her a service uniform. Nice feature of remote hallucinations—you didn't have to dress up. At first, Kim seemed a little overwhelmed. She looked around the war room and blushed. While she was an accomplished engineer and competent officer, she was used to working in cluttered engine rooms, not facing a room full of admirals and generals.

"Aww, she's cute!" Katyusha telepathized to King. "She looks like deer in headlights. Still, pretty. Almost pretty enough to look Russian. Nice blond hair, big blue eyes… Your girlfriend, Jamechka? What, you gave up on Katyusha and found American girl instead?"

He ignored her. He beckoned for Kim to join him at the table. The engineer noticed him, and she smiled, her tension easing. She squared her shoulders, raised her chin, and came to stand at his side.

"Hello, sir. Thank you for inviting me."

"Thank you for coming, Colonel Fletcher."

Privately, Kim telepathized to him, "I feel out of my element."

"You deserve to be here, Kim. You are the senior engineer aboard my ship. And remember, you're used to dealing with engineers. Facing the Red Dawn admirals should be nothing."

He winked. She smiled and gave a little laugh.

King looked at her. And at the others he had invited here. His senior officers. His crew. His team. And they were more than that. They were a family. In Bastian's case, literally. But the others were family too. They had all placed their trust in him, and King vowed to lead them to victory.

"Well?" Katyusha rose to her feet. "Shall we begin?"

King nodded. "We shall."

* * * * *

The Lenin Summit began.

Katyusha spoke first.

"Okay. Hello. Thank you everyone for coming. Especially Admiral King, who cannot resist little Katyusha." She winked and blew him a kiss. "We came here to discuss how to defeat the rahs. Katyusha knows the way." She pounded her fist into her palm. "We kill them! We kill them all! We launch wave after wave of ships against them. On Earth, we send brigade after brigade of soldiers to crash through their lines. We never stop! We pound them over and over until they are all dead."

King rose to his feet. A snarl found his lips. "And how many humans will die in these kamikaze attacks?"

Katyusha laughed. "Millions. Tens of millions! Katyusha will gladly sacrifice them for victory."

"How very honorable of you," King muttered.

Queen Laila stood up next. She cleared her throat. "Maybe a more circumspect plan is called for. Less waves of kamikaze attacks, more stealth, perhaps?"

"Stealth?" Katyusha snorted. "What, are we thieves in the night? There is no honor in sneaking around! Like some dog on the streets! No. We charge at them, all guns booming! Thousands of our starships will break the enemy lines!" She raised her fist, and her eyes shone. "It will be glorious!"

King sighed. They were clearly not on the same page here.

A few generals stood up, began to talk, then shout. Arguments erupted across the room.

King glanced at Godwin. The high commander stared back at him and sent a private, telepathic message. "The stage is yours, King. You are now the admiral of the fleet. I will observe. You've flown through treacherous skies. Let me see how you fly through this."

King grimaced. The high commander was giving him a true trial by fire here. King was used to leading—but only his own ship. He wasn't used to making decisions on such a grand scale. But Godwin trusted him. To King, that was a great honor.

Everyone was still arguing. Several generals were on their feet, shouting at one another. The North Korean general's eyes were bugging out; he looked ready to throttle Spitfire, who was shouting something at him. Several Desert Thorn generals were yelling that this conference was pointless, that they would return to their ships and continue the war on their own. Across all three tables, everyone was on their feet.

King stepped into the center of the room. He turned from side to side, facing each table in turn. Alliance, Red Dawn, Desert Thorns. Gradually people stopped arguing and turned to examine him. King supposed he struck an unusual figure—a pugnacious old war dog, a blazing white scar across his neck, his fist a metal monstrosity modeled after a medieval gauntlet. He had spent decades in a museum. To them, he was a relic. They looked at him as if he were a freak.

Aside from his own people, of course. They knew him. They supported him. They were his family.

"Listen to us," King rasped. "Bickering. Like goddamn children. This is what the rahs want." He glared at them all, each one in turn. "But you know what? This is what makes us human. And this is how we're going to defeat them."

Katyusha raised an eyebrow. "Katyusha is curious. Katyusha will hear you out."

King prowled between the tables. "When the Alliance fought the rahs, I noticed something. Whenever we took out a rah leader, their foot soldiers lost the will to fight. When Hel'rah invaded my ship, as soon as I defeated him in battle, his army fell apart. When the Freedom Brigade attacked Anabar, as soon as the female in charge was slain, the other rahs crumbled. We humans are individuals! We have our own opinions, biases, emotions, personalities. We bicker and fight and speak our minds when we can. We can survive the loss of a leader and regroup—the way the Freedom Brigade regrouped at Fort Liberty after the loss of their senior officers. The rahs are not like that. They are far more hierarchal—yes, even more hierarchal than the Red Dawn." He shot Katyusha a glare.

She smirked. "Don't be so sure, old man."

"We don't need to kill every rah in existence," King said. "We just need to kill their leader. Skel'rah." He pointed at the map above Katyusha's head. Specifically, at the large motherclaw hovering there. "We need to concentrate all our forces to destroy the motherclaw Hunger and kill Skel'rah. Once she's gone, the rah fleet will fall apart."

Godwin nodded from his seat. The two men had already discussed this plan. King was not saying anything Godwin hadn't agreed to in advance.

Laila spoke next. The queen had a soothing, high voice, but one that commanded all to listen. "We, the Desert Thorns, have the smallest fleet. We command a thousand starships. The Alliance, meanwhile, commands three thousand. The Red Dawn commands three thousand too."

"Actually, we have two hundred more than the Alliance," Katyusha said. "And they are the biggest, toughest ships. Much better than old, creaky ships like Freedom."

The premier laughed. King ignored her.

Laila continued. "Together, we command seven thousand starships. Only a century ago, that would have seemed an astounding number. Seven thousand starships would have boggled the minds of the first spacers. Indeed, even a year ago, that seemed like a lot, and many called our fleets bloated and antiquated, relics of a bygone era of war. But compared to the rahs, that is nothing. The rahs command tens of thousands of clawships—many of them even bigger than the Lenin, the largest human starship, in which we now stand."

Katyusha said nothing. Amazing. Finally something had shut her up.

"The enemy outnumbers us," Laila said. "And they outgun us. At least ten thousand clawships surround the motherclaw Hunger, defending Skel'rah. How can we fight our way through ten thousand clawships, most of them dwarfing our own ships? Even combined we can't do this."

Katyusha snorted. "The Red Fleet can do it."

Laila gave the Russian a small smile. "Like the Red Fleet over Titan?"

Katyusha turned red herself. She pounded the tabletop. "We would have been victorious if the damn rahs hadn't cheated, opening a new portal behind our defensive lines!"

"Nevertheless, you lost that battle," Laila said. "The Red Fleet is not invincible."

King liked this queen. A lot.

"None of us are," he said before Katyusha could explode. "That's why we need to work together. I would like to propose a plan."

Katyusha sneered. She unclenched her fists, letting several broken pens fall to the table. "Very well. Katyusha is listening. But this plan of yours better not be cowardly like most of your Alliance tactics."

King ignored the barb. He raised a hallucinatory map and shared it with the room. It hovered between the tables, depicting the solar system and its starships. He zoomed in on the Hunger, which was floating past Pluto's orbit. Ten thousand clawships, represented by spiky red icons, were flying defensive rings around the mothership.

"The rahs are aware of their own weakness," King said. "They know this is a single point of failure. That's why they've committed a full third of their fleet to defend the Hunger."

"Like bees defending their queen," Laila said.

King nodded. "My ship's central intelligence has calculated some odds for us. We estimate that even with our combined fleets, a full assault on the Hunger has only a fifteen percent chance of success."

"Too low," Laila said. "Much too low."

Katyusha snorted. "The Red Fleet is not afraid. Fifteen percent? Ha! Katyusha will make it a hundred percent. Bring it on." But some of her generals looked nervous.

King continued. "Our plan, therefore, is to thin out the defenses around the Hunger. This is where you come in, Katyusha."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you need Katyusha for your plan to work? The same Katyusha you are always insulting? Maybe she will help you." She crossed her arms. "Maybe not. Katyusha is listening."

"As you all know," King said, "I possess a high-ranking captive on my starship. None other than Hel'rah, prince of rahs, Skel'rah's son."

Suddenly Hel'rah appeared there—right in the war room. The enormous spider reared, spread out his red legs, and screeched.

* * * * *

The rah prince shrieked in the war room, drooling and wild.

But the creature was only a hallucination. Part of King's presentation.

Across the tables, a few people gasped, even the generals. Standing there, the hallucination seemed completely lifelike. Hel'rah was large for a male, the size of a rhinoceros. With his gray body and red legs, he looked different from most rahs—like some venomous creature with warning colors. The rah screeched, a deafening sound, and slashed the air with his claws. One general went white. Another turned green. Katyusha simply stared curiously.

King switched off the arachnid hallucination.

"Ugly son of a bitch, isn't he? A face only a mother could love. And Skel'rah is his mother. The rahs are like most animals on Earth. They care about their offspring. But in the rahs' case, it's not because they love them. It's because of their twisted honor. Skel'rah rose to power because her mother is the empress of their twisted civilization. Hel'rah might climb the ranks and become emperor someday himself. Their bloodlines are sacred to them. I believe that Skel'rah would do quite a bit to get her son back."

"I say we kill him," Katyusha said. "Hand this bug over to Katyusha! She will crush it under her heel."

"No," King said. "He's worth more to us alive. And he's part of our plan. Here's what's going to happen. Katyusha, you will take Hel'rah in one of your starships. Use this one if you like. Fly with him to the motherclaw Hunger and offer to negotiate for his release."

The hallucinatory map showed the Red Fleet flying toward the Hunger, then pausing, presumably to negotiate.

Katyusha's eyes widened. "What? Negotiate? Katyusha does not negotiate!" She pounded the table. "Katyusha kills! Katyusha destroys! What kind of weakling negotiates?"

"Relax," King said. "It's part of a ruse. Hear me out. You're going to dangle the spider prince before his mother—as bait. You'll pretend to negotiate. Say, offer to return him if Skel'rah leaves the solar system. Of course, negotiations will fail. Skel'rah would never accept such a demand. After negotiations invariably fall apart, you'll fly away."

The map now showed the Red Fleet turning tail and flying away, leaving the Hunger behind.

Katyusha turned as red as her banners. She leaped onto the tabletop and shook her fists. "Do you think Katyusha will run like a frightened mouse?"

"Oh, calm yourself, Katyusha, and hear him out!" Laila interjected.

Yes, King really liked her.

"It's only a ruse, Katyusha," King assured her. "All part of the plan. You'll turn to flee—just pretending to flee, calm down. According to our understanding of rah behavior, Skel'rah will send clawships after you. Maybe even thousands of clawships. Especially if you fly there with thousands of your own ships. The Red Fleet will escape, luring away a huge chunk of Skel'rah's defenses, leaving the Hunger vulnerable."

The map changed again, simulating the scenario. Half the clawships defending the Hunger began to chase the Red Fleet. That left only five thousand clawships around the motherclaw. Still a formidable force, but an improvement.

Katyusha nodded. "Okay… but what do we do with so many clawships chasing me? At some point, Katyusha must fight!"

"You'll lead the clawships on a chase to Ceres."

Katyusha tilted her head. "Ceres?" She scoffed. "The dwarf planet in the asteroid belt? Why? It's lifeless. What does Katyusha need on Ceres?"

A thin smile tugged at King's lips. "Not what's on Ceres. But what's behind Ceres. Because the Desert Thorns will be waiting there."

The map updated. Now everyone could see the Desert Thorn fleet, represented by little white icons, hiding behind Ceres. The clawships followed the Red Fleet there, only for the Desert Thorns to leap from hiding, trapping the clawships between two fleets.

Laila nodded. "An ambush."

"Exactly," King said.

"Okay, Katyusha gets it," the premier said. "She uses that spider princeling as bait, lures thousands of clawships to Ceres, and there Katyusha and the Arabian queen destroy them. Simple enough. Not Katyusha's usual style, but okay, maybe it can work. But what about you, King? What is your part in this theater?"

"I'm glad you asked," he said. "While all this is going on, the Alliance fleet will be waiting here at Mars. It won't look suspicious. We still have many humans living on Mars. Skel'rah expects our ships to defend them. But once the trap on Ceres is sprung, I will lead the Alliance fleet away from Mars—and attack the Hunger."

The map showed three thousand Alliance starships—King's entire fleet—racing toward the Hunger. There they clashed in battle with the remaining five thousand clawships defending the motherclaw.

Laila frowned. "You're still outnumbered. And this assumes Skel'rah will send half her fleet to catch her son. She might send less to chase Katyusha."

"She will send more," Katyusha said. "She knows Red Fleet is hard to defeat."

"Laila is right," King said. "We don't know how many ships Skel'rah will send after Katyusha. The scenario I'm describing might be optimistic. And even this scenario is difficult. The Alliance fleet cannot defeat five thousand clawships. But we don't have to. We only need to charge through them, attack the Hunger, and destroy her. Then—game over. We win."

Katyusha cleared her throat—loudly. "Easier said than done, Jamechka! Even if you can reach the Hunger, which is doubtful, how will you destroy her? She is a huge ship! Ten kilometers long! Three times longer than Lenin and Freedom put together. This is no easy task, King, even for Katyusha. We have looked into this! The Red Dawn scientists—who are best in galaxy, by the way—have been studying the Hunger. Her hull is thick. So thick even a hundred nuclear weapons cannot destroy it. And that is assuming you can get past the Hunger's web shield! You know how tough these rah web shields are. And the Hunger's shield, according to our sensors, is ten times the normal strength."

King nodded. "Alliance scientists have come to the same conclusion. But here too, we have a plan."

Katyusha rolled her eyes. "Oh, more plans, so many plans, so much talking and talking." She mimicked it with her hand. "Katyusha is bored and wants to fight!"

"Don't worry, Katyusha, we'll all get our chance to kill more rahs soon enough," King said. "Let me show you the final phase of our plan. How we destroy the Hunger."

* * * * *

The hallucinatory diagram zoomed in. The motherclaw Hunger hovered in the war room between the tables. The oddly shaped ship floated several meters above the deck, roughly the size of King's dining room table back on his ranch. Thousands of clawships surrounded her, floating in the air as glowing icons.

The Freedom, appearing the size of a steak knife, led the Alliance fleet. The starships, blue and translucent, charged through the enemy lines until they reached the Hunger. A matrix appeared around the Hunger, glowing red. A web shield. Once she was near enough, the Freedom fired her railgun. A beam of light slammed into the Hunger. The web shield flickered and vanished.

"The Fist of Freedom is the mightiest weapon in humanity's arsenal," King said. "Yes, even more powerful than the guns aboard the Lenin in which we stand. The Fist of Freedom will take down the Hunger's shield."

Watching the animation, Katyusha snorted. "That is your plan? Big deal! So you take down the shield. So what? That is just one layer of protection! What about the giant armor around the Hunger? Even your Fist of Freedom—silly American name, by the way—cannot destroy that hull. Even if it could, your clumsy railgun takes a full day to charge. You cannot shoot it twice in one battle."

King nodded. "Correct. We're not going to attack the Hunger's armored hull. Once the electric shield is down, we're going to send a boarding party into the Hunger. The Alliance marines will destroy her from within."

Gasps passed across the war room. Bastian remained still, his eyes hard. He crossed his arms. He had heard the plan in advance. He was ready.

King looked at his son, and his heart broke.

Once more, I'll have to send you into danger, Bastian, he thought. There is no greater fear for a father than to see his son off to war.

He did not telepathize those thoughts. But Bastian looked at him as if he could hear anyway.

I'm ready, Dad, Bastian replied. He did not need to telepathize either. He communicated those words with his eyes alone. King understood.

I'm proud of you, son. I love you.

Bastian stepped forward. He stood by his father. All eyes turned toward him.

"Hello, everyone," he said. "I'm Colonel Bastian King, and I command the Freedom's marine brigade. My marines are more than ready to get this job done. My troops are battle-hardened, professional, and highly trained. We know that the Hunger is capable of launching clawfighters. That means there must be airlocks. Airlocks we can enter. Our plan is to launch a fleet of armored Rhino dropships, which will latch onto those airlocks. Meanwhile, our Eagle starfighters will cover us. My brigade will board the Hunger, fight through the ship until we reach her core, and plant a nuclear weapon."

Gasps rose across the room. Even at the Alliance table; not everyone had known of the plan until now.

"God save us," Laila said.

"Bastian," whispered Annie. The doctor was close in age to Bastian, and the two had known each other since childhood.

Bastian continued speaking to the crowd. "We've run over the simulations on our ship's computers. To destroy the Hunger, a nuclear weapon must be buried inside the ship. It must detonate right in the center—inside the Hunger's power reactor. That's the only way to blow up the motherclaw. And the only people who can do it are the Freedom's marines. And don't worry, everyone! We plan on being far from the Hunger before the nuke detonates. This is a dangerous mission. But not a suicide mission."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Katyusha muttered.

Bastian stepped back and crossed his arms. His speech was over.

"And that's the plan, everyone," King said. "The plan to destroy Skel'rah and win this war. We call it Operation Perseus. Greek mythology tells the tale of Perseus, a hero who cut off the head of Medusa. We too will sever the head of the beast. We will save humanity."

* * * * *

"No."

The voice came from behind them, soft at first, but then rising louder.

"No, Bastian. You can't!"

It was from the Alliance table. Who…?

King turned around. He realized why he hadn't placed the voice at first. It came from someone who rarely attended these meetings.

Colonel Annie Jordan.

The young doctor stood behind the table, gazing at Bastian entreatingly.

"Annie, it's all right," Bastian said.

"No it's not!" the doctor said. "Dammit, Bastian, I've treated enough of your marines in my infirmary. People who lost limbs. Who lost faces. People burned and mutilated. I held enough hands of dying boys and girls. I treated you yourself enough times, Bastian. And now you want to take the Freedom Brigade into the Hunger? Without a map? Without knowing what lies inside? I can't allow it." She shook her head. "You will die in there, Bastian. You all will."

King frowned. He stepped toward Annie. "Doctor, we all appreciate you voicing your concerns. Perhaps after the summit, you and I can meet and—"

"Don't you patronize me," Annie snapped. "I would have voiced my concerns aboard the Freedom had you invited me to the initial meetings. Well, as it were, I was in the infirmary, telling another boy he'll never walk again. And I will voice my concerns here for all to hear. This is a suicide mission. I'm a doctor. I'm responsible for the health of every soldier on the Freedom. And I cannot watch so many sent to die." She stepped closer to King, and her eyes dampened. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "He's your son, Admiral. Don't send him to die."

Bastian placed a hand on her arm. "Annie. I know it's dangerous. I know I might die. But this is something I choose to do. For the Freedom. For Earth. For all humans. Maybe I won't make it out alive. But maybe I can destroy the Hunger. I would give my life for that."

"I would never sacrifice your life!" Annie cried. "And your father wouldn't either." She hugged him. "Bastian, it's too dangerous. Ask Mimori. She'll tell you the odds."

The android nodded. "The doctor is right. The odds of a successful boarding of the Hunger are quite low, even with the full strength of the Freedom Brigade. We don't know what lies inside the ship. It's a black box. According to the information Hel'rah has revealed, it's full of twisting, coiling corridors, a true labyrinth. We don't know anything else. The odds of successfully completing this mission are unknown. But they are likely no greater than thirty percent."

Thirty percent.

The words echoed through the room.

There is a seventy percent chance that my son will die, King thought.

If it were any other soldier, perhaps King would take this chance. But… to lose a son. Was King foolhardy? Was this entire plan indeed too dangerous?

As always, when in turmoil, King turned toward Larry Jordan. His best friend.

"What do you think?" he asked.

The XO took a deep breath, considering. "I think my daughter is right. I know we all worked hard on this plan. But we're missing too much information. We'd be sending the brigade into uncharted territory. Hel'rah has told us a little about what's inside. But he can provide no maps. No information on rah defenses. Just some vague boasts of a twisting labyrinth." Jordan sighed. "We cannot send our marines into the dark."

"I volunteer for this!" Bastian said. "I know the odds. We all do. Every marine will volunteer! This is the best chance we have. Let us marines make our own choice. If we don't do this, all of humanity might be doomed."

"And if you go in there blind, you are doomed!" Annie cried.

The door to the war room banged open.

A voice rolled across the room.

"He won't be going blind. He'll have a map. And we all have hope."

Everyone turned toward the doorway.

Princess Emily walked into the war room, wearing a ragged spacesuit. She held a crystal in her hand. Darjeeling entered behind her, an assault rifle slung across his back. He looked just as shabby, his mustache drooping, his eyes hard, like some aging knight returned from slaying a dragon. Surprisingly, Stowy was there with them. The stowaway wore her dress-of-many-pockets, just one striped stocking, and no shoes. A mouse rode on her shoulder.

Gasps rose across the room. Undoubtedly, the admirals of Red Dawn and Desert Thrones had never seen such a motley crew.

But this is my crew, King thought with a smile. And they're the best damn crew in the galaxy.

Emily walked to the center of the room and raised her crystal high. A schematic burst out, as large as a grand piano, hovering above. It displayed the motherclaw Hunger—and all the tunnels, engines, and defenses within. The ship's core pulsed in the center.

"This is our map," Emily said. "This is how we win."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The winter of 2200 was the hardest winter of mankind.

A winter of feeding camps. Of shattering starships. Of a world in the web of spiders. A winter of tears and countless deaths.

In the winter of 2200, facing extinction, humanity took its final stand.

Operation Perseus began.

An operation to defeat the enemy. To pull the human species from the abyss. To fly toward the great terror from space and destroy it.

Admiral King stood on the bridge of the Freedom. High Commander Godwin had returned to Earth. He would lead a great uprising on the ground, in the air, and on the seas. Here in space, it was up to King. He felt the weight of the responsibility, nearly crushing him. He prayed he did not let his commander, his fleet, and his planet down.

King faced his crew. They all looked at him, silent. They looked at him for leadership. For hope. For courage.

He looked back at them. At Jordan and Darjeeling, his two oldest, best friends, men who had gone through fire and darkness with him. At Bastian and Annie, a new generation of soldiers. At Mimori, his lodestar. At Emily, who brought hope to humanity. At Spitfire, the daughter of his fallen friend, who had become like a daughter to King. At Kim Fletcher, who had rebuilt this ship. Others had come to the bridge. Alice was here, standing at Bastian's side, her eyes warm. Even Stowy was here, still barefoot, still wearing her dress with many pockets.

King looked at them all. At his family. And he spoke to them.

"Only last year, we never imagined this. The Freedom, the great ship in which we now fly, was a museum. We thought the days of war were over. We were here to run a tourist attraction. We did not expect ourselves to be fighting a war for survival. Certainly not to fly as the flagship of humanity. But that is the reality in which we find ourselves.

"And we stood up to the task.

"Every last one of you—you showed me your strength. Your dedication. Your courage.

"And you showed it to the enemy.

"Thirty-six years ago, I fought a great war. A war between humans. I thought that was the great war of my life. I thought that was the great struggle of humanity. I was wrong. This war, the Rah War, is our darkest hour. An hour of despair and death. An hour of spiders and burning starships.

"But this is also our finest hour.

"This is the hour when we fly together, all humans, united, to strike at darkness.

"I can think of no better crew to fly there with me.

"Operation Perseus begins today. Today we fly for freedom."

For a moment everyone was silent, just letting King's words sink in.

Then Jordan stepped forward. He raised his chin, and he began to sing. His voice was deep, as smooth as velvet and as comforting as rolling thunder. A voice that brought tears to their eyes. At first he sang alone. But then King joined him, singing in his raspy, ruined voice. And then Emily joined, her voice pure and high, and finally they were all singing together. The anthem of their starship. A song of freedom.

Let all free souls salute her flight

Let her engines bathe the dark with light

Let her cannons sing the song of freedom

The fleet will gather; she will lead them

Our flagship sails into the flame

As poets weep and sing her name

For liberty's light! For glory's hymn!

Praise the Freedom, she will win!

The song ended.

In perfect timing, a message popped up on King's MindLink. It was from Katyusha. He accepted the call, and he hallucinated her before him.

"Ready, Jamechka?"

He nodded. "It begins."

"See you soon, my darling." Katyusha winked, then disappeared.

King looked back at his crew. "Full yellow alert. Mimori, relay my orders to all Alliance ships in the fleet. The Red Dawn and Desert Thorn fleets are about to depart. We will remain to defend Mars—and wait to lead the final charge."

He watched on the viewport as the RDS Lenin flew by. Katyusha made a point of flying her gargantuan dreadnought alongside the Freedom's port bow, letting everyone see that her ship was larger than his. The monitor displayed the Lenin's starboard hull as the dreadnought lumbered by, her artillery thrusting outward like the cannons of some ancient sailing ship. Lenin's hull was red, the cannons were painted brass, and a golden equal sign shone above them. If you asked King, it was useless vanity to paint a warship. But that was Katyusha.

The Lenin yawed, turning her stern toward the Freedom, then blasted off. The fire of her exhaust ports flared across the Freedom's electromagnetic shield like an aurora. Another message from Katyusha.

Eat my dirt.

Well, King was just happy to see her leave.

A burden lifted from him. Not just because Katyusha was farther away now. But because Hel'rah was off too.

Earlier that day, they had transported the creature from the Freedom into the Lenin. They had tried to tranquilize the murderous rah before transporting him, but no tranquilizer had seemed to work. So they had caged Hel'rah, dragged him into a shuttle, and moved between the starships. All the while, the alien prince had screeched, threatened, snapped his jaws, and tried to break his chains. Somehow the brute had managed to free one claw, reached between the cage bars, and stabbed a guard in the chest. The man was now in the hospital ship Sirona, fighting for his life.

King sighed. At least that demon was off the Freedom. He was Katyusha's problem now. The Freedom seemed to fly a little lighter.

Hundreds of other Red Dawn warships began departing Mars too. The RDS Baba Yaga, another dreadnought, was almost the size of the Freedom. She was the grandest vessel in the Red Dawn fleet after the Lenin. King had faced her in battle back in the last war. Two Red Dawn starfighter-carriers, the Molotov and the Leigong, flew here too. They were shy of a kilometer long, not quite large enough to be dreadnoughts, but close. The rest were frigates, plenty of corvettes, ammunition ships, troop carriers, sapper ships, a hospital ship, and more, all painted red and gold. They all blasted off, following the Lenin. It was a mighty armada, but this was not the entire Red Fleet. Two thousand red warships were still fighting across the solar system—attacking rah formations, cutting their supply lines, and raiding Earth.

"They are truly a mighty force," Jordan said, standing beside King on Freedom's bridge.

King nodded. "No wonder they gave us so much trouble in the war." He lowered his voice to a grumble. "Don't tell Katyusha I said that."

"Fortunately, they're giving trouble to the rahs now," Jordan said. "It still feels strange working with the Red Dawn. I don't trust them."

"Me neither," King said. "But right now, Katyusha hates the rahs more than she hates us. And that's all we need."

The two men stood, watching the Red Dawn ships fly away, carrying the prince of rahs to his mother.

"Do you think Skel'rah will take the bait?" Jordan said.

King nodded. "She'll take the bait all right."

They watched the Desert Thorns fly away next. Their ships were smaller, more graceful, the hulls curved and white. They reminded King of dhows in a moonlit river. They blazed into the distance, heading to Ceres. To set the trap. They were flying with the best stealth technology available to humanity. On the way to Ceres, the Desert Thorns would scatter and take circuitous routes, further blurring their trail.

"With any luck, Katyusha will lure away a whole bunch of clawships into that trap," King said. "And then we pounce."

Jordan nodded. "For now, we wait."

King slapped Jordan on the back. "You have the bridge. I'll be back in time for the fun."

Jordan frowned. "Taking a shift off? I figured you'd be too excited for sleep. You never were able to rest before a battle."

"I'm not going to bed. I'm going to join Katyusha on the Lenin. By MindBuoy."

Jordan's eyes widened. "She let you do that?"

King nodded. "There's a buoy waiting for me on her bridge. I'll be connecting from my office. I want to be there on the Lenin when they make contact with Skel'rah." He smiled grimly. "You can imagine what would happen if Katyusha tried to negotiate on her own."

Jordan heaved a sigh. "Within two minutes, she'd be charging headlong into battle, shouting about wiping the rahs off the face of the galaxy. Okay, I get it. Go babysit her. But… with us on Mars, and the Lenin flying past Pluto, won't there be a serious data lag?"

"No lag at all," King said. "Evidently, Red Dawn scientists have developed instantaneous communication. Or damn close to it."

Jordan's eyes widened. "What? How? That's against the laws of physics! Packets of data would have to fly faster than light."

"Or by portal," King said. "It was the Chinese who figured it out. They studied rah portals and figured out how to build a tiny one. Just large enough to connect me to a MindBuoy. They haven't tested it over a great distance yet. Apparently, I'm something of a guinea pig."

Jordan exhaled slowly. "If we can figure out how to build portals, especially portals large enough for a starship… that would change human civilization. It wouldn't just give us an advantage in this war. It would let human ships reach other stars. For the first time, we'd be able to leave the solar system. To explore the galaxy."

King smiled thinly. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Before we reach the stars, we must survive. We must win this war. At any cost. Larry, you have the bridge. If anything happens, call me back right away."

* * * * *

King walked through the bustling corridors of the Freedom, passing hundreds of anxious spacers, and entered his quarters.

He stood for a moment in the doorway, just breathing. Whenever he entered his stateroom, it was as if the doorway were a portal, and he was transported to another world. The wooden floor, the shelves bursting with leather-bound books, the antique naval instruments, the suit of armor—it all seemed like something from another world, perhaps a cabin in an old sailing ship. If not for the constant hum of Freedom's engines, you would never suspect you were on a starship.

He took a deep breath.

He was used to commanding a starship. Now he commanded a fleet. Now the fate of humanity was on his shoulders. He prayed that he would prove worthy of the task.

Katyusha spoke in his mind again. "Where are you, Jamechka? Why you keep Katyusha waiting?"

"I'm ready," he rasped. "Let's see if this contraption of yours works."

"It'll work. Red Dawn scientists best in galaxy! Your silly Alliance engineers will never catch up. It is impossible. We are too smart for you. Go on, lift the balls! Like Katyusha showed you."

He lifted three metallic spheres from his desk, tossed them into the air, and they began to orbit around him. Cameras scanned him. Microphones listened to him. They were ready to transmit his image directly to Katyusha's brain.

A portal opened above King's head.

An actual portal. Like the rahs used. Right here in his quarters.

This one was small. No larger than a fly. King could barely see it. But it was large enough to transmit digital data.

But suddenly he was there. Aboard the Lenin's bridge.

He blinked and looked around him, disoriented for a moment.

He had never been to the Lenin's bridge before, only its war room and throne room. But this was the place all right. It was the size of an old-school movie theater—far larger than the Freedom's cluttered bridge. Like everything aboard the Lenin, it was over the top. The bulkheads rose several stories tall, and guards stood on balconies, wearing resplendent red robes. Banners flowed between them, displaying golden equal signs on red fields. A gilded statue stood at the back of the bridge, depicting Vladimir Lenin, namesake of the dreadnought.

A semicircular viewport dominated one side of the bridge, displaying a grand view of space. The bridge crew worked at several stations. Katyusha sat in the center, overseeing her underlings. Her chair rose upon a dais. The backrest flared out, painted red, vaguely resembling a rising red sun.

The Lenin's bridge wasn't quite as showy as the throne room, which King had visited recently. But it wasn't that far off.

Physically, King was back in his quarters aboard the Freedom. Everything around him—the statues, banners, Red Dawn officers—it was all a hallucination. Just a fever dream his MindLink painted into his brain. But it was an accurate representation of the Lenin, drawn from cameras and speakers across the actual bridge. King's body was back home. His soul, as it were, was here aboard the Red Dawn flagship.

"Jamechka!" Katyusha rose from her throne, smiled crookedly, and slunk toward him. "So nice of you to visit Katyusha at work. Now you will see how real starship is run! This is no little museum like Freedom. Try to keep up." She patted his cheek.

King sighed inwardly. This would be a long flight.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The Red Fleet charged through space, all engines blazing, cutting through the night. Hundreds of warships streaked across the darkness. King had seen the legendary charges of the Red Fleet many times—usually from the receiving end. Now he stood on the Lenin's bridge, a single Alliance officer, wearing his blue uniform among a hundred officers in red.

I feel like an eagle within a swarm of vultures, he thought.

Then he realized how petty the thought was. Like it or not, the Red Dawn was no longer his enemy. He had to place aside the old animosity.

Yes, the Red Dawn had killed many of his friends. Katyusha had murdered his father. Those were crimes King could not forgive. Standing here wasn't easy. Even as a hallucinatory avatar. But for his ship, his family, his very species—here he must stand.

Maybe that's the only good thing the rahs did, King thought. They forced us humans to unite.

It was a long flight. King took the time to familiarize himself with the Red Dawn bridge. He had never been aboard the bridge of a Red Dawn warship. Some methods were similar to those implemented on the Freedom. King also saw some things the crew did differently. The main difference was, surprisingly, a lesser dependence on technology. There were no androids on the Lenin's bridge. There were fewer computers and monitors. The crew didn't communicate telepathically; some perhaps didn't even have MindLinks. They talked to one another. King even saw an officer taking notes with a pencil. A pencil!

The Lenin was big, grand, almost like an opera house, all soaring red bulkheads and golden splendor. In contrast, Alliance starships seemed austere, claustrophobic. But the Lenin was also downright retro. The low tech felt almost like an old ship from the days of the steam engine, a Titanic sailing the cosmic ocean.

They rely on human intuition more than we do, King thought. We have better technology. We have more money. We have gadgets and robots and all the bells and whistles. And the Red Dawn almost beat us in the war.

Begrudgingly, King had to admit—this style appealed to him. His crew often mocked him, calling him a technophobe, reluctant to adopt the MindWeb. But where technology declined, humans rose to compensate, and that gave Red Dawn a unique style, maybe even an edge.

They kept flying. They flew for hours. At one point, King disconnected his MindLink, and he instantly returned to his chamber aboard the Freedom. He ate, napped, and checked the status of his fleet. He even had time to read a chapter in a book. Then he rematerialized on the Lenin.

Finally, after a day of flying, they saw it ahead.

At first it just appeared as a light in the distance. It looked like a little red star, drowning in the great starscape before them. On a viewport the size of a movie theater screen, you could almost miss it.

"Zoom in," Katyusha ordered.

The viewport shifted like a bubble in the breeze, zooming into that little red light.

And then they all saw it.

A few officers cursed in Russian.

The image was still blurry, but they could all recognize what it was. The motherclaw Hunger. And around her—a swarm of ten thousand clawships.

"There she is," King said. "The queen spider."

A few technicians fiddled with controls, bringing the image into focus. The Hunger was still far from here. On the viewport, she was only the size of a dinner plate. But King knew she was the size of a city. Metal tentacles sprouted from the ship, irregular and lined with blades. Each one had to be a kilometer long.

The smaller clawships orbited their mothership like flies around rancid meat. But King knew that many of them were the size of full frigates. Some were likely dreadnoughts. It was a terrible force. An armada larger than all the human fleets combined.

Katyusha rose from her throne. She stepped toward the front of the bridge. A snarl found her lips, and her fists clenched. Her eyes shot daggers at the motherclaw.

"You destroyed hundreds of my ships." Her upper lip twitched with rage. "Katyusha is going to crush you."

"Calm down, Katyusha," King said. "Remember, we're not here to fight. We're here to lure Skel'rah into a trap."

"No more traps!" Katyusha shoved him aside. "No more sneaking around! We end this now! We—"

"We have only a thousand warships here—against ten thousand clawships!"

Katyusha scoffed. "A thousand Red Dawn ships can destroy any armada! Every one of my warships is worth ten of theirs."

"Your battle statistics tell a different story," King said. "We cannot defeat them here. Not yet. Not like this. Katyusha! Calm down. Remember why we're here. Stick to the plan."

Katyusha was trembling with rage. Her fists clenched at her sides, and a vein throbbed on her neck.

"Very well," she hissed.

King sighed. This is why I had to come babysit. It's a wonder she ever got so far in the third world war.

"Katyusha, one more thing. I recommend releasing a few spy drones while we're here. The heat signature of this fleet will hide their deployment, and once floating in space, the drones are nearly impossible to dete—"

"Katyusha knows how military espionage works!" Katyusha snapped. "You are not the commander here, American."

But then she turned toward her tactical officer and spoke a few quiet words in Russian. The MindBuoy software translated it for King. Good. She was releasing the drones. The Red Fleet kept flying.

As they flew closer, the rahs noticed them. The swarm of clawships changed formation like one living organism. Instead of orbiting the motherclaw, they formed a great shield ahead of the Hunger. Ten thousand little red lights lit up space—the clawships exposing their plasma ports like predators baring their fangs. The Hunger waited farther back, secure behind the alien wall of death.

We could never break through this wall, King thought. We must lure many of these ships away.

The prospect of destroying a thousand Red Dawn ships, and retrieving Hel'rah, might just be enough. The bait had to be juicy. This was as juicy as it came.

"All right, we're close enough," King said.

"Katyusha will decide that. We will fly a little closer." A wicked grin spread across her face. "Katyusha likes to be close enough to stab an enemy. Just in case negotiations fail."

King grunted but let her have the last word.

The Red Fleet flew closer. The images on the screen grew larger.

Finally, when they were only a hundred thousand klicks apart, Katyusha cried out, "Halt the fleet!"

An eerie silence fell as the stern engines shut down, only for a roar to replace them. New engines rumbled in the prow, and gasses blasted from the frontal exhaust ports, slowing their momentum. Though graviton tech was widely used these days in deck plates, drones, and other applications, graviton drives were still experimental—and worse, heavily patented. As far as King knew, the Raven—the ship Emily had flown to Jupiter—was the first graviton drive humans operated. In a few years, King guessed, every starship humans flew would use graviton drives. But for now, they relied on old, crude propulsion. The Lenin, like the Freedom, had to vent her prow ports to slow down in space. On the monitors, King saw flares rise across the Red Fleet as the warships slowed to a halt.

Finally they hovered in place, facing their enemy.

* * * * *

The two fleets floated there, sizing each other up. The Red Dawn fleet was a tenth of the size. The Lenin, the largest warship in human history, seemed like a mere corvette by the mighty Hunger.

The enemy did not move.

What are they waiting for? King wondered. Why aren't they attacking? Why isn't Katyusha speaking?

He was about to take charge, to order the crew to hail the enemy. He had to remind himself he was a guest here. A virtual one at that.

Finally Katyusha gave the order. One of her officers sent out a hail.

For long moments, nothing happened.

The humans waited, staring.

Katyusha's eye twitched. Her fists clenched and unclenched.

Finally the enemy answered.

A video feed took over the monitor. The entire movie-screen-sized monitor.

Warweaver Skel'rah appeared before them. Life-sized. Large enough to devour a horse.

I've seen some ugly bugs in my day, but this one takes the cake, King thought.

Skel'rah wasn't just big. She was monstrous. Lumps covered her exoskeleton like sores. Saliva drizzled down her fangs. Her many eyes blinked like pools of blood. The spikes on her back impaled rotting corpses. King recognized the corpse of Eleanor Wood, the admiral he had replaced.

"Hello, apes," Skel'rah hissed. "Have you come to surrender?"

Katyusha tossed back her head and laughed. "The Red Dawn never surrenders! Why do you insult Katyusha? Maybe she will swat you like the bug that you are. Come closer, cockroach, and Katyusha will step on you."

King cleared his throat. He took a step closer to the monitor. "Skel'rah! This Admiral King. I'm not physically on this ship, but you should be able to hear my voice through the device you see floating beside Katyusha."

Of course, Skel'rah didn't have a MindLink implant like Katyusha did. The Red Dawn premier was able to hallucinate King here, downloading the proper hallucination from the MindWeb. But anyone else would just see a floating mechanism with a camera and speakers.

"Ah… James King," the spider hissed. "So they made you admiral. Replacing this one, yes?" Skel'rah raised a claw, gesturing at Eleanor's corpse. "I have a spike saved for you too, King. And more spikes for your family."

"But not for Katyusha, because you know you cannot defeat her," Katyusha said. "The Red Dawn will destroy you, you cockroach. You do not stand a chance against the glory of—"

"Katyusha, let me handle this," King said. He stared at Skel'rah. "No, we did not come to surrender. We came to negotiate. We have your son. We have Hel'rah. Here on this ship. We're willing to release him. But only after you retreat from our solar system."

Skel'rah would never agree. King was counting on it.

The warweaver snarled. "Show me my son."

Katyusha spun toward the bridge doorway. She coned her hands around her mouth and shouted, "Bring the beast!"

Sentries stepped aside from the doorway and shouldered their rifles. The towering brass doors slid open, revealing a red hallway.

At first nothing happened.

Then King heard it. A distant clattering. Then a screech that echoed down the hallway.

Metal clanked. A terrible scream froze King's blood. A scream so high-pitched it sounded like steam escaping a cracked engine. Red light oozed out the tunnel like blood. Men shouted and cursed in Russian, and electricity crackled.

The guards at the doorway paled. They took a few steps back. Sweat dripped down their foreheads.

Katyusha watched the doorway, a crooked smile growing on her face.

And there they came. Ten men in full battle armor stepped into the room, dragging Hel'rah.

Chains wrapped around the giant spider's muzzle, keeping his mouth shut. More chains draped across his abdomen. A huge metal collar encircled his thorax, branching off chains which the guards held.

Then King noticed the most shocking part.

The Red Dawn had mutilated him.

They had removed his teeth. As the spider struggled against the chains, he managed to open his mouth just an inch or two, and King saw the bleeding gums. The Red Dawn had also slashed off his dorsal spikes, leaving oozing rings on his abdomen. Finally they had severed the claws at the tips of his legs. Hel'rah was walking on bandaged stumps.

Rage flared through King. He glared at Katyusha. "You promised you wouldn't torture him. That was part of our deal."

"Torture?" Katyusha shrugged theatrically. "Katyusha never tortures her victims. She simply removed his weapons! Not Katyusha's fault if his weapons were attached to his body. Now he is harmless! Nice little pet spider. All cuddly and cute."

"Adorable," King muttered, looking back at Hel'rah. As much as he loathed torture, King couldn't feel too bad for the beast. This rah had killed hundreds of his spacers, kidnapped Rowan, and slaughtered millions on Earth.

A cry filled the bridge.

"What have you done to my son? You monsters! I'll crush you to dust!"

King turned back toward the main viewport. Skel'rah was fuming. Her pupils shrank to pinpricks. She bared her teeth, raised her claws, and bristled her spikes. She was assuming the classic rah aggression posture. King had seen rahs take this posture before ripping through marine platoons.

Good, we got her angry, Katyusha telepathized to King's mind only.

Suddenly Hel'rah screeched and bucked wildly at his chains. The rah violently jerked one chained leg. The guard holding the chain flew into the air, then slammed into a brass column. The column cracked. So did a few bones.

Hel'rah reared, roaring as best he could through his bound muzzle. He managed to wrap a chain around another guard, yank him up, then slam him onto the deck again and again. The man's skull gave a sickening crack, and blood ran toward King's feet.

Red Dawn soldiers ran forth, shouting, and began firing at Hel'rah. Bullets slammed into his exoskeleton. Chips of chitin flew through the air. The rah roared. Snarling, Katyusha drew a firearm from her belt. She fired. Electric bolts slammed into Hel'rah. The giant spider screamed, crackling with electricity, and slumped to the deck.

The surviving guards dragged the alien back into the hallway. Two guards pulled their dead comrade, leaving a trail of blood.

Skel'rah just watched from the monitor, eyes narrowed.

Katyusha looked at the blood and snorted. "Eh, big deal. So he killed one of Katyusha's soldiers. He can be replaced." She looked back at Skel'rah. "Still, your son was very naughty! And he will pay for this. Katyusha will hurt him personally so, so much."

Skel'rah snarled. "Do you think I care about one son? I have a thousand sons, and I will grow a hundred more in your womb!"

King came to stand by Katyusha's side. "I think you do care, Skel'rah. I think you care very much. This is no ordinary rah you've hatched. This is a hunter. Your greatest hunter. Your heir. You want him back. That's why you're still talking to us, isn't it? That's why you flinched when Hel'rah screamed."

Katyusha clasped her hands behind her back. Smiling crookedly, the Red Dawn premier sauntered closer to the viewport.

"Oh, so sad!" Katyusha said, mockery draping her words. "For a mama to see her son crying out for her. Not being able to help. Oh, Katyusha's heart is breaking." She pouted and traced an imaginary tear down her cheek. "Ah, but Katyusha is merciful. She will let you have your little baby back. But only if you fly far, far away, mommy spider. Bye-bye! Once your fleet is outside Katyusha's solar system, then she will place baby spider in capsule and let him fly back into your arms. Or legs. Whatever those ugly growths of yours are. Do we have a deal?"

It was probably killing Katyusha to negotiate rather than charge blindly into battle. But to her credit, she was finally following the plan.

Of course, nobody expected Skel'rah to take this deal. Not even with her son so mutilated. But if they could get the warweaver angry enough, get her to send clawships after them…

King tightened his metal fist. All we need is enough clawships to chase Katyusha, and I can fly the Freedom through her defenses and blow that goddamn motherclaw off the face of the galaxy.

Skel'rah stared at them, eyes narrowed.

"You have sealed your doom, humans," she hissed. "There will be no negotiations. There will be only your destruction. Humanity will fall."

The video cut off. The viewport once more showed the motherclaw Hunger hovering in space, ten thousand clawships forming a defensive wall before her.

Katyusha barked a laugh. "She got fire in her belly, that spider. Katyusha likes her. Too bad Katyusha will grind her entire species to dust."

King sighed. Sometimes he wondered who was crazier: Skel'rah or Katyusha.

"All right, we all know the rest of the plan," King said. "Now we turn around and let her chase us."

"One moment, pozhaluysta," Katyusha said. "Officer Yelchin, send our big spider friend one more video from me. Recording? Good." Katyusha faced the camera. She pulled a jar from her pocket. A house spider scurried inside. "Oh dear Skel'rah, darling? You watching Katyusha? Good. Look closely. This will be you." Katyusha lifted the spider between her fingers, crushed it, then waved mockingly. "Bye-bye!"

She mimicked slicing her neck with her finger. Her officer cut the transmission.

King winced. The scar on his neck flared. He was Katyusha's ally now, perhaps. But not forever. He would never forget how she had slit his neck and left him for dead.

"Okay, now she angry enough," Katyusha said. "Helm, turn us around. Red Fleet! Fly!" She laughed. "Fly to Ceres! Come on, Skel'rah, chase us, you big stupid cockroach."

The engines burned hot, vibrating the deck. The brass columns trembled. The statue of Lenin threatened to tilt over. The Red Fleet schooled through space, yawing hard, blazing a wide U-turn and painting a crescent of fire across the darkness. Then they raced into the distance, heading deeper into the solar system.

They flew onward.

Everyone stared at the rearview monitor. Appropriately, it hung at the back of the bridge, overlooking the bloody deck where Hel'rah had killed men.

King ignored the blood. He was only looking at the monitor, at the live video feed from Lenin's stern.

The Hunger remained still.

The ten thousand clawships remained in defensive formations, hovering in a wall.

"She's not taking the bait!" Katyusha said.

"She'll take the bait," King growled.

They kept flying.

They were hundreds of thousands of klicks away now, still moving fast.

"She's not falling for it!" Katyusha cried. "Katyusha should have crushed the spiders when she had the chance."

"She'll take the bait!" King said. "Wait for it."

They all watched the monitor. King. Katyusha. The crew. King was streaming a live video of this back to the Freedom. He knew his own bridge crew was watching.

Still—nothing happened.

Skel'rah and her clawships were staying put.

"Okay, new plan," Katyusha said. "We fly back, and Katyusha will cut off Hel'rah's legs as his mother watches. That will enrage the bitch."

King ignored her. He kept staring at the clawships.

Come on, Skel'rah, he thought. Come on. Chase us! Come on! Do it!

But the warweaver was staying still.

She didn't fall for it, King realized.

An urgent call popped into his MindLink. Queen Laila materialized on the bridge of the Lenin, wearing the white-and-gold uniform of the Desert Thorns. Physically, she was behind Ceres, standing on the bridge of the frigate Dune. Her avatar seemed to stand right in the pool of blood.

"Katyusha, King!" Laila cried. "A portal is opening beside Ceres! Clawships are emerging."

"Vot eto pizdets!" Katyusha shouted, fists clenched and face red. The software seemed too busy with everything going on to translate her words, but King could guess at their meaning.

Another avatar materialized before them, this one in blue. It was Jordan, calling from the Freedom.

"Jim, portals are opening around Mars!" the XO said. "Clawships!"

The cosmos seemed to crash around King.

The plan had just begun—and was already falling apart.

Skel'rah saw through it all, he realized.

The warweaver appeared on the front monitor again—a huge spider with cruel eyes. She was laughing.

King disconnected his neural software, reappearing in his quarters aboard the Freedom. Klaxons were wailing and red lights strobing. King ran to the bridge as the clawships came storming in.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

King burst onto the bridge to a scene of chaos.

"Portals opening over Mars!" Darjeeling cried. The sergeant stood on the bridge, mustache bristling, eyes bugging out. "The bastards are all over the place!"

"More power to shields!" Jordan was shouting. "Yes, divert power from port cannons!"

"More clawships coming in off our starboard bow!" Mimori cried. "The frigate commanders want to know what to do, sir."

The sentry at the bridge door, bless his heart, actually tried to stand at attention and salute King. But King ignored him, racing toward his station. He grabbed his comlink.

"Mimori, transmit my words to—"

A boom rocked the Freedom.

Alarms wailed.

Everyone jolted. A few crew members fell to the deck.

"Plasma blast to midsection starboard!" Mimori cried over the din. "Decks 17 to 19 are leaking air! Sealing off hatches."

"Fire the starboard cannons!" Jordan cried, communicating with the artillery team in the upper decks.

The ship jolted as the Angels of Liberty fired. King saw it on the monitors. Maccabee torpedoes streaked forth, moving at hypersonic speed through the darkness. Explosions bloomed across a clawship that was bearing down on them. The explosions knocked it off course, but dozens of clawships rose to replace it.

They were all firing plasma.

Right off the Freedom's port bow, the frigate Dayan caught fire and slewed. The corvette Mountbatten took a blast on the stern, then crashed down onto Mars. Thousands of starfighters flew back and forth, battling clouds of clawfighters.

Queen Laila appeared on the deck. Her apparition was flickering. Soot clung to her uniform, and her forehead was bleeding.

"Alliance, we're under attack! We request assis—"

Her avatar vanished.

Suddenly Katyusha flickered onto the Freedom's bridge. She was laughing maniacally. Madness filled her eyes. "Die, spider scum! Die! Fire! Fire everything!"

King caught just a glimpse of the Lenin's deck, flickering around her. Halfway across the solar system, the clawships were attacking the Red Fleet too. Then the vision of Katyusha faded as well.

"Admiral King, sir!" cried a tactical officer. "Information is coming in from the spy drones near the Hunger. More clawships are flying to defend the motherclaw. Skel'rah is doubling her defenses. Ten thousand new clawships are—"

Another blast pounded the Freedom.

The ship jolted.

The monitors all died before coming back to life a second later, streaming damage reports.

"Sir?" Mimori said. She came to stand beside King, her uniform torn. "Sir, what are your orders?"

King stared at the information coming in.

Countless clawships—attacking the Alliance fleet over Mars.

More clawships—attacking the Desert Thorns at Ceres and the Red Fleet in deep space.

Skel'rah—lurking in her motherclaw, doubling her defenses.

She knew all along, King thought. We never fooled her for a second.

"Sir, reports are coming in from Earth," Jordan said. "Skel'rah is pulling clawships away from Earth's orbit, redirecting them to the war in deep space. This could be a chance to recapture the planet."

"No," King said.

Jordan frowned. "Are you sure, sir? Earth hasn't seen so few clawships since—"

"We're not going to keep defending Earth. Not when Skel'rah can retake the planet at any time. No. We are proceeding with Operation Perseus." He clenched his metal fist. "We are going to destroy that motherclaw. Mimori, transmit my orders to the fleet. The Freedom will lead the charge toward the Hunger. All Alliance ships—follow in assault formations."

"Mimori—wait," Jordan said. He grabbed King's arm, stared at him, his eyes nearly bugging out. "Jim, listen to me, dammit. Twenty thousand clawships are gathering around the Hunger. We'll never make it through."

Mimori hesitated, waiting, not yet transmitting the orders.

King stared at his XO, then at the rest of the crew.

"Mimori, if all human starships attack the Hunger—what are the odds of success?"

Numbers flashed across her synthetic eyeballs. "Roughly twenty percent, sir."

King nodded. "So we have a one-in-five chance to save our species. Those are low odds. But they're the best odds we're gonna get. We will not hunker down on Earth while the enemy surrounds us. We will strike at their heart. This is our mission. We will not abort it. We will proceed to the Hunger. And we will kill Skel'rah."

"Hell yeah!" Katyusha cried, appearing on the bridge. "Finally James King shows his big balls. Katyusha agrees! To war! Red Fleet—to war!"

Laila appeared on the Freedom's bridge next. Glimpses of her surroundings leaked into the hallucination. Her own bridge was burning, and soot and blood covered her uniform, but the starship was still flying.

"To war!" Laila cried, fist raised.

King looked at his XO.

Jordan stared back, eyes hard.

"Are you sure, Jim?" he said softly.

"No," King said. "But we were never sure last war either. And we faced some bad odds then too."

"And what about Mars?" Jordan said. "We'll leave the entire colony here alone?"

"The ground forces will protect them for now," King said. "If we succeed, we win this war. We save Mars. We save Earth. We save humanity. Sometimes men must toss the dice. Sometimes men must put everything on the line. Sometimes men must take a final stand. This is such a time. In years to come, survivors might call this humanity's greatest mistake. Or they might say that this was our finest hour."

Jordan heaved a sigh. "I'm too old for this. But all right, Jim." He clasped King's shoulder. "Let's go kill that spider."

"Mimori—transmit the orders to the fleet," King said. "Freedom—fly!"

The Alliance fleet flew.

They charged through walls of fire. Their cannons boomed, carving their way through the enemy. They stormed through the clawships, firing, ramming, charging like a cavalry of metal and light. Space burned around them. Missiles and plasma flew every which way, creating abstract paintings of fiery glory and death. One ship took a bolt of plasma on the stern, exploded, and scattered in pieces. A starfighter lost control and shattered against a frigate's hull.

But the survivors kept flying.

"For freedom!" King cried, raising his metal fist.

The Freedom led the charge. The fleet flew in a spearhead formation, and the Freedom roared at her tip.

Mars faded behind to a red marble. Earth was just a blue speck. Ahead in the darkness awaited the terror.

Deep in space, the Desert Thorns joined them—a thousand ships of grace and light. A while later, thousands of Red Dawn ships joined them too—roaring, rumbling, trumpeting its glory. Katyusha herself was still far and racing to rejoin them, but her MindWeb avatar haunted the fleet.

These were not just the starships that had launched Operation Perseus. Their fleet swelled. Ships joined them from across the solar system.

They came from Earth's orbit. They came from the mines of Saturn and the colonies along the asteroid belt. They came from Titan and Io and a dozen other moons. Every admiral and commander, every spacer, every starship marine—they flew here.

And not just military ships either. Police ships joined them. Orbit patrol ships. Mining ships with claws that could crush asteroids. Bounty hunter ships. Gangster ships. Any ship with a gun and armored hull—they came to fight.

Over seven thousand human starships flew here—the full fleet of humanity. They flew as one. One species. One armada. One enemy.

Admiral James King—aboard the Freedom.

Premier Katyusha—aboard the Lenin.

Queen Laila—aboard the Dune.

Three military leaders. One fleet.

The rahs behind them vanished into portals. No more clawships appeared. The spy drones confirmed everyone's suspicions—Skel'rah was pulling all her forces back to the Hunger. She was hunkering down, defending her lair with everything she had.

Clawships were most vulnerable when emerging from a portal. It let them launch surprise attacks, yes. But the portals were just wide enough for one clawship to emerge at a time. Apparently, opening portals consumed massive amounts of energy. The rahs rarely opened more than three or four at once. If they opened portals against the charging human armada, a furious force of warships, they would face heavy losses. So by the Hunger the clawship fleet mustered.

The board was set. The dice were tossed. They flew to their final stand. Past the orbit of Pluto, by the dreaded motherclaw, the fate of humanity would be decided. Soon they would know what the dice rolled—extinction or freedom.

* * * * *

The charge began dramatically, full of brave cries and raised fists.

Then things… settled down a bit. After all, it would take all day to reach Pluto's orbit where Skel'rah lurked. Even with their modern propulsion systems, technology that would seem downright miraculous just a century ago, crossing the solar system took time.

They were all raring for battle. But they found themselves settling into a tense wait.

King summoned the replacement crew to the bridge. During battle, King wanted his best officers in command. He wanted Jordan at his side, Spitfire in the cockpit, Bastian leading his marines, and all the rest of his top men and women on the job. But every position also had a backup officer. A bench player. During the flight, he wanted them running the ship.

He ordered everyone else to their bunks.

"Get some sleep," he told them. "If you can't sleep, lie down and meditate. Pray. Take a hot shower. Eat a meal. I want you rested and strong when the battle begins."

At first they resisted, making noises about how they couldn't possibly rest now. King was stern.

"Mimori will look after the bridge while we sleep," he told them. "And our night staff will man our stations."

Mimori saluted. "Absolutely, sir."

Reluctantly, they retired to their bunks. King suspected that few of them would sleep. But any rest they could get was important now.

Tonight the great battle began.

King returned to his stateroom. He stood alone among his books, his model ships, his naval treasures. He stood alone with his fear.

Have I doomed us? he wondered. Am I leading us like lemmings off the cliff?

He looked at his desk. It was a heavy piece of furniture, carved of oak, so cluttered you could barely see the top. Leather-bound history books and paperback novels. A brass astrolabe, antique telescope, and model sailing ships in bottles. Photos of his family. They all covered his desk. Among them lay the model of the starship Freedom, which he had built himself. He lifted the model, caressed its curves and railgun. He hoped this ship, which he had loved for so long, would still fly tomorrow.

His doorbell chimed.

"Come in, Larry."

The door opened. But it wasn't Larry Jordan there. It was his chief engineer, Kim Fletcher.

King frowned and put down the model ship.

"Kim."

She stood in the doorway, wearing her service uniform. She still seemed a little uncomfortable in the more formal uniform of a senior officer. She held a tablet and a few printed reports. Everyone knew the commander liked his reports printed.

She looked at King with her large blue eyes. "Walking here, I tried to plan what to say. I could have made up something, saying I wanted to review these reports with you, discuss the ship specs, or show you some new theories on Talaria fields. But the truth is… I don't know if we'll live or die tonight. And I'm scared. And I wanted to see you."

He welcomed her into the stateroom, then closed the door behind her. She stood before him, gazing up into his eyes. Her lips parted. She was trembling.

King reached out and stroked her hair. Her ponytail came free, and her golden strands spilled across her shoulders. Her binders fell to the deck, scattering pages everywhere. King pulled her into his arms, and he kissed her. She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around him.

It was inappropriate, King knew. He was her commanding officer. This could probably bust him back down to commander.

Right now he didn't care.

Right now odds were they would die tonight.

Right now Kim Fletcher was in his arms, and he was kissing her, and it felt good. It felt right.

He took her into his bed, and in the darkness, they made love. He did not sleep. He could not sleep. But he held Kim Fletcher in his arms, and it was what he needed right now… before the end of the war, maybe the end of the world.

* * * * *

Bastian sat at the bedside, reading Rowan a story.

He was off duty, but he still wore his uniform. His rifle lay against the wall. His boots were on. He wanted to be ready to fight at an instant's notice.

Right now, however, all his attention was given to his daughter. They were reading her favorite book, following the adventures of Aurora the purple octopus. She read along with him, practicing. She was getting so good at reading. She was so smart.

"Daddy, wait, let's read this page again!" she said, flipping back to her favorite page. Aurora once more danced with the clown fish.

Bastian looked at his daughter. She had his brown hair, his eyes, but she had Stacy's smile.

I cannot bear to lose you, Rowan, he thought. I don't know if we'll ever see each other again.

He looked away quickly, hiding his tears.

"Daddy." She put a hand on his arm. "Are you scared about the battle tonight?"

"You heard about it?"

She nodded. "Yes. Everyone is talking about it. I'm scared too. My teacher said it's okay to be scared." She hugged him. "I'm scared that you'll die."

How can I comfort her when I'm so scared? Bastian thought. How can I lie to her, tell her I won't die, when odds are I will? That we all will?

So he just held her. He comforted her as best he could. They completed the book, and he tucked her into bed, kissed her forehead, and sat by her side until she slept.

He returned to his own room next door. His troops slept in crowded berths, six men squeezed into cabins not much larger than closets. But Bastian had a little suite here aboard the Freedom. On Earth, it would be considered a cramped apartment if you were feeling generous. More like a prison cell. But here aboard the Freedom, having any private space was a luxury. The perks of senior command.

Alice was waiting in his room. Like him, she wore her marine fatigues. A slender scar ran down her cheek, the gift of a rah claw. Her hair hung in two golden braids, and her eyes were large and damp. It was hard for a scarred, six-foot-tall wrestler to look vulnerable, but right now Alice was vulnerable like the sun before the night.

"Alice. Is everything all right? I thought you would go get some rest in your bunk."

She gave a little laugh, but it sounded almost like a sob. "Rest. Who could possibly get any rest before this battle?"

He smiled wryly. "Rowan can. She's asleep. She might be the only one."

A tear rolled down Alice's cheek. She seemed to be gazing upon another world.

"Do you remember the corn maze at Frank Abernathy's farm?" she said softly. "Where we would play as children?"

He nodded. "Of course. I used to love going to his farm. My mom would take me apple picking there, and my dad taught me how to fish in the stream. Didn't Abernathy also have bobbing for apples?"

"He did." Alice still seemed to be gazing at another world. Her face was somber, her eyes sad. "But the cornfield maze was my favorite. I got lost there once when I was very young. I walked and walked, taking this turn and that, and the maze never seemed to end. It began to get dark, and I was so worried. Do you remember what happened then?"

Bastian frowned. "Should I?"

She finally met his eyes. "You came into the maze and found me. Maybe you heard my cries. I was about six, and you were probably twelve already. You were so much taller than me. I remember thinking you were so much older, so much wiser. More like an adult than another kid, really. You walked me back outside, and you bought me a candy apple."

Bastian's eyes widened. "I remember that! I haven't thought of that since… well, since that happened. Twenty years ago now."

Alice smiled thinly. "Twenty-two years. It was a long time ago. And I miss those days. Those days of apple picking and playing in the fields. I remember holding baby chicks in my hand. I can still feel how soft they were. And I remember the taste of that candy apple. That was an important day for me, Bastian, because that day I fell in love with you. Oh, I was only a child, of course. I'm not saying I fell in love with you like an older girl would. But I just knew then—I knew—that you'd be part of my life. And that you'd always look after me."

He held her hand. "Alice, you're an Olympic wrestler and a senior NCO in the marines. I don't think you need anyone to look after you."

"But I do. We all do. Every one of us. Me, you, your father. We all need somebody to have our back. To support us. To love us. And I love you, Bastian." Another tear fell. "I love you now in a very different way than I did as a child. I loved you when you were just a kid working on the farm. I loved you when I joined the marines, when you were just a grunt, when you were lost, when you felt trapped in a maze of your own. And I loved you when you became an officer, a leader of soldiers. When you became a war hero. I've loved you for many years. And I never told you that, because you were my commanding officer. You still are. But things feel different tonight. We will probably die tonight. And I wanted you to know."

He caressed her cheek. They kissed and her kiss tasted of tears.

"I love you too," he said simply. "And I always did." And as he spoke those words, he realized what he had never realized before. That those words were true. He didn't have any eloquent speech like she did. But she saw the truth in his eyes, and she smiled and kissed him again, deeper and harder this time.

Then, after all, Bastian wasn't keeping his uniform on. Neither was Alice.

They could barely make it to the bed fast enough.

His daughter was sleeping behind a thin bulkhead. And Bastian and Alice fully intended to make a lot of noise. Sex was always noisy when done right. And when one of you was a beefy marine officer, and the other was an Olympic wrestler from Viking stock, you made a lot of noise. Bastian connected to Rowan's MindLink remotely and lowered the volume on her brain's audio receptors. Just for a while. Then he returned his attention to Alice. And he gave her a lot of attention.

Afterward, he lay in bed, his heart racing and his breath heavy, holding Alice in his arms. She nuzzled against him, eyes closed. The smell of her hair, her warm body, her soft breath—it all soothed him. He was exactly where he belonged.

If today is my last day, this was a good last day, he thought. I read a story to my daughter, and I slept with a woman I love. I hope I live. But if I die… this was a good last day.

He checked the time. Just a few more hours until they reached hell. He fell asleep with Alice in his arms.

* * * * *

Across the ship, they prepared to die.

They ate last meals.

They sat in the chapel, praying.

They tucked in children. They hugged loved ones. A few bad apples settled final scores. Many people made love. They were all nervous. All terrified. All ready to die for their cause.

Larry Jordan walked the ship, saying goodbye.

He ran his hands along the bulkhead. As spacers stood at attention, he looked them all in the eyes, and he saluted them. He knew he might never see these men and women again.

Jordan had been serving on this ship for four decades. First as a starfighter pilot. Then as a bridge officer. Finally as executive officer, second-in-command of the legendary Freedom—the honor of his life.

He loved this ship. And in a different, special way, he loved one of her personalities, her avatars in the physical world.

She met him in his quarters. Timori. Logistics android. Timid, studious, staying behind the scenes. She did not serve on the bridge like Mimori Unit 1. She did not invent machines like QT or Q-Mari before her. She did not fire cannons, did not control the great machinery of war. Timori, one of seven. She calculated the best ways to stock supplies, to deliver food to hungry soldiers, to keep the laundry washed and the filtration system running.

She was the boring android. The one nobody noticed. If people did notice her, perhaps toiling away in a warehouse or armory, they did a double take. Could this be the famous Mimori from the bridge, down here counting beans? Impossible.

And they were right. They looked alike, but Timori was not a heroic bridge officer. She did not fly the ship nor fire her great railgun. She was the silent, invisible machinery of the Freedom, keeping them fighting. She was the most important android on the ship. And she was the most important woman in Jordan's life.

When he stepped into his quarters, she was there in her red chemise, waiting for him as always. Fear filled her glass eyes, and an artificial tear sparkled on her silicone cheek. Though her body was synthetic, her emotions were real. Her soul was as real as his. She was his starship. His lover. For years they had been meeting in secret, knowing this secret could ruin Jordan's career if anyone found out. It could even end Timori's service aboard the starship she was a part of—physically, digitally, spiritually. But they could not resist. Her emotions were real, and she loved him, and Jordan did not see her as a machine.

Today he made love to her. Perhaps for the last time. He found comfort in her arms. They were not warm like a real woman's arms, and when he laid his head upon her chest, he did not hear a beating heart, but that did not matter. It never had. She was mechanical, but she had a soul. She was alive. His love for her was real.

Jordan only spent an hour with her today. They were used to short, hidden encounters, then he had to say goodbye.

She did not want him to leave. She held him, pulled him back, and kissed him, her lips wet with tears.

"I'm scared of tonight," she whispered. "I'm scared that I won't be able to protect you. To protect everyone inside me." Because she was the starship herself, and everyone aboard was hers to protect.

"I believe in James King," Jordan replied. "I believe in God. I believe in you, the starship Freedom. And I believe we will survive the night."

They parted ways then, she to her tasks and Jordan to his. But he did not return to the bridge. It was still a few hours until his duty there, until he had to man his post and fight the great battle of his generation. Maybe the greatest battle in history.

So he went to visit his daughter.

Annie was in her quarters. She too had been ordered to rest. She too could not sleep.

As Jordan entered her cabin, he remembered entering her bedroom many years ago, back when she had been a child, and tucking her into bed. He remembered visiting Earth, laughing with her, tossing her into the air, teaching her many things. Then he flew back into space. Back to serving the Freedom. Like so many spacers, he left his family behind.

"I never spent enough time with you when you were a child," he told her now. "I'm sorry. I can't make up for that. Not today, not ever. But if this is my last day, I wanted to spend it with you."

Annie hugged him, crying. And they spent that day together, looking at old photographs, remembering better days, laughing and sometimes wiping away a tear.

It was like this across the starship Freedom.

Perhaps it was like this across the entire fleet.

Perhaps it was like this on Earth and everywhere else humans lived. Perhaps they all knew this coming night would change the fate of humanity. They were one species, and they shared one great story, one fate. But they were also each of them a world, each their own story, full of loved ones, regrets, fears, grief, and hope. As humanity raced toward the next great chapter in its story among the stars, so did every little human world.

Sergeant Major Oliver Darjeeling sat at the bar. Not a fancy bar like the aerie where the pilots played pool and darts. And not some cozy officer's lounge with pool tables and big holoscreens. He was not an officer. He was not a famous pilot. He did not come from money or titles. He was a lad from London who had joined the Alliance and stayed there for forty years. Today he sat in a grungy bar for the enlisted, nursing a strong cup of tea.

He felt very much alone. He had devoted his life to the military. He had never married, never had children. He had one sister, but he had lost touch with her years ago. His parents had died. While many aboard the Freedom spent time with their loved ones, Darjeeling had come down here to the pub. And he reflected that he had given his life to this starship, and he felt a great sense of regret, a hollowness inside him.

He was the oldest man in the room. He was an odd sight perhaps. A sixty-year-old Englishman, sipping strong black tea, wearing a resplendent uniform. The spacers around him were young enough to be his children, even grandchildren. They wore casual fatigues, and they drank beers. They offered to buy him a beer too. He said no, thank you. He preferred a nice cup of tea. They asked to hear stories of the old war, and he shared a few of them—how they had stormed the deserts of Mars and captured the sky of Titan. A few of the young spacers, privates who were not yet twenty, listened in awe, and one even asked for his autograph. A few of them jokingly referred to him as Grampa Darjeeling.

Some of the lads began to sing an old space shanty, and Darjeeling joined them, singing louder than anyone else. And he realized that no, he was not alone. There was no void inside him. He did have a family. Everyone aboard this ship was his family, and these younger soldiers were like his children, and he loved them.

To his surprise, the door opened, and Princess Emily herself stepped into the bar.

Everyone rose and stood at attention. Darjeeling bowed. "Your Highness!"

She wore simple fatigues, and her sleeves displayed the humble chevron of a private, but everyone gave her these honors. Spacers moved aside, bowing, as she made her way to the bar. Niles floated behind her, his graviton capacitor replaced. Stowy skipped along behind the drone. As always, the stowaway wore a ragged dress with many pockets sewn on, each a different color. Her hair lay in disarray, and a shoelace hung around her neck, holding her mother's gemstone.

"Mr. Darjeeling," Emily said. "I hope it's all right if I join you."

"Of course, ma'am." He bowed again.

She sat beside him at the bar, and she too ordered a cup of tea. For a few moments, the bar seemed awkward. People tried to engage in polite conversation. But then Stowy, of all people, launched into a raucous space shanty, and soon everyone was singing again. Even Princess Emily. Even, surprising everyone, Niles.

In a different bar, a kilometer away across the starship, Spitfire sat in shadows.

She sat in the aerie, the pilots' lounge, home to Freedom's Flock. Despite its name, the aerie was located on the lowermost deck. The underbelly hull thrummed below Spitfire as the Freedom raced to battle. Half her pilots were sitting inside their Eagle cockpits, facing the airlock, ready to launch on a moment's notice. The rest had been ordered to sleep, but here too, nobody could find rest.

Spitfire wasn't drinking anything. Wasn't eating either. The jukebox was silent and the foosball table was still, its plastic players frozen. Spitfire just sat at the bar, thinking. Remembering.

She thought of her childhood. She had grown up in Haifa, an ancient port city on the Mediterranean coast. Her childhood memories delved not just into her own past but the past of her world. In one memory, she was a little girl on the beach, building sandcastles among Roman ruins, chasing a dog among the columns of emperors. In another memory, she stood in an amphitheater, fencing with her brothers with wooden swords, pretending to be a gladiator. In other memories, she was older, a teenage girl, thoughtful and introverted. She walked along the beach, collecting seashells, then sitting, watching the sun set into the golden water. In another memory she was a young woman already, wearing a uniform, patrolling the cobbled alleyways of Jerusalem, exploring the twisting marketplaces where prophets had once walked, or smiling as a thousand doves flew overhead between steeples of stone.

She had grown up between sea and desert, and her heart belonged to the water and the sand, to ancient temples and crumbling ruins. All those from her land were tethered to antiquity, and they lived in the haze of history.

When she had lived on Earth, Spitfire had not yet had her MindLink implant. Today you could record memories on your implant, and you could relive them at will, traveling back in time to experience a treasured memory again and again, so real it was indistinguishable from life. Spitfire didn't have any of these ultra-fidelity memories stored on her microchip, and she didn't need them.

She could smell the spices in the marketplace again, and she could hear the whispers of the waves. She could feel the hugs of her family, see the wagging tails of her dogs, taste the pine nuts she would collect in the Carmel Mountains. It was all still a part of her, even here in space. She was a great distance from Earth now, and she had spent her adult life among the stars, but she was still a girl of water and of sand. Some things never left you. Some memories never faded. Some truths were etched upon the soul, and no time nor distance could erase them.

"Buy you a drink, boss?"

Pickles took the bar seat beside her.

"Go away. I'm quietly reminiscing," she said.

"You're brooding, that's what you're doing," Pickles said. "Come on! We always used to drink before a battle. Jelly! Get your rusty tentacles over here. And bring us a couple of brews."

The bartender drone floated toward them. He was a crude machine, essentially a floating tray with some metal arms dangling beneath it. He indeed looked like a jellyfish.

"Goldstar beer again, ma'am?" the drone asked Spitfire. "And for the gentleman?"

"Shut up and just get us two pints of something cold," Pickles said.

"Hey, did I hear something about beer?" Katana said. The Japanese pilot stomped toward the bar, a grin spreading across her face.

Honey Badger, the smallest and meanest pilot in the flock, hopped onto a barstool. "Hey, Jelly, rustle up some wings for us too, will ya? I know they're for special occasions, and trust me, buddy, this is one."

Snoopy joined them too, the youngest in the flock. "I'd like some ice cream," she whispered, blushing and tapping her index fingers.

More pilots came over. Drinks and food were served. Somebody fired up the jukebox, and AC/DC began to play. Spitfire drank and laughed with them. She still remembered that sea and sand, those old ruins, that family love. But here was a new family. A new life among the stars. Maybe that life would end tonight, but one thing she knew. She would fly out there into the fire—and she would give everything to protect these people, these pilots, this family.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

King woke up with Kim in his arms. Her golden hair spread across the pillow, and her warm naked body cuddled against him. He looked at her. He had not known her for long, but this felt right. This felt good. At sixty years of age, he had never imagined he would find love again, but maybe what they had planted here could bloom.

If they survived the night.

She was so beautiful. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, more beautiful than the dawn over Earth from space, more than nebulae or the glittering path of the Milky Way. Lying here with her was pure joy, molten and forged.

She was somebody to fight for.

She was hope.

She was the light that awaited if he could fly his way through the dark.

His MindLink softly chimed. It was almost time.

Kim woke up. Her MindLink must have chimed too. For a moment they lay in bed, looking into each other's eyes. She caressed his cheek.

"Godspeed, Admiral James King. Godspeed to us all."

He pulled on his uniform, piece by piece. A ritual. Body armor, thin but bulletproof. His blue coat with brass buttons and service ribbons. A sidearm. His objects of command and of war. He didn't have to put on his dog tags. He had not taken them off in forty-two years.

When he was done, he stared at himself in the mirror. A stern man, a hard man, his hair steely gray, his face craggy like the side of a cliff. The white scar stretched across his neck. His left hand was forged of metal, big and bulky like a gauntlet. He flexed the clawed fingers, then formed a fist. The insignia of an admiral shone on his shoulders, still fresh from the forge.

There he was. The admiral. The man they all looked to.

Godwin was back on Earth, leading the resistance on the ground. Here in space it was up to King.

Kim Fletcher came to stand beside him. She too had donned her uniform. Her blond hair was pulled into a ponytail. They stared at their reflections, then at each other.

They left the cabin and parted ways. She walked toward engineering, while he marched toward the bridge.

I pray that I see you again, Kim Fletcher, he thought. He could still imagine the touch of her lips. He thought of her. And he thought of his son. Of his granddaughter. Of his friends. Of the billions on Earth, crying out for salvation.

This was it. The great battle of his life. He had been born, bred, forged in war for this pivotal moment, and a strange calmness fell upon him. He was ready.

"Commander on deck!" Darjeeling cried as King stepped onto the bridge. The senior NCO on the Freedom, Darjeeling only manned the bridge door on the most solemn occasions.

King returned the sergeant major's salute. He walked across his bridge between his crew members. They were all at their stations. They were ready. They were all saluting him. Normally his bridge crew didn't have to salute outside formal ceremonies. Today was an unusual day.

King walked to his station in the center of the bridge. The monitors rose all around and above him. Streams of ATLAS data flowed everywhere. King pulled up MindPlay, and a dozen translucent windows materialized, showing him videos, graphs, and maps.

Mimori walked toward him, snapped her heels together, and saluted. "Mimori reporting to duty. We're almost there, sir."

King turned toward the main monitor. "Switch to live video feed, magnified to visual level 3. On screen."

Live video feeds were fairly impractical in space. At least if you wanted to view something smaller than a planet. But ATLAS knew how to compensate. The algorithm could detect points of interest, such as hostile starships, and magnify those particular spots in the video without changing the underlying starscape. It gave an unrealistic view of space, everything bloated and off scale, but it allowed a human mind to intuitively comprehend the tableau. Humans had evolved on a small, ordinary planet where they had never needed to look much farther than the nearest mammoth herd. In space, with everything vast distances away, the brain struggled. Any visual interface needed to squeeze things together, adjusting the picture into something the simian brain could understand.

And everyone understood what they were looking at.

A few officers paled. Some began to tremble.

"Dear God," a comms officer whispered.

Somebody began to pray.

King stared, jaw clenched, fists tight. He had fought many battles. He had faced down impossible foes. Now terror flooded his belly.

"Jesus," Jordan whispered.

King had never seen a fleet like this. Tens of thousands of clawships hovered before him, swarming around their motherclaw. They no longer looked like a swarm of bees. They looked like a Dyson sphere. A fortress of metal and plasma and death. Some of them were small, no larger than Eagles. But many of those ships, hundreds if not thousands, were larger than the Freedom.

"This is going to make the Battle for Mars seem like a picnic," Jordan said.

King looked at his crew. He saw the pale faces. The trembling hands. The terror of death in their eyes.

"I know you're scared," King said. The MindWeb carried his words to every starship in the fleet. "I know the terror that rises in battle, that freezes the body, that seizes the mind. I feel the same fear. We charge into a sea of monsters. But do not look at the monsters. Look at me. Look at your comrades. Look at the thousands of human warships around you. You are not alone! We are united, and we are strong, and we will conquer our fear. Now fly with me! Fly for Earth! Fly for freedom!"

The cry rose across the starship, across the entire fleet. "For freedom!"

"For freedom!"

"For freedom!"

The Freedom flew toward battle. And she was not alone.

The side monitors lit up, showing them the view. Thousands of starships flew with them.

Alliance starships. Red Dawn ships. Desert Thorn ships. They were seven thousand in all. They flew as one, forming a spearhead in space. The Freedom flew at their tip, leading the greatest starship charge in human history.

They all knew their mission. They had just one target—the Hunger. They could barely see the motherclaw, but they knew she was there. A city among the stars. The lair of the beast. They would destroy her—or they would die trying.

Humanity's starships charged closer. Closer. Engines roaring. Cannons priming. Their trails of fire lit space. They kindled the flames of hope for Earth as they flew into legend.

Before them, the myriads of clawships dilated their rings of claws. Their cores of plasma churned, calderas of destruction. They were thirty thousand snarling dragons in the darkness, facing a cavalry charge.

King charged at them head-on.

"Freedom!" he shouted. "Fire!"

Atop the ship's dorsal hull, fourteen cannons—the legendary Angels of Liberty—aimed at the enemy.

They fired.

The torpedoes streaked forward.

And then the rest of the fleet was firing. Thousands of missiles streamed through the darkness, etching slender white lines across the void. One monitor showed the view from a distant spy drone. It almost looked beautiful—a forest of luminous light growing through the blackness.

And then the enemy opened fire.

A storm of fire the size of a planet roared toward the human fleet.

King shouted and raised his fist as the Freedom charged into the flames.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The electromagnetic shield formed a hemisphere of white light, engulfing the Freedom's prow.

They drove through the flame, and the plasma blazed around them, a tidal wave of lava crashing around a tor.

The cry rang in King's ears.

For freedom!

And the Freedom kept charging.

Around her, starships burned.

The frigate Charlotte tore into a billion pieces. The corvette Herodotus crashed into the Napoleon and exploded. The enemy plasma stripped the hull off the Darwin, eating up her insides. Starship after starship—burning out. The screams of their crews—silenced forever.

But the Freedom kept flying.

Thousands of starships kept flying.

They roared through the fire and charged at the wall of clawships. Their cannons boomed, pounding the enemy. More of them shattered. More screams were cut silent. And still the great fleet of humanity flew. Some of them died. But not one ship fled.

The rah fleet ahead changed shape. Perhaps they had never expected humanity to get this far. Their blades tilted inward, hiding their sensitive plasma ports, thrusting forward like a wall of pikes. Their armored hulls moved closer together, forming a wall of steel.

And still the cry rang out.

For freedom!

"Smash through them and win this war!" King howled.

The clawships before them grew larger, larger, closer. The monitor didn't need to magnify them anymore.

The Freedom charged toward the wall of enemy ships. They moved even closer together. They fired whirring, spinning saw blades that slammed into the Freedom's shields. Alarms blared. The hull couldn't take much more of this punishment.

"We're seconds away from impact!" Mimori cried. "Admiral, should I fire the Fist of Freedom?"

King shook his head. "No. You know it takes a full day to charge the railgun. We only get one shot with it. And I'm saving that shot for the Hunger."

"Brace for impact!" Mimori cried. Proximity alarms blared across the bridge.

"Fire the Angels!" King cried. "Fire point defense! Fire rotary cannons! Fire everything but the Fist!"

The fourteen Angels of Liberty atop the dorsal hull, the machine-gun turrets across the starboard and port, the laser defense guns on the prow—they all opened up, unleashing everything at the enemy. Only the Fist of Freedom, their primary weapon, remained cold. Everything else cast forth its terrible fury.

The barrage slammed into the rah formations, knocking clawships back, and then seconds later the Freedom rammed into them.

The enormous railgun, its two prongs the size of the old Twin Towers in New York, plowed into a clawship and pulverized it.

The Freedom charged through the wreckage. With pure kinetic energy, her engines roaring white-hot, the dreadnought became a terrifying weapon.

The bridge shook madly. Monitors exploded. Spacers fell to the deck. King remained standing, shouting wordlessly as they pushed through.

Seconds later, the rest of the fleet hit.

Thousands of starships and clawships—they all slammed together, and space exploded with a nebula of twisted metal and roaring plasma and burning debris. They could probably see it from Earth.

The final battle had begun.

* * * * *

The rah and human fleet battled everywhere.

The clawships surrounded them. The plasma pummeled them.

But King kept flying forward, charging through the clawships like a bull through a pack of lions. Behind him flew the rest of his fleet. Their prow shields blazed, hemispheres of red and white light, knocking back the plasma. It looked like atmospheric entry. It felt like flying into the sun.

Every moment another ship shattered.

And King refused to fall back.

"Keep charging! Full speed ahead!"

They rammed into another clawship. And another. They were almost through. He could just make out the motherclaw ahead.

And then they swarmed.

Countless of them.

Clawfighters.

They were a cloud, a storm. Each clawfighter was just large enough for a single rah pilot. But they could move with devastating speed and agility. They came shrieking toward the Freedom and the rest of the fleet. King had seen these little fighters devour frigates like piranhas devouring a cow.

"Spitfire, launch the Freedom's Flock," he said. "Godspeed, Eagles."

The hangars opened, and out they flew, a hundred Eagles from each side of the ship. They blazed forward, uniting into a spear, then branching out again like a candelabrum. Their exhaust ports painted a tree of light across space. They had practiced this dramatic launch countless times as stunt pilots, and now they fought on the vanguard of humanity.

The starfighters and clawfighters clashed together in battle.

"Jamechka!" rose a voice in his mind. "You've been a naughty boy. Trying to steal Katyusha's glory! Make room, sissy capitalists. True warriors are here now!"

The Lenin came storming forth alongside the Freedom. Her cannons boomed, shattering a clawship. Her laser beams carved through enemies. The Lenin too opened her hangars, and slender Sickle-class starfighters roared out to fight.

More ships launched their starfighters too. Thousands of the little vessels charged into battle. Many of those pilots would never come home. Dogfights whirled and spun across space. Countless missiles, photon bolts, and laser beams flew everywhere. Space became a painting all in red, white, and gold. And still the Freedom flew.

"All right, we're getting closer," King said to his bridge crew. The deck was rattling around them. "Don't get sidetracked. Don't get drawn into skirmishes. The rest of the fleet will handle the clawships. We have one job. The Hunger is our prey. Once we're close enough, we fire the Fist of Freedom, and we disable her shields. We only get one shot at this. So we gotta do this right. Once her shields are down, the Freedom Brigade will penetrate the Hunger and plant the nuclear bomb in her core. That's all we care about. Destroying the Hunger. Once she's gone, it's checkmate."

They all nodded.

"I'm ready," Bastian said. "We'll destroy her from within."

He was down on deck 5, already waiting inside a Rhino heavy transporter. So were thousands of other marines. Here on the bridge, they hallucinated the scene. Bastian was standing beside the nuclear weapon. It was only the size of a microwave, but planted deep inside the Hunger, it would blow up the whole damn motherclaw.

I'm sending my only son into an alien mothership, King thought. With a nuclear bomb. Dear God.

Suddenly this entire plan seemed absurd. Suicidal. Suddenly King wanted to call it off.

But it was too late. He had chosen a path. He would see this through.

They slogged their way through the battle. Myriads of ships fought all around, lighting up space. Thousands of warships. Tens of thousands of clawships. Countless starfighters and clawfighters. Everywhere around them bombs were exploding, missiles flying, dogfights whirring. The Freedom's gunners were moving at breakneck speed, loading more and more missiles, then launching them at enemies. Hundreds of machine guns rattled across the outer hull, spraying a sphere of bullets.

There were enemies everywhere. But King focused on just flying forward—through the mob of clawships toward the Hunger. The motherclaw rose before them like a shadowy mountain above a medieval battlefield.

A clawed dreadnought swooped from above, bearing toward the Freedom.

She was massive. Twice their size. ATLAS identified her as the Necrosis. She was three kilometers from stern to stem, and she began bombarding the Freedom with plasma bolts.

Freedom's electromagnetic shield took some of the impact. A few plasma bolts made it through, pounding the armored hull. Explosions rocked the Freedom. The ship shook. Alarms wailed.

"Deck 31 is breached!" cried a tactical officer.

"One of the Angels of Liberty is down!" shouted a gunner.

The Necrosis swooped in for another round. A fresh barrage of fireballs hammered the Freedom. An ATLAS drone showed explosions the size of cathedrals blazing across Freedom's hull.

"Focus all fire on that dreadnought!" King said.

Freedom's remaining cannons boomed, pummeling the Necrosis, but she came flying in faster and faster.

"She's going to ram us!" Jordan said. "She's twice our size, Jim. She'll tear us apart!"

"Mimori, evasive action!"

"I can't, sir, we're moving too fast!"

"Prepare for impact!" King said, knowing they could not survive this.

I failed. I—

Space exploded with flames and twisting metal.

King blinked.

He was still alive. How?

The Lenin swooped in, her massive guns booming. She plowed through the wreckage of the Necrosis. She had blasted the enormous clawship apart.

"You're welcome, Jamechka!" Katyusha laughed.

King breathed out in relief. "Thank you, Katyusha. You saved my backside."

"That is because Katyusha is greatest warrior! Not like sissy Americans. Now keep flying toward the Hunger, Jamechka! Katyusha is covering you."

"I'm here with you too," said Laila, flying up in the Dune. Her cannons fired white blasts of energy, tearing through another clawship. "Always. We all are."

* * * * *

They flew together, all of humanity. For the first time—united.

Some of them were heroes. Some were villains. Some had dedicated their lives to democracy and some were tyrants. Some had fought wars in the past. Some were cruel, greedy, merciless. Some were honorable. Some fought because they loved to kill. Others because they loved life. Some came from lands of plenty and others from lands of hardship. Some were scarred and broken, others were naive and scared. They were humans of every nation, every faith and lack of faith, of every race and ideology and tribe. They were the panoply of humanity. They were flawed. They were a young, imperfect species, sometimes noble, sometimes savage. They had sailed into the cosmic ocean, and they had found monsters. So today they fought as one.

A million humans flew in this battle in deep space. Billions more fought on Earth. This was the pivotal moment of humanity's history. This was their great filter. This was when humans determined if they could become a spacefaring civilization, proud and strong, or whether they must return to their homeworld to die. At this moment, they rose as one. Their cry rang across the cosmos.

"We are human! And we are here!"

They flew closer to the motherclaw, knocking enemies aside. Dear Lord, the ship was huge. The closer they flew, the more the sheer size of the Hunger sank in. The Freedom was among the largest dreadnoughts ever built. But flying toward the Hunger, King felt like a sparrow flying toward an albatross. It wasn't just a starship ahead. It was a floating world.

"We're almost there," King said. "Freedom's Flock—keep close to our flanks. Marines—get ready to deploy. Gunners—prepare to fire the Fist of Fury."

"Time to stomp out the queen bug!" Katyusha cried. "Khorosho!"

They kept flying, racing toward their target.

King stared at the Hunger.

He narrowed his eyes, then gasped.

Huge chunks of the Hunger were peeling off like scabs. Each piece was the size of a football arena, and it spread out metal tentacles the length of city blocks.

They were machines, and they spun toward the charging human fleet, revealing flaming ports. Their metal limbs moved, thrusting out claws. More and more kept detaching from the mothership's hull. These mechanical horrors had been there all along, blending into the Hunger's armor. It was like watching baby spiders leaving their mother's back. Except these baby spiders were made of metal and as large as frigates.

"They're some new kind of clawship," Jordan said. The XO's face was stern, his eyes hard. He was keeping his cool, but it wasn't easy. Everyone felt close to panic.

Mimori nodded. "ATLAS scans are trying to collect their stats. Displaying on-screen. Those ships are stronger than regular clawships."

"Those aren't starships," King muttered. "They're shaped like rahs. They're mechas. Giant arachnid mechas."

He tapped a few buttons. The viewport zoomed in on one mecha. Indeed, there was a cockpit in the center. A rah sat there. Rahs were big beasts, but inside this mecha, the rah seemed as small as a daddy longlegs parasitizing an octopus. As the rah moved its limbs, the arachnid mecha moved its enormous metal limbs.

Those mechanical limbs came swinging toward the Freedom.

"Angels—fire!" Jordan shouted.

The Angels of Liberty boomed. Missiles slammed into the mecha. Explosions bloomed across the huge machine. One of its tentacles tore free and tumbled into the distance.

And then a dozen more mechas came swooping down on them.

* * * * *

Spitfire was flying her Eagle when the giant, mechanical spiders lunged toward her.

Next to them, her Eagle was more like a mite.

Hundreds of them flew before her.

We can't win, Spitfire thought. They're too strong.

Around her, her pilots faltered. Their formations began to drift apart. She heard the gasps of fear, saw the heartbeat monitors spin.

Nearby, the Freedom was firing her mighty cannons. Maccabee torpedoes hit a few spider mechas. Humanity's other starships were fighting too. And the little Eagles, smallest in the fleet, would do their part.

The spider mechas flew closer, claws extending.

Spitfire gritted her teeth. She leaned forward in her seat.

"Pilots, aim for the cockpits in their centers," she said. "Aim for the rah pilots. Now charge! With me—fly!"

They charged to battle.

The spider mechas came to meet them.

A claw swung toward Spitfire. She soared, then corkscrewed, dodging the lashing limb. More claws attacked from above, below, from both sides. She flew every which way, narrowly dodging the assault, moving closer to the center of the great ship. She could see the cockpit there, a red bulb, a spider inside it, like the heart of a metal monster with a parasite inside. Rings dilated across the spider ship's belly, and bolts of plasma flew.

Spitfire tried to dodge. One bolt skimmed her wing. Her Eagle rocked. Another bolt slammed into her prow, knocking her into a tailspin. But the hull held. She rose higher, arched around a lashing claw, then charged and unleashed a David's Stone missile.

The missile flew faster than her eye could see. It slammed into the spider ship—just near the cockpit.

Not close enough.

The missile exploded uselessly against the mecha's armor.

The metal claws were closing in around her, ready to envelope Spitfire like a carnivorous plant devouring a fly.

She resisted the urge to escape. She flew deeper, closer to the mecha's cockpit, letting the mechanical claws touch behind her, trapping her in a cage. The spider in the cockpit stared at her, eyes red and baleful, and grinned.

Wrapped in the mechanical embrace, Spitfire fired another missile.

This one hit the mecha's cockpit.

Shards of glass flew through space. So did chunks of dead rah.

Spitfire unleashed another missile, then flipped her Eagle around and flew.

Explosions roared behind her, flooding her with light. She flew faster, heading toward the enclosing claws, and shot between them. She felt like a plucky fish slipping between the tentacles of an octopus.

Behind her, the arachnid mecha tore apart. Claws the size of city blocks flew every which way.

One claw slammed into a nearby Eagle, pulverizing it. The pilot's avatar went dark. Spitfire's heart broke. Ginger. His call sign was Ginger.

Another Eagle burned. And another.

All around, ships were burning. Humans were dying. A million of them fought here in space, and so many fell.

More spider ships came flying at her.

"Eagles, rally here!" Spitfire cried.

Three Eagles flew toward her. Pickles. Katana. Snoopy. Then a hundred more. Elsewhere in space, starfighters from different ships formed their own battle formations. Thousands of starfighters flew. Each with a single pilot. Each a single hero. Together—an army.

They charged toward the enemy, missiles flying, their wings spread wide.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Three arachnid mechas closed in on the Freedom. One from ahead. Two from the sides.

The Angels boomed, knocking one spider ship back. It retreated, its metal folding inward like a wounded octopus. Freedom's point-defense system, meant to repel close-range assaults, kicked into action. A hundred machine guns swiveled across the prow, blasting back a second spider ship.

But the third mecha reached the Freedom.

It was coming straight at the railgun.

"Prepare for impact!" Mimori cried.

"We must fire the Fist, sir!" Darjeeling cried, pointing at the viewport. The arachnid machine was seconds away.

"No," King said. "We only get to fire the Fist once this battle. I'm saving it for the—"

The spider mecha slammed into them.

The claws clamped down like a vise, denting the hull.

The Freedom creaked. A bulkhead cracked on the bridge. Alarms flashed across monitors. Armored plates tore.

Mimori screamed and clutched her sides. "It hurts. It hurts!"

A representation of the ship, Mimori felt every blow. The spider was squeezing the outer hull, and the Freedom felt it. So Mimori felt it. Together they were one living being, and they hurt.

Kim Fletcher appeared on MindWeb, her engineering jumpsuit sooty. "We have multiple deck breaches!"

Dr. Annie materialized beside her, wearing bloodstained scrubs. "Casualties reported on decks 21, 25, and 30!"

"More spider mechas coming in from all sides!" Jordan said. "Two Angels of Liberty are down!"

Everyone was shouting at once. All the monitors that still worked were demanding attention. The bridge shook. Several crew members fell to the deck. The spider mecha was shaking the dreadnought like a dog shaking a stick.

"Fire Maccabees at it, dammit!" King said. "Whatever Angels still work, fire the damn things!"

"We can't!" Jordan answered. "The mecha is too low off the dorsal hull. The Angels can't reach. Our underbelly's point-defense guns are pounding the bastard, but the bullets aren't getting through."

"What about our starfighters?" King said.

"Bit busy here, sir!" Spitfire cried. She was battling a cloud of mechas a thousand klicks off their port bow. "Give me a few!"

The Freedom jerked madly. The giant, mechanical spider was shaking them, crushing them. More alarms blared. The claws were digging into the hull, twisting armored plates. Hatches slammed shut, sealing off breached decks. Casualty counters soared. A hundred spacers spilled into space like blood cells from a wound.

"We don't have a few," King muttered.

Mimori let out a scream. "Sir! It's twisting my railgun!"

The mechanical spider was wrapping itself around the enormous prongs that thrust out from the prow. The gargantuan gun, the largest ever built, creaked menacingly.

King snarled. "Mimori, run a quick calculation. If we deplete five percent of railgun power, can we take down the Hunger's shields?"

She thought for a second. Which was a long time for an android. Especially an android in pain. "I think so."

He nodded. "All right. Turn on the railgun—just use five percent. No more. Let's shock this creature."

Mimori turned toward Jordan. She was pale, trembling. "Sir? I need the XO to approve."

"Do it," Jordan said.

For an instant—everyone turned silent.

Then the railgun lit up. Its prongs blazed blinding white like two bolts of lightning.

It just lasted a split second. Almost too fast to see.

They were firing no projectile. They only used a portion of their power. But it pounded the mecha with enough electricity to fry a city.

The mecha's claws shattered like towers of glass, releasing the Freedom.

Mimori breathed a sigh of relief. The arachnid machine floated backward in space, its components fried. Freedom's point-defense system engaged, bombarding the mutilated mecha. The bullets tore it apart. The rah pilot tumbled into space like a wasp falling out of a rotten fig.

* * * * *

"Sir, our railgun is down to ninety-five percent power," Mimori said. With the mecha no longer gripping the ship, the android sounded relieved. "That will impact the speed of our Goliath projectile, but we still have enough power to do serious damage."

"Use any spare power you can to recharge the railgun," King said. "Give it whatever extra drops of juice you can."

"I'm sorry, sir, but all ship systems are running at emergency capacity. I cannot charge the railgun without impacting engines, shields, or the point-defense systems."

King nodded. "All right. Ninety-five percent will have to do. We're almost there, everyone." He stared ahead, eyes narrowed. "There she is. The Hunger."

He quickly surveyed the battle. It spread across a million klicks. The vast bulk of starships and clawships were behind the Freedom now, pummeling one another in a nebula of destruction.

Only a dozen starships flew around the Freedom. The Lenin was one. So was Laila's Dune. The Baba Yaga, a Red Dawn dreadnought, flew close behind. A few smaller corvettes flew here too, along with several wings of starfighters, both Alliance Eagles and Red Dawn Sickles. Three spider mechas were assaulting the formation, but the corvettes and starfighters were holding them back.

Ahead she flew. The motherclaw Hunger.

You're watching us now, Skel'rah, King thought. I'm coming for you.

"We have a clear path to the Hunger," he said, broadcasting his words to every officer aboard the Freedom. "We're going to make a beeline to that motherclaw. We need to get close. Damn close. The Fist of Freedom will disable her shields, but we won't have long before those shields are back up. Marines—are you prepared to launch?"

"Prepared to launch," Bastian confirmed from the lower deck.

"Flock—cover our flight," King said.

"Covering you, sir," Spitfire said.

"Mimori, begin to accelerate toward the Hunger," King said. "Once we're ten thousand klicks away, we'll…"

His voice trailed off.

He stared at the Hunger.

"What the hell?" Jordan muttered.

The top deck of the Hunger detached. The disk must have been ten kilometers in diameter. King could barely believe his eyes. But an entire slice of the motherclaw rose into space like a hat hovering over a man's head. The great metal disk flew higher, then transformed, growing eight bladed legs. Eight red plasma ports shone on its surface like eyes. It became a massive spider. A mechanical terror. A mecha the size of a city. It made the earlier mechas seem like babies.

Skel'rah suddenly appeared on-screen, grinning, spraying saliva as she cackled.

"Behold the Immolation!" the spider queen said. "She will be your doom."

The colossal mecha lunged across space toward the Freedom.

* * * * *

The Immolation, an arachnid mecha the size of a city, stormed forth.

Every one of her eight tentacles was larger than the Freedom. Suckers bloomed open across the mechanical limbs, spewing plasma. Hundreds of flaming spears came flying toward the Freedom and her fellow starships.

"Prow shields to max, evasive action!" King said.

"Calculating trajectory options… We have to take some hits!" Mimori said. "Prepare for—"

An inferno of plasma rammed into the Freedom.

The entire dreadnought, a ship larger than some towns, tumbled through space.

Another flaming jet blazed against their dorsal hull. Monitors went black as sensors burned.

"Why aren't we firing, dammit!" King shouted over the alarms. Smoke filled the bridge. "Destroy that thing!"

"Three more Angels of Liberty gone!" Jordan replied. "Firing what remains."

Maccabees streaked toward the Immolation. But the mecha's plasma bolts burned the missiles before they could impact. The gargantuan spider flew closer, hiding the mothership behind it. Claws the size of runways thrust from this mechanical behemoth, prepared to lacerate the Freedom.

"Starfighters, take it on!" King shouted. "Destroy that thing!"

Spitfire and her surviving Eagles were assaulting the great spider. They were so small. They were fleas attacking a dinosaur. The Dune, the Lenin, and their own starfighters were attacking the Immolation too. But even combined, all their firepower could only chip away at the mecha's sheer mass. The city-sized spider kept flying, bearing down on them.

King had to fall back. He had failed here. He had to retreat. He knew this.

Behind him, the battle was raging. Hundreds of human warships were falling. Tens of thousands of clawships surrounded them. Trapped them. Death. He saw death. He saw his fleet crumbling. And the colossal spider ship loomed above him.

"Katyusha is ready to crush!" rose a cry. "The Red Dawn rises!"

The Lenin shot forward at terrifying speed. Katyusha laughed maniacally. King could see her over the MindWeb. She was standing on the bridge of the Lenin, grinning savagely.

"Faster, faster!" she cried. "Ram into that giant alien ship! For the glory of the Red Dawn—fly!"

The Lenin kept gaining speed. King watched from the bridge.

"She's going to ram into the Immolation," he whispered. "That crazy woman."

"Sir!" Mimori said, eyes wide. "The Lenin is approaching relativistic speeds! At this velocity, a ramming maneuver will destroy her!"

The Lenin's engines flared. The blaze from her exhaust ports lit the battle, shining like red stars. She moved faster. Faster. Streaking forth.

"Katyusha, dammit, you're going too fast!" King said.

She ignored him.

"For the Red Dawn!" she cried. "For equalism! For Earth, for Earth! Die!"

The Lenin reached her full speed. She was flying a thousand times faster than a speeding bullet. So fast she was rippling spacetime around her. Gravitational waves clattered the Freedom's hull plates.

The RDS Lenin—the largest starship ever built by mankind—slammed into the gargantuan metal spider.

The explosion lit up space like a nebula.

White light flooded the bridge.

Debris pounded the shields.

And the Lenin was gone.

Of the massive Red Dawn flagship—nothing remained.

The RDS Lenin. A behemoth of armored hull and a hold full of explosives. A dreadnought two kilometers long. She had rammed into the Immolation like the galaxy's largest missile.

The colossal mecha tore apart. The Immolation shattered like black glass. Chunks flew out in a shock wave, taking out a hundred nearby clawships.

Everyone on the Freedom could only stare in silent awe.

Darjeeling removed his cap. "Katyusha sacrificed her life for the mission."

"And thousands of Red Dawn officers and spacers who served aboard her dreadnought," King said in a low voice.

"And Hel'rah too," Jordan said. "That beast was on the Lenin. He must be dead now. Nobody could survive that."

King didn't know how to process this. Katyusha—his mortal enemy. She had saved him. His ship. Maybe all of humanity. She had sacrificed herself.

Was he almost, almost ready to forgive her?

Then a voice rang across his bridge, coming through the MindWeb. It spoke with a heavy Russian accent.

"Did you see that, sissy capitalists? That is how you kill rahs! Katyusha is greatest warrior of all time!"

King's eyes widened.

Jordan's jaw unhinged.

"What the hell?" King demanded.

"Sir!" Mimori said. "There's an armored escape pod tumbling through space toward us!"

"Katyusha!" King snapped. "She escaped the Lenin!" He growled and clenched his metal fist. "Katyusha, is that really you?"

A MindWeb hallucination of Katyusha appeared on the Freedom's bridge. She was laughing, head tossed back. "Privet, Jamechka! It is indeed Katyusha, glorious premier of Red Dawn! Can you give Katyusha a lift, perhaps? She will fly her escape pod toward your hangar. If you don't mind."

King snarled. "I should have you shot down. You sacrificed thousands of spacers aboard the Lenin—while you abandoned ship!"

She laughed. "Oh no, Jamechka. Katyusha would never do such a thing! Noble Katyusha died on that bridge. She sacrificed her life to save humanity. But see… Katyusha always has clones around. The Lenin had a special escape pod, programmed to launch in case of the dreadnought blowing up in a blaze of glory. And inside the escape pod—a clone of little Katyusha. Me!"

"Sir, the escape pod is flying toward our hangar," Mimori said. "Should we let her in?"

King nodded, dumbfounded.

A moment later, the escape pod was inside the hangar. Though Katyusha was physically in a midsection shuttle bay, her hallucination walked across the bridge toward King. Cameras in the hangar were filming her, projecting her avatar here to the bridge. She appeared perfectly lifelike. In fact, she looked just like the previous Katyusha clone.

"I thought you scooped out the brains of your clones and planted your own brain inside," King said.

She laughed. "What? No!" She waved dismissively. "Katyusha would never do such a thing! That is just rumor. Katyusha grows her clones and, with neural microchips, feeds them all of Mama Katyusha's memories and plans and schemes. When Katyusha is ready, she can always switch to a backup body. Nyet problema." She looked down at her body and smoothed her uniform. "Ah, this one is very nice, yes?" She gave a seductive turn, running her hands along her curves. "You like, Jamechka? You think Katyusha is sexy?"

"Get her off my bridge!" King barked.

Mimori fiddled with some controls. The Katyusha hallucination vanished—but not before blowing King a kiss.

King sighed. Thousands of Red Dawn soldiers—giving their lives so the Freedom could fly onward. He had never imagined such a thing. His great enemies in the last war—sacrificing their flagship, their lives, to clear his path. Even if Katyusha had survived—in some form, at least.

He would deal with his feelings about this later.

Right now he had a war to win.

"Mimori, what is our status?" he said.

The android glanced down at her control panel. "We've suffered extensive damage to our hull. Five of our torpedo cannons are down. Half our machine-gun turrets are down. The hull has been breached in seven places. Repair crews are at work. Casualties are expected to be in the hundreds."

"Our engines?" King said.

"At full capacity, sir."

"Our railgun?"

"Ninety-five percent, sir. It should be enough to take down the Hunger's shield."

King looked at the motherclaw ahead. She hovered in place.

"Any more tricks, Skel'rah?" he whispered.

But nothing more launched from the Hunger. Maybe her bag of tricks was finally empty.

"Mimori, fly us toward the motherclaw. Prepare to fire the Fist on my order."

The android paused, then saluted. Her eyes were damp. "Yes, sir. And sir… if we don't make it, it's been an honor."

* * * * *

The Freedom accelerated.

They stormed toward the Hunger.

No clawships rose to meet them. Myriads of starships battled behind and around the Freedom. But ahead the path was clear. They raced forward. Dozens of other human warships joined them. The Dune flew close behind. Soon hundreds of human ships were charging toward the Hunger, determined to destroy her.

They flew closer. Closer still.

The Hunger rose ahead, tentacles spreading across the starscape like some octopus goddess grasping the cosmos.

Several chunks of debris, ejected from the destruction of the Lenin, tumbled toward the Hunger. When they got close, they hit the invisible shield. And for a second, the entire web shield shone. It looked like a huge red matrix surrounding the entire motherclaw. Again and again it flickered and flashed, destroying the debris that hit it.

Nothing reached the Hunger's hull. Nothing could. Several ships flying with the Freedom opened fire. Torpedoes streaked toward the Hunger. The missiles impacted against the web shield. The grid shone around the Hunger, then went dark again.

The Dune opened fire. So did several Desert Thorn corvettes. A hundred Red Dawn starships flew forward, bombarding the Hunger; they had lost their flagship but not their appetite for battle. They were all very close now, and there were no clawships nearby. The fusillade pummeled the Hunger's shield. The electric web shone brighter and brighter, casting back every torpedo, every photon bolt. Explosions rocked the shell.

Nothing made it through.

The Hunger was unharmed.

But we can take that shield down, King thought. The Fist will break it.

The Freedom flew faster. Faster. They were a hundred thousand kilometers away now. Then half that much. Thousands of torpedoes were blazing against the shield ahead, exploding harmlessly. The explosions engulfed the motherclaw. A sphere of fire rose before the Freedom like a sun. And still the web shield stood.

"Mimori, it's time," King said. "Fire the Fist of Freedom!"

"Fire!" Jordan said.

Mimori nodded.

Silence.

White light.

The railgun shone like two pillars of heaven, ready to propel its projectile.

Just then a portal opened beside the Freedom.

It all happened so fast.

The bridge crew didn't even have time to react.

Clawships emerged from the portal and slammed into the Freedom.

The Freedom jerked sideways.

The railgun tilted, then fired.

A Goliath projectile, a colossus of kinetic fury, blazed forth at relativistic speed. It flew so fast the human eye could not see it, the mind could not perceive it. So fast it rippled spacetime itself. So fast it gave the Goliath more energy than a thousand nuclear bombs.

The Goliath streaked into deep space, etching a path of light.

It missed.

The Fist of Freedom missed.

The Hunger hovered ahead. Her shields were still intact.

"Fire the Angels of Liberty!" Jordan was crying. "Tear down those clawships!"

Clawship after clawship spilled out of the portal, ramming into the Freedom. The dreadnought's cannons were booming. The Dune raced forward to help. Dozens of human starships joined the fight. Clawships tore apart. Explosions bloomed in the darkness.

King could only stare at the streak of white light across space.

"We missed," he whispered. "We had one shot. And we missed."

Mimori looked at him. Her face was pale. "Sir… the railgun is down to zero percent power. Estimated time to new charge: twenty-three hours and fourteen minutes."

Another portal opened. More clawships came spilling out.

A terrible thought filled King, gripping his mind, crushing his soul.

We lost.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The Freedom floated there, her railgun cold.

The clawships kept pouring in through portals.

The human warships were still assaulting the Hunger, but the shield blocked everything they threw at it.

We lost, King thought. We missed our one shot. It's over.

Suddenly every monitor on the bridge went dark. The lights dimmed.

"What's going on?" King demanded.

Mimori winced. "A huge transmission, washing over us! They're carving through our software, they—ah!"

The android covered her ears, grimacing. The central monitor crackled, then came to life.

A terrible spider appeared there. A spider with human corpses on her spikes. A queen of spiders.

"Skel'rah," King said.

The spider hissed at him from the viewport.

"You have failed, Commander King. My son was on the Lenin. You humans murdered him." Skel'rah's jaw opened, revealing rows and rows of fangs. "I will not just conquer your world, human. I will not just hunt you or lay eggs in your flesh. I will destroy your species. I will annihilate your planet. I will efface every memory of humanity from this cosmos. Earth will not be part of the rahs' galactic web. It will be nothing. Just a void. As if you never existed at all."

As Skel'rah was threatening him, King was busy communicating telepathically from Mimori.

"Mimori, we need to fire the Fist of Freedom. Now. Give me solutions."

"I told you, sir, we can't—"

"Think outside the box!" King demanded.

A figure materialized on the bridge. Kim Fletcher! She was wearing her engineering jumpsuit and hardhat, and a tool belt hung around her waist.

"Sir!" the engineer said. "I was on the MindWeb, listening in. I hope you don't mind that I popped in."

For an instant, just an instant, King couldn't help but remember it. Last night. Holding Kim in his arms. Making love to her. Her soft blond hair between his fingers.

Just that one instant. He couldn't resist. Then it was back to business.

"Kim, give me a solution," King said.

Kim stared at the monitor, going very pale. "What is that?" she whispered.

Skel'rah was still ranting on the viewport. She was saying something about the eternal cruelty of the rahs, about how King would suffer for ten thousand eras on their homeworld, how his screams would fill their greatest palaces. He tuned it out, focusing on Kim Fletcher. They were all communicating telepathically. Skel'rah had no idea.

"Kim, give me a solution now," King said.

She pulled her gaze away from the monitor, nodding hastily. "We can attach the railgun to the Talaria drive," Kim said. "There are already power cables in place, connecting the Fist's reactor to the stern."

King frowned. "Not according to ship specs."

"We had to run the cables while repairing the stern earlier this year," Kim said. "It was the only way to jump-start the engines before we got a new, dedicated particle battery working in the stern. And we just left the cabling in for now. As a backup, really. In case the engines failed again, we could always fire up the Fist's reactor and draw power from there. The redundancy was never built in originally because—"

"Kim, get to the point!" King said.

"Right. Anyway, we can also send power from the stern to the Fist! It just means, well… we'd probably overheat and blow our Talaria drive." She heaved a sigh. "So we can fire the Fist. One more time. And then… well, the Freedom won't be able to fly anymore. At least for a few days until I can replace the blown-out engine coils."

"Do it!" King said. "Charge the railgun! Now!"

She nodded and her avatar dissipated. Physically, she was back in engineering.

"Jim, we'd be sitting ducks without an engine!" Jordan said, grabbing his arm.

"Our Eagles will defend us. Isn't that right, Spitfire?"

"Hell yeah!" the pilot answered via MindWeb. She cast a little hallucination their way. A miniature version of her starfighter, no larger than a paper plane, flew across the bridge. "I got your backs, boys."

"That is all I have to say to you, ape!" Skel'rah said, concluding her diatribe. "Now… die!"

Plasma ports opened on the Hunger. While the shield blocked everything incoming, those plasma bolts should have no trouble flying out—and roasting the Freedom.

"Kim!" King said. "Give me an update!"

She reappeared on the bridge, holding two cables. "I'm ready. On your order."

"Now!" he shouted. "Charge the Fist!"

Kim plugged the cables together.

Just then, the Hunger fired plasma.

Bolt after bolt impacted with the Freedom, pounding her electromagnetic shield. The ship jerked back in space. One bolt made it through and blazed against the prow—just below the railgun.

Reactors roared deep in the stern.

Power surged underfoot.

On the floating schematics around him, King saw it happen. Energy raced through the underbelly cables toward the railgun.

The Fist's charge leaped up to a hundred percent—just as the Talaria drive blew out.

"Fire the Fist of Freedom!" King cried.

"Fire!" Jordan shouted.

It happened within a second. That sudden silence. That flare of angelic white light, flooding over them.

One instant the railgun had lit up. The same instant—the Goliath impacted.

It exploded against the Hunger's electric grid.

The entire shield lit up for a split second, blazing furious red. And then the web shield shattered into billions of scattering photons.

"The Hunger's shield is down!" Mimori cried, and everyone on the bridge cheered.

King let out something halfway between a sigh and a laugh.

"You did it, Kim," he said. "God bless you. Now fly, Mimori! Fly closer to the Hunger and launch our marines!"

CHAPTER THIRTY

Rhinos, true to their name, were big beasts. Technically, the Rhino-class armored troop carriers were classified as dropships. But at thirty-three meters long, they straddled the line between dropship and corvette. In fact, some ships classified as corvettes were smaller than Rhinos. But Rhinos served the purpose of dropships. They transported marines from mothership to battlefield.

Forty Rhinos lurked in the Freedom's hull. They had been custom designed and built for the Freedom. No other starship in the Alliance fleet was large enough to haul them. Every Rhino was covered with thick armor, and they carried mean rotary cannons and missile launchers. Inside its metal belly a Rhino could carry an entire heavy infantry platoon.

All forty Rhinos now launched from the starship Freedom. They were at full capacity. They carried two thousand marines in battlesuits—half the Freedom Brigade.

They could not fit more marines into the Rhinos. Normally, after deploying half the brigade to the battlefield, the Rhinos would return for the rest. But King would not risk that now. He wanted those Rhinos to remain inside the Hunger, shielding the marines as they navigated the dark tunnels; the Rhinos could drive as well as fly. So only half the brigade would take part in this mission. Maybe that was a blessing in disguise. Most likely, those two thousand marines would not return. Those who remained on the Freedom would then have to fight on.

Bastian, commander of the brigade, stood in one of the Rhinos. He was carrying the nuke in his backpack. He just had to reach the Hunger, carve through the hull, travel its labyrinth of corridors five kilometers deep, reach the smoldering core of the alien mothership, plant the nuke, then get the hell out before it blew.

Really—no pressure. Piece of cake!

I'm going to die, Bastian thought, rattling inside the Rhino. Oh God, I am going to die.

The Rhinos stormed across the last stretch of space toward the Hunger. Bastian had never seen a starship this big. None of them had. It was like flying toward a small moon. Well, if moons were shaped like giant tentacled gods of the underworld.

"Bastian, are we going to die?" Alice whispered.

She stood at his side, strapped into a harness. Like him, Alice wore a full battlesuit. Battlesuits were heavy, cumbersome things, designed to protect a marine from vacuum, radiation, and enemy bullets. They had never really worked well against Red Dawn assault rifles, but they did a decent job protecting marines from the rigors of space. In recent weeks, the Freedom's armorers had worked around the clock, adding additional armored plates onto the suits. Apparently, they might actually stop a bullet now. And hopefully a rah's claw.

Fifty marines stood in this Rhino with Bastian, clasped within their metal harnesses like prisoners inside gibbets. The dropship shook and rattled and charged through the battle. One soldier vomited into his helmet.

Through the portholes they could see human and alien ships clashing together. Every moment another ship exploded like a star. It was terrifying and oddly beautiful. This was one for the record books, Bastian knew. The largest space battle in human history. Hell, for all Bastian knew, it was the largest battle of any kind in human history. But that battle was all on the periphery now. His mission was to penetrate the Hunger. That was all.

Bastian keenly felt the weight of his backpack. The nuclear bomb rested in there, the size of a barbecue propane tank. Carrying this thing around terrified Bastian more than ten thousand falling starships.

"Of course we're not going to die, Alice," he said.

"But you just thought that you will," she said.

His eyes widened. "Are you hacking my thoughts again?"

"I told you, dude, stop transmitting them publicly. I taught you how to set your thoughts' privacy settings a million times."

"Yeah, well, what am I thinking now?" He flipped her off.

A little banter to keep the terror at bay. It was their coping mechanism. Like the battlesuits, it didn't do much against alien claws, but it offered some comfort.

Bastian looked at the monitor again. It hung near the cockpit. Rhinos were old ships, and while some had been retrofitted with modern tech, this one had no MindWeb interface. Bastian couldn't connect telepathically to any sensor on the prow. So all fifty marines stared at the monitor.

They were close now. Just a few thousand klicks away. They all clutched their weapons a little tighter.

All around them flew the other Rhinos, thirty-nine of them. The Freedom's full dropship fleet. They needed just one nuclear bomb. But it would take an army to reach deep enough into the Hunger to plant it.

A clawfighter streaked toward them—a last-ditch attempt to defend the Hunger.

An Eagle swooped. Bastian's MindWeb identified the pilot as Spitfire. Her missiles streaked, destroying the clawship.

"Got your back, Bas!" she said. "I wish I could go in there with you. Go kick ass."

"See you soon, Spitfire," Bastian said. "While I'm in there, don't touch my stuff."

She snorted. "Never. The only stuff in your bunk is stinky underwear."

But Spitfire was wrong. Rowan was in his bunk. His precious angel. Bastian had to destroy this monstrous ship. And he had to survive tonight. And he didn't know how he would do both.

More clawfighters charged at them. The Rhino's gunner opened fire. The rotary cannon pounded the enemy. The Eagles did the rest. The Rhinos kept flying. Bastian saw the hull of the Hunger soar before him like a cliff.

He spotted an airlock. Just where Emily's map had told him it would be. The round doorway loomed like a cave, nearly blending into the dark, jagged hull. Without the map, he never would have spotted it. They were flying right at the hatch.

"Prepare for hull breach!" cried the Rhino pilot.

The gunner opened fire again. This time missiles flew from the Rhino's stubby wings and slammed into the alien airlock. The metal door shattered, revealing a tunnel.

"And here we go!" said the pilot.

The Rhino flew through the shattered airlock—and into the motherclaw Hunger.

* * * * *

Throughout the war, scientists had argued whether gravity filled the rahs' clawships. Some believed that spiders didn't need gravity, that they wouldn't waste precious energy on generating it. Others claimed that rahs clearly moved so confidently on Earth's gravity that they required it. Nobody had known for sure.

Well, Bastian just found out.

The clawships had gravity. A lot of it.

As soon as the Rhino was inside, it crashed onto the tunnel floor. Hard. The entire platoon inside rattled in their harnesses.

Bastian's teeth slammed together, narrowly missing his tongue. He groaned. The nuclear bomb in his backpack gave a menacing jolt. For a second or two, he caught his breath, worried the bomb would blow. Thankfully he was still breathing.

He looked out the porthole. His Rhino was in a dark tunnel. It was just wide enough for the dropship. Barely. You couldn't ride a bike between the Rhino's hull and the tunnel walls. A perfect fit. Finally a bit of good luck.

Well, the good luck lasted for about two seconds.

Red dots appeared on the Rhino's monitor.

"Incoming spiders!" Alice cried.

Bastian hurried into the cockpit. Three officers sat there—a pilot, a copilot, and a navigator. Through the windshield, Bastian could see down the tunnel, but not very far. It was a dark void.

"Where are they?" Bastian whispered.

The red dots were moving across the monitor. Coming closer. Closer.

Then Bastian heard them. Clattering feet. Screeches. Red eyes blazed in the dark.

"Here they come!" Bastian said. "Corporal Lisboa—cut them down."

Lisboa, a young Brazilian woman, sat in the navigator seat. In a Rhino, a vessel too small for a full bridge crew, the navigator doubled as gunner. Lisboa grabbed two joysticks and pulled the triggers.

Just as the rahs lunged at the shuttle, twin Gatling guns roared on the prow. A hailstorm of bullets plowed into the rahs.

The spiders squealed as bullets the size of daggers ripped through them. Severed legs flew. Blood filled their mouths. They fell, screeching as they died.

But more kept coming, monsters bubbling up from the void, and the guns kept chewing through them. The alien bodies piled up. Bastian stood in the cockpit, watching as the terrors rose, as the guns kept knocking them down.

And then—it ended.

No more spiders came.

Corporal Lisboa kept firing into the dark, shouting her fury. Bastian put a hand on her shoulder.

"Hold your fire, Lisboa."

The young woman released the triggers, panting. Smoke rose from the muzzles. The smell of gunpowder and dead bugs filled the air.

"Sorry, sir, I got too excited," Lisboa said, panting.

"Keep your fingers on the triggers," Bastian said. "The enemy is probably regrouping. You'll have plenty more to kill." He winked. "You're racking up a nice kill count. Good for bragging rights. I'm proud of you, Corporal."

She beamed.

He returned to the hold. The marines stood there, hefting their weapons.

"All right, everyone!" Bastian said, voice echoing through the hold. "As you probably noticed, we're in bug country now. Our mission is straightforward. We fight our way to the heart of this ship, plant a nuke, then get out of Dodge. Princess Emily and Sergeant Darjeeling, in a daring mission, captured a map of the Hunger. You can all load it on your MindLinks. The eggheads back at the lab analyzed the map. Most of this ship is made of thick, fortified steel. Blowing up a nuke in some random tunnel won't do. We need to bring our bomb to the ship's core."

A MindWeb map hovered between the marines. Everyone looked. Not just here but in the other Rhinos too. Bastian was connected to them all over MindWeb. The other Rhinos were squeezing through their own airlocks, infiltrating the ship at different points along the hull. They were like mites burrowing into the skin of a host.

Bastian looked at the map. It displayed the tumor-shaped mothership and her labyrinth of corridors. The tunnels coiled through the ship, leading to thousands of burrows and lairs.

"Everyone—look at the center of the map," Bastian said. "See that round chamber in the middle? It's about the size of a football arena. And it contains the reactor that's powering this ship. That's where we need to go. We'll fight our way through the Hunger, following the map. The tunnel is wide enough for our Rhinos, so we're driving. We'll reach the reactor room. We'll plant our nuke, set up a timer, then bug out. Any questions?"

"Yes, sir," Alice said. "Where are all the spiders? I wanna shoot!" She hefted her Mordecai rifle.

"Oh, more are coming, don't worry," Bastian said. "Any other questions? No? Good. Everyone ready?"

The commanders of his brigade saluted over the MindWeb. There were no more questions.

An officer commanded each Rhino team. Bastian had handpicked them for the mission. They were his best, most experienced soldiers. With every Rhino landing on a different spot, he relied on his officers for local leadership. Each platoon carried its own nuclear weapon. If one team failed, hopefully another would reach the core.

And hopefully they could hightail it fast enough—and go home. But right now Bastian wasn't thinking of that part. Right now his only mission was to blow up this goddamn ship.

"All right, let's go kill some bugs!" Bastian said.

He returned to the cockpit. He gave the order, and the pilot worked at the controls. The Rhino extended its caterpillar tracks, transforming into a heavy land vehicle. The pilot became a driver.

Engines grumbling, exhaust pumping, the Rhino rumbled down the tunnel. The caterpillar tracks crushed the dead rahs. Everyone could hear the snaps of rah limbs and exoskeletons.

* * * * *

They made it only a hundred yards down the tunnel when the rahs mounted a fresh attack.

This time they brought a plasma cannon.

Great.

The spiders wheeled it forward—a jagged cannon like a blackened, hollow log. A torrent of flame roared out the muzzle, lighting the tunnel, revealing dozens of rahs across the walls and ceiling. Their jaws opened in hideous grins. Several rahs stood on the floor, holding the iron cannon, aiming the stream of fire.

The flames hit the Rhino's windshield and scattered. Thankfully, the steelglass held, but heat bathed Bastian. His battlesuit absorbed most of the heat, but it was uncomfortable, to say the least. He felt like a lobster cooking inside its shell.

"Die!" Lisboa shouted, pulling the triggers again. The Gatling guns roared, pounding the rahs.

The Rhino kept rumbling forward, charging through the fire. They snapped the cannon beneath their treads and plowed into the rahs. The Rhino's hull grazed the walls and ceiling, crushing spiders, smearing them against the craggy metal bulkheads.

Deeper and deeper they went, bulldozing over bugs, shooting them down. The tunnel walls were jagged, organic. Spiders scuttled everywhere like parasites in veins. Bastian imagined the entire motherclaw as a living organism. The Rhino felt like a bullet plowing deep, carving through the bustling bacteria infecting the flesh.

Bastian checked the map. They were three hundred yards in. An auspicious start. So far, they were killing bugs, conquering territory, and the brigade hadn't suffered a single casualty. Yes, a good start indeed. Bastian allowed himself to feel a little hope. Maybe the hard part was behind them.

And… of course he jinxed it.

Just then the Rhino driver hit the brakes. They rumbled to a halt. They had reached a turn in the tunnel.

A tight turn.

The driver winced. "Sorry, boss, ain't no way this Rhino is making that turn. This vehicle is thirty-three meters long and about as flexible as a torpedo."

Bastian cursed inwardly. They had failed to account for this when planning the mission. It had all happened so quickly—Emily and Darjeeling bringing in the map, coming up with a plan, launching to battle, and invading the Hunger, all while fighting the rah at every step. In the chaos, they had not considered the sharp turns.

Bastian nodded. "All right. Unless Rhinos can transform into accordions, we'll have to walk from here."

Perfect! A nice, relaxing five-kilometer walk through rah-infested tunnels. What could go wrong?

Regrettably, the marines said goodbye to the thick armored hull, and they stepped into the tunnel. They still wore their armored battlesuits, but after steamrolling over rah armies in a thousand-ton Rhino, a mere battlesuit didn't seem like much. Bastian felt practically naked.

"Bastian, why are you imagining yourself naked again?" Alice asked.

"I'm not! I was thinking that I feel naked. And why are you reading my thoughts?"

"Told you, dude, change your privacy settings."

The platoon exited out the back hatch. To reach the front, they had to squeeze between the Rhino's hull and the tunnel walls. A few times, Bastian paused to scrape off… rah paste. Quite a few severed spider legs, sticky with blood and cobwebs, clung to the Rhino's hull. By the time he had squeezed through, spider goo covered him too. He grimaced, plucking sticky bits of rah exoskeleton off his armor.

Finally the platoon regathered in front of the Rhino. The tunnel curved, making a horseshoe turn to the right. Bastian checked his MindLink map. He could see the positions of his troops across the motherclaw. Other Rhinos were reaching twists in the tunnels too. They'd all have to hoof it.

Bastian and his platoon continued on foot. He walked front and center, carrying the nuke in his backpack. Alice and Lisboa walked at his sides, Mordecai rifles aimed at the darkness ahead. The rest of the platoon walked close behind in fireteams of three. The formation would allow them to leapfrog forward once they encountered resistance.

Most of the troops just had Gideon rifles, which fired bullets instead of plasma bolts. They were weaker weapons but more affordable. The brigade owned only three hundred Mordecai plasma rifles, which they gave to officers and NCOs. The privates, alas, would have to slug it out with plain old bullets. It was unfair, but it was the reality of war on a budget.

"Bas?" Alice said as they walked down the tunnel.

"What is it?"

Fear filled her blue eyes. "I think you should move back in line. There are a lot of bugs ahead. I can sense them."

Bastian nodded. "That's why I'm carrying this gun."

"Bastian." She put a hand on his arm. "You're our commanding officer. You lead the entire brigade. You should be farther back. Where it's safer."

He looked into her eyes, and he remembered last night. Holding her in his arms. Making love to her for the first time.

I love you, Bastian, her eyes were saying. And he loved her too.

"Yes, I lead this brigade," he told her. "And I will lead from the front. If I die, there is a clear chain of command. Someone will replace me."

A tear shone in her eye, but she wiped it away. She nodded. "I'm here at your side, Bastian. Always. No matter what comes out of the dark, I'm here with you."

Gurgles and snorts rose from ahead. Then cackling laughter and clattering claws. Shadows danced across the walls, and there they came.

Bastian, Alice, and Lisboa knelt and opened fire. Three spears of plasma raced ahead, illuminating a horde of spiders. The creatures were all climbing over one another, desperate to reach the marines and feast. The Mordecais carved into them. The creatures squealed as they burned.

Behind Bastian, a fireteam of three marines opened fire. Streams of bullets whistled over Bastian's head, plowing into the alien horde.

They killed many spiders. The dead piled up. But more rahs kept coming—racing along the floor, the walls, even the ceiling. The guns roared. Bastian had to pause, load another plasma pack. The spiders got closer.

Then one spider reached the platoon. The rah lunged, slammed into Bastian, and knocked him down. The rah crawled onto him, drooling.

At once, Alice began kicking the rah. The alien fell off Bastian, and he rose and torched it. The creature screamed as it died, a terrible high-pitched sound.

More rahs barreled into the platoon.

Several rahs bulldozed over Corporal Lisboa. Their claws lashed. One rah chomped down on Lisboa's arm. Thankfully, her armor held. The Brazilian navigator screamed, swung her rifle like a club, and knocked the spider back. As the rah prepared to pounce again, Lisboa washed it with plasma. The alien curled up and burned.

"Cut them down and keep going!" Bastian shouted. "Do not fall back. Do not hold your ground. We ain't holding a goddamn thing here. We push forward! Cut through them! Forward—with me!"

Shouting hoarsely, Bastian ran toward the enemy. The rahs leaped at him. He shot them down and kept charging. Alice, Lisboa, and the others roared and ran with him, killing the spiders and pushing deeper.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

They fought through the tunnels of the Hunger. Two thousand marines, they fought for every step.

The rahs were determined to defend their mothership. They charged in bursts, bubbling up from below like sludge. Their claws tore marines down. Their jaws ripped off limbs. They feasted as they fought. They laughed as they killed.

But the marines did not back down.

Every man and woman here had the chance to flee. They could turn around, race over the corpses, leap into a Rhino, and fly home.

Not one marine did.

They kept charging deeper, even as the spiders kept coming. They killed the beasts. They filled this ship with fire and lead. They kept advancing.

The MindPlay HUD floated around Bastian, showing him the positions of his troops. A blue dot represented each marine. A red dot represented known rahs. Every moment, more red dots appeared, and more blue dots turned gray and faded. Two thousand men were cut down to nineteen hundred. Soon they were fifteen hundred. And they kept fighting their way deeper.

Bastian slogged his way forward. Step after step. Rah after rah. Claws stabbed him, denting his armor. Jaws closed around his leg, twisting, breaking the battlesuit until he torched the beast. And he kept going.

For Alice, who fought at his side. For Alice, whom he had held in his arms all night.

For Rowan. His sweet little Rowan, only six years old, waiting for her daddy to come home.

For the memory of Charging Bear, his best friend who had sacrificed himself so that Bastian could fight on.

For his father.

For everyone back home. He fought on.

They leapfrogged forward. Three soldiers firing, killing, then falling back to reload. Then the next three soldiers moved up. Then another three. The platoon pulsed its way forward. Bastian imagined them all as a single animal, a metallic worm rippling through the corridors, devouring spiders along its path.

And then they were down to a thousand soldiers. And more kept falling.

The rahs threw everything at them. The male hunters, quick and vicious. Big females, so massive they barely squeezed through the tunnels. Larvae the size of pugs with rows of claws and teeth like hooks. Rolling machines of metal that spurted fire. Cobwebs rustling with little vermin with infected teeth. Towering spiders with mandibles the length of spears, their eyes blinking atop stalks. Strange scorpions with heads like serpents that spat venom.

Hybrids attacked them too, strange creatures woven from human, animal, and alien. There were people with eight spider limbs covered with human skin. There were spiders that grew eight human heads instead of eyes—screaming, living boils that thirsted for blood. There were spiders that were like birds with snapping beaks, spiders with limbs that were snakes, spiders that flashed with electricity like eels. The rahs were scientists. They had dipped into Earth's DNA and woven new creations.

And the marines cut them all down.

"When you're going through hell, keep going," Winston Churchill had said long ago. Bastian took that advice tonight. Surely if there was a hell in this galaxy, it was inside a rah mothership.

More marines fell.

More blue lights turned gray.

They were down to eight hundred fighters. Then seven hundred. And they fought onward.

It seemed an eternity in hell. An era trapped in a nightmare. But finally three hundred marines, wounded and bloodied and haunted, reached the center of the motherclaw.

* * * * *

They gathered in one tunnel, the survivors of several platoons. Two thousand marines had entered the alien mothership. Only three hundred warriors remained. Every one of them was hurt. Every one of them would forever wake up with nightmares, forever scream in the night. They had walked through hell and fought the devils.

According to their map, they were in the Hunger's center. They were five kilometers deep into the ship. But that was only if you calculated a straight line from hull to center. With the tunnels twisting and curving, they had crossed a far greater distance. They had watched friends die for every step.

And here in the middle of the labyrinth, after all this sacrifice, they found a locked metal door.

The door rose before them, a round slab of metal. It was twice Bastian's height. He pounded the door with his fist. It did not budge. The clang echoed and pain reverberated up his arm.

"According to our map, the Hunger's reactor is behind this door," Bastian said. "We gotta get inside, plant the nuke, and get out." He squinted at the door. "I don't even see a handle."

"Ah hell, let's just leave the nuke here and bolt," said Lisboa. The little Brazilian was covered in blood. Most of it was black rah blood. But not all. "We're deep enough, aren't we?"

Bastian shook his head. "No deal. We know our mission. We need to blow the reactor core. Not the corridor outside the core—the core itself. We didn't come all this way to give up now."

"Make way, make way!" Alice said, hefting a plasma rifle. A dozen plasma packs dangled from her belt. She had been collecting them from fallen comrades. "Hot stuff comin' through! You need this door open? I'll open it for ya. Stand back, stand back!"

She reached the towering round door, dimmed her visor, and lit up a stream of plasma. The jet sprayed the door, melting a bit of the metal. A small bit. Very slowly.

"It'll take a while, so everyone get comfortable," Alice said.

A few soldiers collapsed, breathing heavily. They began to drink water, to tend to their wounds. One private was missing an arm, and she slumped in the corner, skin ashen, probably dying. Another soldier knelt in the corner, praying and weeping.

But Bastian stayed standing, gun raised. Most of them did.

He kept watching the tunnel they had come down, just waiting for more trouble.

Rah corpses littered the floor. A few were still twitching. Human bodies lay among them. Bastian squinted, staring into the darkness.

"Is that all you've got, Skel'rah?" he muttered. "No more guardians at your door?"

He wondered where the warweaver was hiding. Nobody had seen Skel'rah yet. Was she lurking deeper down, hiding? Was she prepared to charge?

He glanced back at Alice. She had managed to carve a small hole, not much larger than a bullet wound, through the doorway. Red light streamed from within. Bastian's HUD raised a warning. Radiation levels were rising, but his battlesuit, cracked and battered as it was, protected him. That was the light and heat of the churning core of the ship.

"Can't you do this any faster?" Bastian asked.

"Nope," Alice said. "This is a thick door of fortified steel. It's gonna take a while. Wanna help? You can start carving up the other side, and—" She bit down on her words, frowned. "Do you hear that?"

"I don't hear anything," Bastian said.

Alice turned off her plasma rifle. The corridor became eerily silent.

And then Bastian heard it. A rumble in the deep.

"That!" Alice whispered.

The rumble sounded again. A black, bubbling sound like some primordial beast trapped in tar. They stared at the darkness, seeing nothing. The other marines rose to their feet and raised their weapons.

"Alice, let's get this door open as soon as possible," Bastian said. "I'll help."

"So it only took our impending doom to get you to help with the chores," Alice said. But despite her banter, her face was pale, her fingers shaking.

They both lit their plasma rifles. Feeling like a welder, Bastian began carving a line across the blast door. Alice worked at the other end. Eventually the two lines would meet, creating an opening large enough to hop through. It was slow going. The door was thick and strong. As a child, before Bastian was old enough for a chainsaw, he had once carved a log using a little handheld saw. It had taken him an hour, and his wrist ached all day. This was much harder.

The rumbling rose louder behind him.

The tunnel began to shake. Dust fell from the ceiling. Something grumbled, moaned, and squealed in the darkness. Something big. Something coming closer.

It didn't sound like rahs. This sound was heavier, harsher, louder. A stench wafted from the depths. Bastian could actually smell it, even inside his helmet. The stench was penetrating tears in his battlesuit, cracks in his visor. A stench like worms after rain.

A few soldiers screamed.

Gideon rifles roared, spraying bullets.

As Bastian worked at the door, he glanced over his shoulder. He still couldn't see it. The grumbling, the screams, and the gunshots—they came from deeper in the tunnel. Three hundred marines were with him, but Bastian could only see those closest to him. Most stood farther back, drowned in the shadows.

But he could hear them. They were screaming.

Firing.

Dying.

Blue lights on Bastian's HUD went dark.

The rumbling came closer—a wet, gurgling sound.

More soldiers screamed in the darkness. More avatars grayed out.

"God, what is it?"

"It's not stopping!"

"Kill it, kill it!"

"Run!"

More guns roared—then fell silent. More blue lights went dark.

Bastian and Alice kept carving through the door. Their plasma guns flared, then went dark. Quickly they reloaded and released more flames. They kept carving an opening. It was getting there. Slowly. Slowly.

Bastian looked over his shoulder again, and he lost his breath.

Impossible.

He could only stare, terror pulsing through him.

* * * * *

An enormous creature was burrowing through the tunnel. It was as wide as a Rhino dropship. The alien filled the tunnel, squeezing along the floor, the walls, the ceiling. It was some kind of worm or snake, pulsing as it advanced.

But what terrified Bastian wasn't just the size of the creature. It was its mouth. A terrible churning mouth. A circular mouth that covered the entire head. The mouth didn't open and close. It had no jawbones. It was eternally open, full of concentric, spinning wheels of teeth. A mouth like a garbage compactor. Like the head of those great drills that carved tunnels on Earth. But this was no machine. It was a creature. A living being, devouring all in its path.

It must be what carved these tunnels, Bastian thought. Some kind of huge digger.

It came tunneling closer, spinning like a drill. Soldiers shouted, tried to flee. A few stood and fought, firing bullets at the enormous mouth. Nothing could stop the beast. Finally those heroes too turned and fled.

One fleeing soldier—Corporal Lisboa, brave gunner and navigator—tripped over a corpse. She scampered up. Too slowly.

The tunneling alien reached her.

The great spinning mouth gripped her, raised her, and swirled her round and round like a sock in a dryer. Blood sprayed the walls. Then the great boring creature sucked Lisboa—what remained of her, at least—into its gullet. And she was gone.

There was no room to flee. The soldiers crowded together. And the burrowing worm began to chew them up.

Bastian only half watched. He focused on one thing—carving through this door!

Alice worked at his side, drenched in sweat. Their guns ran out again. Reloading only took a second or two. In that short time, the creature devoured more marines. And it kept advancing. Toward them. Blood sprayed the walls.

Bastian just kept carving.

"Almost there," he whispered.

As he reloaded, he glanced over his shoulder again.

"Oh shit!" he blurted out.

The creature was only meters away. Almost everyone was gone. Only a handful of soldiers still stood, firing their last bullets. They were trapped. One soldier dropped his gun, fell to his knees, and prayed before the creature devoured him.

I led two thousand soldiers into this place, Bastian thought. They're gone. They're all gone.

The burrowing beast sucked up the last few soldiers, crushing them in its spinning mouth—a mouth like a garbage compactor. The alien worm came tunneling closer. The stench of death washed over Bastian.

"Got it!" Alice shouted, carving through the last inch of metal.

She kicked. A circle of metal—just wide enough to wriggle through—fell out the blast door. Light and heat flowed from beyond.

"Get in!" Bastian shouted. "I'll cover you!"

Alice began crawling through the opening. Bastian stood beside her, shouting, firing plasma at the beast. The blaze illuminated its rings of teeth. For a second, the great worm hesitated. That gave Alice just enough time to leap through the door.

The giant worm beast wriggled a few meters backward, revealing a floor slick with blood.

Was it retreating? Was it scared of Bastian? Or perhaps of something inside the room?

Then the burrower came charging forward, screeching.

Bastian leaped through the hole as the creature's roar washed over him.

He found himself inside a vast, flaming cavern. He stood on a narrow mezzanine. A sea of lava gurgled below. Alice grabbed him, saving him from falling, and pulled him sideways along the ledge.

Then the enormous worm slammed into the blast door.

It ripped the door right out its frame.

The huge metal door—with a hole in its center—crashed down a cliff into the pit of lava.

A second later, the worm came shooting through the opening—and down toward the flaming pit.

Bastian and Alice stood on the ledge, watching the gargantuan worm tumble down. The behemoth wriggled as it fell, screaming terribly. The alien was the length of a blue whale, stuffed full of human victims. Then the creature splashed into the sea of lava.

Droplets sprayed. Bastian winced and shielded Alice behind his body. The magma claimed the creature, tugging it downward. The alien managed to give one last, pathetic mewl, then sank under.

Bastian lowered his head, thinking of his fallen soldiers inside the beast. Alice hugged him.

"We made it," she said. "We reached the core of the motherclaw. Now let's plant this nuke and get out of here."

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

With the tunnel worm dead, Bastian just stood there for a moment, taking deep breaths. Alice stood beside him.

They were the last. The only two marines still standing. Never had an Alliance marine brigade suffered such slaughter.

But we made it, Bastian thought. We're in the core.

As the panic faded into dull terror, he examined his surroundings.

The center of the motherclaw Hunger was hollow. The walls and ceiling were craggy, organic. This felt more like the inside of a volcano than a starship chamber. The place was vast—easily the size of a football arena. A sea of lava spread across the cavern floor.

Okay, maybe it's not lava, he thought. It probably wasn't actually molten rock. Bastian assumed it was some kind of fuel. But it looked like lava, so that's how Bastian was thinking about it.

Alice and he stood on a narrow mezzanine by the doorway. In the chamber's center, a huge pillar rose from the sea of lava. It flared out at the top like a mushroom. The tower loomed, several stories tall.

A bridge of cobwebs stretched from the balcony where Bastian stood toward the tower. Miraculously, the falling worm had missed the bridge. It would have ripped right through the cobwebs.

"What is that place?" Alice said, pointing at the tower.

"I don't know," Bastian said. "But I'm planting the nuke there."

He took a step toward the cobweb bridge.

"No." Alice grabbed his arm. "Bastian, don't. We'll leave the nuke here at the doorway. You said we needed to reach the core. We're at the core."

"We're at the edge of the core," Bastian said. "We only get one shot at this. The other marines are gone." A lump filled his throat. "They're all gone. They died so that we could come this far. You and I. We made it through hell. And I'm going to take that last step. I'm going to plant this nuke right in the heart of this ship—and blow it up." His eyes watered. "They murdered everyone. All our soldiers. I'm going to blow them all to hell. And I'm going to do it right."

Tears flowed down Alice's cheeks. She sniffed and nodded. "Go. I'll cover the door." She let out a sob. "Hurry."

He paused, leaned in, and touched his visor to hers. He caressed the side of her helmet.

"I love you, Alice."

She smiled through her tears. "I know, dumbass."

Carrying the nuke across his back, Bastian stepped onto the bridge.

The strands sagged and wobbled as he walked. Bastian held his arms out for balance. There was no rail. He glanced down once, saw the lava churning, and gulped. Maybe Alice was right. Maybe this was dumb. Well, Bastian was already committed. He kept walking, trying not to look down.

He had crossed half the bridge, and he was starting to feel pretty good about the situation, when a few rahs came racing along the bridge toward him.

Bastian started, then relaxed. They were only orbweavers, no larger than poodles and barely as vicious as Chihuahuas. He couldn't shoot them. Not without risking shooting the bridge. So he kept going, and as the orbweavers lunged at him, he simply knocked them aside. One orbweaver came for his legs, so Bastian kicked it off the bridge. Another jumped at his chest, and he grabbed it, then hurled it into the lava. They were nasty little buggers, but Bastian could handle them. After the giant tunnel worm, killing orbweavers was almost relaxing.

Soon enough, he reached the end of the bridge. He walked onto the tower top. A plateau spread around him. It reminded Bastian of a helicopter landing pad. The liquid fuel churned all around, powering the ship. A perfect place to plant a nuke.

Then Bastian saw them.

Eggs.

Countless rah eggs. They were implanted into human bodies.

Dozens of women lay atop the tower, skin gray, eyes lifeless. But their wombs throbbed with alien life. Eggs pulsed inside, pressing against the skin. Several women's bellies had burst, revealing the wet clutches within.

Bastian understood what this tower was. A breeding ground, kept sacred in the heart of the ship. A nest for a queen.

Bastian looked around him, gun at the ready. Where was mom?

He saw nobody. Hopefully whoever had laid these eggs was lying dead in the tunnels somewhere.

He wished he could do something for these women. That he could turn back time and save them, or at least carry them home for a proper burial. He could do neither. When he blew up this mothership, he would blow up all the dead with it—these women and all the soldiers who had fallen here. Their atoms would scatter across space and maybe someday make their way back to Earth.

"Bastian, hurry up!" Alice cried from the far side of the bridge. Heat bubbled up from the sea of lava, filling the air with haze, distorting her image. But Bastian could tell she was waving urgently.

"All right, don't yell," he transmitted to her telepathically. "I don't want to alert anyone that we're here."

"Bastian, I think the rahs know we're here. I'm not sure, but maybe a massive battle throughout their mothership between roaring marines and screaming monsters from the depths of hell tipped them off. So hurry!"

He nodded, put down his backpack, and pulled out the nuke. It didn't look like much. Just a gray cylinder, barely the size of a fire extinguisher. But this humble bomb could blow the entire motherclaw to kingdom come and win the war.

He raised the map of the Hunger onto his HUD, then asked his MindLink to calculate the fastest route from here to an exit. It returned a path through the labyrinth. It was a long way, but there weren't many twists and turns. Estimated travel time: Sixty-three minutes. That was assuming Bastian and Alice ran like hell. Which one tended to do when fleeing an alien motherclaw with a ticking time bomb inside.

All right then. The nuke had to sit here for over an hour before blowing. Technically, Bastian could blow the ship up right now. But despite everything, he wasn't willing to sacrifice his life. Not with Rowan waiting for him.

He was going to make it back home, he decided.

He set the timer on the nuke. Seventy-five minutes. That gave him some wiggle room. Just enough time to get outta Dodge. The timer began to count down. Bastian saw the numbers ticking. No pressure.

He fired up a timer on his MindLink too. Just to light a fire under his ass.

He was tempted to bolt across the bridge, rejoin Alice, and run like hell. Bad idea. First he had to hide the nuke. It wasn't going to blow for over an hour. By then, mommy spider might come visit her eggs, find the nuke, and toss it into the lava. If Bastian had understood the eggheads back on the Freedom, that would be bad. The bomb would simply melt. The radioactive chemicals would leak out. No big boom. Nuke dismantled.

So he needed to hide it.

And the clock was ticking. Seventy-four minutes left.

All right, where to hide this nuke? Random scraps of cobwebs draped across the tower top. Bastian laid the nuke on its side, then covered it with cobwebs. Still a bit obvious.

"Bastian, hurry!"

"All right, Alice, all right!"

Grimacing, he dragged a few bodies toward the nuke. He draped three dead women above the bomb. The eggs wriggled inside. Bastian felt sick, but hopefully this would work. Maybe rahs would avoid disturbing the eggs, and the nuke would tick away unmolested. He checked the hiding spot from a few different angles. Not perfect but as good as he was gonna get.

All right. Time to bolt.

He hopped back onto the cobweb bridge. The strands trembled beneath his feet. The lava gurgled and bubbled below. Bastian gulped as vertigo swept over him.

He checked the timer on his MindLink. Seventy-two minutes to boom.

He took a few steps across the bridge.

It's almost over. I'm going home. We're going to win this war. His eyes dampened. I'm going to see Rowan again. I'm going to make love to Alice again. It'll all be over soon.

Bursts of lava spurted upward.

Droplets splashed the bridge. A few drops hit Bastian's armor. Warnings flashed across his HUD.

He tumbled backward, blinking. It looked like a sun flare.

A second later, the creature emerged from the flaming sea.

* * * * *

It was the tunnel worm.

Or what remained of it at least. Which wasn't much. Bastian could make out a spine, circular ribs, and a fleshless jaw full of teeth. Apparently, alien tunnel worms had bones. Who knew? Bits of melting muscle and gobs of lava covered everything. Organs still pulsed, burning up, dripping blood and oil. The creature leaped from the lava like a breaching whale. It let out a furious roar, demanding vengeance.

Bastian tumbled backward as the tunnel worm barreled into the bridge from below.

Strands of cobweb caught fire and tore. The bridge collapsed. The colossal worm gave another great cry, shaking its skull. Lava sprayed onto Bastian's battlesuit. It began to heat up. Warnings flashed across his HUD. Then the strands of cobweb snapped beneath his feet, and he was falling, falling toward the lava. In the distance he heard Alice scream.

He reached out blindly, caught a strand of cobweb. He swung, his suit burning, his skin blistering. A cry fled his lips.

Bastian expected the lava to engulf him. But he just swung through the air, then slammed into something hard. It knocked the breath out of him. He realized what had happened. He was still clinging to the bridge. The severed cobwebs were draped across the tower, burning up.

He climbed madly, scrambling up the tower, and crawled back onto the tower top. The lava was eating through his battlesuit. Frantically, he began pawing at the armored plates, peeling them off, and tossing them aside. Some lava had splashed his helmet, and he pulled it off too. The stench of this place filled him—the lava, the smoke, the dead bodies. It smelled like hell.

Coughing, Bastian stumbled toward the edge of the tower.

The bridge was gone.

A sea of lava separated him from Alice. She stood across the inferno, gazing at him.

He was trapped. And the nuke kept ticking.

* * * * *

He stood on one side of the void. Alice stood on the other. They stared at each other across the sea of lava.

"Bastian," Alice whispered. He could hear her clearly through the MindWeb.

Bastian looked down at the lava. He looked at the nuke behind him, ticking away. He looked at Alice. And he knew what the only path now was.

"Get out of here, Alice," he said. "Go! Run to the Rhino and get out."

"I'm not leaving without you!"

"Dammit, Alice." His eyes stung. "You don't need to die too. Go!"

"I won't leave you!"

She projected a hallucination of herself onto the tower top. Her physical body was still a hundred yards away. But a copy of her—just a daydream, but so real—materialized beside Bastian. The avatar hugged him. The MindLink even simulated her warmth.

"I'm staying right here with you, Bastian," she whispered.

He held her, tears in his eyes. "Go, Alice. Run! Keep your hallucination with me if you must. But get your physical ass out of here."

Her tears fell. "The tunnels will block the MindWeb broadcast. I'll vanish. You'll be alone. You'll die alone." She let out a sob. "I'm staying."

The timer ticked away.

Just over an hour now. No way to stop the timer either. Not that Bastian could see. Apparently, the designers didn't want any marine to get cold feet.

"Alice." He held her hands, looked into her eyes. "Listen to me. You have to live, Alice. You have to survive this battle. Somebody from our brigade must survive to tell people what happened here. It won't be me. But you can live. You can see Earth free again. You can return to our home. I'll hold down the fort. I'll protect this nuclear bomb. And when I die, I want to die knowing that you survived. I love you, Alice. You're my best friend. You're the woman I love most in the universe. Now go! Go and live."

She sobbed. She held him tightly. "I'll get help. I'll get help for you. I love you."

She turned and ran into the tunnel.

The mass of the ship blocked the MindWeb signal. Her hallucination gave him a last tearful look, a final hug… then flickered away.

Bastian stood on the tower alone, the lava all around. The bomb ticked at his feet. So this was where he would die. There was no way out, he knew. No way for Alice to get help. Even if she could reach the Rhino in time, blast into space, and call for aid—it was too late. Nobody would dare enter the motherclaw with a ticking nuke aboard.

He looked at the timer.

He had an hour to live. And then he would join these women at his feet. He would join the thousands of his brothers and sisters. He would die but with his death he would take the rahs down.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

King stood on the bridge of the Freedom, waiting for news of his son.

He had been waiting for a long time. Not knowing.

As soon as the Freedom Brigade had entered the motherclaw, their MindWeb connections became spotty. The deeper the marines went, the worse the signal got. Right now King couldn't detect Bastian's MindLink at all.

He had watched, helpless, as the first marine invaders died. Then—nothing. Darkness.

Are you alive, Bastian? King stared at the motherclaw which hovered before him. Did you plant the nuke?

The battle still raged all around. Tens of thousands of starships were clashing everywhere. The rahs outnumbered the human ships ten to one. Humanity was clustering around the Freedom, desperate to hold the enemy back. More human ships were falling, burning, crashing into one another. Thousands were dying.

This was it. The final battle for humanity. The entire human fleet was here. They would all die, and humanity would fall.

Or Bastian would blow that motherclaw up.

"Come on, Bastian, where are you?" King muttered.

Everyone on the Freedom's bridge was waiting for news. Meanwhile, they were still busy fighting. The Freedom's engines were burned out. They were dead in the water. But they were still very much in the fight. The Angels of Liberty kept pounding the clawships, and the gunners couldn't load torpedoes fast enough. Spitfire still led the Freedom's Flock in battle all around. Even without a working engine, the Freedom could raise hell. If she had to, the Freedom would go down fighting.

A plasma bolt pounded their hull. The ship jolted. The cannons boomed, destroying a clawship. A frigate slewed nearby, its decks ablaze, as clawfighters pounded the shattered hull. Another starfighter exploded. The battle blazed all around, a nebula of fire and death.

The bridge crew was bustling around King, desperate to hold the enemy back. But King kept staring at the motherclaw.

It was all up to Bastian now.

Suddenly—a Rhino burst out from the Hunger.

King's heart leaped.

"A Rhino made it out!" Jordan cried, pointing. Everyone on the bridge gasped.

At once, an avatar popped up on King's MindPlay. Alice. Alice calling him! He took the call.

"I need help!" she cried. "Bastian is still inside! He's trapped beside the nuke, and it's set to blow!"

"Memory-dump me!" King said.

A memory dump was a rare MindWeb procedure, illegal in the civilian world. Even soldiers almost never used it. Only a rank of colonel or higher could order it. Alice accepted the order without hesitation. She transmitted a flood of information telepathically—her entire memories, understanding, fears, emotions, everything from the past few hours.

It all slammed into King's brain in an instant.

Memory dumps could overwhelm a man's brain. Many people ended up brain damaged. Some ended up dead. But half the time, it worked. And right now, thank God, was one of those times.

Within a second, King knew everything that had happened aboard the Hunger. That everyone but Bastian and Alice were dead. That Bastian was trapped. That the nuke would blow in just twenty-one minutes.

And that he, James King, had to save his son.

He ran off the bridge.

* * * * *

King sprinted all the way to the starfighter hangar. He had never run faster in his life.

He raced across the deck, panting and drenched with sweat.

The Eagles were all out to fight. The deck was empty. Aside from one starfighter. A starfighter that had not flown in over thirty years.

King ran toward her.

The Golden Eagle.

Every other Eagle in the fleet was painted red and blue—showy colors, a remnant of their years as stunt vessels. But not this Eagle. This Eagle was old. This Eagle had fought in the wars between men. Her hull was still the original gray, dented and charred. They had never patched her up. Her scars reminded everyone of the horrors of war. Sixty-three golden stars were painted onto her scarred hull, one for every Red Dawn fighter downed.

For decades, the Golden Eagle had been a tourist attraction. Velvet ropes still cordoned her. King knocked the stanchions down.

He climbed into his old starfighter. The Eagle he had flown as a young pilot. The legendary starfighter, the ace of World War III.

He fired up the engine. Even after all this time, the engine came to life, rumbling.

Just then, Spitfire's avatar popped up on his MindPlay.

"Sir! What are you doing?" she cried. Spitfire was outside the Freedom, fighting the enemy, but she must have received an alert from a hangar camera.

"I'm flying to get my son," King growled, shoving down the throttle.

His Eagle burst out the hangar into the battle.

Warships and clawships fought all around. Missiles streaked back and forth. King flew through it. He hadn't flown a starfighter in thirty years. But it felt so familiar. He felt thirty years younger.

Just like riding a bike, he thought.

He no longer felt like an admiral or commander. He was Bulldog again. His old call sign. That young, cocky pilot.

"Sir, what the hell are you doing?" Spitfire said. Her own Eagle streaked overhead.

"I'm flying into the Hunger," King said. "I can get Bastian out in time."

He zipped back and forth, dodging clawships, racing toward the motherclaw. Almost there. A clawfighter flew toward him. King sneered and opened fire. Bullets slammed into the clawfighter, knocking it back. Even now, after all these years, there were bullets in the guns. The crew had lovingly kept her battle-ready.

Spitfire gasped. "Sir? You're going to fly an Eagle… into the motherclaw's tunnels? You'll never fit!"

"I'll fit," he said.

"Even if you do, you'll never make those turns," Spitfire insisted.

"I'll make them."

"I've seen the maps, sir. The tunnels twist and turn through the ship at insane angles. I'm amazed you even sent Rhinos in there. Nobody can make those turns in an Eagle. Not a single starfighter pilot."

"I'll make them," King said. "Now cover me, Spitfire."

She streaked downward in her Eagle, bombarding nearby clawfighters. King flew through an explosion and kept flying.

Only twelve minutes left.

He narrowed his eyes, blasted another clawfighter away, and raced toward an airlock in the Hunger. The same airlock Alice had flown out of.

"Watch out!" Spitfire cried. "You won't fit!"

King yanked on a lever. His Eagle's wings folded inward. The Golden Eagle shot into the tunnel.

She fit. Just barely.

The underbelly scraped against the ground, raising sparks. King nudged the vessel upward a bit. The tail fin hit the ceiling and snapped off. All right, maybe he was a little rusty.

Steady… steady…

King nudged the yoke a bit more, focusing, until he was flying right in the center of the tunnel.

A turn—just ahead! A sharp turn!

Dammit, maybe Spitfire was right.

King winced, hit the stabilizers, yanked the yoke hard, and hit the throttle again.

He swiveled around the turn, a perfect dime-flip maneuver with the hint of a yaw, and roared forward.

He exhaled. Damn. That was close.

Another turn ahead. King sneered, yanked the yoke, blasted steam from his side thruster, and made the turn.

He kept flying, racing down the tunnels. Faster. Faster. Moving at breakneck speed. He zipped to the right, to the left. He rolled and yawed and scraped across every turn. At times, he banged against the walls. He dented the hull. One wingtip ripped off. But King kept flying.

A few rahs came at him. He shot them down and flew through the falling corpses. They shattered like bugs against a windshield.

And then he was there.

He flew through the core of the ship over a sea of lava. The tower rose in the center. King flew several loops around the tower to burn off some speed.

Bastian was there, eyes wide, staring in shock. The bomb was ticking beside him. Just a few minutes left.

King blasted all his stabilizer thrusters. Gas vented from the Eagle's underbelly, rippling the lava below. King lowered the starfighter and thumped down onto the tower top.

He popped open the cockpit.

"Get in, Bastian!" he shouted.

The starfighter was built for one pilot, but there was some storage room behind the seat. Bastian would fit.

Bastian ran toward the starfighter.

A shadow fell upon him. A shadow with many legs.

"Look out!" King shouted.

The rah swooped from above. A huge spider. A spider larger than the Golden Eagle. Spikes rose across her abdomen, each impaling a corpse.

The creature landed on the tower top. She was so large she barely fit.

"Clever apes!" the spider screeched. Her voice was shrill, deafening, echoing through the cavern. "The stars are not yours. You have reached too deep into the dark. And now your flesh is mine."

It was her. The warweaver. Skel'rah.

* * * * *

Bastian raised his rifle and opened fire. Plasma bolts slammed into Skel'rah's underbelly.

The enormous spider screeched and lashed a leg.

She hit Bastian in the side. He groaned and fell. Lying on the platform, he tried to fire again. But another claw swung, ripping his gun away.

A third claw thrust. It pierced Bastian's thigh, emerging bloody from the other side.

Bastian howled in agony.

King's MindPlay displayed Bastian's vital signs. They were crashing hard.

He still sat inside the Golden Eagle. He tugged the yoke, trying to turn the starfighter toward the spider, to fire the rotary cannon. But Skel'rah swung her claw, knocking the starfighter onto its side. The fuselage scraped across the tower top. King groaned in the seat.

Skel'rah lashed again, ripping off the starfighter's starboard wing. The claws grabbed the Eagle, lifted it overhead, and slammed it back down onto the platform. Every bone in King's body rattled. The cockpit canopy shattered, scattering shards like a million dying suns.

The creature loomed above. Her jaws opened wide, drooling into the exposed cockpit. She thrust her enormous mouth at King, prepared to feast.

Still in his seat, King drew his sidearm and fired.

Bullets slammed into the alien jaws, cutting the palate. Skel'rah screeched and her head pulled back from the cockpit.

King leaped from his seat, climbed onto the fuselage, and fired his sidearm again and again. Bullets sparked against Skel'rah, bouncing off her exoskeleton. One bullet hit a corpse impaled onto her dorsal spike.

Bastian lay on the tower top nearby, moaning. His injuries were bad. He was out of the fight.

Skel'rah knew it. She focused on King. She advanced toward him, a grin spreading across her face.

The clock was ticking.

Just a few moments until the nuke detonated.

King loaded a fresh magazine, emptied it into Skel'rah. Nothing! No use. This was the most powerful rah he had faced. This spider queen was bulletproof, fireproof, and hungry.

Skel'rah lashed a claw at King. He swung his metal prosthetic, parrying the blow. The impact sent pain up his prosthetic and across his body. Another claw swung. He parried again. A third claw slashed King just under the ribs, and he roared in pain. Bastian was trying to rise, as wounded as he was, but a claw knocked him back down. The two men were like ants facing a tarantula.

Another claw hit King, scraping across his chest. He collapsed onto the top of his starfighter. He lay there on the dented fuselage, bleeding, as the spider loomed above, as his son lay dying below. As the clock ticked. As death raced toward him.

Skel'rah placed four legs to one side of him. Four legs to the other. Her body rose above King like the ceiling of some unholy cathedral, twisting and leaking rot. Open sores wept on her underbelly. An opening pulsed, green and dripping, still raw from birthing eggs.

The creature lowered her jaws toward him, grinning and drooling.

"And now, Admiral King… you die."

She thrust her jaws downward.

But she only hit the starfighter hull.

King slid on his back, bringing himself directly underneath her abdomen.

He drew his father's knife.

He leaped up, thrusting the knife into that green, pulsing opening.

He thrust deep. So deep he drove his whole arm in, cutting and stabbing and ripping her insides.

Skel'rah screamed.

King pulled his arm back with a gush of blood.

Right in the cloaca, he thought. Just like you taught me, Alice.

Skel'rah gave a strange, miserable cry. A sound like a dog when you accidentally step on its tail. The enormous spider stumbled off the starfighter. She fell onto her side, twitching, screaming. She tried to rise, but her legs slipped in blood.

Bastian struggled to his feet, favoring his left leg. The limb was bleeding profusely. His vitals were still dropping. Maybe he was dying. But he managed to shoulder his plasma gun and open fire. Bolt after bolt slammed into Skel'rah. The huge spider stumbled back with every blow. She crouched, mewling, then leaped into the air for a final attack.

But King was already back in the cockpit, turning the Eagle around. He fired the starfighter's rotary cannons. Bullets the size of daggers slammed into Skel'rah, shoving her off the tower.

She screamed as she fell. The chamber shook. The walls cracked. The enormous rah crashed into the lava, raising a great shower of flame.

And she sank under.

And she was gone.

King was already pulling Bastian into the starfighter cockpit. The marine slumped behind the seat, shaking and bleeding. The canopy was broken. King pulled a helmet over his son's head.

"Just two minutes before the nuke blows," Bastian rasped. "We're not going to make it."

"We're going to make it," King growled, hitting the throttle.

The starfighter roared out of the chamber and back into the tunnels.

* * * * *

King was wounded, bleeding from several cuts, but he ignored the pain.

He flew like he had never flown.

Fifty seconds.

He raced his Eagle through the tunnels, making the turns so fast he scraped against the walls, raising sparks. And he flew faster. Banging again and again, denting the hull, cracking the cockpit, flying faster.

Ten seconds.

Faster. Scraping against the ceiling. Filling the tunnels with sparks. Flying faster still.

Three seconds.

He shoved down the throttle.

They roared down a tunnel.

Two seconds.

He fired his cannons, knocking rahs aside.

One second.

He swerved around a turn.

A tunnel stretched ahead.

Zero.

And it happened.

He was racing down the dark tunnel when the boom sounded behind him. When white light flooded him. When the spiders screeched across the walls and fell down dead.

The nuclear explosion rocked the motherclaw. The tunnel collapsed. King kept flying through the debris. Through fire. Through raining rahs and crashing stones and twisting pillars. Another boom shook the motherclaw. And another. The ship was collapsing in on herself. Debris buffeted the starfighter. Fire roared.

Then King saw it.

The end of the tunnel.

The Golden Eagle shot out of the motherclaw like a javelin, blazing at breakneck speed into space.

Behind them, a final explosion blasted the Hunger into countless pieces.

Debris flew around them. A chunk hit the starfighter, knocking it into a tailspin. King gripped the yoke, steadied their flight, and kept racing forward. Clawfighters flew around them, but the debris slammed into them too, knocking them back. Several clawfighters exploded.

A shock wave flowed over them like a tidal wave, rippling spacetime itself.

The Golden Eagle jolted forward.

When King looked back, he no longer saw the motherclaw. Nothing remained. Just a cloud of dust.

He looked ahead, and he saw her there, flying above, limned in sunlight. The starship Freedom. Tears flooded his eyes. It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Her airlock opened, welcoming him home.

Over the MindWeb, he heard his officers cheering. Congratulating him.

"You did it!"

"You blew it up!"

"Good job, sir!"

But the voices were distant, muffled, barely there at all, echoes from a dream. Blood filled the cockpit.

He glided through the airlock into the Freedom's hangar, slid across the deck, and brought the starfighter to a stuttering halt. Smoke rose from the dented fuselage. The engine was burning.

Men rushed forward with fire extinguishers. Medics ran right behind them, carrying stretchers.

King must have lost consciousness for a moment. When he came to, he was on a stretcher. Medics were rushing him through the corridors of the starship. They were wheeling Bastian on another stretcher. King was vaguely aware of spacers lining the corridors, saluting him. Then somebody placed an oxygen mask over his face, and his vision blurred.

The time passed in a haze. Maybe he lost consciousness again. When his vision cleared, he was in the infirmary, lying on a bed. Bastian lay on a bed beside him. Doctors and nurses fussed over them, scanning their wounds, staunching the bleeding. Somebody gave King a jab of painkillers, and everything felt good.

He reached out across the space between the beds. Bastian reached out too. Their hands touched.

"You did it, son," King said. "I'm proud of you. I love you."

Bastian gave him a wan smile. His eyes dampened. "I love you too, Dad."

Their hands clasped together.

* * * * *

As King held his son's hand, Bastian closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep. King remembered a time long ago, how he would tuck his young son into bed, then sit by his side until he slept. Bastian used to be so scared of monsters. King would tell him that monsters weren't real.

Well, look at us now, King thought. Monster-slayers.

He looked at his son lying beside him. Bastian's vitals were still strong. He was hurt, badly, but he would live. Maybe… maybe they would all now live.

King tried to rise to his feet, swayed, and fell back onto the bed.

"You're not walking anywhere, mister."

Dr. Annie Jordan stepped into the infirmary, frowning.

"I need to get to my bridge," he said.

The doctor put her hands on her hips. "Not a chance. Your leg is torn apart."

"Then get me a goddamn wheelchair," he growled. "And get me onto my bridge."

So Annie patched him up just enough to move him. And they got him a wheelchair, and they wheeled him onto the bridge. One young tactical officer stood up and began to clap, realized he was the only one, and sheepishly returned to his station. Everyone else was too busy staring at the monitors, eyes wide.

With the Hunger gone, the rah fleet was falling apart.

Clawfighters zipped around in a panic, searching for their motherclaw. Spitfire and her Eagles chased them down and chewed them up. Even the great alien dreadnoughts, ships as large or larger than Freedom, hovered aimlessly. Their defensive lines broke apart. Humanity's warships rallied, cannons booming, to destroy them.

And then, amazingly, the clawships began to flee.

It happened haphazardly. First a lumbering, scarred clawship limped away. Then another. Then thousands were scattering like cockroaches when you turned on the light.

"It worked," Jordan said. The XO stood in the center of the bridge, the light from the monitors reflecting the scene in his eyes. A tear shone on his cheek. "You were right, Jim. With their leader gone, they're nothing but scared bugs."

King felt too woozy for his MindLink. The painkillers were making him dizzy. He rose from his wheelchair, took a hesitant step toward his station, and lifted a comlink.

"All Alliance ships—this is Admiral James King. The enemy is fleeing. Form assault formations and chase them. Give them a few good parting shots. But don't chase them past the solar system. We will send a message to the rah empress who lurks on her homeworld. This solar system is defended!"

"Yes, sir!" answered his commanders, not bothering to hide their enthusiasm. They flew off to fight.

A moment later, the Red Dawn and Desert Thorn fleets joined the Alliance, chasing the fleeing clawships, firing at their sterns. King would not have fired on a fleeing human ship. That was like stabbing a man in the back. But he couldn't feel too bad for the rahs.

And he knew it was important. To hurt them. To hurt them bad. Skel'rah was dead but not her mother. Not the empress. King wanted to teach these bugs a lesson. To make sure they never returned.

Let the rahs speak for generations of the defeat they suffered here, he thought. Let them know what happens to those who attack humanity.

The Freedom, unfortunately, could not take part in this last assault. Her engines were still dead. So she hovered in place, and King simply enjoyed the view. Nothing like a bunch of exploding clawships to soothe the soul.

"Sir, a message is coming in from Earth," Mimori said.

"On MindWeb," he said.

Godwin appeared on the bridge. His suit was singed, and a rip stretched across his top hat. He was holding a bloody rapier. With his prominent underbite and heavy jowls, he looked like a banged-up bulldog after a victorious fight.

"Good show, Admiral King!" the high commander boomed. He wiped his blade with a handkerchief, then sheathed it into his cane. "You did it, old boy. You saved our hides. The rah armies are falling back across our beloved Earth. They're scurrying into their ships and fleeing our world." Godwin saluted. "I, and all of Earth, salute you, crew of the Freedom."

King returned the salute. They all did.

Godwin gave him a nod, and his hallucination vanished.

"Sir." Another hallucination appeared on the bridge. It was Kim Fletcher. "I'm working on repairing our engine. We should be good to fly in six, maybe seven hours."

He nodded. "Take your time, Kim. Don't work your crew too hard." He heaved a deep breath. "The battle is over. We won."

A few people on the bridge cheered. But there was something subdued about it. Something sad. And they quickly fell silent.

King didn't need the MindWeb to know what they were thinking.

Everyone was thinking of the fallen.

Of the millions who died on Earth. Of the marines who perished in the Hunger. Of the loved ones they had all lost.

Kim hesitated, then hugged King. She cried onto his shoulder.

I love you, she thought—a thought for his mind only.

Then she sniffed and stepped back, perhaps embarrassed by her breach of protocol. Perhaps she had telepathized the thought accidentally. She blushed. King smiled at her.

I love you too.

King looked at his crew. Some were on the bridge physically. Others only by MindWeb. They all gathered here. Jordan, his best friend. Darjeeling, his loyal sergeant. Spitfire, who was like a daughter. Emily, a symbol of hope. Stowy, who had proved her courage. Annie, their healer and protector. Mimori, the soul of the ship, the heart of her crew. Bastian, lying wounded but still giving the thumbs-up. Rowan—even sweet little Rowan was here. And so many others. Thousands of them across this ship. All of them heroes.

"I'm proud of you all," King said, and his voice choked up. This time it wasn't the wound on his neck. "You're the best damn crew in the galaxy. You're family."

They all saluted him, tears in their eyes. King returned the salute, his own eyes damp.

"Awww, how about a group hug?" Katyusha said, eyes sparkling.

King groaned. "Somebody get her off my bridge!"

A few hours later, the engines were working again, and the Freedom began the long flight home.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

"And… checkmate," Rowan said. "I beat you, Grampa!"

The girl giggled.

King raised an eyebrow. "Checkmate? I thought we were playing checkers, not chess."

"We are, Pop Pop! I beat you so bad in checkers I checkmated you." Rowan stuck out her tongue. "That's how good I am."

"Well, you're clearly an expert and too good a player for me," King said.

Rowan became solemn. "But you're the best alien killer."

She hugged him. King held his granddaughter in his arms.

"I'll always protect you, Rowan," he said softly. "No matter what. I won't let anyone hurt you."

She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "And if more monsters come from space, you'll kill them, right?"

King nodded. "Absolutely."

She closed her eyes and hugged him tightly.

They were in his quarters aboard the Freedom. The bookshelves, the model ships, and the antique naval instruments could always comfort him. But they meant nothing compared to the little girl here with him.

The dreadnought was still flying back to Earth, moving slowly. The engines were only at ten percent capacity, and even that was straining them. The entire ship would need extensive repairs at Delain Shipyards. But King didn't mind the slow speed. It gave him time. To think. To remember. To be with his loved ones.

"I love you, Pop Pop," Rowan said. "Even if you're no good at checkers."

He chuckled. "Well, I just can't beat the expert."

Suddenly Rowan gasped. "It's already three! There's a tournament at the Dinogolf, and Stowy said she can take me. Can I go? Can I go? Please please?"

He mussed her hair. "Run off, Row. Just make sure Stowy brings you back in time for dinner."

She kissed him and ran off, singing a song. It warmed King's heart. The girl had suffered so much. The loss of her mother. Her captivity in the alien lair. War and despair. For a while, King had not been sure she would recover. But Rowan was laughing, singing, finding new joy in life.

King had suffered in this war. So many of his soldiers had given their lives. But there was a laughing little girl who would now live, grow, thrive. Through all the grief, that gave him hope. That made his victory… not sweet, no, not with so much loss. But it was bittersweet, and that was good enough.

King had some time to himself. He put the checkerboard away, looked through the leather-bound books on his shelf, and chose one. Roses in the Graveyard by Andre Laurent. A historical fiction novel. So old it was practically history itself. Good. Just the way he liked 'em. King poured himself a drink, leaned back in his seat, and put on his reading glasses.

A chime sounded at the door. King grumbled, put the book down, and looked over his glasses.

"Enter."

Jordan stepped in. He had changed into a fresh uniform, showered, and shaved. Aside from a bruise on his cheek, he looked no worse for wear.

"Are you sure you just fought a war?" King said. He himself was something of a mess—bandages on his legs and arm, radiation burns on his face, and a cane leaning against his desk. Medical nanobots filled his body, mending bones and stitching tissue. King realized, a little embarrassed, that he still hadn't changed out of his battle fatigues. Or shaved.

Jordan chuckled. "I always look this good. Not everyone can be a slob like you, drinking alone in squalor."

King grunted. "Admit it. You smelled the booze from the hall and came looking for a drink. Sit down, you old bastard. I'll pour you a glass."

Jordan sank into a chair and gratefully accepted a glass. He sipped. "Martian ale. More contraband, huh?"

"We've earned a few luxuries." King refilled his glass. He swirled the drink for a moment, considering the amber liquid. "Same bottle we started the war with."

Jordan accepted another cup. He regarded King for a moment. "So what now, Jim? You made admiral. You're going to move into a big office on Earth, oversee the fleet from under the blue sky?"

They had often mocked admirals for leading starships from the comfort of Earth.

"I won't be that kind of admiral," King said. "I'm staying. Here aboard the Freedom." He barked a laugh. "If you were hoping to finally get my job, I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"I thought I was finally rid of you," Jordan said. "So, an admiral serving on a starship. That's unusual."

"Not just any starship," King said. "Our flagship. Our home. I'll continue to command the Freedom. And I'll also command the fleet."

"You just want two paychecks, admit it," Jordan said. But there was an unanswered question in his eyes. What about me?

"I'm bumping your rank up to commander," King said. "You'll get the insignia. You'll get the honors."

"But not the actual command," Jordan said softly.

"You deserve a ship of your own," King said. "We'll be building plenty more ships to replace those we lost. You have the pick of the litter. Choose a ship—and command her."

Jordan stiffened. "With all due respect, Jim, go to hell. I'm not leaving the Freedom."

"I told you I'm staying!" King growled. "I'll be admiral and commander."

"And you still need a right-hand man," Jordan replied. "Just because I'll wear an extra star on my shoulders doesn't mean I can't continue this job. You command a fleet now, Jim! You're too busy to oversee the day-to-day on the Freedom. But I'm not. And I'll be here with you. Like always."

"Are you sure, Larry?" King said.

"As you said. This is our home. I'd rather be second on the Freedom than first anywhere else. And every officer on this ship would say the same. The Freedom isn't a launch board for anyone's career. We serve the Freedom because we love this ship. We love what she stands for. This is our family. And I'm staying."

A smile spread across King's face. "I'm glad to hear it. Cheers."

They clinked their glasses.

* * * * *

A few hours went by. King showered, shaved, and changed into a fresh uniform. He had some time to read his book. And then his door chimed again.

"Enter," he said.

Kim stepped into his quarters. She looked around, blushing a little. She held a metal box.

"I hope I'm not early," she said.

She was. About twenty minutes early.

"Don't worry about it," King said, smiling, something he did rarely.

"I brought dinner." She placed the box on the table. "I wasn't sure what to bring."

He opened the box, and the delicious smell filled his nostrils. His eyes widened.

"Cheeseburgers!"

Kim bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I probably should have brought something nicer. Like steak or salmon. I did bring wine." She raised a bottle. "I hope it's decent wine. What wine even pairs with cheeseburgers? Oh, I probably messed everything up. I—"

King touched her arm, looked into her eyes. "Kim, it's perfect."

She smiled. They made room on his desk, and they ate. Then they sat on the rug by the fireplace, opened the bottle of wine, and spent hours just talking. About everything. Their homes back on Earth. Their childhood memories and their own children. Books they had read. Dreams they dreamed. Stories of lost ones. Stories of the future and past. As the firelight danced on her face, King thought her the most beautiful woman in the world.

"I thought I would be retired by now, sitting on a rocking chair on my ranch," he said. "I never imagined I'd be sitting here, an admiral, a survivor of a war, drinking wine with a beautiful woman."

She blushed. "Well, I was meant to be a veterinarian until I discovered I'm allergic to every animal known to man. Life tends to surprise you. And… thanks for the compliment. Even if you're a liar."

He caressed her hair. "Admirals never lie."

They kissed. And they began to undress. Right there on the rug.

Kim suddenly pulled back. "Jim, you're still bandaged and hurt. Are you sure you can…"

"I faced down an alien invasion," King said. "I think I can handle making love to Kim Fletcher."

She laughed. "Oh, I don't know about that. I heard she can be pretty wild."

"Let's find out."

Later that night, as she slept in his arms, King realized that for the first time in years, he felt joy. He felt young.

* * * * *

Bastian stood in the observatory atop the Freedom.

There were few portholes on the Freedom. Armored plates, ATLAS sensors, and weapons covered the hull, leaving no room for windows. If you wanted to look outside, you had to watch a video feed on a monitor. That was the reality of a warship.

But during her days as a museum, some plucky entrepreneur had installed an observatory on the dorsal hull. Just above the top deck. A little rooftop lounge where tourists could drink, dance, and watch the stars.

The steelglass canopy had shattered in the war, and plasma fire had melted the bar down to slag. But there were still graviton generators underfoot. With a spacesuit, you could still stand here, real gravity below your feet. And you could ride the Freedom.

Which was what Bastian was doing. He stood with his legs on the dorsal hull of the Freedom, surfing atop a dreadnought. The railgun stretched before him like a runway, and beyond it—the stars. Earth shone in the distance, just a pale blue dot from here.

I'm riding a machine twice the size of the Burj Khalifa, traveling a thousand times faster than a bullet, Bastian thought. And it feels so peaceful. I could stand here forever, gliding among the stars.

"This is boring," Alice said.

He turned to look at her. She stood at his side, the starlight reflecting on her visor.

"Traveling on humanity's largest remaining spaceship—on, as in on the outside—is boring? Seriously?"

She nodded. "The view. It's boring. Nothing but stars."

"We're in space. What did you expect to see? Rainforests? Pods of whales? Ancient Mayan ruins perhaps?"

She groaned. "I'm sick of space, all right? I want to go home. To Nebraska. To the farm." She sighed. "I hope my grandfather is all right."

Bastian thought for a moment. "Is that it then? You're going to move back to Nebraska?"

She frowned. "Um… yeah? The war is over. We won."

"We won a war," Bastian said. "But now we know that space swarms with aliens. The rahs might attack again. Or maybe some other alien species. We have to rebuild our fleet, to prepare. And… to rebuild the Freedom Brigade."

They both lowered their heads. At the beginning of the war, five thousand marines had served in the Freedom Brigade. Only fifteen hundred remained. They had won the war, but at a terrible cost. And Bastian was determined to rebuild his beloved brigade. To recruit new soldiers. To train them. And to have them serve here aboard the Freedom. This was his home now. Not Nebraska anymore but the starship on which he stood.

He opened his mouth to explain all this to Alice. But she stopped him.

"I know," she said softly. "You're thinking publicly again."

"Goddammit!"

Alice laughed. "I understand. And I'll stay here with you. I'll help you rebuild. But… maybe a short vacation back home can't hurt."

Bastian looked at her, and he forgot all about the stars. He saw only her. Her smiling lips, her blue eyes, her freckles and her two golden braids. And he saw her courage, her kindness, her love.

"Thank you for staying with me," he said.

She blushed. "What am I staying as, Bas? Just your sergeant? Or your girlfriend too?"

He held her hands and gazed into her eyes. "How about as my wife?"

His leg was in a cast. He could not get down on one knee. He didn't have any ring to give her. But they embraced under the stars, and she cried onto his shoulder, and she said yes.

He thought back to his life before the war. His divorce. His depression. Rotting away in his bunk. This war was a tragedy, and its horrors would always haunt him. He would always mourn those he had lost. From these ashes, he vowed to be reborn, a new man. To find new purpose. New courage. With her, the woman he loved.

"Look, Bas!" She squeezed his hand and pointed. "Earth. It's so close now."

He looked. Earth had grown to the size of a baseball held at arm's length, then grew larger still. They could make out the continents. There she was. Earth. The world they had fought for. The world Bastian swore to forever defend. They stood there holding hands as the blue light washed over them.

* * * * *

Emily walked through the ruins of Westminster Abbey.

For a thousand years, this had been the grandest cathedral in England. Now it was rubble and shattered glass, fallen columns and statues buried among bricks. Ravens circled under the overcast sky, cawing as if in mourning.

Emily wore a deep blue gown trimmed with silver. It billowed in the cold wind, the hems fluttering over the debris. She walked through what had once been Poet's Corner, the southern transept of the cathedral. The tombs of England's finest poets were here. Chaucer. Byron. Dickens. Many more. Now those tombs were buried under fallen columns and chunks of the stone roof. She walked by a gray hand sticking out from the rubble, and she started, thinking it was a buried victim. But it was the hand of a statue.

"It's so awful," Niles said softly, floating at her side.

The rahs had struck many targets across the world. They delighted in destroying places the humans found dear. But not all of England was like this. The ground troops had fought throughout the war, rising up against the invaders. Hundreds of thousands of British soldiers had died. They had saved millions.

Gown fluttering, Emily walked into the nave. Or at least what had once been the nave. Dust and rubble hid the tiled floor. Half the columns had fallen. So had the roof. A few columns still stood, rising from rubble. Miraculously, the rose window still shone in a chunk of wall. Its stained glass glittered before her, a kaleidoscope of color under the gray sky.

Several people had gathered here. High Commander Godwin had come, wrapped in a coat, leaning on his cane. A few politicians, religious leaders, generals. A few reporters. A few brave soldiers. They stood among the ruins, facing her.

Admiral King had come. He stood there among the ruins, wearing his dress uniform. She looked at him across the rubble, and he gave her a little wink. Emily couldn't help but smile.

She spoke to those who had gathered here. And she spoke to all her people.

"The enemy hit us hard. But we did not fall. We lost many sons and daughters. But we did not lose hope. This cathedral lies in ruin, but our faith still shines brightly. Fighting in this war has been the greatest challenge of my life. And becoming your queen will be my greatest honor. May God bless you. All of you."

Men of faith said prayers and blessed her among the ruins. But it was Darjeeling, tears in his eyes, who placed the crown on her head. She had insisted it be him.

She stood there, the cold wind fluttering her gown and scattering ashes across her feet, and her crown shone on her head. Darjeeling bowed before her, and then everyone was bowing. Emily gazed at them, and tears filled her eyes. She missed her family. She missed her life as an innocent princess in the sun. There would be wars ahead, she knew. There would be times of darkness and despair. For a moment the fear overwhelmed her, but then Emily looked up at the sky, and she knew that so long as the Freedom flew, there was hope. The Freedom was a guardian of the heavens, and Emily vowed to build whatever heaven she could down on Earth.

* * * * *

Later that day, King stood in the marine mess hall aboard the starship Freedom. He wore his parade whites—the same fine, formal uniform he had donned for Christmas on the day the war began. His crew gathered with him. The chairs had been arranged in rows. Hundreds sat here, and hundreds more watched from across the starship.

"Today, it is my honor to hand out medals of valor to our heroes," King said.

He called their names, one by one.

They approached him. Some limped on crutches. Others rolled in wheelchairs. They were heroes who had survived battles. Who had suffered wounds. Who had secured victory in this war. Marines. Spacers. Pilots. Civilians. Some had fought battles. Some had courageously leaped into the fire to seal hull breaches, fix engines, rescue the wounded. There were teachers who had sheltered orphans. Janitors who had picked up guns and defended the weak. Medics, nurses, and firefighters who had saved lives even as the rahs swarmed. They were all heroes. King saluted them—everyone in turn—and placed the medals around their necks.

He gave medals to Bastian and Alice, the only two survivors of the Hunger invasion. He gave a medal to Spitfire, leader of his flock, and to her brave pilots. To Darjeeling, Emily, and Stowy—the three who had retrieved the Hunger's schematics. And to hundreds of others, all of them just as heroic, for there were many stories of heroism that came from the Freedom, some already known across Earth, some that perhaps would never be told.

Finally King spoke. Not just to the heroes in this hall. Not just to the thousands aboard the Freedom. But to all humans across the solar system.

"This is a day of victory. But this is not a day in which we lay down our arms. We have defeated a rah fleet. But we did not defeat their empire. We will learn from this war. We will learn to never be complacent again. We will learn from clawships we captured how to open portals, allowing our ships to travel vast distances within instants. We will defend our solar system. We will rebuild our fleet. We will rebuild our cities. And we will rebuild the alliances between us—not just within the Free Alliance but across all of Earth and her colonies. If we learn anything from this war, may it be how to live together as one species."

King waited for the applause to die down, then continued speaking.

"The rah empress, Elder'rah, still sits upon her throne. We don't know if she will abandon her quest to destroy Earth, or whether she will send even greater forces to avenge her fallen. But one thing we do know. We will always fight for our freedom!"

The ceremony ended.

Good. King hated ceremonies.

He sent Jordan a telepathic message.

"Larry? The ship is yours today. I'm taking a day off. You can take tomorrow off. I think we both deserve a break."

He took a shuttle down to Nebraska, and he landed on the King family ranch. His family came with him. Bastian and Rowan, but also the new women in their lives. Alice, whom King already thought of as a daughter-in-law. Spitfire, who had always been like a daughter.

And Kim. Of course—Kim.

They spent the day on the ranch—riding horses, fishing in the creek, roasting marshmallows on the campfire. It had been so long since King had spent time under the sky rather than above it. This was why he was fighting. This planet. This family. This love. This was why he would return to the Freedom, why he had fought in two great wars, and why he would always fight for this precious world.

EPILOGUE

A thousand light-years away shone a crackling red star.

It was larger than our sun. Place this churning, colossal star in the center of our solar system, and it would engulf the orbits of Mercury, Venus, and Earth, and its flares would scorch the deserts of Mars.

A hundred planets and a thousand moons orbited this red star. Most were lifeless rocks. Some, which had once supported life, had been devoured and left as empty husks. One planet, the thirteenth from the star, was an enormous world of iron and stone. It was larger than Jupiter, but its surface was solid. A ring of jagged metal debris surrounded it, forever spinning around the planet like a ring of barbed wire.

This was Arakavish, homeworld of the rahs.

It was a diverse world. A world of sprawling deserts, of canyons so deep you could hide Earth inside, of mountains so tall they could crush Earth beneath them, of jungles so vast you could scatter humanity through them, and no human would ever find another. There were deep oceans in this world, swarming with beasts that could swallow blue whales, and there were caves so large you could hide the moon inside. There were tunnels that wound deep in this world, twisting and turning, forming a map a million times larger than all the cities of Earth combined.

On this world the rahs had evolved. From this world they wove their great web across the galaxy.

Deep inside the deepest cave, protected under the fathomless weight of stone and soil, she lurked.

A small spider. Not much larger than a cat on Earth. She was a gray, wrinkled thing and very old. For a million years she had dwelt in this cave. Her eyes had long ago gone white and blind with cataracts. Her legs were thin like twigs, and one never stopped twitching. Her web was old and fraying and sagging with decay. She was a miserable thing. You could almost mistake her for the husk of a dead creature that had shed its skin. But she was Elder'rah, a gazer. She was the empress of the rahs.

From here in her cave, she could see all.

Not with her shriveled blind eyes, but through the strands of her sagging web. For though this web was old and tangled and covered in dust, its strands connected to the great network that filled the world, that spread out from her planet on waves of magnetic fields and photon beams, that burrowed through portals and sought the light of ten thousand suns. Perched on this web, she felt every tremble, every whisper, every scream of the galaxy. She was the greatest of the gazers. She was a builder of empires, a prophet of victory, a weaver of the cosmos. She was a mother of millions.

And she was a mother grieving.

She saw what happened at Sol, that distant, small yellow sun. An insignificant place. A pinprick on the universe. An ordinary star. An ordinary species of apes. It was meant to be an easy hunt. Just one more node in the great web she was weaving.

But her grandson fell there.

Her daughter fell there.

Her own heirs—they fell.

And this was not something Elder'rah could forgive.

She crept across her web.

She had not moved in many years. A century ago, she had crept two strands along her web to weave a tiny new thread, to open up paths to new worlds. Six thousand years ago, she had moved nearly to the edge of her web. The planet had trembled that year, and she had needed to repair her delicate strands. Mostly she stayed in the center. Year after year, she was perfectly still. Just watching. Controlling. Building. For a million years now, she had rotted away on this web. Many of her children had thought to dethrone her, thought her too old. But there was nothing wrong with being old. If you asked Elder'rah, she still had another million years in her.

And if it took a million years, she would make the apes pay.

So today she crawled across her web until she reached the final strands. She lowered one leg and placed the tip on the floor of her cave. It was so cold. So hard. She had not felt stone in many eras.

She opened her wrinkled little mouth, and she let out a hiss, and dust filled her breath. It sounded like air from a tomb. Like creaky old leather. Like the joints of old bones. But the word she spoke echoed in the cave, haunting its shadows.

"Rise."

The cave trembled. The ground parted, revealing a stew of magma and carbon sludge. From this unholy ooze she rose, dripping wet, breathing for the first time.

Then she let out a terrible screech.

She was partly human. A woman, naked and strong and slick with lava. But she was only a woman from the hips up. Below her navel, her body fused into the abdomen of a spider, bloated and black and gleaming like a midnight pearl. Eight legs thrust from her sides like the buttresses of a demonic cathedral.

Elder'rah had dreamed of this. A being half rah. Half human. Her scientists had stitched together crude prototypes, slicing and sewing. Mere puppets.

But this creature before her… she was pure. She was woven from the very strands of life into a beautiful web, her genes like beads of dew on gossamer. Spider and woman—combined.

The hybrid looked around, blinking her moist purple eyes. Then she looked at her strange body, and tears ran down her lavender cheeks.

"What… am I?" whispered the creature. Like a rah, she was born with the gift of speech, for language was woven into her genetic web, as well as knowledge of many things.

Elder'rah grinned. "You are my daughter."

A new life. A new creation, brewed from the dreams of spiders and poured into a monstrous mold. She could think like humans. She could understand their minds, for her own mind was a woman's mind. She would not panic and flee if a motherclaw fell. She would never abandon her quest.

Elder'rah reached out one of her withered, twitching legs. She scraped her claw across the creature, piercing the purple skin. The hybrid flinched. Elder'rah brought her claw to her toothless mouth. With a stubby white tongue, she licked the blood. Black blood. The blood of rahs.

"I name you Od'rahda," hissed the empress. "You will be a goddess of war."

Od'rahda—for od meant mixture in the tongue of the rahs, and da was their name for the race of man. Od'rahda. Spider and human. A creature of both worlds.

The hybrid stared at Elder'rah with those strange purple eyes. Then she knelt. "Yes, Empress."

"You will… fight for the rahs."

"Yes, Empress!"

Elder'rah grinned. "You will destroy humanity."

Od'rahda tossed back her head and howled. "I will destroy humanity!"

Good. Very good.

Elder'rah crept back to the center of her web. She would breed many more like this creature. But for now Elder'rah was tired. She had not exerted herself so much in a very long time. Curling up in the center of her web, she closed her eyes, and she dreamed of faraway stars and burning worlds.

The story continues in …

STARSHIP FREEDOM IV

For Death or Freedom

DanielArenson.com/StarshipFreedomIV

AFTERWORD

Thank you for reading Starship Freedom III.

Starship Freedom IV continues the tale.

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Thank you again, dear reader, and I hope we meet again between the pages of another book.

Daniel

NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

STARSHIP FREEDOM

Starship Freedom

Starship Freedom II: The Cost of Freedom

Starship Freedom III: We Fight for Freedom

Starship Freedom IV: For Death or Freedom

EARTHRISE

Earth Alone

Earth Lost

Earth Rising

Earth Fire

Earth Shadows

Earth Valor

Earth Reborn

Earth Honor

Earth Eternal

Earth Machines

Earth Aflame

Earth Unleashed

Earth Remembers

Earth in Darkness

Earth, Our Home

SOLDIERS OF EARTHRISE

The Earthling

Earthlings

Earthling's War

I, Earthling

The Earthling's Daughter

We Are Earthlings

CHILDREN OF EARTHRISE

The Heirs of Earth

A Memory of Earth

An Echo of Earth

The War for Earth

The Song of Earth

The Legacy of Earth

KINGDOMS OF SAND

Kings of Ruin

Crowns of Rust

Thrones of Ash

Temples of Dust

Halls of Shadows

Echoes of Light

THE MOTH SAGA

Moth

Empires of Moth

Secrets of Moth

Daughter of Moth

Shadows of Moth

Legacy of Moth

REQUIEM

Dawn of Dragons

Requiem's Song

Requiem's Hope

Requiem's Prayer

The Complete Trilogy

Song of Dragons

Blood of Requiem

Tears of Requiem

Light of Requiem

The Complete Trilogy

Dragonlore

A Dawn of Dragonfire

A Day of Dragon Blood

A Night of Dragon Wings

The Complete Trilogy

The Dragon War

A Legacy of Light

A Birthright of Blood

A Memory of Fire

The Complete Trilogy

Requiem for Dragons

Dragons Lost

Dragons Reborn

Dragons Rising

The Complete Trilogy

Flame of Requiem

Forged in Dragonfire

Crown of Dragonfire

Pillars of Dragonfire

The Complete Trilogy

ALIEN HUNTERS

Alien Hunters

Alien Sky

Alien Shadows

OTHER WORLDS

Utopia 58

Eye of the Wizard

Wand of the Witch

Firefly Island

The Gods of Dream

Flaming Dove

KEEP IN TOUCH

www.DanielArenson.com

Daniel@DanielArenson.com

Facebook.com/DanielArenson

Twitter.com/DanielArenson