I Earthling (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 4) Read online

  I, EARTHLING

  SOLDIERS OF EARTHRISE, BOOK 4

  by

  Daniel Arenson

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTYONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

  Illustration © Tom Edwards - TomEdwardsDesign.com

  Chapter One

  The Howl

  The man fired.

  The bullet rang out.

  Blood bloomed across Kaelyn's stomach. She clutched the wound, shock filling her mismatched eyes. Then she collapsed.

  Etty stared. My friend. My best friend. She's shot.

  For a second that lasted an eternity, Etty just stood there, frozen in terror.

  She took it all in. A cluttered New York apartment. An assassin in a black suit, smoking gun in hand. Kaelyn Williams, her best friend on Earth, bleeding on the floor.

  And that gun—turning toward Etty. Ready to kill again.

  This was not how this night was meant to end.

  Chanting still sounded outside. The crowds filled Manhattan, a million strong, all raising their voices together.

  "War no more! War no more!"

  Etty had marched with them. Chanted with them. Called to end this war that had broken her soul. She was sixteen and shattered. She was sixteen and a veteran with a haunted mind and bloodstained hands.

  If she had known the horrors on planet Bahay, she never would have joined the army.

  But what did she know back then? She was just a dumb kid. An orphan of the Middle Eastern holy wars. A refugee in America, a cold land far from her desert home.

  So she had lied about her age. Enlisted in the army. Traveled to another planet. And she had found hell. She had escaped a war on Earth only to find devastation on Bahay.

  Poison that wilted land and flesh. Bombs that wiped out villages. Men raping, murdering, mutilating. Horrors that would forever haunt her. Horrors she had shown the world. Yes, Etty had leaked classified photos. She was a whistleblower. A criminal. And she regretted nothing.

  Now the general's confession spread across Earth and her colonies. A video taken in secret—General Ward, confessing that the war was unwinnable. That he was murdering millions for sport. Now the world knew. Now, Etty had begun to hope, the war would finally end.

  And now her best friend lay in a pool of blood, and the assassin pointed his gun, the muzzle still smoking, at Etty.

  She stared at the man.

  "It's too late," she said. "The confession is out. You can kill me. But you cannot kill the truth."

  The man had a hard, pale face. Sunglasses hid his eyes. For all Etty knew, he could be a robot.

  "President Hale will not go down so quickly," the man said. "But you will."

  The assassin fired his gun.

  But Etty was already moving.

  This was not, after all, the first time men had fired on her. With instincts honed on the battlefields of Bahay, she leaped behind the couch.

  The bullet tore through the couch and slammed into the wall behind her. Apparently couches weren't bulletproof. Who knew?

  But it bought Etty time. She scurried across the carpet. More bullets pounded through the couch, narrowly missing her. She leaped from behind cover, rolled across the floor, and stopped behind the kitchen island.

  More bullets flew, tearing into the island, shattering sheets of laminated plywood. The man came walking around the couch, approaching the kitchen.

  Kneeling behind the island, Etty yanked a drawer off its rails, then hurled it at the man. Cutlery clattered across the kitchen, and the assassin roared and fired again.

  And again, Etty was already moving. She leaped out the kitchen, but not before grabbing a bread knife from the floor. The bullets chased her. She pulled up the coffee table like a shield. She knelt behind the wooden barrier, knife in hand.

  She was going to die.

  She could not beat him.

  Her hands began to tremble. Her heart pounded. Cold sweat washed her.

  I'm going to die. Oh God, I'm going to die.

  He came around the coffee table. Etty scrambled back until she hit the bullet-riddled couch. She hurled her knife, hoping to stab him in the chest. But the handle hit him. And the knife clattered to the floor.

  The assassin aimed his gun at her head.

  Kaelyn rose behind him, blood drenching her shirt, and swung a chair.

  The wooden legs shattered against the assassin's head. He stumbled sideways, and his gun went off. The bullet flew high, ripping off one of the ceiling fan's blades.

  Etty scuttled forward, grabbed the fallen knife, and sank the blade into the man's belly.

  The assassin stared down at the knife in his gut. He aimed his gun at Etty again.

  She did not flee. She twisted the blade, carving him open.

  The gun fell.

  Intestines peeked through the wound.

  The man crashed to the floor, gasping, clutching his belly, trying to stop his organs from spilling.

  Etty was shaking so violently she nearly dropped the knife. The horrors of battle were all streaming back. The wounded man stared at her, and in his eyes, she saw the dead of Bahay. The millions of fallen.

  She howled. A howl for a year of war. For a shattered soul. For a world burned. For a generation lost. She howled so loudly the entire street could probably hear. A hoarse cry, agony given voice. She howled for the war she had fought, and for the war that had killed her parents, and for the breaking of her heart. She howled and she lashed with her knife, slitting the man's throat, and his blood spurted on her arms.

  He fell to his side, dead.

  Kaelyn stood above the body, holding the shattered chair. There was still a bullet in her stomach. She was bleeding heavily.

  Etty ran toward her, caught her, and laid her on the couch. Kaelyn was ashen, her eyes sunken. She looked like a corpse.

  "Etty …" Kaelyn whispered, voice raspy. "End this war. Bring the boys home."

  "Oh, stop talking like you're dying!"

  Etty's voice trembled. Her hands were shaking too. But she managed to grab a pillow, to hold it against Kaelyn's wound. With
her free hand, she whipped out her minicom, ready to call an ambulance.

  But she hesitated.

  The assassin.

  She went to the corpse, pulled out the man's wallet, checked his ID.

  A government man. President Hale's man.

  If I call an ambulance, will we be in trouble? Etty thought. Will the medics turn us in?

  She had to take that chance. If Etty ended up in prison for killing the would-be assassin, so be it. She had to save Kaelyn's life.

  She made the call.

  "Hang in there, Kaelyn," she whispered, holding her friend. "Help is on the way. Don't die. Don't die …"

  Kaelyn looked up at her, face colorless. Her eyes, one blue and one brown, rolled back. She slumped, her lifeblood trickling away. Etty held her dying friend, whispering, trembling, begging the ambulance to arrive.

  Chapter Two

  The Trial

  "Jon Taylor is an innocent man."

  The young private stood there, so scrawny he had to keep tugging up his pants. He glanced around the trailer. At the prisoner in chains. At the major behind his desk. At the guards and witnesses. His freckled face flushed deep red. He gulped, tugged his pants again, and swayed. He had fought hard against enemies both human and alien, had faced horrors beyond telling, yet he withered under the spotlight.

  The major behind the desk stared at the private, his eyes hard, little black stones under thick black eyebrows. His name was Robert Victory. Major Victory. It was a name so ridiculous many soldiers at first thought it a joke. But apparently, Major Robert Victory came from a long line of Victory soldiers. His family had served in the military since the Alien Wars. And goddammit, the gnarly major wore his unlikely name like a badge of honor.

  "Innocent?" Major Victory harrumphed. "And you say that, Private, even though Jon Taylor was found inside the stolen truck, standing over the corpse of our brigade's colonel, may he rest in peace."

  The private gulped. He seemed ready to collapse. "Um, sir, can I have a cup of water or—"

  "Private, you're not the one on trial here. Just answer the question."

  The private wiped his forehead. "Yes, sir. Like I said, sir. Jon Taylor is an innocent man. He did not steal the armored truck. He did not hijack the wormhole generator. And he did not kill the colonel."

  The major's thick black eyebrows drew lower over his charcoal eyes. "Did you see who shot the colonel?"

  The private wiped sweat off his brow. "No, sir. But it had to be the Kennys. Had to be! Jon was fighting bravely, sir. He was shooting at the enemy, even with a bullet in his own body." His voice dropped to a whisper. "He's a war hero, sir."

  The major rose to his feet, his face twisting with fury. He pounded his desk. "Then why was he found wearing a fucking Kenny outfit?"

  The private shrank away. "Um, sir, I—"

  "Sit down, Private," the major spat. He glared across the trailer. "Can anyone give me some goddamn answers that make some goddamn sense? Or I swear, I'll have Jon Taylor smeared across the courtyard wall by tonight."

  Jon Taylor sat in this makeshift courtroom, handcuffed, saying nothing. Waiting as other men decided his fate.

  My mission became a fiasco, he thought. The firing squad will kill me tonight. But I got the message out. Maybe I saved whatever remains of our dying worlds.

  He should be glad, perhaps. To give his life to a cause. Or at least proud.

  He was neither. He wanted to live.

  He really wanted to live.

  To hell with sacrificing his life. He needed to get back to Maria, the woman he loved. He needed to get the hell off this planet.

  It should have gone differently. His plan, while reckless, had seemed solid enough. Dress up as a Kenny—a guerrilla of the Kalayaan, the peasant uprising across this jungle world. Steal the wormhole generator inside the armored truck. Travel to a safe place, open a wormhole to Earth, and leak the general's confession.

  People had died to get that confession. Maria had gone through dangers untold to record it. General Ward himself, high commander of Earth's force on Bahay—admitting the war was unwinnable. Admitting that millions had died for nothing. It was a confession that could end this war. A war that could easily slay millions more.

  So yes, Jon had betrayed his uniform. He had leaked the message.

  And he had been caught.

  Now he would join the dead. He too would become a fallen hero. Or traitor, depending on who you asked. Jon himself wasn't sure.

  He stood up, his manacles jangling. "Sir, I demand a trial on Earth. I demand a lawyer. I—"

  "You will shut up and sit down, soldier," Major Robert Victory barked. "Now."

  Jon sat back down.

  Another witness stepped up. A corporal with long auburn hair, a scar across her face, and one eye. She had fought with Jon on the beach, defending the wormhole generator from enemy fire.

  "Sir, I was there," the corporal said. "Jon fought with us bravely. Like he did at Camp Apollo, where he battled the Red Cardinal hand to hand. Like he did at Basilica, where he stormed into the cathedral, fearless. Like he fought on Surigao Hill, never losing heart even though half his platoon was wiped out. Like he fought at—"

  Victory groaned. "For god's sake, Corporal, I don't care how many battles he fought. Can somebody tell me why he was wearing Kenny clothes?"

  The scarred corporal refused to be cowed. She stared into her officer's eyes. "Because the Kalayaan kidnapped him, sir! They stole him along with the truck! They probably stole his battlesuit to study it, then tossed him some tunic instead. I mean, what do you think? That Jon Taylor, a Dungeons and Dragons master from the suburbs, and probably the whitest man in this army, joined the Kalayaan?"

  She laughed. A few other soldiers in the room scoffed too.

  Next it was George Williams who stood up. Big, sweet George Williams, the legendary ginger giant himself, his cheeks almost as red as his hair.

  "Sir, I've been Jon's best friend since we were three," the giant blurted out. "I wasn't there on the beach. But I know Jon is innocent. I know it! He'd never do anything like kill a fellow soldier. He's an innocent man. A good man. He—"

  The major cut him off. "Sergeant Williams, you're his best friend, you weren't even there, and you think your testimony is unbiased?"

  "It's biased as hell, sir!" George said. "Because I know Jon better than any of you. He'd never betray us."

  Jon just sat there, shame filling him.

  But I did betray these people, he thought. Maybe I saved the world, but I betrayed my friends.

  His legs shook. But he stood straight.

  "Sir, I'd like to confess."

  All eyes turned toward him.

  The trailer fell silent.

  George's cheeks, flushed only seconds ago, turned white as a sheet.

  "I dressed like the enemy, and I stole the armored truck," Jon said. "I operated the portable wormhole generator inside it. I leaked the tape to Earth. And when the colonel tried to stop me, I shot him. It's all true. All of it."

  Everyone stared at him, silent.

  "Jon, no," George whispered.

  Jon looked at his friend. "George, I don't want you implicated in this." He looked at the others. "I don't want any of you implicated. This is on me. On me alone."

  The major stared at Jon over his desk. "In that case, Sergeant Jon Taylor, as your company commander, I hereby sentence you to—"

  "Wait!" George cried.

  Other soldiers called out too.

  "Jon, you goddamn traitor, why?

  "You killed the colonel!"

  "Shoot him dead!"

  "Execute him!"

  "Go ahead!" Jon shouted over them all. "Go ahead and kill me. Maybe I deserve to die. I betrayed you, yes. I betrayed my uniform. My army. My fellow soldiers. But you know why? To end this war! To expose the lies, the treachery, the genocide. To stop the mindless slaughter. We killed three million Bahayans—almost half their population—and are killing more every day. For what? Listen t
o the general's confession. Listen like all of Earth and Bahay are listening. You can kill me, but you cannot silence it. You cannot stop what has begun."

  Jon reached into his pocket.

  At once, the major—and several other soldiers—reached for their guns.

  But Jon only pulled out a minicom. He tapped a button, and a hologram emerged. Ghostly images of General Ward and Maria floated in the room, flickering and smudged. It was the video secretly taken by Maria.

  General Ward, architect of the war, spoke to Maria. "I ordered millions of Bahayan women and children killed. Do you know why? Because slits are nothing but vermin and whores, and it's my job to kill them and fuck them. Earth can't win this war. We can bomb you and kill you until the cows come home. And we won't win. This is an unwinnable war. I know it. The president knows it. We've known it for years."

  Jon lowered the minicom. The hologram vanished. Jon looked at his fellow soldiers, one by one.

  "I'm not proud of what I did," Jon said. "I'm not proud of leaking this video. I will bear the burden of shame all my life—that I broke military code, that I leaked information, that I betrayed my brothers and sisters. When he tried to stop me, when he pulled a gun on me, I shot the colonel. That is on me too. That guilt hurts more than a thousand bullets. But I would do it again! Because too many have died in this war. Millions of Bahayans—men, women, children, even babies. Nearly two hundred thousand Earthlings have died—boys and girls, drafted against their will, sent to serve as cannon fodder. Many of them were my friends. I saw only a small fraction of this death in Santa Rosa, and it will always haunt me. This recording has reached Earth already. It will end this war. It will save millions of lives. It will save a people." Jon took a deep, shaky breath. "So go ahead. Execute me. The life of one shell-shocked, nineteen-year-old traitor. For the lives of millions of innocents. It doesn't seem like such a bad deal."

  Jon ended his speech.

  Everyone was silent. A few soldiers glanced at one another. Others looked at their feet.

  Victory stared at Jon, face inscrutable, eyes hard.

  For a long moment, the major just stared. Silence filled the trailer, thick and condemning like a living presence.