The Song of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 5) Read online

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

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

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

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

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

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

  The Jerusalem is gone.

  Her eyes stung.

  Hundreds of our warships—wiped out within hours.

  Her body trembled.

  Earth—under massive assault.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Spooky.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Higher priorities than building me a body?"

  She nodded. "Saving humanity, for one."

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

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

  She worked for long hours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Then came the hardest part.

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

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

  "Row, you sure?" he asked.

  "Does syrup go on pancakes?"

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

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

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

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

  "Oh, Bay," she whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  She was dozing off again when Bay woke her up.

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

  He shook his head. "Not yet."

  "You're a bastard."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Silence.

  Nothing but silence.

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

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

  Bay winced. "It's not working.

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

  They waited for several agonizing moments.

  Still nothing.

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

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

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

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

  "You owe me pancakes, Mister!"

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

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

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

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

  CHAPTER FOUR

  May 4, 4154.

  Today began the evacuation of the HSS Porter.

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

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

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

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

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

  "We'll save more!" Rowan said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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