A Memory of Earth Page 5

  Leona stepped closer to Rowan, held the girl's hands, and looked down into her eyes.

  "Rowan, you've carried the Earthstone for years. You know more about Earth than anyone. Will you join my expedition?"

  Rowan's eyes widened.

  "I'd be honored, ma'am!" she said. "To travel to Earth! With Commodore Leona Ben-Ari herself, descended of our queen! To see the green hills, the blue seas, the sky of our home that I dreamed of so often . . ." Her eyes dampened, but then Rowan pulled her hands back. She lowered her head. "I thank you for your offer, ma'am, but I cannot accept." Rowan turned toward a porthole and gazed out at the stars. "My sister is out there. Leading the Hierarchy fleet. I won't flee while she's butchering our people, while I can still, perhaps, bring her back."

  A tear rolled down her cheek.

  Several mutters rose in the crowd.

  "The Blue Witch."

  "Jade's own sister is among us!"

  "A traitor?"

  "No, the girl is kind."

  Rowan rubbed her tears away and raised her chin. She faced the crowd, and her voice shook, but she refused to look away. "Yes, my sister is the Blue Witch, the huntress who slays humans across the galaxy, who leads a host of scorpions. She is evil. There is blood on her hands. Sin Kra, the scorpion emperor, has broken her body and mind and reformed them. He controls her like a puppeteer. But I believe that I can bring her back. And if I can't . . ." She sniffed. "Then I'll fight her. Even . . ." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Even kill her."

  Bay stepped through the murmuring crowd and took Rowan's hand in his.

  "Then I'm staying too," he said. "With you, Rowan. You won't face her—or anyone—alone." Bay glared at the crowd, as if daring anyone to question Rowan's loyalty again.

  Leona looked at her brother and smiled to herself.

  Years ago, brother, you lost a woman you loved, Leona thought. I remember. I remember how it broke you. Let Rowan heal you. Be happy with her. Both of you—find joy and healing together.

  Leona nodded. She came to stand by her father and faced the others.

  "The road to Earth is long and dangerous," she said. "I will fly the Nazareth, a full sized frigate. And I will take with me three corvettes: the ISS Rosetta, the ISS Stratford, and the ISS Kinloch Laggan. On the way, we'll face many dangers. On Earth herself, we might face war. It might be a year or two before we return with news of Earth—and hopefully a colony waiting for the rest of you. By then, may we defeat the scorpions. And may Earth rise again!"

  Bay slammed his fist into his palm—the Inheritor's salute. "Earth will rise!"

  Across the hall, everyone repeated the gesture. Their voices rang out. "Earth will rise!"

  Emet raised his hands and spoke in a booming voice. "Let us accompany the heroes to the airlock, from where they will depart to their ships. Let us see them off with honor, with prayer, with all our blessings and hope."

  Leona led the way, walking along the Jerusalem's central corridor. Doorways lined her sides, leading into the living quarters of refugees. The survivors all came to their doorways, cheering for her, blessing her, reaching out to shake her hand or just touch her coat. They were still frail, haunted, withered after surviving the brutality of the gulocks. But for Leona, they cheered.

  Behind Leona walked three captains, those who would fly the corvettes. They were the best pilots in the fleet.

  Captain Ramses "Pharaoh" al Masri walked directly behind her. His uniform was sharp and perfectly tailored, and he held a small porcelain cup of black coffee. He was a tall man with brown skin, a goatee, and sharp eyebrows. He looked and moved like an aristocratic cat. He nodded his head at those he passed, lingering to kiss the hands of ladies. Many of the women blushed. He blew kisses to several, sending them into fits of giggles. Ramses was still young, not yet forty, and devilishly handsome. He was also a damn good pilot. Leona had seen him fight in battles, shooting down many enemy ships.

  "Do not worry your hearts, my lovely ladies!" Ramses said. "I shall be back, triumphant, a hero for the poets. By this time next year, we'll be sharing hot, bitter coffee by the Nile River, brewed from the best Arabian beans and seasoned with cardamom. Have I told you that I'm descended of the great pharaohs?"

  "You never stop telling us!" somebody cried from the crowd.

  "And I never will, for their reign was glorious, as shall be our new reign on our world." He raised his coffee cup like a wine goblet.

  "Muck your damn coffee!" rose a voice behind him. "Give me booze and cigars. Coffee is for stuck up sissies."

  The woman who had spoken was following Ramses, chomping on a cigar. She wore a jumpsuit but no helmet, revealing her wild red hair. Her face was impish and strewn with freckles. Her eyes were green, her nose upturned, her smile wide. She was the youngest captain in the fleet, only twenty-three years old, a wunderkind. Mairead "Firebug" McQueen, daughter of the late Doc Duncan, had been born here aboard the ISS Jerusalem, among the first Inheritor babies born in space. She had been flying starships since she was a toddler. Many called her a maverick and the best pilot in the fleet.

  "That's right, bitches, we're gonna conquer Earth!" Mairead flashed the devil horns and stuck out her tongue. "Any mucking alien who gets in our way—I'll kick his ass!" She swung a wild kick in the air.

  Yes, the Firebug was young and brash. But Leona needed her. She could think of nobody better to fight at her side.

  Behind the Pharaoh and Firebug walked the third and final captain of the expedition. Christopher Smith was a tall, serious man in his forties. He was still a captain, able to command a corvette, but was likely to become a commodore upon his return and command a full-sized frigate, the largest class of warship. Many thought that Smith could someday make rear admiral. His uniform was old, his cheeks stubbly, but intelligence and determination filled his eyes. His soldiers called him the Philosopher, and indeed Smith was wise and well-read, always carrying a book along with a gun.

  Behind the captains walked their soldiers, two hundred humans. Some were starfighter pilots, others marines, and some were scientists, medics, and mechanics. A few were farmers. All wore the colors of the Heirs of Earth.

  For the first time in thousands of years, humanity has an army, Leona thought. For the first time, we're going home.

  "Hail to the heroes!" said a young lieutenant.

  "Hail to the heroes!" replied the crowd.

  They reached the airlock and pulled on spacesuits and helmets. Normally Inheritors used shuttles or jet bridges to move between starships. Today they would jump into space, using jetpacks to fly toward their starships. It would be a show for all to watch. The grand flight of heroes setting out on a quest.

  Leona zipped up her jumpsuit, pulled on her helmet, and opened the airlock door. She jumped out of the ISS Jerusalem into open space. The others followed, one by one, two hundred warriors diving into the black. Mairead, in a particularly showy display, somersaulted her way out.

  The stars shone. The Milky Way spilled before the heroes, hiding within its brilliance a pale blue marble. Leona ignited her jetpack and flew, gliding between the other starships. Warships. Cargo ships. Transport holds. People watched from the portholes, saluting the heroes.

  "I could fly the entire way like this," Leona said softly. "Out in the open, nothing but a helmet and jetpack. This is freedom."

  Beside her, Mairead smirked. "Not me, sister. Give me a warship with roaring engines, cannons as hot as dragonfire, and a crew of filthy warriors in my hold, all ready to kick alien asses. That's how this bitch flies."

  Ramses came floating toward them, wheeling his arms as if doing the backstroke. "Sounds positively primitive, dear girl. I fly with some class. Give me a gilded ship with all the decadence of an Egyptian palace. Murals. Bitter black coffee as thick as mud. A few belly dancers. That's how a pharaoh should fly."

  "Ancient Egypt didn't have belly dancers," Leona said.

  Ramses cocked an eyebrow. "And how would you know, my dear?"

  Mairead int
erjected. "Because her people built the damn things!"

  "Kids, enough," said Smith, eldest of the captains. He flew toward them. "We're here to do a job, not banter."

  "Banter makes the world go round," said Ramses. "Well, banter and the swaying hips of a belly dancer." He shot Mairead a smug look.

  Leona smiled as she flew. Let them banter. Let them joke. The galaxy was filled with horror, with death and suffering, with millions crying out in agony.

  Let us cling to whatever joy, whatever laughter we can find, she thought. There's always time for joy.

  She saw their starships ahead. The Nazareth, a full frigate, nearly as large as her father's flagship. With her flew three corvettes: the Rosetta, the Stratford, and the Kinloch Laggan.

  "Many years ago," Leona said softly, transmitting her words to the entire fleet, "Columbus led wooden sailing ships across an ocean, seeking a new world. Today we sail with ships of metal across the cosmic ocean, seeking an old world. Today we seek our homeworld. Today we fly for Earth."

  She glided toward the Nazareth, and behind her flew her two hundred fellow travelers.

  Lights appeared above.

  Red lights.

  Leona looked up and inhaled sharply.

  Dozens of starships were emerging from warped space, swooping toward the Heirs of Earth. Black. Triangular. Roaring out fire.

  "Strikers!" she cried.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The strikers charged toward the Heirs of Earth, engines blazing, cannons firing, vowing the death of humanity.

  Leona floated in open space, only a thin spacesuit protecting her, gazing upon the horror.

  They shouldn't be here, she thought. They can't be here. Not so deep in Concord space. Not so soon.

  And yet the scorpion warships swooped, plasma firing.

  The inferno slammed into the Inheritor fleet.

  Holes blasted open across the ISS Bridgetown, and the starship blazed. Plasma rained across the ISS Bangkok, melting the shields. More bolts slammed into cargo freighters, ripping them open. A barrage hit an ammunition ship, and the explosives inside detonated. A massive explosion tore across the fleet, showering shrapnel and chunks of the starship. Behind Leona, two hundred of her soldiers were still flying through open space. Debris slammed into them, and they screamed, their cries filling her helmet.

  For an instant, Leona was paralyzed, staring at the destruction.

  The instant of horror ended.

  She yanked the lever on her jet pack, pushing the engine to maximum power.

  "To our ships!" Leona cried. "Earth expedition, to our ships!"

  Their jetpacks roared at full power. They shot forward, leaving behind streams of flame. Ahead, the expedition's ships—the Nazareth and her three corvettes—awaited with a skeleton crew aboard. Already the ships were turning to face the enemy.

  Emet's voice filled Leona's helmet. He was transmitting his words on an open signal to every comm in the fleet.

  "Full defensive formations!" the admiral said. "Firebirds, charge! Warships, give them cover! And damn it, Leona, get your people out of there!"

  She raced toward the Nazareth, body a straight line, eyes narrowed, teeth bared. She was three kilometers away, then two, then almost there . . .

  A striker plunged down before her, blasting fire.

  Leona screamed and soared.

  Plasma blazed under her feet and washed over her warriors.

  Men and women screamed, burning.

  Leona aimed Arondight. It was shaped like an ancient Earth rifle, complete with a wooden stock, but was actually a railgun with enough power to punch through steel.

  She fired. Her aim was true. She hit the striker's cannon just as a plasma bolt was emerging. The cannon exploded, and the striker careened and slammed into an Inheritor freighter.

  Both ships exploded.

  Shrapnel flew around Leona, ripping her spacesuit.

  She yowled and soared higher, her jetpack thrumming.

  More shards pattered against her. One pierced her jetpack, and the fuel began leaking.

  "Muck!" Leona said.

  The Nazareth was fighting ahead, blasting shells toward the enemy. The three corvettes were fighting too. The ships were trying to reach Leona and her warriors, but strikers kept charging at them. Explosions rocked the ships' hulls, denting the shields.

  "Keep flying toward them, Earth company!" Leona said. "Make your way to those ships!"

  She jiggled the lever on her leaking jetpack, trying to boost her speed. But the pack sputtered and she corkscrewed through space. Fuel spilled around her, forming rings of liquid. The fuel caught fire, blazing around Leona in a halo, then petering out within an instant.

  She floated, helpless.

  A Firebird streamed above her, charging toward a striker, only to take heavy fire and disintegrate. Shards rained.

  Leona's spacesuit was leaking.

  She was dying.

  No, she thought, turning away from the Nazareth. No! I cannot die. Not now! Not after all this. Not before I see Earth.

  She held her breath as a striker swooped toward her.

  She aimed her rifle into empty space and fired.

  A bullet flew. Leona flew backward—heading closer to the Nazareth.

  Thank Newton, she thought.

  The striker spewed its fury. Leona fired again, propelling herself backward through space. The plasma rained before her, missing her. A warrior screamed below, still floating in space. Two more Firebirds charged, firing missiles at the striker, and searing white light filled space.

  Another warrior died.

  Another human ship shattered, and the surviving warships battled all around her.

  Leona fired her rifle. Again. Again. She was freezing, maybe dying. Where her spacesuit was torn, her skin was blistering. She kept firing, emptying her magazine, and hurtled backward through space. She dared not even turn her head for fear of changing her trajectory.

  Before her she saw the devastation. The dead floated. Her soldiers. Sons and daughters of Earth who would never see their home.

  Her back hit something hard with a crunching thud. Pain bloomed.

  She turned her head. She had slammed into a starship hull.

  She had hit the Heirs of Earth symbol—golden wings growing from a blue planet—which was painted onto the starship. With her back to the hull, they seemed like her own wings.

  She had reached the Nazareth.

  A striker charged toward her, firing.

  Leona scuttled upward, and the fire slammed into the Nazareth below her feet, burning the symbol, melting the paint and the metal beneath it. The flaming torrent rose toward her, searing the ship's shields. Leona had no more bullets. She unstrapped and tossed her broken jetpack, propelling herself upward until she reached the airlock.

  Below her, the Nazareth's cannons were firing, trying to hold back the enemy ship, but the striker kept advancing, cannons spurting flame, and Leona realized: It's going to ram into us.

  She had no more air.

  She was instants from death.

  She grabbed the airlock door and yanked it open.

  Below her, the striker glided into the Nazareth, almost graceful.

  Leona curled her legs upward, missing the enemy ship by centimeters.

  As the Nazareth shook and jolted and spun through space, Leona clung to the open airlock door. Air streamed across her, nearly blowing her back into the void. Fire blazed around her boots.

  With all her strength, she pulled herself into the airlock, yanked off her helmet, and took a deep, ragged breath.

  "Come on!" she shouted, beckoning her fellow warriors who were still outside.

  They flew toward her, crying out, bleeding, burning. Three men tried to fly around a floating chunk of debris, only for a striker to fire, to burn them down. One woman reached the airlock, then a man, then a third warrior. More died, only meters away. Nearby, other survivors were scrambling into the three corvettes.

  Hundreds of Inherito
rs had left the ISS Jerusalem as heroes.

  Maybe half made it into their ships.

  Our journey hasn't even begun yet, Leona thought, and already they're slaughtering us.

  She had saved everyone she could. She yanked the airlock door shut an instant before plasma slammed against it.

  Leona ran through the warship as klaxons blared, as gunners fired the cannons, as mechanics raced to fix breaches in the hull. She leaped onto the bridge, still wearing her charred spacesuit.

  A scorpion was waiting on the bridge, hissing over the corpses of her flight crew.

  "Hull breach, hull breach!" intoned a robotic voice. "Enemy aboard!"

  No shit, Sherlock, Leona thought.

  The scorpion pounced.

  Leona swung her rifle.

  The blow slammed into the scorpion's pincer, knocking the claw aside. But the beast still slammed into Leona, easily twice her weight. It knocked her onto the floor, hissing and clawing. A pincer grabbed her rifle and yanked it aside.

  Leona yowled, struggling beneath the alien. The Nazareth was listing, no pilot at the helm. Through the viewport, Leona saw them dipping through the battle, plowing through debris. They glided toward a freighter, and Leona winced.

  "Die now, pest," the scorpion hissed above her. His drool fell onto her, sizzling hot, and she screamed. "Your skin will be mine, and your screams will—"

  The Nazareth slammed into the freighter.

  The bridge jolted so madly control panels cracked.

  The scorpion fell off Leona.

  She rose, lifted her rifle, and loaded a fresh magazine.

  The alien lunged toward her, shrieking.

  She filled its mouth with lead.

  This railgun could punch through steel. The bullets barely penetrated the scorpion's palate. It took an entire magazine to finally shatter the alien's head. The creature fell down, leaking yellow blood.

  Leona ran to the helm and pulled the dead pilot aside. Through the viewport, she saw the battle still raging. A striker was charging toward the Nazareth. She raised her prow and unleashed the fury of a dozen shells.