This gown could feed a village for a year, she thought. And the diamond could feed them for another century.
She removed her waitress uniform and pulled on the gown. She admired herself in the mirror. The fabric flowed across her body, smoother than silk, lighter than gossamer. The skirt went down to her knees, and the neckline revealed nothing more than collarbones. The outfit was less scandalous than the cocktail dress, but with the fabric so airy, Maria felt naked. Exposed. Vulnerable.
She clasped the choker, and Mother Mary's Tear shone on her throat. When she stared into the mirror, she did not recognize herself.
She wore a gown and jewel worth more than a village. She wore makeup and heels. Her hair flowed as smoothly as her dress, scented with sweet perfumes. She looked nothing like the rice farmer with the big head full of questions. She looked nothing like the Kalayaan fighter in the jungles, a rifle in her hand. She looked nothing like the virgin in white, standing upon the stage in a sleazy bar. She looked nothing like Holy Maria, her feet bare and her body covered in dust, moving through the shantytown.
What do I see? Maria thought. Who am I and who can I become?
She was no longer any of those women she had been. She belonged to the general now. He had proclaimed his ownership, fastening it around her neck like a collar.
But my heart belongs to you, Jon, she thought. And my soul still sings for Bahay. Perhaps I am the last rose of summer. And I'm not wilted yet.
That is when she noticed the card in the package. It contained only five words.
Meet me outside my home.
There was no signature.
That night, as sunset draped across the gardens, Maria met the general outside his little house. He wore a resplendent dress uniform, his cuff links and buttons golden. But he did not wear medals like his officers, though he had earned many. He did not even display them in his home, Maria remembered. His authority did not come from ribbons or trophies. Perhaps not even from the phoenix insignia that shone on his broad shoulders.
It came from his proud stance. From the strength of his jaw. From the calculating ruthlessness in his eyes. He could be wearing dusty battle fatigues, insignia hidden under the grime of war, and everybody in Little Earth would know: Here walked the commander of this army.
He held out his arm. "Walk with me, Maria?"
She slung her arm around his. "Proudly, sir."
They strolled through the moonlit gardens. Wherever they walked, patrolling guards halted and stood at attention. Even the orderly rows of palm trees seemed to be saluting the general, and the twin moons lit their path.
He commands not just his soldiers, Maria thought, but even the trees and the moons and the stars in the sky.
Maria looked up at him, his face pale blue in the moonlight, a face like a marble statue of some fallen emperor. But Maria remembered seeing him in the firelight last night. Seeing his lust. He was an angel of wrath and a demon of flame.
He's the man who ordered my parents killed, Maria thought. I wear his choker like a collar. But I hold the leash!
They entered the dining hall. Every officer in the room, even the lofty brigadiers who commanded entire divisions, rose from their seats and stood at attention. The chandeliers shone above. Flowers bloomed in ornate vases. Everyone was dressed in their finery, and everyone was looking at Maria. Admiring her dress, her beauty, a princess on a prince's arm.
But this is no fairy tale, Maria thought. This prince is a mass murderer, and I will destroy him before any happily ever after.
They sat at his table by the window, and several brigadiers joined them, all with Bahayan girls of their own. But only Maria wore Orion silk, and only she wore Mother Mary's Tear on her neck, and only she sat by the general, a princess overlooking her ladies in waiting. The general held court, making clever quips, and everybody laughed.
Girlie arrived, wearing her waitress outfit, to pour wine.
"Wine, my lady?" she said to Maria, eyes downcast. But the hint of a smile curled her lips.
Maria shook her head. "No thanks."
The general raised an eyebrow. "Will you not drink tonight, Maria?"
"Just water for me, please."
A couple brigadiers chuckled.
"She's lovely, Chuck," laughed a tall brigadier who was already on his third glass of wine. "Such sweet innocence!"
General Charles "Chuck" Ward nodded. "She's the most beautiful woman on Bahay and indeed in the Human Commonwealth."
The brigadiers all nodded, voicing agreement. Maria enjoyed seeing their companions—all fellow Bahayan girls—fume and shoot daggers from their eyes.
They dined on braised lamb on a bed of shallots, served with spiced potatoes and asparagus. Maria had never tasted such food. The general had to explain what each item was.
"One cannot find lamb nor potatoes on Bahay," he said. "We ship these fresh from Earth at great expense. The lambs are actually kept alive on the starships and slaughtered here. I hope you enjoy the delicacy."
Maria took a bite of lamb. It melted in her mouth, rich with flavors of red wine, oregano, and peppercorn. "Sir, why ship this from Earth? Why not eat Bahayan food instead—like rice or noodles?"
A brigadier across the table laughed, head tossed back. "We're not savages, my dear!"
The general stood up and pounded his fist on the table.
Everyone froze.
The laughter died. Even the band across the hall stop playing.
The general glared down at the gaunt brigadier. "You would do best to educate yourself, Brigadier Conway. The Bahayans are not savages. Their fighters are clever and cunning, as the losses in your division illustrate. With limited resources, with vast technological inferiority, they've been holding out against the greatest military in the Orion Arm of the galaxy. Do not be so quick to scoff."
Conway was perhaps a mighty brigadier who commanded thousands of troops, but now he went ghostly pale. He managed a nervous laugh. "Chuck, come on. I only meant that when it comes to food, I—"
"Do you mock their culture, then, if not their martial abilities?" General Ward said. "Did you not hear the song that Maria sang last night, a song in beautiful Tagalog about the mythos of Bahay? Could savages write such music? Have you ever tasted true Bahayan cuisine? Or do you merely dismiss it like you underestimate Bahay's warriors?"
Brigadier Conway lowered his head. "Forgive me, sir. I misspoke."
Still standing, the general looked across the room. "Tomorrow evening, the chefs will prepare us Bahayan cuisine. Once a week at least, I want us all to eat local dishes. I want us to appreciate our enemy. If we see the enemy as mere savages, we will lose this war!" He looked at Maria, reached out, and passed his fingers through her hair. "Yet if we appreciate our enemy, if we understand all the gifts that this world has to offer…" He looked back at his officers and clenched his fist, clutching a bundle of Maria's hair. "We will claim it."
That night, he took Maria back to his house and into his bed.
Again he undressed. And he asked her to undress too. And again she became afraid, and she shed a tear and trembled, and it was not an act.
"I can't," she whispered. "You're too big and I'm just a Bahayan girl."
She did not speak of Jon. She did not speak of the child in her belly. So she pleasured him in other ways. Ways she knew he liked. And this time, he did not cast her out afterward, but he held her all night. And Maria felt trapped in his arms. Felt like a victim pinned under a fallen column. For long hours, she remained awake, verging on panic, and when she finally did sleep she dreamed that she was paralyzed. That a demon was devouring her. That she could not flee or even scream. And when she awoke at dawn, she was still trapped in his arms.
"You will no longer work in Little Earth," General Ward said. "Nor will you sleep with the waitresses in their room. You are no longer maid nor waitress nor singer."
"Am I to live in your house?" Maria asked, and a chill ran down her spine.
"I'll find you a suitable apa
rtment in the city," he said. "A penthouse far from the shantytown. You may spend the days as you like. I will pay you generously."
"What will be my job, sir, if not to sing, nor wait tables, nor clean?"
"You have only one job now," the general said. "Whenever I summon you, day or night, you will come. Your job is to be available when I demand it. You will accompany me to dinners, galas, and ceremonies. You will dine at my table. You will wear the clothes and jewels that I buy you. When I request it, you will sleep in my bed. And when I have no need for you, you will remain in your apartment, always at the ready like a soldier awaiting orders."
"Am I to be your soldier or pet?" she asked. "Or am I your whore?"
She instantly regretted those words. She was being too forward. She should lower her eyelids, smile meekly, mumble, "Yes sir, thank you sir." Like Girlie did. But the words had slipped out.
He raised his hand. For a moment Maria feared that he would strike her. But he caressed her cheek.
"As I said. Bigger balls than half my brigadiers."
Maria shrugged. "Well, it makes up for my tiny little dibdibs."
He actually smiled. That was a triumph.
I will play your slave, she thought. I will wear your collar. But you, General Ward, are on my leash.
Chapter Thirteen
Falling Leaves
On a cold autumn day, Lizzy stood in Lindenville cemetery, burying the man she loved.
The maple and oak trees rustled around her, their leaves red and gold. Bluebells bloomed around stone angels. Birds sang, a fox raced across the grass, and mottled sunlight danced on carpets of dry leaves. Lizzy normally wore her hair in a braid, but now it blew loosely in the breeze like a golden banner, and her tears fell like little jewels.
This was a beautiful place. A place of peace. Of marble and flowers and a long rest for lost souls.
But it seemed to Lizzy cruel that she should bury her man in such beauty, for her heart was broken, and her soul was a burning battlefield.
There is nothing beautiful about today, she thought. There is no peace in my soul. He died in fire and blood. And I'm broken forever.
Lizzy felt faint. She was standing up, had walked toward the grave. Only a week ago, she had still needed a wheelchair. Ernesto's bullet had collapsed her lung, and the wounds from her long captivity had never fully healed. She, Sergeant Lizzy Pascal, the great warrior, the heroine of many battles—now she could barely stand. Now she wore no medals; she had tossed them aside. Now she stood over the grave of Captain Michael Carter. And she felt like shattered stones.
A warm hand clasped hers. It gave her strength.
Lizzy turned and saw her friend.
Kaelyn Williams smiled at her sadly. Her hair flowed in the breeze, as red as the maple leaves. Light fell between the branches, dabbling her freckled face with motes of light. She wore a black dress of mourning, two purple stars pinned on the breast. One for Paul, her boyfriend, slain a year ago. Another purple heart for Captain Carter.
"I never knew him," Kaelyn said. "But Paul thought the world of him. And you loved him. Carter must have been an incredible man. I'm so sorry for your loss, Lizzy." She squeezed Lizzy's hand. "I'm here for you."
She was shorter and younger than Lizzy. Her limbs were thin, her hands still soft. At seventeen, she had never been a soldier. But Kaelyn Williams was among the strongest woman Lizzy knew. As strong as any woman Lizzy had ever commanded in the war.
"He was an incredible man," Lizzy said. "And I loved him. But he was so stubborn. So hellbent on revenge." She wiped away a tear. "He went back to war to find the man who hurt me. And he came back in a coffin. And now I'm in more pain than ever."
She let out a sob, and Kaelyn embraced her.
They stood holding each other as the priest prayed, as Carter's parents and friends wept, as twenty-one guns saluted a fallen hero.
Yes, he was a hero, Lizzy thought. He was obsessed and broken and haunted, and he was the greatest hero in a futile war.
She wanted to say something. To face the mourners. To shout. This war must end! We fight and die for nothing! Stop this war before more die!
But she could not bring those words to her lips. Not here. Not now. Not as his family wept. Lizzy had become famous in the world. An anti-war activist, they called her. The war heroine who had tossed her medals onto the lawn of President Hale.
They all know where I stand, Lizzy thought. I just need to be here. And that is enough.
So when it was her turn to speak over the grave, Lizzy did not speak politics. She saved that for the rallies. She did not speak of the war. That war already haunted them all.
She spoke instead of a man she loved.
"He was kind and intelligent," she said. "He was loving and gentle while being so strong. He was the salt of the Earth. He was a hero of humanity." She placed her hand on the coffin, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "I love you, Carter. You died for me. And I promise that you did not die for nothing. Goodbye."
As she left the cemetery, Lizzy wiped her eyes and raised her chin. She walked slowly down Main Street, the heart of Lindenville, still feeling weak. She saw flags of Earth. She saw a hearse driving by, carrying another fallen hero. She saw yellow hearts in the shop windows, symbolizing a soldier deployed to Bahay, and purple hearts, symbolizing a soldier who had come home in a coffin.
Kaelyn walked beside her, and Lizzy leaned against her friend. They passed by a mound of flowers and memorial cards. This was where the police had opened fire, slaying protesters. They passed by an outdoor cafe where the TV was on, displaying news of the war. Sixty-three Earthlings died this morning. Earth jets were bombing North Bahay again. A colonel on TV was bragging about thousands of Bahayans killed this week alone.
Everywhere Lizzy looked she saw the grief. The terrible devastation of the war. Even here in fair Lindenville, so far from the battlefields, it cut deep.
But she saw beauty too. She saw birds in the trees. Flowers blooming. A mother holding a laughing baby. Children carving faces into pumpkins. The world was still so beautiful, and there was so much still worth saving.
"How about some pancakes?" Lizzy suddenly said. "Carter loved pancakes."
Kaelyn blinked at her. "Pancakes?"
"With blueberries and maple syrup," Lizzy said. "I'm buying."
Kaelyn smiled. "I'd love that."
They entered Molly's Kitchen, one of Lindenville's favorite diners. The place was packed. People were laughing, chatting, a few shedding tears, but mostly smiling. And that soothed Lizzy. She needed to see joy. She needed to see what she was fighting for.
They took the last free table, and they ordered three giant stacks of pancakes. One for Lizzy. One for Kaelyn. One for the memory of Carter.
"Can we eat all this?" Kaelyn said.
Lizzy grinned. "I could eat all three stacks by myself." She began pouring on the syrup. "They give you real maple syrup here. Not the fake sugary stuff. It's expensive but man is it worth it. Carter always insisted on eating only real syrup on his pancakes."
The pancakes were warm and buttery, and Lizzy savored each bite.
"These are good." Kaelyn licked her lips. "Delicious, in fact." She reached across the table and touched Lizzy's hand. "And I know Carter is here with us."
Lizzy reached toward the third plate and began tucking in. "I just hope he isn't pissed I'm eating his pancakes."
"You can eat some of mine too," Kaelyn said. "I can't even finish my own plate."
Lizzy snorted. "You're a lightweight. Literally!"
Kaelyn grinned. "I'm the opposite of my brother. George got all the brawn."
"And my God is that boy brawny!" Lizzy said. "He broke two mess hall chairs, you know. We made him sit in the middle of tanks. If he sat to one side, the tank would tilt over."
Kaelyn laughed. "If he were here, he'd eat three stacks of pancakes all by himself and then ask for the main course."
Lizzy poured on more syrup. "You know, Carter thought the world of you
r brother. He used to call George the bravest soldier in his platoon."
Kaelyn raised her eyebrows. "Really? Are we talking about the same George Williams? I love him to death, don't get me wrong. But my brother is scared of spiders. He'd scream whenever he saw one. Jump right into the air. George—a giant who stands nearly seven feet tall! I'd have to catch the little spiders for him. Yes, despite his fear, he insisted that I catch the spiders and release them outside. He couldn't handle the thought of me killing them."
"George is brave when it counts," Lizzy said. "He saved our lives more than once. Whenever a soldier was in danger, George was always the first to run to the rescue. I've seen him run into enemy fire to save his friends. Carter saw the courage in him right from the start. Even at boot camp. Carter was like that. He always saw the best in people."
And suddenly Lizzy was crying, and her tears fell all over the pancakes, and conversation hushed across the diner.
Kaelyn left her seat, sat beside Lizzy in the booth, and embraced her. They cried softly together.
"I'm sorry, Lizzy," Kaelyn whispered. "I'm so sorry for your loss."
Lizzy wiped her tears and looked into her friend's eyes. Mismatched eyes—one blue, one brown. Kind eyes. Lizzy never stopped seeing the fire, the bloodshed, the dying. Those visions forever hovered before her. But when she looked into Kaelyn's eyes, the pain faded if only for a moment. There was purity and goodness to Kaelyn, and that seemed stronger than ten thousand tanks.
"Too many have died," Lizzy said. "Paul. Carter. A hundred thousand other Earthlings. Three million Bahayans." She clenched her prosthetic fist. The metal fingers creaked. "We will end this. You and me, Kaelyn. I promise. They did not die in vain. Their deaths only motivate us to keep fighting. Not on Bahay. Not against an enemy in the jungle. We fight instead against the war itself. Jon and George are still out there, and a million other boys and girls from Earth. We will bring them home."
Kaelyn nodded, and now those kind, gentle eyes hardened with iron determination. "We will bring them home!"
Earthling's War (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 3) Page 11