Earthling's War (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 3)

by Daniel Arenson

  But he was fighting a war too. A different sort of war.

  He clenched his fist.

  "And I will win!"

  Chapter Eighteen

  Merkado Bayan

  "How do you sell the galaxy's most expensive diamond in the galaxy's poorest city?" she asked Crisanto.

  The ball of light stared at her silently. He bobbed in the air, perhaps his version of a shrug.

  Maria answered her own question. "For much less than it's worth."

  The general was spending a few days in North Bahay, meeting his colonels on the front line. Maria had expected to feel relieved. Yet as she left her penthouse, Mother Mary's Tear in her pocket, her hands trembled.

  Ernesto could be lurking anywhere in the city.

  She took a deep breath. The general wasn't here right now. But she had Crisanto. And she had her father's knife strapped to her thigh, hidden under her dress.

  "If Ernesto shows up, we'll stick him right in the gut, Crisanto," she said.

  The little ball of light bobbed his approval.

  She slid Crisanto into her pocket, then approached Quezon Road. The boulevard stretched along the coast, separating the concrete towers of New Manila from the shanties that covered the beach. The general gave her a small allowance, and she hailed a rickshaw. No more walking barefooted for her, the general's girl!

  The rickshaw's runner wore cheap purple sunglasses and a wide grin. It was not a motorized tuk tuk like the thousands that clogged the city, belching out fumes. This rickshaw had no motor. The driver had to peddle it like a bicycle. As he peddled through Mindao's permanent traffic jams, he kept looking over his shoulder, chatting.

  "Yeah, you know, I own three rickshaws now. My brother peddles the other one, and I hire somebody for the third. It's a good business, you know. I have big plans. Going to expand to four or five rickshaws, then have a whole fleet all over the city. You know anyone who wants to invest? Hey, why don't we talk about it over a drink? I plan on owning a bar someday too. I have a good brain for business, you know. I'm going to even tie the bar and rickshaw businesses together. Free drink for every tenth rickshaw ride! I'm going places, you see? So what about that drink? The name's Jay Jay, by the way."

  Maria gave him a few pesos. "Here's half your tip in advance. The rest if you keep quiet."

  He winced. "Ouch! You rip my heart out!" But he took the money.

  She climbed off at Merkado Bayan, a bustling marketplace, the largest in Mindao.

  She paid the driver the rest of his money. "Thank you, Jay Jay. I hope your business dreams come true."

  "When I'm the richest man in Mindao, you'll regret turning down that drink!" But he said it with a smile. He winked, clucked his tongue, and peddled off.

  She watched him leave. You're a better man than General Ward, Jay Jay. I would choose you over him ten thousand times. But my heart is given to Jon Taylor.

  She stood for a moment, soaking in the marketplace. A boulevard stretched ahead. Buildings lined the roadsides, their concrete walls stained and moldy, forming a canyon. Tangles of electric cables stretched between the buildings, creating a crackling, buzzing canopy like spiderwebs between branches. But Maria barely noticed the crumbling infrastructure. Countless billboards, kiosks, stalls, and banners filled the boulevard, an explosion of color, nearly drowning the underlying decay.

  Vendors stood at their stalls, crying out their wares.

  "Fresh seafood! Fresh seafood! Shrimps and clams, get 'em here!"

  "Fresh fruit, lowest prices in town!"

  "Yes, you ma'am, you want to buy a lucky crucifix? Made in Jerusalem, guaranteed!"

  "Spices, spices from the homeworld! Get your authentic Pinoy spices here!"

  Maria walked among the crowd. So many people! Thousands and thousands of them crammed into the market. Children ran and played underfoot, shooting plastic guns and swinging wooden swords. Young women strolled with straw baskets, spending more time chatting and gossiping with friends than shopping. A woman was haggling over crabs, insisting the ones here were scrawny, that at the docks crabs had far meatier legs. An old man was tapping melon after melon, sniffing them, holding them up to the light, while the fruit monger crossed his arms and insisted they were the finest melons in town.

  The market attracted other sorts too. An old busker stood on a barrel, playing a flute. Orphans sat in the corners, on the curbs, in puddles, shivering, some wearing rags. Some were only toddlers. A skeletal woman wandered the market, eyes sunken into a skull-like face, begging passersby for a sniff of shabu, just a quick sniff. Her children wandered after her, bellies swollen, hair crawling with lice.

  "Spare a few pesos, ma'am?"

  A young boy approached Maria, barefoot, wearing only a tattered sack. He was holding a baby.

  "My little sister is hungry, ma'am, and our parents burned in the wars. Please, ma'am, a few pesos for milk?"

  Maria handed him a few pesos, and he bowed, blessed her, and wandered off.

  A legless woman sat in a wheelbarrow, her face melted, the nose and eyelids gone, a mask of scars. A wooden sign hung from the barrel. KISSED BY MISTER WEIRD. SPARE A PESO. Maria gave her a few pesos too.

  "Bless you, daughter of Bahay," Maria said.

  The deformed woman could not smile, but she bowed her head. "Bless you."

  Most of the shoppers were ignoring the beggars. But as Maria walked among the stalls and kiosks, she kept looking at them. Giving what pesos she could spare.

  The general had showered Maria with gifts. Her summer dress was woven of fine cotton, embroidered with red roses. She wore sandals and a straw hat, and she carried money in her purse. But not so long ago, she had been among these beggars. Just another orphan. Another refugee of the wars. Another lost soul.

  In her pocket, she carried something worth far more than a dress, sandals, or a few pesos. The diamond—the real diamond—was probably worth more than everything in this market combined. Maybe more than everything in this city.

  Where could she sell it? Who in this market would appreciate such a jewel? Who would even believe it was real?

  As she passed by stalls, Maria saw so many counterfeit goods. One kiosk was selling Rolex watches—real gold, guaranteed, for only twice the price of a plastic wristwatch! One man had a cart full of university diplomas—whatever major you needed, he sold it. Lawyer or doctor or engineer, no questions asked, twenty pesos and the degree is yours! Another shop was selling authentic slivers from Christ's cross—certificate of authenticity available next door! Another shop was selling the nails that had crucified Christ on that cross. They were absolutely authentic, and they came in boxes of two, ten, or twenty.

  Maria sighed. Yes, it would be hard to convince anyone here that Mother Mary's Tear was real.

  She had tried selling it to the gemcutter. The one who had carved her the fake diamond, a zirconia mimicry of the general's gift. But the old man had refused.

  "My dear," he had said, stroking his white beard, "I'm a gemcutter, not a gem owner. I can't afford to buy a simple topaz, let alone a diamond of such magnificence."

  And so Maria had come here to the market. And after traveling up and down the road, and asking around, she found the local jewelry shop. It was a little hole in the wall, nestled between a spice shop and a fortune teller's shack.

  A burly security guard scrutinized her. He was an alien, one of the few in Mindao, big and beige and lumpy. He looked like a potato with eyes.

  One rarely met aliens on Bahay. Not many species wanted to visit such a backwater. The few who ended up here were refugees, outlaws, or simply insane. You had to be a little crazy to come to Bahay.

  Maria smiled at the beefy alien. "Good morning, sir! How are you enjoying Bahay?"

  The alien grunted. "I was born here, human." He had a voice like rumbling stones.

  "What planet are your parents f—"

  "I don't have parents," he rumbled. "Not all species sexually reproduce like animals, human." He opened the door. "Get in!" />
  "Sorry!" She shrugged and stepped past him. He even smelled a little like potatoes.

  Maria found herself among a thousand gemstones, jewels, golden coins, and luxury wristwatches. Security cameras moved on stalks. Bulletproof glass protected the glittering goods. The giant potato watched from the door. Everything here, it seemed, was the real deal.

  The jeweler rose from behind a display case. She gave Maria a hard look. She was a severe woman with steel-gray hair and penetrating eyes.

  "Come back with your pute sugar daddy," she said to Maria. "Don't waste my time browsing."

  Maria frowned. "I'm not here to—"

  "I know your type," the jeweler interrupted. "You worked the bars at the Blue Boulevard. You snagged a rich Earthling boyfriend or husband. Probably an officer. Maybe even a senior one. He wants to marry you, to take you home to Earth, but of course he's going to break your heart. Now you want him to prove his love, and to buy you a diamond ring." She rolled her eyes. "Rubbish! I've seen it all before. He'll probably have another girlfriend tomorrow. Come back with him, and show me hard cash, or find another sucker."

  "Actually, I'm not here to buy a diamond. I'm here to sell one."

  Maria pulled Mother Mary's Tear from her pocket. The real diamond, not the fake one she wore on her choker. It shone like a star.

  The jeweler snorted. "Fake."

  "It's real!" Maria insisted. She fished a piece of paper from her pocket. "I even brought a note from a gemcutter who examined it. A certificate of authenticity."

  The jeweler snorted. "You can buy those certificates of authenticity from Old Abrasaldo down the street—along with a degree from Mindao University. Girl, here's a little tip. Next time you want to pass a diamond as real, get one smaller than a goddamn avocado pit."

  "But it is real," Maria said. "Examine it yourself. This is Mother Mary's Tear, the most famous diamond in Bahay. It used to shine in Basilica Cathedral on the cheek of Mother Mary's statue. It's a gift from… somebody very powerful."

  The jeweler frowned. She snatched the diamond, attached a magnifying loupe to her eye, and examined it.

  For a long time, the gray-haired woman was silent. Just staring.

  She stepped behind the counter, put the diamond under a lamp, and examined it again.

  Finally she looked at Maria. She spoke very slowly. "Do you know what you have here, girl?"

  Maria nodded. "A real diamond."

  The jeweler laughed, but there was fear to that laughter. "It's the largest, most magnificent gemstone I've ever—" She caught herself, coughed, and hid her trembling hands. "I mean, it's pretty good. I've seen better. I can maybe make you an offer."

  Maria stepped closer and leaned across the counter. "Don't play games with me. I know what Mother Mary's Tear is worth. This is the largest diamond on Bahay. Make me a serious offer, or I'll find another buyer."

  They haggled. But only for a bit. Maria knew it was pointless. She would never get this diamond's worth anywhere in Mindao. It was probably worth more than most starships. Only the wealthiest Earthlings could afford its true price.

  But Maria didn't need to be wealthy. She just needed enough money for her friends.

  An hour later, she left the marketplace. On her choker, she wore the fake diamond, the one the gemcutter had prepared for her. In her pocket, instead of the real diamond, she carried a purse of chinking golden coins. It was only a fraction of Mother Mary's Tear's true worth. But it was the wealthiest Maria had ever been.

  She just hoped it was enough.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Lioness of Earth

  Lizzy was walking through the dark parking lot, seeking her dented old Toyota, and her heart would not slow down.

  She was safe here. She was on Earth, far from the battlefields of Bahay. There were no Kennys hiding in these shadows, only the odd stray cat, its eyes luminous like twin moons. The war was light-years away.

  Yet as Lizzy walked here underground, her heart pounded against her ribs, cold sweat trickled down her spine, and her fingers tingled. She wasn't using her wheelchair anymore. But she felt so weak.

  An enemy hissed in the shadows.

  Lizzy jumped and reached for her rifle. But she had no gun. Of course not. Not anymore. And it was only a cat, not a Kenny sniper.

  She took a shaky breath, trying to relax. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

  It was always like this in the shadows. At night, she would dream of Ernesto tying her down, burning her, shooting her. She would wake up screaming, clawing at her blankets. Kaelyn would have to rush in from her bedroom, hold Lizzy, and calm her down. And it wasn't only at night. Alleyways. Crowded stores. Train stations. Or dark parking lots like this. It seemed like almost anything could trigger the terror.

  I've been on edge for years in the war, Lizzy thought. Always in fight or flight mode. Even at night. And now I don't know how to turn that off.

  She wished Kaelyn were here with her. It was always easier with Kaelyn here. But her friend was leading a protest in Europe this week. Lizzy had stayed behind in America. It was safer for her here.

  Ostensibly, one leader governed all Earth. The Alien Wars a century ago had destroyed much of Earth, and the surviving nations had united to fight a common enemy. But today, some of Earth's old nations were calling for independence. They were setting up local governments, demanding more and more autonomy. And some, mostly in Europe, had begun to arrest HDF soldiers suspected of war crimes.

  Lizzy had served in the Lions platoon, had trained Clay and the other killers. If she set foot in Europe, she could end up in prison. Kaelyn would have to face that continent alone.

  I barely avoided prison in America, Lizzy thought. Here they call me a traitor. In Europe they call me a war criminal. In Bahay they call me a colonialist. I'm hated everywhere.

  Sudden pain stabbed her chest. She winced. The wound from Ernesto's bullet. It was aching more and more these days. Maybe there was something wrong with the artificial lung they had given her. Lizzy knew she should see a doctor, but she feared doctors. Every time she saw one, they told her she needed another surgery. And Lizzy had suffered through enough surgeries for a lifetime.

  Yes, she feared doctors. She feared Europe. She feared shadows. She feared cats. She feared everything these days, it seemed.

  "Look at me," she whispered. "A sweating, quivering mess. Me, the proud warrior—a coward." She lowered her head. "I wish you were here, Carter. We'd face this together. I miss you."

  She kept walking through the dark parking lot. Where was her damn Toyota?

  An engine rumbled.

  A car emerged from the shadows ahead. A black limousine. It came to a halt before her.

  Lizzy frowned. Her heart burst into a gallop.

  It's all right. Just a car. It can't hurt you.

  Another engine sounded, this time behind her. She spun around to see a second limo block her retreat.

  Both cars killed their engines, trapping her.

  Again, like she had a million times since coming home, Lizzy reached for her gun and found it gone.

  She formed fists and bared her teeth.

  The limo doors opened. Tall, muscular men in suits and sunglasses emerged, holding briefcases. She could see the holsters under their jackets. Lizzy spun from side to side, but they surrounded her.

  "Hello, boys," she said. "What brings the Praetorian Guard to this lovely little parking lot tonight?"

  She knew who these men worked for. Officially, they were known as the UESS: The United Earth Security Service. But most people called them the Praetorian Guard after the famed guardians of the Roman empire. The modern Praetorians protected politicians, diplomats, ambassadors, and other civilians in positions of power. In the army, everyone hated guard duty; it was often given as punishment. But these boys in black took guarding very seriously. During their training, Praetorians vowed to take a bullet for whoever they guarded. Over the years, many had done just that. It was said that any good Praetorian carried
at least a few bullet scars.

  "Ma'am, I'll need to frisk you," said a Praetorian.

  "Sure," Lizzy said, "but can you buy me a drink first?"

  He didn't smile. She let him frisk her. Why not? She didn't carry a weapon. She knew veterans who slept with guns under their pillows, who couldn't even take a piss without a gun. Lizzy didn't want to be that sort of veteran. She didn't even carry a knife.

  The Praetorian stepped back. He turned and nodded. "She's clean."

  Another man emerged from the limousine.

  He was a tall, muscular man in a gray suit. His hair was the color of steel, his eyes blue and hard, his face like a shard of stone.

  Lizzy inhaled sharply.

  It was President Hale.

  Her heart started pounding again. Lizzy had stared enemies in the eyes before. She had stared in the eyes of Kalayaan warriors. Of Luminous Army killers. Of Ernesto "Iron" Santos. She had stared in the eyes of men hellbent on destruction and pain.

  She saw the same fire in Hale's eyes.

  "Good evening, Miss Pascal." His tone was pleasant, but his face remained hard, and his eyes remained cruel. "I was hoping we could have a word. Not through a megaphone, that is."

  Lizzy resisted the urge to take a step back. She would not show him fear.

  "I've said everything I have to say at the rallies."

  "Ah, but I've not had a chance to retort!" Hale said. "Surely you wouldn't be opposed to a civil conversation?"

  She snorted. "You could have invited me to dinner. You didn't have to surround me with goons in a dark parking lot."

  His stony expression finally cracked. He raised an eyebrow. "Would you have come to dinner?"

  She took a strained breath. "Probably not."

  "Ah, so here we are. I'm not here to hurt you, Lizzy. I won't arrest your or charge you with any crime. I'm here to talk, that's all. A civil conversation in a dark parking lot."

  "What do you want to say?"

  The president nodded at one of his guards. The man stepped forward and opened a briefcase.