But he still stood tall, among the tallest men in the fleet. His back was still straight, his shoulders wide, his arms strong. He still wore the proud uniform of the Heirs of Earth—the white collared shirt, navy blue jacket, polished brass buttons, heavy black boots. His double-barreled rifle still hung across his back, and his cowboy hat still rested on his head.
He was still the lion. And he still had a few battles in him.
"Yes, there will be more battles ahead," he said, speaking to the memory of his wife. "The basilisks will not overlook their defeat here today. They will arrive from all corners of their empire, bringing great machines of war. Already on the surface of Earth, they will be planning their revenge. Across the galaxy, a new order is rising from chaos. New dangers lurk in every shadow."
Sudden pain stabbed his chest. Emet winced and placed a hand there. The pain had been recurring too often lately.
Yes—dangers in every shadow. Humanity had defeated the Skra-Shen, the cruel scorpion empire that had dominated the galaxy. Emperor Sin Kra was dead. The scorpions had returned to their homeworld to nurse their wounds. It would be a thousand years before they rose again.
But others were already racing to fill the vacuum.
The Galactic War had done more than destroy the scorpion empire. It had devastated thousands of other civilizations too. Grand Aelonia, once a mighty superpower, lay in ruins. Thousands of worlds smoldered. Countless fleets were gone. Lawlessness spread like storm clouds. The fires had died, and the galaxy lay in ashes.
And in those ashes, creatures were stirring.
New civilizations, once minor, were rising from the shadows, their ambitions unhindered. Alliances were forming. New enemies were digging trenches. The galaxy, so long ruled by the Concord and Hierarchy, was up for grabs. Sooner or later, the new order would be set. New borders would be drawn. Some species would emerge on top, replacing the fallen powers of old. Others would be left behind.
The maps are being redrawn, Emet thought. We must stake out our territory now—before it's too late. Here on Earth we must make our stand!
Yes, he was old and weary. But his people still needed his roar, his pillar of fire.
He gazed upon the blue sky below, at the shuttles rising and descending and rising again.
"The Galactic War is over," he said. "The War for Earth begins."
Footfalls sounded behind him.
"Dad?"
Emet turned and saw his daughter.
Leona was a tall, athletic woman of thirty years. Once she had worn a uniform like his. Not today. Today Leona wore sandals, shorts, and a plaid shirt. She looked like a woman from a history book.
She's no longer a refugee, he thought. She's an Earthling.
A weight lifted from Emet. Leona was always like a ray of sunshine, dispersing the clouds of his mind.
"Leona!" he said, stretched out his arms, and strode toward her.
She ran and threw herself into his embrace. Her mound of curly hair tickled his face. She took a step back, and he looked at her. It had been a year since he'd last seen her.
"Ra, Leona," he said. "You have a tan!"
She scoffed. "I have Mom's olive skin. I've always had a tan."
Emet shook his head. "Not like this. You're dark as coal now."
She grinned. "The sunlight is wonderful down on Earth. Bay and Rowan are running around like nuts down there, rolling in the grass and laughing. You should see them! Why haven't you joined us yet?"
"Somebody needs to man the fleet," Emet said. "In case the basilisks return. It was a hard battle to win Earth's orbit. We'll be guarding it for years to come."
Leona nodded. "Well, I'm here now. And I've commanded the Jerusalem many times before. Ramses and Mairead are taking the next shuttle up. We'll keep the fleet flying. Get down there, Dad."
He nodded. "I will."
For a moment, they stood in silence.
Leona cleared her throat. "Dad … you're still here."
A sigh passed through Emet. He ran his hand over a dashboard, then walked around the bridge, contemplating the machinery, the tattered upholstered seats, the old monitors, the buttons and levers worn down over the decades. His team had patched up the holes the lasers had left. The scars of countless other battles were visible, each one with a story, a triumph, a dream.
"The scorpions murdered my family when I was only a boy," he said softly, speaking more to himself than to Leona. "I've been fighting since. For more than forty years, all I've known is war. For thirty of those years, I fought from here. This bridge. This old clunky starship. For two thousand years, our people dreamed of this day. Of returning to Earth, the world we were driven from. The world that has been calling us home." He turned to look into his daughter's eyes. "What if I don't deserve to walk on Earth's soil?"
Leona's eyes softened. "Dad, what do you mean?"
"I've done things, Leona. Terrible things."
"We all did." Leona's voice was soothing. "It was war, Dad. A horrible war."
Emet stared steadily into her eyes. "I blasted Rowan out of an airlock once. I almost killed her. I almost sacrificed her a second time in the canyon of Helios. I charged on a suicide mission into the dreadnought Pestilence, leading dozens of soldiers to their deaths, while I escaped. I flew to Luther's scrapyard, prepared to murder him—an old and dear friend—if he would not sell me his ships. I—"
"Dad." Leona stared steadily into his eyes. "We all did things we're ashamed of. We all have blood on our hands. We did it for Earth. For this planet right here below us. You are worthy of this, Dad. More than anyone. You fought all your life for this. Go and join our people."
"Leona." Emet lowered his head, took a deep breath, then stared into her eyes again. "There's something I haven't told you. Jade. The Blue Huntress. The creature who murdered millions of people. She—"
"Is my sister," Leona said. Her lips trembled, then tightened. She nodded, eyes damp. "Rowan told me. She told Bay too."
"Leona, I—" Emet began.
"No," she whispered, voice shaking. "Not now. I'm not ready to talk about it. Maybe I never will be. Go, Dad. Go home."
He left her on the bridge.
He walked into the shuttle bay.
He flew through blue skies.
From up here, Emet could see the cities of the basilisks. Earth was in a far, dusty corner of their empire. It was not an important planet for them. And yet for years, the basilisks had been colonizing Earth, and their cities dotted the landscape. Millions of the aliens lived on Earth.
Aliens who love human flesh, Emet thought. Aliens we'll have to fight every day.
But perhaps Leona had been right. Today was not a day for grief or worry or guilt. Today was for joy.
Emet piloted the shuttle toward the plains of Ontario. He knew why Leona had chosen this place for her colony. The great heroes of old, Marco Emery and Addy Linden, had come from this land. Today Ontario was far from the basilisk cities. The climate had once been cold here, but over the past two thousand years, Earth had grown warmer, making this land ideal for agriculture.
We were refugees and warriors for so long, Emet thought. Now we must become farmers.
He saw the colony below. A year ago, Leona had flown here to establish a foothold on Earth. And she had been busy. Defensive walls rose around a cluster of tents. Crude wooden towers guarded fields. It wasn't much, but in his mind, Emet could already see the great city it would become.
He also noticed the cemetery.
There were many tombstones.
He landed on a patch of grass within the colony walls. For a moment Emet paused, still sitting inside the shuttle.
We did it, Alexis. For our children. For our people.
Emet opened the shuttle hatch and stepped outside.
A soft breeze caressed his cheeks, ruffling his beard. The grass rustled around his feet, and birds sang. The sunlight warmed him, and the sweet aromas of soil and growing things filled his nostrils. Bay and Rowan ran toward him across the
grass, laughing, the light in their eyes. Emet wrapped his arms around them, and they stood under the blue sky, laughing and crying under the good blue sky. For the first time in his long life, Emet was happy.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Xerka, Queen of Serpents, enjoyed playing with her food.
Especially when it was human.
The morsels cowered before her. Five of them. Children. Xerka especially loved the children, their flesh so succulent, their bones so sweet. She slithered closer, her silvery scales chinking. The children screamed.
"Come here, lovelies," Xerka cooed. "I have treats for you."
They ran. But there was no escaping Xerka in her throne room, this polished chamber high in her tower. The room was round; there were no corners. Firelight filled it; there were no shadows. Yet still the humans ran. Still these children hoped for salvation.
Such primitive instincts, she thought. They operate on primal fear, aggression, cowardice. They are mere animals.
Xerka understood them well. She had consumed many of the apes. She had absorbed much of their DNA, seeking to study their essence. To experience their consciousness. To think as they thought. React as they reacted.
To defeat an enemy, one must become the enemy.
As she slithered in pursuit, she gazed at a polished stone wall, admiring her reflection. She had the body of a snake, long, graceful, covered with glimmering white scales. Yet she had the torso of a woman. A human woman, her hips curving, her breasts tipped with deep red nipples that gave forth sweet milk. Her eyes were the same crimson, serpentine, yet her face was humanoid, bone-white and young. Curious. Always curious to learn. To understand. Playful. Always seeking to play.
She reached out. With long red claws, she plucked a human child. The boy shrieked, and Xerka turned him back and forth in her hands. Admiring him. Even after so many meals of human, Xerka still admired the beauty of each one. Such precious bags of blood and meat. Such quivering morsels full of feeling. So afraid. The fear gave them their special flavor.
"Are you afraid, child?" she said.
The boy wept. He nodded.
Xerka grinned and licked her fangs. "Good."
She stroked his hair and kissed his forehead. Her mouth widened, her jaw encompassing his cranium, widening further, and she gulped him down. She shuddered with the pleasure. He writhed inside her, still screaming. So much delicious fear.
She took a little of him. A seed of his genes. Absorbing. Becoming. Understanding. Yes, she had begun to look like them. A hybrid, a human growing from serpent.
Slay them. Eat them. Understand them. Become them. Soon you will consume them all.
She patted her writhing belly.
"Don't worry, sweet child," she said. "Soon you will be with your friends."
She left the remaining children for now. Let them marinate in their fear a while longer. She slithered up the wall of her throne room, placing her claws between the bricks. The room rose like a great cylinder. There was no roof. The chamber bloomed open like a snake's jaws. A great flaming heart hovered above the tower, crackling, casting red light across the realm.
Xerka wriggled out of the chamber and along an outcrop of white stone, a great blade that sliced the sky. She stood here, the crackling heart blazing above her like a sun, bathing her with heat. And she gazed upon her realm.
Sskarsses, the world of the Ssstchkssshs, spread before her. Of course, the pathetic apes could not pronounce such names. They called the mighty Ssstchkssshs the basilisks. Even Xerka herself had come to use the ape words, at least in her thoughts. She wanted to think like the enemy. But she knew the true names. The true glory. She did not forget.
Her kind lived underground. She could not see the stars. For many eras, her race had hidden within the mountain. Here they had built a nation. The hollowed-out mountain was so large a small moon would fit inside. The basilisks' towers thrust out from the ground, the walls, even the ceiling, forming a network of spikes like an iron maiden. Tunnels led to deeper chambers in the mountain. Millions of basilisks lived in this city, and billions filled other mountains across their world.
Yet for all its splendor, Sskarsses was only a single planet.
And Xerka desired a galaxy.
She looked down at the cage that hung from her tower. At the skinny, dying wretch that lingered inside, curled up, his scales peeled off.
"Hello, mighty emperor!" she said. "Do you enjoy the view of your domain?"
The basilisk in the cage glared at her. Xerka had pulled out his teeth. She had wired his jaw shut. She had descaled him, kept pulling off new scales that grew. She had taken his freedom, his strength, his sanity.
But she left his eyes.
She wanted him, once the emperor of Sskarsses, to see her might. To see her succeed where he had failed.
She wrapped her tail around the white outcrop of stone, leaned down, and reached into the cage. She stroked the pathetic creature inside. The erstwhile emperor tried to hiss, to curse her. He strained at the metal bars hammered into his jaw. Xerka only laughed.
"You pathetic fool," she said. "Your Galactic War has ended. And you chose the losing side! You chose to join the scorpions. To serve the scorpions. To be their slaves. The scorpions—beasts no wiser than animals! Impulsive. Bloodthirsty. Their brains so small. All brute force. No cunning to them."
The emperor managed to make a gruff, muffled sound. "Kill … me …"
Xerka only laughed. "No, my pet. You will live. You wanted to be a slave! Enjoy your slavery. I must undo all your damage. Your scorpion masters are no longer here to protect you. The enemies of the Hierarchy form a noose around us. The humans taunt us. And I too am in a cage."
Her rage flared.
Yes, this emperor she had dethroned—he had done this.
He had chosen to join the Hierarchy. To serve the Hierarchy!
Now the Hierarchy, that alliance of fools, was shattered. Now the remnants of the Concord, that axis of enemies, wanted to steal Xerka's domain.
The Aelonians, those glowing beings of great might. Their ships were everywhere. Their allies—they were forming a new order in the galaxy. Many called to exterminate the basilisks. Called the basilisks untrustworthy, an enemy of civilization.
And the humans! The humans were colonizing Earth—a planet in her empire! A planet where millions of basilisks lived!
The humans were the most foul species in the galaxy. Species? They were an infestation. Xerka longed to kill them all. To destroy every one of their ships. To finish what the scorpions had begun.
But she knew the truth.
This wretched emperor in his cage—he had surrendered.
He had ended the war in defeat.
If Xerka destroyed the human fleet now, she would be breaking the terms of his surrender. And then the cursed Aelonians, and all their allies, would have her tail. Xerka was mighty. She would someday rule this galaxy. But she was not strong enough to fight all her enemies at once. Not yet. She was not some mindless scorpion, willing to take on the cosmos.
"We're not helpless," Xerka hissed. "No, worm. I cannot destroy the human fleet. Not yet. But I have placed a blockade around Earth. I have their ships trapped. Millions of humans seek to return to their world. I can stop them from entering. And as for those humans already on the surface?" She cackled. "I cannot be held responsible if the feral basilisks of the mountains descend upon them."
Yes, that was how one built empires, Xerka knew. Not with brute force like the scorpions. What had brute force done for the Skra-Shen arachnids? It had led them to destruction. Xerka did not underestimate her enemies. Not even the humans. They were primitive, yes. But capable. They had defeated even the powerful scorpions.
I will destroy them, Xerka thought. But I will not sting and claw like a scorpion. I am a serpent. I will wrap around them. And tighten. And tighten some more. Until they snap!
She opened the cage door. She regurgitated the child. The boy tumbled onto the cage floor, half-digested. The worm sniffe
d the meal, whimpering, so hungry. She always kept him so hungry.
She grabbed the iron bolts she had hammered into his jaws.
"Enjoy my gift."
She yanked out the bolts.
The worm screamed.
Yet even as he bled, the creature fed. Swallowing her discarded morsel. Eating her filth. A pathetic worm.
She locked the cage� and left him there. To rot. To weep. To live. For years, he would live. And he would see her glory.
She returned to her throne room. The other children were still there, hugging each other, begging. Four humans. Four among millions. Millions who were trying to reach Earth.
Millions her great fleet kept away.
"You will all perish in the darkness." She slithered closer. "The millions of you. The memory of you. I will crush you all."
She wrapped around them. They screamed as she tightened. As their ribs snapped. As their organs burst. She tightened still, squeezing and squeezing, and she imagined that she was her fleet, tightening around Earth in a noose.
I fight like a serpent. And I feed.
She loosened her grip. And she guzzled them down. She returned to her throne, licked the blood off her fangs, and absorbed her understanding.
CHAPTER NINE
Tom Shepherd sat on the mountain, playing his flute.
He sat alone.
The mountainside sloped down before him, draped with oaks and maples. A stream gurgled nearby, and hawks circled in the sky. He could see Port Addison in the distance, a faded patch by the river. Tom had spent a single day in the colony before feeling trapped. Crowded. He had needed to come here, to explore this wilderness, to seek loneliness.
This was how he dealt with this grief. Not with companionship. Not with toil. With solitude and music.
The War for Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 4) Page 6