The Song of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 5)

by Daniel Arenson

  Leona winced, instinctively gripping her rifle.

  The Menorian mothership rose behind the Peacecars like a dawning sun. Five quick, bright blasts flew from the mighty geode. The five Peacecars were no more.

  Leona slumped back, breathing out in relief.

  Aurora guided the stony shuttle into her mothership. The airlock doors closed behind them.

  Leona took a shaky breath, steadying herself. Then she stepped into the mothership's hangar—a vast chamber of stone and crystal.

  Most of this starship was filled with water, and hundreds of Menorians swam through the flooded halls. Thankfully, Menorians were semi-aquatic, and they enjoyed the occasional forays out of the water. Their starship contained several dry decks for Leona to inhabit. She sat down on a giant nautilus shell—the Menorian's equivalent of a bench—to catch her breath.

  "The Peacekeeper swarm will pursue us like hungry eels on a mating hunt," Aurora said.

  Leona nodded. "Can we keep ahead of them?"

  Aurora turned gold and yellow—the mollusk's way of smiling. "We are inside a mothership with spacetime crystals the size of coral towers. No ship can outrace us."

  Crystals across the ceiling lit up, blue and purple and silver. With shimmers of light, the geode-ship formed a bubble of warped spacetime, then blasted into the distance.

  Leona approached a crystal porthole. She watched the starlines stretch by outside. Yes, this ship was fast, among the fastest ever built. But Menoria, homeworld of these wise mollusks, was thousands of light-years away, one of the farthest planets humanity knew of. Even at this speed, it would take Leona weeks, even months, to get there. And the journey home to Earth would take just as long.

  I don't even know if the Menorian elders will sell me starships, Leona thought. And if they do—whether it'll be too late.

  She lowered her head, feeling very much alone. She was the only human on board, and she missed home.

  Aurora extended her tentacles and dragged herself forward. The mollusk touched Leona's wrist.

  "For two thousand years, I have sailed the cosmic ocean," Aurora said. "And I have known many humans. Including your ancestor, the fabled Einav Ben-Ari, whom you call the Golden Lioness. I have heard your tales, Leona, in the ripples of light that fill the darkness. They call you the Iron Lioness, a new heroine for Earth. I have seen great courage in you. And I see wisdom and kindness too. Do not despair. We navigators of the starry seas have sailed with your people before. We will sail together again. I am thousands of years old, but I am still young. In my species, I am barely an adult. My elders have lived for a million of your human years, but I will face them unafraid. I will speak of the courage of Leona Ben-Ari, and your light will shine in our halls."

  Leona smiled and sat back down. "Can you tell me about Einav? You're the only living being in the universe who knew her, and she is a great heroine to humanity. And to me."

  Aurora turned a rich, contented gold. "I will share her tales."

  For a long time, they sat among the crystals, and Aurora shared tales of the golden age of Earth, when humanity stood tall and proud, and when Einav Ben-Ari led with wisdom and compassion. Leona listened raptly. This was what she fought for. To bring a new golden age, and to become a leader as strong and wise as her forebears.

  CHAPTER SIX

  "The invasion of Earth is about to begin."

  The words hung in the war room. Everyone stared at Emet, waiting for him to continue.

  He looked at them. At Bay and Rowan. At Cindy. At the others who joined him here, the leaders of humanity. His closest companions. His generals in this war. Those who had fought by his side for years. Who had slain countless enemies. Who, through the fire and rain, had survived.

  Yet can we survive this? Emet thought.

  They were all still looking at him. Waiting for his words of comfort. For his commands. For his strength and hope in the night.

  As he looked at these faces, Leona's absence tore at Emet. He had not seen his daughter in a year, not since she had flown to the Galactic Council. He didn't even know if Leona was still alive. As much as Emet worried about Earth, for the thousands here underground, he worried about Leona, lost in the darkness of space.

  Above the bunker, the explosions were still sounding. The tunnels rattled with every boom. But the blasts were less frequent now. And that worried Emet more than a constant bombardment.

  The invasion was near.

  He spoke again. "When I speak to the crowds, I give them hope. But here, in our war room, I won't sugarcoat the situation. It is dire. We have only ten thousand rifles. Only a handful of Firebirds. Only forty-odd starships, all hiding near Pluto. A couple hundred cannon silos are our main weapons—but we're almost out of rockets. We're facing a massive army. Seven alien fleets surround our world. Seven armies from seven vicious worlds. The enemy's bombing campaign is slowing down. That should worry us. Very soon—maybe tomorrow, maybe today—the ground troops will invade. Millions of aliens will swarm across the world. I've reached out to the enemy fleet, tried to negotiate. Even to surrender, if the terms guaranteed our lives. The enemy repeats the same message every time. Their goal is one: To kill us all."

  For a long moment, they were all silent, pale. Emet knew they barely had any hope.

  It was Bay who broke the silence.

  "So we fight them." The young man nodded. He clenched his fists, but his legs still shook. "Let them invade! Earth will be their graveyard. One man defending his soil is worth a hundred alien invaders."

  Rowan glared at him. "Be quiet, Pancake. You sound like a braggart. We can't win this war with force of arms. We need to use something unique to humanity." She tapped her head.

  Bay frowned. "What, opposable thumbs?"

  She smacked him. "Our brains!" She turned toward Emet. "Sir, if I may make a suggestion: Take me off Operation Exodus."

  Emet shook his head. "No. Rowan, as soon as you can, I want you in a Firebird. Fly back to the Exodus Fleet. We'll cover your flight with artillery fire. Our top priority now is to bring more humans home. We need more fighters."

  "What are more fighters worth if we don't even have weapons?" Rowan said. "Sir, there are five million human refugees still out there. Maybe more. Even if they were all on Earth, that wouldn't help us. A soldier without weapons is just cannon fodder. Give Operation Exodus to somebody else. There are plenty of capable officers already at Pluto, ready to fly out on your order." Rowan raised her chin. "Let me work full time at Antikythera Institute."

  Emet frowned. "What the hell is Antikythera?"

  "An ancient Greek analog computer and orrery," Rowan said. "Largely believed to be the first computer humans invented. But if you mean what is the Antikythera Institute, well—I just founded it. It's Earth's new defense technology company. Our job is to research and develop new weapons for Earth, specifically built to deal with this threat."

  Emet grumbled under his breath. "Rowan, I don't know. I—"

  "Sir, you saw the ansible transmitter I built," Rowan said. "Without it, we'd never have evacuated the Porter. I can invent things! I can invent more things. We need better communication networks between the colonies. We need new weapons. Earth is littered with the shards of thousands of crashed starships. And they're filled with components I can use. Give me a hundred science and engineering nerds, and I'll build you weapons to win this war. I promise you, sir." She touched his arm. "For a year, I commanded the Exodus Fleet. I flew from world to world. I brought half a million humans home. Now let me defend this home."

  Sudden silence fell. The explosions above ended.

  The aliens were no longer bombing Earth.

  It's almost here, Emet thought. The invasion.

  Across the bunker, the others grabbed their rifles, ready for the fight.

  "Sir!" Rowan said. "I would like to propose a first project for Antikythera Institute. I call it: Operation Hidden Fire."

  Emet was clutching his rifle, muscles tense. He stared at Rowan. The young woma
n stared back up at him, eyes eager. She was only twenty, and she looked even younger. Did she not realize the gravity of the situation? Damn it, this was no time for fancy titles and games. He wanted to scold the girl, to tell her to leave the war for the older, experienced soldiers, the hardened men of the army.

  But his anger faded quickly, and he scolded himself for his impatience, for his momentary lapse. Major Rowan Emery was not just some innocent girl. She was braver than any warrior in this army. She was small, not even five feet tall, and thin as a reed. She was young. But she had been fighting this war for four years, day and night. She had saved more humans than anyone. She had slain Emperor Sin Kra. And if she had a new idea, Emet wanted to hear it.

  He nodded. "Tell me."

  Rowan smiled shakily. "When Bay and I took the last shuttle to Earth, it was just us in that shuttle. No other refugees. Just Bay and me … and twenty nuclear weapons. Nuclear weapons we took from the Exodus Fleet. Weapons we can now use." She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "We still have a few Firebirds on Earth. We still have a few transporters and shuttles. I suggest that we load them with nuclear weapons, install AI on their computers, and send them on kamikaze missions."

  They all stared at her. Bay's jaw unhinged and he rubbed his eyes.

  "Nuke them, Rowan?" he said. "What if they nuke us back?"

  She gave him a wry smile. "They can't. If they could, they'd have done it already. There are millions of feral basilisks living on Earth. We're safe from being nuked." Her smile widened, but it was a bitter, pained smile. "But we can sure dish it out. And we better hurry."

  * * * * *

  When Rowan emerged from the bunkers, she found a world in ruins.

  She had seen the devastation from space. And when landing here yesterday, she had seen the smoke and flame. But now that the bombardment from space had ended, that the dust was settling, Rowan saw the true destruction.

  Port Addison was gone.

  Everything that they had built over the past two years. It lay in smoldering ruins.

  The tents had burned. The stone schoolhouse lay in a pile of rubble. Only the charred bones of cows remained in the farmlands. A few walls of the church and synagogue rose from ashes, their roofs gone, their windows shattered. When Rowan took a step away from the bunker's hatch, her boots scattered the bones of a stray dog, perhaps a mutt who had died seeking shelter in the colony.

  Rowan had not spent much time in this colony. While Leona had been building its first roads, Rowan had been fighting the scorpions. While new colonists had raised walls and homes, Rowan had been flying with the Exodus Fleet. Yet the week she had spent here before the war, working in the sunlight, had been the best week of her life. She had come to love Port Addison, a beacon of hope and life, a colony of joy on her beloved Earth. It was her home.

  But she had no time to mourn now.

  Port Addison was gone, but her people still lived, hiding in the tunnels. And Rowan had only moments to save them.

  She looked up at the sky. Smoke veiled the sun. She could not see the enemy from here. But she knew they were up there. And any moment, the attack would resume.

  Rowan got to work.

  "Come on, troops, let's move it!" she shouted.

  A platoon emerged from the bunker. They ran through the ruins of the city, rifles aimed ahead. Twisted bicycles, a burnt crib, and the bones of animals lay around them. A baby shoe had somehow survived the bombardment, sheltered beneath a fallen beam. A doll's head stared with blackened eyes.

  The walls around Port Addison had fallen. A few wild basilisks, not soldiers but the feral beasts from the hills, were slithering into the ruins. One of the beasts reared before the soldiers, eight feet tall and covered with black scales. Rowan aimed Lullaby and blew off its head with a single shot. The humans kept running.

  They reached the city's spaceport. The tarmac was destroyed, a ruin of craters and smoldering chunks of metal. But Rowan didn't worry about that. Over the past few months, preparing for the invasion, the humans had dug hangars underground. Now the soldiers pulled open heavy metal trapdoors, revealing their cache of starships.

  A few Firebirds. A few crude, heavily-armored dropships—big boxes of metal with wings, once shuttles of destroyed frigates. A few luxury shuttles from the Porter, which Rowan had kept on Earth, unarmed but fast and agile.

  That was all. What remained of Earth's fleet.

  Rowan stood on the ravaged tarmac, staring down into the hangar.

  It would have to do.

  An air raid siren wailed. Rowan looked up and saw a missile streaking downward.

  Dammit.

  "Into the hangar!" she shouted. "Go!"

  A ladder led underground. Rowan knew they had no time to climb. The missile was shrieking toward them at terrifying speed.

  "Jump, jump!" she shouted.

  She leaped into the hangar and fell two meters. She landed on her feet, wobbled, and hit the floor, crying out in pain. Other soldiers landed around her.

  "Close the hatch!" she shouted, racing toward the ladder. She began to climb. "We have to close the—"

  The missile exploded aboveground.

  Light and fire flared.

  Rowan fell from the ladder and slammed against the opposite wall. Stones and debris slammed into her.

  She slumped to the floor, trembling, gasping for breath. Her chest blazed with agony. Her ankle was twisted. Her ears rang and her nose bled.

  I guess the bombardment isn't quite over yet, she thought.

  She pushed herself to her feet, wincing. She could feel the Harmonians moving inside her, repairing the broken cells, mending her swollen ankle. A soldier beside her wasn't as lucky. A piece of shrapnel had sliced his jugular.

  Not everyone had even managed to leap into the shelter, she realized. Rowan climbed back aboveground to seek survivors. She found three corpses.

  But the survivors kept working.

  They kept fighting.

  One platoon stood guard above the underground hangar, firing at any feral basilisk that approached. The other soldiers worked in the bunker. They pulled the nuclear weapons from one shuttle, then distributed them to other vessels.

  Rowan, meanwhile, pulled out her minicom. Over the past year, she had been moving Brooklyn and Fillister from computer to computer. Originally, of course, Brooklyn had been installed in a starship that bore her name. Fillister had been installed in a robotic dragonfly, which Rowan had kept in her pocket. The scorpion war had destroyed both starship and robot. But Rowan had been able to restore the two AIs from backups.

  She had kept her two friends close. They now lived on her small pocket computer. So long as she had backups, she could bring her friends back to life, installing them over and over on new computers.

  "Guys," she said, speaking into her minicom. "You there?"

  Their avatars popped onto the screen. The minicom vibrated as they sent her virtual waves.

  "Great," Rowan said. "I need your help. And I need to … do something new."

  "Uh oh," Brooklyn said, voice emerging from the minicom's speaker. "Dude, I don't like the sound of that. Last time I tried something new, it was Fillister's poetry slam night—and I did not enjoy it. Besides, we're busy."

  "There's a war going on!" Rowan said.

  "I know, I know!" Brooklyn replied. "But Fillister and I are having an Alf marathon."

  Rowan groaned and tugged her hair. "So pause it!"

  "But this new episode is really good!" Brooklyn began. "Alf is trying to eat Willie's cat, and—"

  "Brooklyn!" Rowan said.

  "Ugh, fine!" Brooklyn said. "If I still had eyes, I'd roll them. By the way, any progress on getting Fill and me new bodies?"

  "After we win this war," Rowan said. "To win it, I need your help. I need you and Fill to fly twenty spacecraft."

  Fillister joined the conversation. "Oi, Row. There are only two us. How are we going to fly twenty bloomin' ships?"

  An air raid siren wailed again.


  "Incoming!" a soldier cried.

  They leaped back into the shelter. Another explosion boomed above, rattling the blast doors. The soldiers huddled together by the spacecraft.

  Rowan kept talking to her minicom.

  "I still have your source code, guys. I've restored you from backups before. This time, I'm going to copy you. Ten copies each. And install you into our shuttles."

  For a second, there was silence.

  A second was a very long time for computers.

  Finally Brooklyn spoke.

  "Dude. Dude! There will be twenty of us? Well, twenty-two, including the originals?"

  "For a while." Rowan nodded. "For a few minutes. Brooklyn. Fillister. I'm going to ask you to make a huge sacrifice. I'm going to send your copies on suicide missions. You'll be flying up there with nuclear weapons. And you're going to blow yourselves up among the enemy. The original yous will be safe. You'll remain here in my minicom. The copies will die."

  This time, the AIs were silent for five entire seconds.

  For them, it was an era.

  Fillister gave their reply.

  "Row, we'll do it."

  She nodded. "Thank you," she whispered.

  She knew what she was asking of them. Not to die only once. But to experience death ten times.

  Would I have done this? Rowan thought. Yes. I would. But it would not be an easy choice.

  She realized there hadn't been an explosion in a while. The invasion could be minutes away. Rowan worked in a hurry, moving from shuttle to shuttle. She decided to spare the Firebirds. After all, she was going to destroy these vessels, and Firebirds were state-of-the-art starfighters, too precious to lose. Instead, Rowan only approached the fleet's shuttles: both the military's armored dropships and the Porter's civilian shuttles. These vessels too were costly, but more expendable than the starfighters.

  At each shuttle, Rowan plugged her minicom into the cockpit, made a copy of Brooklyn or Fillister, and installed it. Clones of her friends appeared inside the craft—containing the full memories, personalities, and consciousness of their master copy.