She groaned and slapped her head.
"Why the hell can't I focus?" she cried.
She wanted to turn on her minicom, to talk to Fillister. She forced herself to breathe again—and not to think.
Don't think about Operation Snaketrap! she told herself. I know it's important to trap feral basilisks near our colonies, so that Xerka can't nuke us. But you'll think about that later! And stop thinking about how Operation Exodus is going! Colonel Sage is perfectly capable of carrying out that operation herself. She's bringing in thousands of refugees a week, so you don't have to worry. You can also stop thinking about how Bay is doing. He's perfectly safe with Luther, so—
It was useless.
Now she was thinking about not thinking.
Absolutely useless.
Rowan opened her eyes, stood up, and paced the room. Until now, she had never realized what a holy jumbled mess her brain was.
"Is it always so full of thoughts?" she wondered aloud. "No wonder I struggle to fall asleep at night."
For the first time in years, she had actually tried to stop thinking. To just breathe. And she had discovered a mind as chaotic as a disturbed ant hive.
She switched on her minicom.
"Oh, Fill, I can't do it. I can't even take two breaths without losing focus. My brain wanders off, and I start thinking about all my projects, and about how I need to build tanks, and about how Bay is doing, and—" She groaned. "And I'm doing it again! I'm bloody doing it even when I'm talking! What the hell is wrong with me?"
"You're a loony," Fillister said. "But I've always known that."
Rowan flounced onto her bed. "I don't know how Coral did it. I've seen her meditate. She would go into a trance. Muck me, I can't take two breaths without thinking about the war—or some damn movie scene. My God. Mister Miyagi would have given up on me in ten seconds flat." She tugged her hair. "And there I go again!"
"Well, just do whatever Daniel-san did in that movie," Fillister said.
She tilted her head. "You mean steal another man's girl, then use an illegal move to win a trophy?"
Fillister groaned. "Not this again!"
"I keep telling you, Fill, Daniel-san is the villain! Not only does he steal Johnny's girlfriend, he constantly antagonizes him—crashing his dojo, ruining his Halloween costume—and then he cheats at the championship, and—"
"Rowan!"
"Fine, fine!" She sat down again and took a deep breath. "Wax on, wax off, I get it."
She closed her eyes and held out her open palms.
She moved one palm in a circular motion.
Wax on.
A deep breath. She moved her second palm, mimicking the same circular motion.
Wax off.
More deep breaths. More movements of her palms, drawing circles in the air.
Wax on. Wax off.
And the damn thing was working.
It was working!
I'm doing it! I'm actually focusing! I—oh, crap, back to waxing, Rowan-san!
She gulped and focused on a few more breaths.
She raised her hands, palms open to display the runes she had drawn, trying to open a gateway to the Empyrean Firmament.
A few more deep breaths, and she felt something.
Warmth on her hands.
A prick on her forehead.
It vanished. She kept breathing. Opening up.
Her consciousness seemed to rise, to fill the bunker. She was no longer confined to her body. She was everywhere, everything, untethered, merely experiencing.
Above—she glimpsed it.
An expansion of consciousness. All thoughts and feelings—fading away. Just awareness, ballooning. And it was there. No, not above her. But in parallel to this universe. A universe beyond. Far vaster. A universe of pure mindfulness, of gentle light.
Figures were here, figures with no forms, but real nonetheless, observing, experiencing, turning toward her, and—
Her minicom rang.
Her body sucked up her soul like a glutton sucking up a noodle.
She slammed back into her skull and blinked.
The minicom kept ringing.
"Ferkakte!" she cried. "I had it! I actually had it!" She glanced at the minicom. "What the hell do you want, Leona?"
Rowan froze.
She rubbed her eyes.
She stared again at the buzzing minicom.
It displayed the caller: Colonel Leona Ben-Ari.
Leona who should be halfway across the galaxy.
Rowan blinked and accepted the call. "Ahoyhoy."
And Leona answered. "Rowan! Thank Ra. I wasn't sure if anyone on Earth was still alive." She breathed shakily. "Ra, it's good to hear your voice."
Rowan's voice was suddenly hoarse. "You too, Leona. I'm so glad you're still alive."
For a long time, the two spoke, recounting their past few months. Rowan spoke of the war on Earth—the battles on all continents, the embargo, the gunrunning, the flood of refugees, and the growing fear of defeat. Leona spoke of her long journey to Menoria, of her gift of ships, and her need for pilots.
"I don't have time to wait for human pilots," Leona said. "I'm calling you through an Isaac Wormhole. Over this line, you can transfer code. Rowan—I need you to transfer me copies of Brooklyn. Of Fillister too, if he's up to the task. I need hundreds of them. I need their clones to fly my ships."
Rowan was silent.
After a moment, Leona said, "Rowan? Are you still there?"
"I am. I just …" She sighed. "Remember how I told you that we used fireships?
"I do. It was brilliant!"
"I used copies of Fillister and Brooklyn on the fireships," Rowan said. "And they died. I heard them scream." She blinked tears out of her eyes. "If they fly the geode fleet, they'll die again and again. Hundreds of times. I don't know if I can doom my friends to hundreds of deaths."
"Rowan." There was impatience to Leona's voice now. "They're software."
"So are we!" Rowan said. "What are humans if not software made out of meat? Fillister and Brooklyn are alive. They're my friends. It's bad enough for a friend to die once. But to die so often?" Rowan shuddered. "It would shatter them. To break their souls apart, install them into five hundred ships, send them off to battle … I can't even imagine anything more nightmarish. I did this once. And it still haunts my nightmares. I don't know if I can do this again."
"Are Fillister and Brooklyn alive?" Leona said. "Maybe. Or maybe they're simply an illusion of life, and beneath that illusion there is nothing but cold numbers, no consciousness or feelings or true thoughts. They might be no more alive than a character in a book, no matter how real that character's emotions seem. But that's a philosophical debate we don't have time for. Suppose they are alive. That doesn't change my decision. Would it be less ethical to send human pilots to battle?"
"I don't know," Rowan confessed. "I don't think so. But this is more than just killing life. It's about splitting life apart. Treating them as disposable."
"Is that any different from human soldiers?" Leona said. "You and I are commissioned officers, Rowan. Enlisted soldiers are, in a sense, disposable to us. We split them apart too—we tear them away from their families, their previous lives, we break them and remold them. That doesn't mean it's easy. It's heartbreaking. But being a good leader isn't about avoiding pain. It isn't about being nice. It's about doing what must be done. Being a leader is about taking terrible action. About dooming many to death—so that others can thrive. Gentle people make poor leaders. Leaders capable of monstrosities are those who can fight monsters. That is one of the most disturbing truths I know. It's a truth I've accepted. A truth Einav Ben-Ari understood during her wars."
Rowan shivered. "So we must become monsters to kill monsters?"
"No, we don't have to become monsters," Leona said. "But we must have a monster leashed inside us, always hungry and ready to bite. And sometimes we must loosen that chain."
"That scares me," Rowan said. "It mucking terrifies m
e, in fact."
"It should," Leona said. "It terrifies me too."
Rowan lowered her head. Finally she said, "I'll ask them."
"No," said Leona. "You will order them. As I'm ordering you. Do you understand why that matters?"
"Leadership." Rowan sighed. "Blimey, writing alien code, designing tanks, and meditating is easier."
"The difficulty of a task is irrelevant. Only its importance matters."
Rowan rolled her eyes. "Well, aren't you a well of wisdom today, Master Yoda. Hang on. I'll relay your orders."
But as it turned out, both Fillister and Brooklyn—installed into the very minicom Rowan was speaking into—had been eavesdropping.
"We'll do it," they said in unison.
Rowan's heart broke. For a moment, she felt so devastated she couldn't move.
"Rowan, initiate the transfer of code," Leona said.
Rowan's eyes stung.
Loosen the leash.
She raised her hand, hesitated.
Be an officer. Be a leader. Be a soldier.
A tear flowed down Rowan's cheek. But she initiated the transfer.
A copy of Brooklyn began to flow through the tiny wormhole, heading toward Leona thousands of light-years away.
Rowan was about to send Fillister over too when a massive explosion hit the bunker.
The floor cracked. The walls trembled. Rowan fell, and her minicom flew from her hand. Its monitor shattered.
For a moment—silence.
"What the hell?" Rowan whispered.
And then the wall burst open with a shower of rocks and dust and soil.
Basilisks sprang through the opening, entering the bunker. They tossed back their heads, screeched with fury, and lunged at Rowan.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
"Reports are coming in from all colonies!" Ramses shouted as the bunkers trembled. "A massive basilisk assault—everywhere! They're burrowing into every damn bunker we have!"
Emet stood in his war room—the deepest, most defended bunker below Port Addison. He stared at his monitors. One monitor showed a map of Port Addison's labyrinth of tunnels. Basilisks had breached the tunnels in three locations. The aliens were now moving from chamber to chamber, slaying everything in their path. Other monitors showed humbler labyrinths—the tunnels beneath other colonies, some here in North America, others across the Atlantic. There too, the basilisks were breaking in.
"So that's what the bastards have been doing the past few months," Emet muttered.
The basilisks had been unusually quiet lately. Their attacks on the trenches had continued, but it had felt more like a war of attrition, less like a blitz.
They had been buying time, Emet now realized. They had been digging.
"They're moving toward the food stores!" Ramses said, staring at a monitor with wide eyes.
"They're near the nursery!" Mairead shouted, pointing at another monitor.
Tom turned from a control panel. "Emet, reports are streaming in from refugee camps outside the solar system—those the Exodus Fleet hasn't evacuated yet. The basilisks are bombarding them. They're slaughtering human refugees!"
Emet inhaled sharply. He unslung his rifle off his back.
"Mairead—lead a team to the storerooms. Protect our food. Ramses, lead a platoon to the Antikythera Labs. Don't let them fall to the enemy. Cindy, send a message to the Exodus Fleet—tell them to defend the refugee camps. Tom, you come with me. We're going to fight for the nurseries."
His officers nodded and loaded their weapons.
Cindy grabbed Emet. "Remember what you promised. To lead from your bunker!"
"The enemy is in the bunkers now," Emet said. "Cindy, you have the war room while I'm away. If something happens—you have Earth."
She kissed him. "Godspeed, Emet."
The officers ran.
"Latona Company, with me!" Emet shouted, running past their barracks.
The infantry company joined him. Tom ran by another barracks, summoning his own company. Soon four hundred soldiers were racing through the tunnels, heading upward toward the breach.
In the distance, Emet could hear the sounds of battle. Phoenix Company was already there, fighting off the basilisks. He heard them screaming. He heard the enemy shriek with bloodlust.
He ran as fast as he could, but thousands of refugees crowded the tunnels. Women, children, elders, and the wounded filled these bunkers, clogging their path. At times, Emet was forced to slow to a walk, to worm his way through. The civilians pressed themselves against the wall, shivering, praying.
It seemed ages before Emet reached the northeastern tunnels, where the nurseries were located.
The smell of blood, gunpowder, and offal greeted him.
Several dead soldiers lay around a basilisk corpse. Emet and his troops ran over them. Blood sluiced around their boots. Ahead, shadows stirred. Gunfire echoed. Children were fleeing the slaughter, screaming. Nurses and teachers ran close behind, holding babies. Blood covered everyone. Emet and his soldiers raced by them, guns raised.
"For Earth!" Emet cried, leading the charge.
He burst into a wide bunker—a schoolroom—and beheld the enemy.
The basilisks were rearing, screeching for war. They wore plate armor, and cannons were mounted onto their backs. A handful of human soldiers were already here. They stood by the blackboard, firing their guns. Colonists lay dead at their feet—soldiers and children alike.
The Old Lion sounded his roar. Emet leaped into battle.
His bullets dented the enemy's armor. They bellowed, and Emet kept firing, hitting the armor again and again until it cracked. His soldiers joined him, delivering a hailstorm of bullets. Chairs and desks shattered under the barrage.
Several basilisks fell. The others aimed the guns mounted on their backs and fired.
Bullets the size of saltshakers slammed into human troops. They tore off limbs, pulverized faces, sent mutilated corpses flying. One bullet glanced off a wall and slammed into Emet's armored vest, knocking him down. He hit the ground, and a basilisk reared above him. The creature's lower jaw unhinged, revealing a maw full of teeth, ready to feast.
Emet raised Thunder. The rifle filled the hellmouth with lead.
The basilisk fell, jaw gone, brains splattered against the opposite wall. Emet rose to his feet and fired Lighting, an electric pistol the size of a drill. The bolts slammed into another basilisk, knocking it back.
A few of the creatures were constricting soldiers, hissing as bones cracked. One basilisk was devouring a man alive. A few basilisks had lumpy bodies; they had already feasted, eating schoolchildren.
Emet ignored the pain, the blood. He loaded fresh magazines and kept firing. More of his soldiers burst into the classroom, adding to the fusillade. They fought until every basilisk in the room lay dead.
Then they continued to the next classroom.
And the next.
Over the past few weeks, ensconced in his bunker, Emet had taken a respite from the horror of war. He had spent decades fighting on the frontline. Lately he had become a desk soldier.
Not today.
Today that horror rushed back into him on a tidal wave of blood.
Deeper in the tunnels, they reached the first nursery.
A teacher stood in the corner, firing an automatic weapon, desperate to hold back three screeching basilisks. Toddlers cowered behind her, screaming. Across the room, beds were overturned, some bloodied. Two teachers lay dead, bones crushed. Emet didn't know how many toddlers had survived—and how many filled the bellies of the beasts.
He opened fire. Tom burst into the room, firing too. The basilisks fell. One of the aliens gagged as it died, regurgitating a dead child.
"First squad!" Emet said. "Get these children into the lower bunkers—then rejoin us here. Go, go!"
He moved into the next nursery, this one for infants. Here too the basilisks were feasting. Emet fired again. The snakes fired back. Emet took a blast to the chest. His armor cracked, and he fe
lt a rib crack too. He ignored the pain, kept killing. A claw lashed his arm. His blood spurted. He had to lower his pistol, but he kept fighting with his rifle.
The farther they moved, the more basilisks they encountered. They were only several bunkers from the breach now. Only a hundred meters from where the basilisks had burrowed in. Many of the beasts were swarming here. They filled the rooms, piling up, writhing, a scaly mass of alien flesh.
"We can't kill them all," Emet said. He paused for breath in a narrow tunnel. Several soldiers stood ahead, firing their machine guns, holding back the enemy.
"We must!" Tom said. "There are more bunkers to save."
Emet grunted. He turned toward his troops. "Second and third squads! Secure this doorway. Fourth squad—place explosives across this tunnel. We're bringing it down."
Tom grabbed his arm. He leaned in close and spoke in a low, harsh voice. "Emet, there are still living humans up there. I hear them."
Emet clenched his jaw. He heard them too. Beyond the squirming walls of basilisks—human screams. Some of soldiers. Some of children.
He knew every bend and bunker underground. There were still two classrooms ahead, a nursery, a teacher's lounge, a platoon's barracks.
But between Emet and them—hundreds of basilisks. Too many.
"We can't save them," Emet said.
Tom inhaled sharply. "Emet, there might be hundreds of humans still alive up there."
"Not hundreds," Emet said. "Not anymore. We will cut our losses, Mister Shepherd."
A mound of basilisks was squirming ahead, moving closer, a hellish monster that filled the tunnel, a mass of fangs and claws. It seemed like a single living beast. Human soldiers were firing on it, but the basilisk guns emerged from the wall of flesh and scales, firing back. Soldiers were falling, dying. People Emet knew. Some were barely more than youths, not even old enough to shave.
"Squad Four!" Emet said. "Hurry!"
They were busy gluing explosives to the tunnel wall and ceiling.
"Sir—done!" announced their commander.
"Emet, we can't just abandon those people," Tom said, eyes wide.
"Mister Shepherd, you forget yourself. I've given my orders." Emet grabbed the man's shoulder and leaned in. "Dammit, man, don't you see we have no choice? If these beasts break through—we all die. There are two hundred thousand refugees below us. If we keep fighting here, if we try to save the nurseries above—we die. And nothing will hold back the basilisks. They will swarm deeper. They will kill everyone below. We must sacrifice a hundred lives above to save hundreds of thousands below."
The Song of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 5) Page 21