Earth Rising (Earthrise Book 3)

by Daniel Arenson

  But his friends were gone, some lost in the ashes of a desert base on Earth, others buried forever in the mines of a dark moon.

  He looked at Addy. His best, his oldest friend. The girl whose parents had died with his mother. The girl who had lived in his library since they had been eleven. The woman he had trained with, fought with. She was tall, brash, blond, and tattooed, but he knew that deep inside she was sensitive, kind, noble.

  I'm glad you're still with me, Addy, he thought, looking at her. I can think of no finer friend to—

  She punched his shoulder. "Stop staring at me all weirdlike! What, do I still have barbecue sauce on my face?" She belched. "I told you I only ate ten chicken wings. Fine, fifteen." She groaned. "Okay, I ate all twenty, but somebody needed to finish them before we reached Nightwall."

  Marco turned back toward the viewport. He watched the massive outpost grow closer and closer as their starship approached. Nightwall was the headquarters of Space Territorial Command, the space corps of the Human Defense Force. The STC only had about one percent of the military's manpower but over ninety percent of its budget, and as the Miyari flew closer, Marco could see every dollar spent.

  Nightwall was built around—and inside of, according to the stories—a rogue planet. The black sphere of rock and metal orbited no star, instead floating freely through space like a massive, Mercury-sized asteroid. Nuclear reactors worked deep within the planet, powering entire cities on its surface—cities dedicated to war. Even from here, Marco could see the lights of those cities on the dark planet. It was here that humanity's greatest generals devised their plans, that the greatest scientists developed new technologies, that the greatest warriors trained for battle.

  Thousands of spaceships flew around the planet. Marco had never seen so many in one place. Small, one-person fighter jets flitted around the Miyari. Bulky transport ships, large enough to fit ten Miyaris in their hulls, lumbered above and below them. Slick battleships lined with cannons, some large enough to hold thousands of marines, floated back and forth. A hundred space stations orbited the planet among a sea of satellites, offering ports for ships to seek maintenance and repairs.

  "I've never seen anything like this," Marco whispered. "Back on Earth, even fifty years after the Cataclysm, everything is so . . . run down. At Fort Djemila, our tents were full of holes, our guns thirty years old, our armored vehicles covered in rust. But this . . ." He shook his head in wonder. "It's like the Cataclysm never happened. Like we're living in the future."

  Addy nodded. "Yep. That's what happens when the STC sucks up all our taxes. Down on Earth, we only get the scraps. The chicken wing bones, my friend. But up here, this is the juicy meat."

  Marco rolled his eyes. "Will you stop talking about chicken wings?"

  "What?" She patted her belly. "I'm still hungry!"

  He looked at her flat stomach. "I don't know where you tuck it all away."

  "I use up all the energy killing scum," Addy said. "That and it goes into my ass."

  Osiris turned around from the controls to face them. The android's platinum hair flowed down to her chin, and her lavender eyes blinked. In every way, Osiris looked human, a perfect imitation. But there was something—Marco couldn't put his finger on it—that seemed eerily wrong about her, like a doll that was disturbingly lifelike. Perhaps she was too perfect, too beautiful, missing the flaws flesh and blood humans possessed.

  "We've been assigned docking rights at Station 57, Terminal B, Pier 47, master and mistress," Osiris said. "It will be thirteen minutes and five seconds until we dock." The android rose to her feet, looked to the back of the bridge, and saluted. "Hello, ma'am!"

  Marco turned too and saw Ben-Ari enter the bridge. Like him and Addy, their commanding officer hadn't yet integrated into the STC, and she still wore the tattered drab fatigues of Earth's corps. The uniform was in shambles—the knees torn, the shirt stained with blood, the beret burnt—but somehow Lieutenant Einav Ben-Ari still managed to look regal. She wasn't particularly tall, not like Addy, and not much older than them. But something about her squared shoulders, her raised chin, and the calm determination in her eyes made Ben-Ari, even in her ragged uniform, look like a commander through and through.

  "Emery. Linden." The lieutenant approached them. "As soon as we emerged from hyperspace, I sent my report to Nightwall of what happened in the mines. They're going to have a lot of questions for us. Mostly, I suspect, about Private de la Rosa." Her eyes softened. "Marco, you know that Lailani won't integrate into the STC with us."

  Marco nodded, his throat suddenly feeling tight. "I know," he whispered.

  It still pained him to think about it, about what Lailani had done, who she was. He had met Lailani Marita de la Rosa at basic training, at first mistaking the young Filipina, with her shaved head and small frame, for a boy. He had grown to love her. He had made love to her. He had comforted her, held her close in his arms as she told him of her childhood, growing up homeless and hungry in the slums of Manila, the daughter of a thirteen-year-old prostitute and a father she had never met.

  And then, only weeks ago . . . Marco winced. After the battle in the mines of Corpus, Lailani had grown claws. Had stabbed him, nearly killed him. Had spoken in a deep, inhuman voice, revealing that she had been planted in her mother's womb by the scum. An agent of the creatures, imbued with their DNA.

  She could have killed us all, Marco thought. She killed Elvis. She sabotaged our engines, killing dozens of us. Yet I still know that Lailani—the woman I love—is in there somewhere.

  "Ma'am, may I go speak to her?" Marco said. "One last time?"

  Lieutenant Ben-Ari nodded, and she placed a hand on his shoulder. "You have ten minutes. Go to her. But . . ." Her eyes hardened. "Don't get too close."

  Marco left the bridge. He walked through the narrow halls of the Miyari as the ship limped toward the port. The corridors showed the signs of her battles: dented walls, severed wires, shattered viewports. Marco climbed down a ladder, squeezed through a crawlway, and made his way to the brig. He unlocked the heavy metal door and stepped inside.

  Here, in the small chamber, she sat on the bed.

  "Hello, Marco," Lailani whispered.

  For the first couple of days, Lailani had remained on the bed, all four limbs strapped down, with an armed guard always outside her door. When she had not gone hostile again, Lailani had been allowed some modicum of freedom. Her feet were now hobbled, and a chain ran from one ankle to the wall, but she was free to sit up, to lie down, to stretch and move around the chamber—as far as one could move in a chamber only seven feet wide. Lailani no longer wore her military uniform, just boxer shorts and a white T-shirt, and her black hair was growing longer, long enough now to cover the tips of her ears and fall across her forehead.

  Marco stood at the doorway, heeding Ben-Ari's advice. "Hello, Lailani."

  She smiled wryly at him. "You can step closer. My chain is long enough that I can reach you anyway. Look."

  She stood up and leaped toward him. Marco started and instinctively took a step back. The chain tightened. Lailani reached both arms toward him, grabbed him . . . and pulled him into an embrace. She playfully bit his nose.

  "Chomp!" she said. "Don't wet your pants."

  Marco relaxed and wrapped his arms around her. He chomped down on her own nose. "At least I'm wearing pants, unlike you."

  They sat together on the bed. There was no viewport in the brig, but Marco heard Osiris's voice emerging through the speaker system. "Six minutes to docking." It wasn't enough time. Marco had spent three weeks on this ship, but now there wasn't enough time. He held Lailani's hands, and she gazed into his eyes.

  "Lailani," he said softly, "when we arrive . . ."

  She nodded and looked at her lap. "I know. Ben-Ari told them what happened, told them what I am. They're going to take me away. To study me. To experiment on me." Her eyes hardened. "I won't let them. I'll fight! If they kill me, they kill me. I—"

  "Lailani, listen to me." He ti
ghtened his grip on her hands. "I promise you—I will get you back to me. It won't be forever. They will cure you, Lailani. Ben-Ari wouldn't have told the STC what happened if she'd thought they'd harm you. They'll find a way to . . . to cut out whatever is inside you."

  Tears filled Lailani's eyes. "They can't, Marco. Don't you understand? They can't. The scum . . . They're a part of me." Her voice trembled. "I've been dreaming of them. In my dreams, I'm one of them, a centipede in a tunnel, following the orders of their emperor. It's who I am." She let out a sob. "I killed him, Marco. I killed Elvis. Our friend. I killed him. I'm a monster. I'm a scum."

  "It is not who you are," Marco said. "Look into my eyes. Look at me." He caressed her cheek. "You are Lailani de la Rosa. You are human. You are the woman I love. They will heal you. They will remove the creature inside you. And you will come back to me. I promise you. I promise."

  She nodded, head lowered, and held him close. "I wish I could be here with you forever," she whispered.

  He kissed her cheek, then her lips. "I ruv you."

  She nodded, tears spiking her lashes. "Ruv you."

  Osiris's voice emerged from the speakers. "Docking in Nightwall Station 57."

  Thuds sounded across the ship as the Miyari connected with the dock.

  "Will you walk with me to the exit?" Lailani said.

  "They want you to stay in the brig," Marco said. "They want to send a team of people here to accompany you. I'm sorry." He embraced her. "Be strong, Lailani. Wherever they take you, I will find you. I will bring you back to me."

  A voice spoke from the doorway. "Emery, it's time."

  He turned to see Ben-Ari standing there, staring at him with hard eyes, but he saw a softness there too, a little bit of pity. He nodded, then turned back toward Lailani. She held his hand. As he stepped away from her, their arms stretched out, out, until only their fingertips touched, until he was apart from her, until he was in the hall, until he left his heart ripped out and bleeding on the brig's floor. Ben-Ari slammed the door shut and locked it, and the sound pounded through Marco's chest.

  "Come, Emery," the lieutenant said. "We're at Nightwall. We have a lot to do."

  As they walked down the corridor, Marco's eyes stung, and he couldn't curb the anger inside him. "Ma'am, you didn't have to report what Lailani did." He hated that his voice shook, that it was so hoarse. "It just happened once. Just because we were so close to the scum. Now they're going to take her away, experiment on her, and—"

  Ben-Ari paused from walking and turned toward him. Her eyes blazed with sudden fury, all pity gone from them. Ben-Ari was shorter than him, maybe even physically weaker, but now she seemed to tower like a giant.

  "De la Rosa killed one of my soldiers with her own hands," she said. "She sabotaged the engines of this very ship, crashing us onto Corpus, which killed a hundred others. She is infected with scum DNA, Emery, and I will make sure she never endangers anyone again. Regardless of feelings you think you have for her."

  "Think I have?" he said. "Ma'am, Lailani is more than just a scum agent. She's my friend. She's more than a friend. It's bad enough we kept her tied up, we—"

  "Private, watch your tongue!" Ben-Ari said. "Have I been too lax with my discipline that you would speak to me as a friend? I'm your commanding officer, Private, remember that. I've made my decisions. The right decisions. I don't doubt that. If you do, keep it to yourself. Understood?"

  He nodded, stiffening. "Yes, ma'am."

  Ben-Ari's voice softened. "You've been emotionally compromised, Marco. It hurts you. I know that. But we have to be professional. We are at war. We cannot let our personal feelings interfere with our duty."

  "Yes, ma'am." He nodded. "I'm sorry to have argued back. I not only respect your authority, ma'am. I also respect your wisdom and your leadership."

  She squeezed his shoulder. "Thank you, Marco. You're a good soldier. I never doubted that. Now come on. They'll have many questions for us."

  They walked into the exit bay of the ship, where Sergeant Stumpy greeted Marco with a wagging stump and a lick to his fingers. Two other soldiers were waiting there, the two other survivors of Corpus. Addy stood in her tattered old uniform, chewing gum, which Ben-Ari promptly made her spit out. Beside her stood Kemi Abasi, once Marco's girlfriend, now a cadet of Julius Military Academy, who had come here to train with Ben-Ari . . . and be near Marco.

  Kemi gave him a small, shaky smile, her eyes damp. Marco knew that this day was goodbye from Kemi too. She had come here to reignite their love, had instead found horror and torture in the depths of Corpus. Now she would go home, back to Earth—scarred, afraid, without him.

  Marco stepped closer to her. "Will you stay a few days in Nightwall, Kemi?"

  She shook her head. "I received confirmation only a few minutes ago. There's a ship heading back to Earth today. In only five hours. I'll be heading home on it."

  Marco nodded. This too hurt. He was still grieving for his losses in battle. Now he would lose Lailani, now he would lose Kemi, perhaps never to see them again in the maze of this vast military that spanned star systems.

  The galaxy is falling apart, he thought. I'm losing everyone I love. He took a deep breath. I cannot let myself fall apart too.

  The exit bay door opened, revealing a jet bridge connecting them to one of Nightwall's space stations. As they walked across the bridge, Marco looked around him. Aside from a narrow metal path below his feet, the walls and ceiling were a transparent tube, giving him a panoramic view of Nightwall. It felt like walking through open space, and his head spun. At his left side loomed the surface of the rogue planet, this starless sphere of rock hurtling through space. Military bases and towns for soldiers' families sprawled across its surface, all alight, powered by the nuclear reactors pumping underground. Marco could see roads, clusters of buildings, runways, massive star ports, and radio dishes the size of towns. Lined with lights, cables rose from the planet surface, hundreds of kilometers long, finally connecting with several space stations in orbit, forming space elevators. Marco could see rounded carts traveling up and down the cables, transporting people and goods between the space stations and the planet.

  When Marco looked below, above, and to his right, he could see the many structures orbiting the planet. There were several space stations, mushroom-shaped and lit with countless lights. There were starship cruisers, some nearly as big as the stations themselves. He even saw a jet carrier—it looked like a floating runway with a hundred Firebird fighter jets on its deck. Many other Firebirds were zipping all around, following paths outlined by floating buoys.

  Marco felt like a medieval peasant who had wandered into the modern world. He had never seen, had never imagined such technology. As he walked along the jet bridge toward the space station, strangely, along with his awe, anger filled him.

  Earth is falling apart, he thought. We're still struggling to climb out of the Cataclysm. We live in poverty, surviving on scraps. And here in space the wealth of humanity flows!

  The bridge led them to one of the orbiting space stations. As soon as they stepped through the door into the gleaming hallway, a crowd of STC soldiers intercepted them, wearing hazmat suits and holding guns.

  "Remove your uniforms and raise your hands for decontamination!" boomed one man.

  "Where is the hybrid?" shouted another soldier in a hazmat.

  "Private de la Rosa is in the ship's brig," Ben-Ari said. "Is this really necessary? We—"

  A team of soldiers barreled past the lieutenant, racing into the ship, holding chains and heavy guns. Their faces were invisible within their helmets. Marco winced. They were going to Lailani.

  "Uniforms off!" shouted the first man. "All clothing, equipment, and weapons—into these bins."

  Marco, Addy, Kemi, and Ben-Ari all glanced at one another. Reluctantly, they placed their backpacks, their weapons, and finally their clothes into the bins, which were quickly sealed and rolled away. Marco was glad he didn't have time to see the others naked. Within instant
s, the men in hazmat suits blasted steam from hoses. The mist flowed across them, stinging, so hot Marco winced and struggled not to cry out. Sergeant Stumpy too got blasted, and the dog howled.

  Medics inspected their wounds and gave the approval. They were handed fresh uniforms—green uniforms of Earth Territorial Command, though of better make than their tattered old fatigues. They did not get their equipment back. Marco had placed his copy of Hard Times, along with the photo of Kemi, into the bins. Now he wondered if he'd ever get them back.

  "All right, follow us," said a man in a hazmat. "Come on. Hurry now."

  As the soldiers shepherded them down the corridor, Marco glanced back toward the Miyari, wondering if the men were decontaminating Lailani, if they were hurting her, if she was scared.

  Be strong, Lailani. I'll find you again. I promise.

  The corridor split into several branches, and Marco found himself dragged down one way, while other hazmat men pulled his comrades down other paths. One man placed Sergeant Stumpy in a crate and carried the dog off.

  "Addy!" Marco said. "Kemi!"

  They gave him glances before the men dragged them out of his sight. Gloved hands gripped Marco's arms.

  "Come with us, Private Emery, and quietly. Your friends won't be hurt."

  He followed the man, feeling like a prisoner. He had defeated a hive of scum. He had fought the very king of the creatures. He had survived while so many others had fallen. He didn't expect to be greeted as a hero, but damn it, he didn't appreciate being treated as a prisoner either.

  They whisked him into a small white chamber where they sat him by a desk. It felt a lot like an interrogation room. He waited for a long time alone, pacing, locked in the chamber. Finally, two officers entered, wearing the STC's navy blue service uniforms. The men smiled at him. They gave him a bottle of water.

  For a long time they asked him questions, and Marco answered.

  They asked him about why the Miyari had accepted the mayday call from Corpus.