The Earthling (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 1)

by Daniel Arenson

  Lola Mahalia groaned. "Always you are asking questions! How should I know?"

  Maria looked around her. Where would this plane attempt its crash landing?

  Several mountain peaks surrounded the village, draped with raiments of rainforest. Rice paddies covered the foothills—tier after tier of terraces like staircases for giants. The monsoon season had come and gone, flooding the paddies. It was now time to plant the seeds. In the valley below, alongside a river, nestled the village of San Luna, home to nearly a hundred families. And it was her home—Maria de la Cruz, rice farmer and official village troublemaker, seventeen-years-old and full of questions, her brain always bursting with what Lola Mahalia called nonsense.

  It seemed the plane would overshoot the village. Perhaps it would glide into the sea beyond the mountain. Oddly, though these flying machines had slaughtered countless people, Maria pitied it. She wished this awkward metal bird could find its way home.

  But then he emerged from the jungle.

  Then Maria's heart shattered.

  He was back. He had been away for a year, fighting the enemy in the wilderness, and she had hoped he would never return.

  But here he was, returning into her life like an old illness.

  Ernesto Santos. Her betrothed.

  A year of war had changed him. Aged him. He stood on the far side of the terrace, but Maria had sharp eyes, and she saw him well. He was only in his twenties, but he looked older, wrinkles already tugging at his brown skin, gifts of years in his fishing boat, then a year of war. A new scar rifted his face, chin to forehead, destroying one eye. The eye was covered with a cataract like a ball of shattered glass, halving the scar.

  He was like the plane above, cruel yet broken, a terror risen to shake Maria's life.

  The Santos family owned three fishing boats, all built of sturdy reeds. Maria's family, the de la Cruzes, owned a rice terrace along the eastern hill. Both families had thought it a good alliance. Maria had been betrothed to this angry young warrior since age thirteen.

  She dreaded the coming summer. She would be turning eighteen, old enough to marry him.

  She had asked her elders so many questions. Why can't I choose my husband? What if I don't want to marry at all? What if I want to move to the city? What if I want to be a singer or writer or something other than a farmer?

  Question after question, and her parents would shake their heads sadly. Lola Mahalia would say that her mind was full of nonsense, and then threaten to thrash Maria like a clump of stubborn rice clinging to its husks. Lola grumbled a lot, but she never actually beat her. And nobody ever answered her questions.

  Maria stared at the man now. Ernesto Santos. Pointing at the plane and shouting. And then aiming his rifle.

  With a great crack that echoed between the mountains, the rifle fired. Light sparked against the plane—a bullet hitting the hull.

  Ernesto laughed in triumph, already reloading. More young men ran up beside him—fishermen and farmers from the village. They raised their own rifles, and cracks shook the air. Maria jumped with every one.

  More bullets slammed into the plane. An engine caught fire. Clouds of smoke belched out.

  And then the plane was no longer gliding, trying to find a landing spot.

  It was falling like a comet.

  A burst of movement, of color. The pilot—ejecting!

  Maria caught her breath.

  She stood in the rice paddy, her feet in the water, watching the plane pitch forward, become very silent, then plunge down.

  It slammed into the foothills across the valley with a boom that shook the world. The hunk of mangled metal burst into flames. It had landed on another family's rice paddy, crushing several terraces, undoing so many hours of toil. At least the water contained the fire. Had it crashed just a short distance away, hitting the jungle, its flames might have spread for miles.

  Maria stood in awe of the blooming fire, of the smoke unfurling like demons from slumber. She knew there was a war in the north. She had seen the bodies of fighters returned to the village, burnt and lacerated, faces gone. But she had never seen a blazing fire, this living being of fury.

  This must be what the north looks like, she thought. A sea of such fire spreading to the horizons.

  "There he is!" Ernesto ran uphill, pointing. "He's mine!"

  Ernesto cocked and raised his rifle.

  Maria looked upward, and she saw him there. The plane's ejected pilot.

  An Earthling. A real, actual Earthling, here in San Luna!

  He hung from a parachute, limp. If he had a gun, he was not firing. Maybe he was dead already.

  A crack.

  A sound wave pounded into Maria.

  Ernesto lowered his smoking rifle. He squinted at his target. His bullet had punched a hole through the parachute but missed the pilot. Already Ernesto was reloading, and he raised his gun again.

  "Ernesto, no!" Maria cried.

  She ran toward him across the paddies, splashing through the water, scattering rice seed. Lola Mahalia was shouting at her to be still, that she was undoing all their work, but Maria ignored the old lady.

  "Ernesto!" she shouted.

  He fired again.

  This time the bullet hit the Earthling. The man jerked in his harness. He cried out.

  He was coming down fast now, air whistling through his perforated parachute. He was still flailing, still alive. The bullet had hit his leg, Maria thought.

  She kept running. She reached Ernesto just as he was aiming again. She shoved the rifle, burning her hand against the hot barrel, not even caring.

  "Stop!" she said. "Why are you doing this?"

  Ernesto stared at her. At five foot seven, he was tall for a Bahayan, the tallest man in the village. Certainly he was taller than Maria's five feet. He was very thin, almost malnourished. That was not uncommon in these days of war. But there was a rawboned strength to Ernesto, a fire in his eyes, a coiled tension in his ropy muscles.

  Now that tension sprung like a bowstring, and he backhanded Maria. Hard.

  Not a hello. Not a kiss. Not even a nod after a year away at war. This was how her betrothed greeted her. With the back of his hand.

  She stumbled backward, clutching her cheek. Before he had gone to war, he used to hit her sometimes. When she asked too many questions. When her brain was full of too much rubbish. But never this hard. And now his eyes burned with madness like that flame on the foothills.

  "Don't worry, we'll get him, Ernesto," said one of his cousins, raising a pistol. He was a wiry man with a thin mustache.

  "No, Miguel! Lower your gun." Ernesto stared at the parachuting pilot. "He's hurt. He can't get away. We'll take him alive."

  Still clutching her cheek, Maria looked toward the Earthling. The wind had caught his parachute, carrying him northward over the village. His blood dripped onto the bamboo nipa huts.

  "He's heading to the banana grove!" somebody cried out.

  "He's mine!" Ernesto said.

  "Let him go!" Maria cried. "Don't hurt him."

  But the men were already running, storming across the paddies toward the banana plantation.

  Maria ran after them. Her baro't saya, the traditional dress of her people, woven of pineapple leaves, slapped against her thighs. Her straw hat flew off her head and tumbled across the paddies.

  "Maria, get back here!" Lola Mahalia said. "Leave it to the boys. You come back here and mind the rice. Or I will thrash you!"

  "Why don't you thrash the rice instead?" Maria shot back.

  She kept running, feet splashing along the terraces, scattering rice seed. Some farmers shook their fists, but most were busy watching Ernesto and the boys, transfixed by the unfolding drama. The war had been raging for years, but San Luna had remained isolated, hidden in this valley between the mountains. Now the Great Freedom War had come here too, and Maria knew her home would never be the same.

  The pilot fell into the banana grove. His parachute draped across the squat trees, entangled in t
he branches, and fluttered like a banner. The men kept running, entering the plantation, and Maria ran hot in pursuit.

  She ran between the banana trees, her bare feet kicking up dirt. The trees were only slightly taller than she was, their fronds forming a canopy. It was cool here in the shade, a blessed relief from the heat of the day.

  Tarsiers clung to the branches. The furry critters were no larger than Maria's fist, but their eyes were huge and round, as large as human eyes. Tarsiers lived in all the fruit trees in San Luna, guarding the banana, avocado, and mango groves. The tiny primates, originally from Earth, had been bred to eat the local Bahayan insects, protecting the precious harvest.

  The bananas were still green and small. But in a few weeks, they would ripen, and the village would feast. Every family would boast that its own recipe was best. Some would fry bananas in honey and sprinkle them with coconut. Others would mush them with rice and bake sweet cakes. Some families roasted their bananas over a fire. It would be a time to gain some fat before the next monsoon season. The harvest was always joyous in San Luna, but now Maria wondered if more fire would burn. Did this Earthling bring with him just a single broken machine? Or a promise of devastation?

  They found the Earthling among the trees.

  He was lying on the ground, but Maria could tell he was big and tall. She could see how long those legs were, how wide the arms. He was probably even taller than Ernesto—and much heavier. Earth must have great harvests, and this pilot must have eaten many feasts. He was not fat. Maria had seen fat people before in picture books. No, this was not a fat man. But not rawboned either. Not small and slender like the villagers. Earthlings must be a race of giants.

  And this particular giant was dying.

  He lay on the dirt, clutching his leg. Blood dripped between his fingers. The bullet must have pierced him there. One of his arms seemed to be broken, and burns spread across his ribs. Blood and ash stained hair the color of straw. Strange hair. Maria had never seen hair any color but black. Never seen skin so pale, not brown like hers.

  Maybe the elders are right, Maria thought. Maybe the Earthlings aren't human at all but a race of demons. How could we Bahayans share a heritage with such creatures?

  The men ran toward the fallen pilot. Ernesto delivered the first blow—a hard kick to the ribs. The pilot cried out in pain. And soon all the men were kicking and punching, and one man lifted a branch and began thrashing the Earthling.

  "Stop that!" Maria shoved her way between the men. "Leave him alone. Why are you doing this? We're not animals."

  The men stopped brutalizing their victim and turned toward Maria. For a moment, she thought they would turn their wrath upon her, beat her with as much vigor. Ernesto took a step closer, forming a fist. Maria's cheek still hurt from his earlier blow, but she refused to back down.

  "Why are you trying to kill him?" she said.

  "He's a pute." Ernesto spat. "A demon of Earth."

  "He's human like us!" Maria said. "And if you strike me again, Ernesto Santos, I will let the whole village know that you have a titi the size of a garden worm."

  His face twisted with rage, and the men laughed, and when Maria stomped between them, they stepped aside. Already they were mocking Ernesto, asking to see the garden worm between his legs.

  Ignoring them, Maria knelt by the Earthling. He was indeed a giant. His arms were almost the size of her body, his jaw was like a slab of stone. Beside him, Maria felt like a child.

  Why are Earthlings so big? she thought. What do they eat? Is the gravity different on Earth? Were we Bahayans bigger when we lived on Earth centuries ago, or were we always small?

  So many questions and nobody to ask.

  The Earthling gazed at her, eyes pained. He spoke in a raspy voice.

  "Water…"

  She knew that word. He was speaking English. The village spoke Tagalog, an ancient language of the Philippines, their ancestral home on Earth, which they had not seen in centuries. But Maria knew a little English. She had some books and tapes an Earthling missionary had left here fifteen years ago, when she had only been a toddler. Maria had clung to her Catholic faith, rejecting the strange ways of Mormonism, but she had kept the books and tapes, and she had learned the language of the enemy.

  "Here, drink." Maria opened her flask, formed from a hollow coconut with a bamboo spout. She poured green tea sweetened with honey into his mouth. The pilot drank, coughed, and finally managed to swallow a little.

  "I… am I in the south?" he rasped. "I was flying along the northern border. Routine reconnaissance mission. One of the Kennys got me. Rocket launcher I think." He coughed. Blood speckled his lips. "I'm your friend. We're here to help you. Tell them." He glanced at the village men, wincing. "Tell them I'm a friend."

  Maria turned toward Ernesto and the others.

  "Does the pute beg for his life?" Ernesto said, speaking Tagalog, and his friends laughed.

  "He's our friend, Ernesto!" Maria rose to her full height—not that it was particularly impressive—and placed her fists on her hips. "The Earthlings fight with South Bahay. Against the north. He's not here to hurt us, he—"

  "You speak like a traitor!"

  Face twisted with rage, Ernesto shoved her. Maria yelped, prepared to fight back this time. But Ernesto's cousins grabbed her, held her back, their hands like manacles around her wrists.

  Ernesto was perhaps a southerner like her. Ostensibly, South Bahay was an ally of Earth—or at least a client state. But many, like Ernesto, considered this alliance treachery. They believed that Santiago, president of South Bahay, was nothing but a puppet who deserved the noose. Like many young South Bahayans, Ernesto had refused to bow before Earth. Full of youth's fervor, he had been fighting the Earthlings in the jungles. Maria wondered if Ernesto, lurking in the brush, had fired the rocket that had crippled the plane.

  Maria didn't understand these politics well. Nobody in this village ever answered her questions. But one thing she knew: This Earthling was not a threat. He was in pain. And she wanted to save him.

  "I speak however I want, Ernesto!" Maria said, struggling in the men's grip. "Why do you fear my words?"

  He glared at her. His good eye was narrowed and burning. The other eye was still wide, milky white, a sphere of broken glass. She could see herself reflected there a thousand times. Like looking into a broken mirror.

  "When you're my wife, you will learn respect," Ernesto said.

  "Why must I learn respect?" Maria said. "Why should I respect you?"

  Ernesto spat on her. Maria cringed, shocked into silence.

  Her betrothed turned toward the Earthling, and a mad smile twisted his lips.

  "Hello, filthy pute," Ernesto said to the wounded pilot. "I have a question for you."

  "He doesn't speak Tagalog!" Maria said, struggling against the hands that clutched her. "Don't you know the Earthlings don't speak it?"

  Ernesto smirked. "Then translate for me." He leaned down, gripped the Earthling, and shoved his finger into the bullet wound.

  The Earthling howled. He thrashed, much larger than Ernesto, but weak with blood loss. Ernesto shoved his finger deeper. It entered the wound down to the knuckle.

  "Look at me, pute," Ernesto said. "Look me in the eyes. And tell me. Do you know the name Roberto Santos?"

  Maria froze. She remembered Roberto. She remembered the funeral.

  "Translate!" Ernesto demanded, glaring at her.

  Maria raised her chin, silent. But when Ernesto raised his fist, she begrudgingly translated his words.

  The Earthling stared at Ernesto.

  "I—" The pilot coughed more blood. "I won't tell you a goddamn thing, you fucking slit."

  Maria gasped. The word stabbed her like a bamboo knife. It was the most horrible word in English. A word that reduced Bahayans to mere animals. To something subhuman.

  But Ernesto only grinned at the pilot, revealing a golden tooth. "Roberto was my brother. He joined the Kalayaan. What did you call them? The Kennys?
"

  The pilot's eyes flooded with fear. Just that one word. Three syllables. Kalayaan. To Bahayans, it meant freedom. To Earth, it meant terror. It made the giants tremble.

  "Fuck you, you fucking gook," the Earthling growled. "We came here to help you. We're going to fucking—"

  Ernesto raised his rifle, then brought it down hard.

  The wooden stock slammed into the Earthling's face, shattering his teeth.

  The man gave a gurgling red scream. Maria screamed too, trying to rush forward, but the village men held her back.

  "You killed my brother." Ernesto slammed his rifle down again, cracking the pilot's jaw. "Roberto joined to fight for our planet. For our freedom. And you murdered him!"

  He slammed his rifle down again and again, pulverizing the Earthling's face, still pummeling the man long after his screams had died. When finally Ernesto stepped back, there was little but red pulp where a face had been, and Ernesto laughed madly, blood on his hands.

  The pilot gave a gasping, gurgling breath.

  Still alive. Oh God, still alive.

  Maria wept.

  A shot rang out. Ernesto lowered his smoking rifle.

  "See? I gave him mercy at the end." He looked at Maria. "I am a merciful man." He stroked her cheek, smearing it with blood. "I finally came back from the war to marry you, my beloved Maria. After the harvest, you will be my wife, and I will treat you with great mercy."

  She stared into his eyes, refusing to look away. She spat on his face.

  "Your brother was a fool. And so are you."

  He raised his hand to strike her, his face twisting.

  "A fool!" Maria repeated. "Roberto knew the risk when he joined the Kalayaan. When he began to kill Earthlings. Now you killed a man too! You murdered him! Not out in the jungle, but here in our home! Why? For what? You placed this whole village in danger, and—"

  He did not strike her cheek this time.

  He drove his fist into her belly.

  Maria doubled over, coughing, gasping for air. He grabbed her hair, twisted it, and shoved her onto the dead Earthling.

  "Look at him!" He held her face toward the bloody pulp. "Look at this pute. He's not a man. Just a demon." His voice rose to a shout. "Look at him, Maria! Look at the fate of those who would conquer our planet, who would subjugate our people. We fight for freedom. This is the cost. If you cannot pay it, you will always be a slave."