She wiped her eyes and climbed onto the cot with him.
"I'm a huge, stupid failure," she said.
"You're not huge," Bay said. "Do you even weigh a hundred pounds? I'll never know where all those pancakes go." He stroked her hair. "Not even going to crack a smile? Nothing?"
"Just hold me," she whispered.
He held her, and she laid her head on his chest.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he said softly.
"No. Let's watch another episode. Okay? Please."
He kissed her forehead. "Of course. Now I need to figure out Mr. Tojamura's true identity!"
Finally she managed a weak smile. "You haven't figured that out yet?"
He snorted. "Well, I'm not as smart as you, Miss Head of Antikythera Institute."
They spent an hour curled up together, watching their show. They were flying to war. They were flying toward what might mean their death—indeed the death of all humans. But for an hour, they escaped.
"Thank you, Bay." She kissed him. "This is what I needed."
Yet as she made love to him that night, the fear returned. As she moved atop him, she imagined that he was dead. That she was trying to revive him. That was she weeping over his corpse. Her tears splashed his chest, and he opened his eyes.
"Rowan! Am I hurting you?"
"I don't want to lose you," she whispered.
He held her tightly. And she never wanted him to let go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
They were five days from Earth, traveling deep into basilisk territory, when the enemy attacked.
Emet had been expecting them.
Earth was just an enclave in the far-flung reaches of the Basilisk Empire. A speck in the backwater. But the human fleet was now nearing Sskarsses. This was snake country. And the beasts were coming in fast.
"Sir, I'm detecting a thousand Rattlers approaching off our starboard bow!" said Tom Shepherd, standing at his station.
Emet nodded. "How long until they reach us, Mr. Shepherd?"
"Ten minutes, maybe sooner," Tom said. "Those snakes are fast."
"Ten minutes!" Emet spun toward his first officer, eyes wide. "Why didn't we detect them earlier?"
"I'm not sure, sir," Tom said. "They seem to be using a new configuration of warp speed. It was masking their signals." He shook his head, lips tight. "Their technology has improved since we last fought the bastards."
They stood aboard the bridge of the Byzantium. The other ships flew around the flagship—frigates and freighters in the center, then a ring of corvettes, and finally a sphere of Firebirds.
Emet stared off the starboard bow. He couldn't see the enemy yet. But the monitors were flashing warnings.
A thousand Rattlers, Emet thought. My Ra. Too many for us to fight.
"Full Red Alert!" he said.
Red lights flashed. Klaxons blared. Across the five hundred human starships, troops would be racing toward their battle stations.
"Sir!" Tom said. "More ships coming in from our port side! Another thousand, sir."
Emet nodded. "I see them, Mr. Shepherd. The basilisks are executing a classic pincer maneuver. They aim to trap us—and crush us between them." He smiled thinly. "We won't let them."
They had left Earth in a rush. But Emet had not forgotten his most valuable technology.
Talaria cannons.
Rowan had invented them a year ago: wormhole generators.
They weren't perfect. Each wormhole required three cannons firing together, triangulating their beams. And the wormholes could stretch for a light-year at most.
True, Rowan had used a single talaria beam to hurl Xerka halfway across the galaxy. But a single beam was unstable. There was no way to input its coordinates. Three beams, working together, were short range—but accurate down to the last meter.
Back on Earth, Rowan had used talaria cannons to smuggle refugees past the basilisk blockage.
And right now, they'll smuggle us, Emet thought.
He raised his comm. "Rowan! Get the cannons ready. We're about to execute a jump. In exactly five minutes."
"But sir!" she said. "Priming talaria cannons in five minutes? You told me we'd have several hours of warning."
"Get that wormhole open now, Colonel!"
"Yes, sir! On it."
Emet cursed. He had planned for a space jump. But he had been hoping to avoid one. Three starships would need to fire their talaria cannons together to open the portal.
That meant leaving three ships behind.
He had to sacrifice three ships now—or lose all five hundred when those basilisks showed up.
"Sir, they're only five minutes away now!" Tom said. "They're moving faster than any Rattlers I've ever seen. They must have some new engines. I've never seen Rattlers fly so fast."
Emet cursed. Talaria cannons required time to calibrate. And he would need more time to evacuate ships, one by one, through the resulting wormhole.
He clenched his fists.
"We'll have to fight. We have to give Rowan time." He hit his comm. "All warships, prepare for battle! Godspeed, soldiers of Earth!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Rowan ran down the Byzantium's central corridor, staring at her minicom in horror.
"You're calibrating it wrong!" she shouted. "Damn it, Najila! You have to set the sensors to adjust for our spacetime warp!"
Soldiers were racing down the corridor in the opposite direction, heading toward their battle stations. Klaxons wailed. Red lights strobed. Engines and gears rumbled through the ship as cannons turned toward the incoming enemy. Through the portholes, Rowan could already see the distant lights—the Rattlers. Coming in fast. Thousands of them.
Najila's voice emerged from Rowan's comm. The young Gaelian was a few kilometers away, serving aboard a shuttle mounted with a talaria cannon.
"But according to the specs, the crystals need to be set in a perfect three-degree parallax!" Najila said. "It says right here in the manual that—"
"I wrote the damn manual!" Rowan shouted. "And that's for Earth setting. Earth, dammit! We're in space, flying inside a warp bubble. Use your math!"
Najila huffed through the comm. "Hey, if it's not in the manual, I don't do it."
Rowan groaned. "I'm flying over with a jetpack. For muck's sake! If you want to do something right, you gotta do it yourself …"
As she ran, Rowan blamed herself. For the past five days, she had wasted time peeling potatoes and doing laundry, failing to impress Sandalphon. She should have been drilling with her talaria technicians instead. Now they needed to execute a jump, and the nincompoops were screwing it up.
She sighed. It's my fault. I trained them poorly. Now I have to fix this. I can't have more deaths on my conscience.
She wormed her way between running marines and gunners, leaped into the hangar bay, and grabbed a spacesuit. She tugged it on too fast, accidentally placing both feet into one pant leg. She fell, banging her minicom onto the floor, and cursed. She hopped toward the wall, still tugging on the suit, and grabbed a jetpack.
"No, damn it!" she shouted at her minicom. The screen was cracked. "Perry, you too? Fix your damn calibration!"
The hangar airlock opened. Firebirds roared outward, blasting Rowan with heat and air. She slammed against the wall, cursing, as the starfighters stormed to battle. Rowan ran and leaped off the edge, diving into space.
For a moment, she stared in horror.
The Rattlers were arriving.
The battle began.
Thousands of Rattlers surrounded the human force, trapping them in a pincer move. Their lasers fired. A corvette exploded. A geode-ship shattered, scattering crystals across space. Several laser beams whipped back and forth, carving up starling warships. The human force was fighting back hard. Firebirds courageously charged at the basilisks' Copperheads. The frigates and corvettes arranged themselves in defensive positions, cannons pounding the enemy.
But the human ships were few, the Rattlers many. And every hum
an ship mattered. Every human ship was critical for the assault on Sskarsses—a planet that still lay many light-years away.
Emet is right, Rowan thought. We can't win this battle. We need to get that wormhole up—and blast the hell out of here.
Emet's voice emerged from her headpiece. "Rowan, how is that talaria wormhole coming along?"
"Working on it, sir!" she said. "We've never fired them from space before. The physics are a bit different."
"Get her fired up, Emery!" Emet said. "We need that wormhole. Now!"
"One wormhole coming right up, sir!"
Rowan activated her jetpack and flew through the battle. She could see them at the head of the fleet: three armored transporters, boxy ships heavy with armor. Talaria cannons were mounted onto them. The transporters had arranged themselves in a perfect triangle, the right positions for opening the portal. But they couldn't get their math right. The cannons were still cold.
Rowan zipped through the battle, clutching the handles of her jetpack. A missile streaked beneath her, and an explosion bloomed across a Rattler. A laser beam shone at her side. A Firebird tore open. A pilot spilled out, sliced in half. Warships' cannons were pounding below. Starfighters streamed above. Rowan swerved left and right, dodging missiles, bullets, and lasers.
Another human warship shattered.
Soldiers tumbled into space, screaming silently, dying in the vacuum.
The basilisks surrounded them, outnumbered them, were hammering them with blast after blast.
"Rowan, we need that wormhole!" Emet said.
"I'm on it, sir, I—"
A stray bullet slammed into her.
Rowan screamed, knocked into a spin.
Her spacesuit was covered with graphene. The armor stopped the bullet—but the impact hurt her leg. It would leave an ugly bruise, had maybe even cracked the bone. She careened, spraying a spiral of fire. Her vision blurred. She managed to grab the handlebars and steady her flight. For a moment, she was disoriented. But she found her bearings and flew onward, spurting out a trail of flame.
Rowan reached one of the three talaria shuttles. She yanked open the airlock hatch, rolled inside, and ran at a limp toward the cockpit. Najila was sitting there, wearing a spacesuit. The young Gaean leaped from her seat. She stared at Rowan, eyes wide, face drawn.
"I couldn't get it work," Najila whispered. "They're dying. Oh God. I'm sorry."
"Mourn later!" she said. "Let me focus!"
Rowan stared at the monitor. She saw the problem at once. Damn it! It was like she had suspected. The math was set to Earth's gravity. She typed furiously, adjusting the variables to match the fleet's current speed, the warp of spacetime, and the faint gravitational pull of a nearby binary star. It wasn't perfect. But it would do.
I never taught my techs the new math. Rowan trembled. I was too busy trying to impress Sandalphon. It's my fault.
She tightened her lips.
Mourn later. Guilt later. Right now—save this fleet.
She reviewed the math one more time, then nodded.
"There." Rowan flipped a switch, activating the cannon.
Through the viewport, she saw the cannon thrusting out from the transporter. The azoth crystals inside the bore began to bend spacetime, glowing lavender. The cannon blasted a beam of warped reality.
Rowan called the other two transporters. She fed the technicians the right numbers. The two other boxy starships fired their talaria cannons. The three beams met several kilometers ahead, forming a glowing orb of light.
Rowan watched, breath held.
"Come on, work," she whispered.
At the luminous intersection, the wormhole opened.
"Got it, Emet, sir!" Rowan cried into her minicom. "Let's get the hell out of here!"
The first ships flew toward the wormhole. The passageway was just large enough for one ship at a time. The more vulnerable ships entered first: the HDSF Kos, a hospital ship. Then the HDFS Santiago, an ammunition ship. More noncombat ships were lining up behind them. Meanwhile, the warships were still busy pounding the enemy, desperate to hold the Rattlers back. The enemy kept firing, kept slicing through shields. Another Firebird exploded. A corvette tore open.
Rowan watched in horror.
Our fleet is collapsing, and we're not even halfway to Sskarsses. This is a mucking fiasco.
She grabbed Najila.
"Come on, Naj! Get your helmet on. We're flying."
One of the problems with using talaria cannons in space: You had to leave them behind.
Rowan and Najila leaped out from the transporter, jet packs thrumming. The two other talaria technicians joined them, abandoning their shuttles. A corvette swooped by, and an airlock opened. Bay waved from inside.
"Need a lift?" he said.
Rowan and the technicians flew toward the airlock.
They were only a few meters away when a Copperhead swooped.
"Rowan, watch out!" Bay cried from his ship's airlock.
Rowan looked up. She saw the small, scaly starfighter diving.
A green laser beam flashed across space.
Rowan flew closer to Bay's corvette, dodging the beam. But the laser sliced through Najila, severing her legs.
The Gaean screamed.
Oh God. Oh God.
Rowan could barely breathe. Her head spun. She shoved down the horror. She grabbed Najila's arm and pulled her along. The severed legs floated away.
Bay was firing his rifle from the airlock. The corvette's gunner was firing too, and cannons pounded the Copperhead.
The alien starfighter exploded. Metal scales flew. One slammed into Rowan, carving her armor, cutting her flesh. She yowled, bleeding out into the vacuum.
More Copperheads were streaming in.
More lasers flashed, hitting the other two talaria technicians. They screamed. They fell silent. They floated away.
Trembling, Rowan kept flying. She pulled the mutilated Najila with her.
Bay reached out from the airlock and grabbed her hand. He pulled her and Najila inside.
Both women collapsed onto the deck. Najila was screaming, clutching the stumps of her legs. The lasers had sliced both just above the knees.
"We need a medic!" Rowan shouted toward the main hold.
"We don't have one!" Bay answered. "They're aboard the larger ships. Damn it! And the Kos is already through the wormhole."
Rowan struggled out from her spacesuit and grimaced. The metal scale—a piece of shrapnel from the Copperhead—had carved a deep gash between her ribs. The Harmonians were working on the wound, glowing inside her, weaving strands of flesh. As they healed her, Rowan tore open her medical kit.
"Bay, hold her down," she said.
He nodded and gripped Najila's shoulders. Rowan applied tourniquets around her stumps. Najila kept screaming, but her voice was weakening, her blood draining. Her skin was ashen now. She lost consciousness in a pool of blood.
Rowan tightened the tourniquets. "I stopped the bleeding. But she lost a lot of blood. We need to get her aboard the Kos. She'll be dead within minutes without Cindy. Bay—fly through the wormhole!"
The corvette shook as enemy blasts pounded them.
"We have to stay and fight!" Bay said. "A while longer, at least. To give more ships a chance to fly through first."
Rowan shook her head, pulling her spacesuit back on. "No, fly through. Get Najila to safety! Save her life. We have enough warships out here."
She raced toward the airlock.
"Row!" Bay cried. "Where are you going?"
"I'm staying for now!" she said. "I need to monitor the talaria cannons. Get Najila to the hospital ship!"
With that, Rowan rushed into the airlock, then plunged back into space.
As she flew through the battle, her heart sank.
It was bad.
Very bad.
Dozens of human warships had been destroyed so far. Corpses floated through the void. The Rattlers surrounded the human ships, pounding them relentlessly.<
br />
Rowan spun toward the wormhole. A frigate flew into the portal, stretched into a beam of light, and vanished into the distance. Bay's corvette lined up behind several other ships, waiting to fly through.
Half the human fleet had fled already. With fewer human ships to fight, the Rattlers were gaining confidence. Their lasers were everywhere, hitting ship after ship. Chunks of bulkheads and broken shields floated through space.
Rowan looked at the talaria shuttles. They were still flying in a triangle, running on autopilot. The three beams still shone, holding the wormhole together.
But not enough Firebirds were protecting the shuttles.
Copperheads swooped. A laser flashed. Light flared.
"No!" Rowan screamed.
One of the talaria cannons exploded.
The wormhole wobbled, flickered, then collapsed, crushing a starship that was halfway through.
Rowan stared in silent horror.
A hundred starships still remained trapped in the basilisk pincer.
A hundred starships filled with humans. And the wormhole was gone.
Rowan gripped her jetpack's handlebars. She flew toward the Painted Orchid, a starling corvette.
As she flew, a barrage of lasers pounded the remaining human fleet, carving up hulls. Earth's starships clustered together, firing out a ring of fury. But Rowan knew they could not last long.
She slammed into the Painted Orchid—an ugly ship cobbled together from scrap metal and spare parts. She pounded on the airlock.
"Let me in, let me in!" Rowan shouted.
A starling opened the airlock. She had horns, a flicking tail, and claws. Rowan recognized her. It was the starling who had been selling the HDF its weapons for the past year.
"Starflare, do you still have that backup talaria cannon?" Rowan said, racing through the ship.
Starflare nodded. "Yeah. Somewhere around here."
Rowan skidded to a halt in the hold.
She stared.
"Oh Ra," she whispered, heart sinking.
The Painted Orchid was full of junk. Piles and piles of junk.
The Legacy of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 6) Page 17