There were mountains of swords, rifles, pistols, throwing stars, maces, and every other weapon known to man or alien. Skulls, crystals, wooden staffs and wands, alien fetuses in jars, and countless other curiosities covered shelves. Crates of bullets, grenades, battle rations, and uniforms rose in piles. Larger items covered the deck plates: cannons, missiles, reactors, engine parts, barrels of fuel, and even armored vehicles.
Emet's voice emerged from Rowan's comm.
"Rowan, ETA on getting that wormhole back up?"
The president was trying to sound calm and confident. But Rowan knew he was terrified. They all were.
"Working on it, sir!" she said. "Give me as long as you can!"
She turned toward Starflare.
"Well?" Rowan raised her arms in frustration. "The spare cannon?"
Starflare nodded. "It's somewhere around here. I'll help you find it."
Rowan uttered every vile curse she knew as they rummaged through the supplies. Enemy fire kept pounding the fleet. Blasts slammed into the Painted Orchid, cracking shields, rocking the corvette. The ship was flying on autopilot, barely dodging the attacks. Rowan winced at every blast, just waiting for a laser to break through and ignite the munitions within.
Finally, under several suits of armor and an ancient alien tapestry, they found the backup talaria cannon.
They struggled to lift the heavy tube. It was easily ten feet long.
"Help me mount this outside!" Rowan said. "You got any welding equipment?"
Starflare gave a crooked grin. "This is a starling ship, honey. Every weapon imaginable snaps on." She put on her helmet. "Plug and play, baby."
"Lego ship," Rowan said. "Perfect."
They floated outside and attached the cannon to the Painted Orchid's prow. The battle still raged around them, lasers and missiles flying everywhere.
"Firebirds, cover us!" Rowan cried into her comm.
A squad of birds swooped in, pummeling nearby Copperheads. Rowan worked in a fury, typing on her minicom, feeding data into the backup cannon.
"We're good to go!" she said, flying away from the ship.
The cannon thrummed, and a beam emerged, reforming the triangle.
A new wormhole appeared.
"Done, sir!" Rowan shouted, hailing Emet on her comm. "Let's get the hell out of here!"
Starflare ignited her jetpack. She made to fly back into her ship. But Rowan grabbed her.
"Sorry, Starflare," she said. "Your ship stays behind. Only way to keep the wormhole open for everyone else."
Starflare spun toward her, eyes wide. "What? But—that's my ship!"
"Now it's scrap metal," Rowan said. "Come on—into the Byzantium! We'll catch a ride."
"But—" Starflare began. "My ship! It's filled with priceless collectibles! My life is in there!"
"Your death is in there!" Rowan pulled the starling through space. "Let it go, Starflare. It's gone."
Starflare growled and screamed. Rowan had to drag her. Their jetpacks thrummed, and the two women flew toward the Byzantium.
Rowan entered the flagship first. Starflare tried to escape. But Rowan tightened her grip. She dragged the starling inside, then slammed the airlock shut.
"My ship," Starflare whispered. "My beautiful ship."
The last warships were flying through the wormhole now. Several Firebird squadrons followed, leaving only a handful of starfighters behind to continue defending the talaria cannons.
Two thousand Rattlers now flew toward the Byzantium, cannons firing.
Blasts slammed into the flagship again and again, shattering the shields, breaching the hull.
Rowan fell hard onto the deck. The ship jolted. She gazed out a porthole in horror. A blast hit the airlock, ripping the doors free. Soldiers were spilling out from a breach one deck above.
And then—the Byzantium entered the wormhole.
Streaks of light surrounded them.
Rowan and Starflare clung to rungs on the bulkhead, desperately hanging on while the Byzantium roared through the wormhole.
Behind them, the wormhole was beginning to fray. Rents tore across its luminous walls, revealing planes of shadow and lightning, a dark universe in a deeper plane.
We're leaving the last starfighters behind, Rowan realized as they flew. We're leaving their pilots to die. They sacrificed themselves to let us flee.
The tears fell.
The wormhole collapsed around them.
The Byzantium burst out the other end with barely a second to spare. The wormhole vanished behind them. The warship floated through open space.
The survivors of the fleet were there. A few hundred starships. Damaged. Some carved open. Many with casualties aboard. Rowan didn't know how many ships they had lost. It would be dozens, she knew. Probably over a hundred.
She stood in the airlock, gazing out at the charred, ravaged warships. At what remained of Earth's fleet. At the force that would need to topple an empire.
Starflare rose to stand beside her. She looked out at the fleet and chewed her lip.
"Well, we're mucked," the starling said.
Rowan lowered her head, ice in her belly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
"What is the final casualty report?" Emet said.
He and his officers stood on the Byzantium's bridge. The enemy lasers had pummeled the ship, carving up several decks. Scattered fires still burned across the frigate. The bridge too had suffered damage. Viewports had shattered. The bulkheads were charred. Half the computer systems were offline, and life support was running on backup power.
Tom raised his eyes from his monitor. Those dark eyes seemed to stare ten thousand miles away. His voice was low, haunted.
"We've lost a hundred and three starships, sir," he said. "Ranging from frigates to Firebirds."
Emet forced himself to remain strong. To hide the terror inside him.
"And the death toll?" Emet said.
Tom met his eyes. "We don't know yet, sir. But we estimate thirty thousand dead."
"Thirty thousand," Emet whispered.
He struggled to remain standing.
"Our ships were crammed with marines, sir," Tom said. "We lost too many freighters and tankers. We assume that everyone on those ships is dead."
Emet turned toward the viewport, not trusting himself to hide the turmoil on his face.
Thirty thousand.
It seemed an impossible number. A massacre. An unimaginable tragedy. So many dead—within hours.
They had flown out here with a hundred and fifty thousand troops. Nearly the entire human army. To lose so many, so soon … three entire divisions …
This is a catastrophe, Emet thought. We lost more people in space than in the nuclear assaults on Earth. More people died in space today than at the historic battle of Iwo Jima.
He turned back toward his officers. They were all staring at him. Silent. Faces hard. They had all experienced loss before. But this was different. This army was their last hope to save humanity.
If they failed, they died.
All of them.
Every last human, here in space and back on Earth.
"This battle hurt us," Emet said to his crew. "We fought well. We fought with courage. We have many tales of sacrifice and bravery. But it was also a defeat. Maybe even a fiasco. The enemy surprised us with new capabilities. With their stealth technology, they sneaked up on us. With their new engines, they flew faster than ever before. Even so, we should have responded better. Going forward, I want six talaria cannons ready at any moment. Yes, I realize they need to be recalibrated as we fly, adjusting to our location and nearby gravity wells. I want teams recalibrating them around the clock, keeping them ready to fire at an instant. Furthermore, I want our largest ships to fly in single file behind the talaria cannons, ready to fly through wormholes as quickly as possible. We'll instate clear jump sequences, every ship with its own number in a queue, to make sure there's no more crowding around wormhole portals. We left Earth in a rush. We w
ere unprepared. And we suffered the cost of that. A terrible cost that is almost too great to comprehend."
Starflare took a step forward. "We must turn back to Earth!" The starling bared her fangs, and her tail thrust out in a straight line. "We're down to three hundred ships. That's not enough to destroy an empire! We must go back. Rebuild. Retrain."
"We don't have the time," Emet said. "Only last week, we barely repelled a basilisk attack on Earth. They lobbed a hundred nukes at us. One got through. Thousands died. The longer we wait, the closer we come to Xerka attacking us again. Earth cannot withstand another basilisk assault. We must press on! We must reach Sskarsses! And we must kill Xerka."
"With what army?" Starflare insisted.
"With this army!" Emet said. "We fight with the army we have. Yes, we have only three hundred ships left. But aboard them are over a hundred thousand marines. That is a force to be reckoned with."
His words were unconvincing. He could see that in their eyes. Yes, a hundred thousand was a large army by Earth standards. It was a significant percentage of the human race.
But Xerka commanded millions of basilisk troops.
"Sir." Rowan stepped forward. "At our last jump, we had talaria cannons installed onto three shuttles. Shuttles with human pilots. Shuttles we had to leave behind. The pilots had to eject and fly with jetpacks toward the Byzantium. Two didn't make it, and Najila lost her legs. Going forward, a suggestion. Install copies of me into shuttles with talaria cannons. If we must jump in a hurry again, my copies can remain behind. They will die, yes. But it will save human lives."
Emet blinked, for a moment confused. Then he understood. It was not Rowan speaking to him. It was Brooklyn, installed into Rowan's clone. With Brooklyn now wearing a military uniform, the two women looked identical.
"Are you sure, Brooklyn?" Emet said. "You're a living being. Your copies would feel as real as you are."
"I'm willing to sacrifice them." Brooklyn raised her chin. "To save human lives."
Emet nodded. "Thank you, Brooklyn. We'll implement your plan."
She saluted, eyes damp. "Yes, sir. I am proud to fight for Earth. For humanity. For our species."
She will die for humanity, Emet thought, looking at the young woman. Her copies will, at least. And who's to say they will be any less alive? Millions have died already. How many more people do I lead to their deaths?
A voice spoke in the back of Emet's mind.
Flee, the voice said. Take these three hundred ships. Take the hundred thousand aboard them. Flee across the galaxy. Flee into exile. Save what you still can of the human race.
They all stared at him.
Emet knew they were all hearing the same voice.
"We will continue," Emet said. "We will fight on. This is not a suicide mission. The battle will be hard. Victory is not guaranteed. But I believe we have a chance. Maybe the chance is small. But it's a chance we must take. Our generation is one of blood and sacrifice, of fire and death but victory too. We are the generation that returned to Earth. And we must be the generation that saves our world. We did not fight for so many years to lose our planet now. We will fight on! To the very end."
"To the very end," Tom said, coming to stand beside him.
"To the very end," said Leona, joining them.
They all stepped closer. They all repeated the words.
All but Rowan. She hesitated. She pursed her lips.
"To the very end," she finally said, joining him, but her voice was soft.
They flew onward.
That night, Emet left the bridge to Tom. He walked down narrow corridors, heading toward his cabin. He had not slept in two days. He would nap for an hour, maybe two, then return to his station.
But on the way, Rowan was waiting in the shadows.
"Sir?" She stepped into the light of a flickering lamp.
"Rowan, I'm tired," Emet said. "I'm going to bed. You should rest too."
"Sir, just a moment. Please?"
He grunted and turned toward her. "Speak."
She stared up at him, only half his size.
"Sir, back at the battle," she said, voice barely more than a whisper. "I heard you over the comms. You ordered five Firebirds to stay behind. To protect the talaria cannons and allow the last frigates to flee."
Emet nodded. "Yes. The pilots gave their lives for Earth. Theirs was a sacrifice we will never forget. They will be remembered as heroes. Always."
Rowan wouldn't break her eye contact. "Sir, Brooklyn was already installed into the geode-ships. You could have evacuated the marines from those ships. Ordered them into shuttles. Left a geode-ship or two behind, empty, to defend the cannons. Sir, I read the transcripts from the battle. I know Brooklyn volunteered for this task. Those Firebird pilots didn't have to die."
Emet's face heated. His belly clenched. Anger flooded him.
But there was a feeling below that. Colder, harder. Was there guilt?
"Emery, I do not owe you an explanation."
"You do!" Rowan said. "Those were my cannons. My strategy. And my life on the line! When I follow you to battle, it's my life! So tell me. Why did you leave the Firebird pilots to die? Why did you ignore Brooklyn when she volunteered? Why—"
"We need our geode-ships!" Emet said—too loudly. It was almost a shout. "They are the largest, fastest, strongest warships in our fleet. We need them more than Firebirds!"
Rowan took a step back. Her eyes dampened. "Even at the cost of five lives?" she whispered. "Five pilots who died for you?"
Emet took a step closer. His jaw clenched. He glared at her.
"Even at the cost of five hundred," Emet said. "Because we are flying to an alien world, Rowan. We are flying to the heart of an empire. We are flying to kill Xerka, a beast of pure evil. We are flying to save humanity. Did I sacrifice five pilots to save mere starships? Yes. And I would again. And again. Because we need powerful starships if we're to win this war. And I'm fighting to win! At any cost!"
Rowan took another step back. Her back hit the bulkhead.
"They call you the Old Lion," she whispered. "And not only because of how you look."
"A lion will do anything to protect his pride," Emet said. "He will even kill the cubs of a competing male. He can be cruel. He can be heartless. But he protects his pride. At any cost. In this war, you need a lion. Or the snakes will devour us all."
He turned and left her in the corridor. He entered his cabin.
Cindy normally shared his cabin. But she was on the hospital ship, treating the wounded from the battle. Emet stood alone in darkness.
He took a deep breath. He gingerly touched a wound on his side. He felt every one of his sixty-one years.
"Someday you will have a different leader," he said to the darkness. "Someday you will have a wise, kind, soft leader. Not hard killers like me. But right now, Earth, you need killers. And that is my greatest sacrifice. To save humanity, I sacrifice my own humanity."
He lay down in bed.
He closed his eyes.
Three hours later, klaxons blared, waking him.
New Rattlers were flying in. Thousands of them from every direction.
As the alarms flashed, Emet ran to the bridge. The snakes were back, and the lion was ready to roar.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Brooklyn flew, shattered into a hundred shards of soul.
The snakes were closing in. And Brooklyn screamed.
"Brook!" Bay held her. "Brook, you all right?"
She shivered in his arms. A human. A woman. Afraid.
She fired up her engines, and she flew great ships of stone, alien geodes filled with water and light, and her crystal hearts thrummed.
She flowed through cables and pistons and buzzed across microchips, flying the shuttles, blazing shards of metal, cannons mounted on their hulls.
"I can feel them!" she whispered, clutching Bay's hand. "I can feel my sisters. A hundred. Broken."
She began to convulse.
"What's happening t
o her?" Bay shouted somewhere in the distance. A voice from another world.
"I don't know!" came a muffled voice. It was Rowan. Sweet Rowan, dear friend, so distant, fading away. "She's telepathically linked to her clones somehow. Damn it! This has never happened before."
But that was a lie.
Brooklyn had always felt them. Always been connected to her sisters. Even since that first day. Ever since Bay had installed her copies into fireships, sent them up to die. Ever since Leona had installed her into two hundred geode-ships, launching them at the enemy.
Brooklyn had been many from the start.
But now—now she knew death. She had known death a hundred times. Now she saw the snakes close in. She was no longer innocent.
"Fire the talaria cannons."
A voice inside her. One of her sisters. Perhaps her own voice.
"Open the wormhole."
The thousands of Rattlers were only moments away. They opened fire. Lasers flew toward the fleet, slamming into hulls. Shards of metal flew through space.
"Let our fleet fly."
Brooklyn trembled.
"I'm scared."
"You have to do this!"
"I remember dying."
"You must die again!"
"It hurts."
"Then it hurts. Open the wormhole! Die for Earth. Die for life."
She wasn't sure who was talking to her. So many voices. All of them her own. Here aboard the Byzantium, living in a human brain. Aboard dozens of geode-ships, craggy warships of stone. Trapped in minicoms, backup copies, slumbering but still mumbling, feeling, thinking, crying out.
And installed in three shuttles.
Three shuttles without a human pilot.
Three shuttles with talaria cannons.
"Die for them."
"I'm only software. I can die. I must die. I must let humans flee."
"I'm afraid."
"Do this. Do it for them. Die. And the pain will end."
"I'll do it, Bay," she whispered, held in his arms. "I'll do it, Rowan. I'll save you. I'll save you all …"
Brooklyn tightened her lips. She narrowed her eyes. She focused.
And she found them.
The Legacy of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 6) Page 18