"It's all right, Addy," he whispered.
She looked at him, tears in her eyes. "None of this is all right. None of this." She let out a soft sob. "I miss home. I'm scared, Marco."
He pulled her back into his arms, and they sat together, comforted by each other's warmth.
"Hey, Addy," he finally said. "Remember that time Elvis peed in the milk cartoon?"
She let out something halfway between sob and laugh. "How can I forget? He sprinkled all over the floor around my cot." She laughed again. "Remember that time Beast and Pinky arm wrestled? My god, I couldn't believe Pinky won! He's smaller than one of Beast's entire arms."
"That little dude is strong!" Marco said. "Hey, Addy. I wonder if Dad has stories like this too from his time in the army. When we go back home for Christmas, we'll talk to him about it. He'll bake his famous ham, the one with maple syrup and those little potatoes."
Addy licked her lips. "And we'll watch a Leafs game. They'll finally win the Stanley Cup this season, you know."
Marco snorted. "No way. They haven't won in over two hundred years."
"They'll win the year we go home," Addy said. "We'll go to a game. You and me and your dad. Maybe Lailani will join us if she has leave and nowhere else to go. And we'll buy those giant hot dogs and beer—yes I'm going to make you drink a beer, make you!—and we'll cheer, and we'll know we made the world safe. We'll know that we made it possible. And we'll . . . we'll forget everything that happened here." She nodded and wiped away her tears. "We'll forget."
But Marco knew that he would never forget. He knew that for the rest of his life, he would still see the scum rip into Sheriff and dismember Corporal Webb, that he'd always remember Caveman's last words to him, that he'd wake up from nightmares, even as an old man, seeing the thousands of scum still swarming.
Maybe someday the world will be saved, Marco thought. Maybe someday the world will be good, and all these things Addy talks about will happen. But some scars don't heal. Some pain never leaves you. Some soldiers are buried in the battlefield, but others carry that battlefield with them for the rest of their lives.
He wanted to say all these things but could not, so he simply held Addy, and she leaned against him. Finally, with the sun setting outside the window, she rose to her feet, stretched, and cracked her neck.
"All right, old buddy boy, it's almost seven, and we have a foosball game starting in the hospital lounge. You in?"
Marco shook his head. "I think I'll finally write a chapter in my book."
"Oh, right!" Addy nodded. "Jarhead!" She turned to leave.
"Loggerhead!" he called after her. "It's about a turtle! A—" He sighed as she vanished into the corridor. "Never mind."
His duffel bag lay by his bed, still sandy. He rummaged inside, found his sheaf of paper and a pen. He looked over the first few chapters of Loggerhead. A story written in another life, by another person, before everything had changed. It had been his dream to become a writer. Who was he now? He looked at his hands, once soft, now callused, hands that had killed. Loggerhead, by Marco Emery. He did not know who that was.
"Marco."
A soft voice, almost timid, almost afraid.
He looked up from his book. Lailani stood in the doorway, dressed in the blue summer dress and hat from their drill in Greece.
"Lailani," he whispered.
She gave him a half smile, looked down at her dress, then back up at him. "I look fucking ridiculous. I hope you like it."
He couldn't help but grin, and his eyes stung. He leaped from his bed, and she crashed into his arms, and he held her close against him. She kicked the door shut as they kissed.
"You look beautiful," he said.
Lailani snorted. She tossed aside her hat, revealing her buzz cut. "I don't want to look beautiful. I want to look like a warrior. I—" She leaned her head against his chest. "Okay, maybe for you I want to look beautiful." She grinned and nibbled her lip. "I ruv you, after all."
He tilted his head. "You know, maybe you should remove the dress."
She nodded. "Yes! Finally." She tossed it off.
When they had first made love, it had been awkward, all banging teeth and jabbing elbows, but this time it was smooth, pure, good, it was perfect, and afterward he held her in his arms, and he kissed her over and over, and he whispered, "I love you."
She closed her eyes, nestling against him. "I wish we could stay like this forever."
"We have tonight." He kissed her cheek. "Memories stay with you. Always. The bad memories hurt you, but the good ones warm you in the cold. This night will be one of our good memories."
They made love again, then slept in each other's arms until dawn.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The next morning, Marco began to explore the hospital, which was located on a North African coast with a view of the sea and ancient Roman columns. He discovered a copy of The Sun Also Rises in the hospital's library, and he even lost a game of foosball to Addy. Their wounds were healing fast. Within a few days, they would be ready to continue their service.
"Marco." Corporal Diaz stepped into the lounge, moving on crutches, a bandage around his head. The gruff warrior barely seemed to notice the wounds; they were but scratches compared to what he had suffered in the Appalachians last year. "You're wanted. There's a car waiting for you by the exit."
Marco placed down his cup of instant noodles. "Commander?" he said, frowning.
The corporal smiled thinly. "I told you, Marco. We're no longer at Fort Djemila. You can call me Emilio now."
It still seemed strange to be on a first-name basis with the scarred warrior. For ten weeks of training, Marco had seen Corporal Diaz as an impossibly powerful, wise deity. It was hard to believe that Emilio Diaz was only nineteen, that he loved video games, that he couldn't wait to go home to his parents, brothers, and pets. Again Marco had learned a lesson about perception.
"What is this about, Emilio?" he said.
The corporal shrugged. "No idea. Order came from above."
Marco headed to his room, where he dressed in the new military uniform they had given him, his new rank of private sewn onto the sleeves. He walked through the hospital and took the elevator down to the exit. A military jeep idled there, a corporal smoking in the driver's seat.
"Cig?" the young man said, holding out a box.
Marco shook his head and stepped into the jeep. The corporal shrugged and began to drive. They left the hospital behind. The driver took him through a crumbling, ancient city of brick homes, pale domes, narrow alleys, and virtually no vegetation or color.
Finally they headed toward a military base by the sea. An ancient Roman aqueduct and amphitheater rose by a barbed wire fence. Soldiers stood at the gates, armed with T57s, and waved them in. The jeep stopped by a concrete building, where a portly guard escorted Marco inside, down a corridor, and toward a closed door.
"Enter and salute," the guard told him, sweat glistening on his upper lip. "Answer every question with 'Yes, ma'am' or 'No, ma'am.'"
Marco narrowed his eyes. "What is this? Am I being court-martialed?"
"None of my business," said the guard and left.
Marco frowned. Had he done anything wrong? Was he in trouble? He opened the door and stepped into a small, simple chamber.
Einav Ben-Ari sat here at a desk.
His confusion only grew, and Marco stood at attention and saluted. "Private Emery reporting, ma'am."
Ben-Ari rose from the desk, returned the salute, and gestured at a second seat. Marco noticed that new insignia shone on her shoulders, two bars on each. She was no longer Ensign Ben-Ari, fresh out of officer school, but a full-fledged lieutenant.
"Hello, Marco." Her voice was kind, and Marco exhaled in relief. He wasn't in trouble after all. "Have a seat."
He sat down. "Hello, ma'am."
Ben-Ari picked up a framed shadowbox from the table. Inside were antique medals. Ben-Ari gazed at them and spoke softly. "These are two hundred years old, Marco. They b
elonged to one of my ancestors. He fought the Nazis in the Second World War, a partisan in the forests of Poland. It wasn't a real army, but after the war ended, they gave him these medals. I look at them sometimes to remind myself of why I fight. Most of my family died in the gas chambers in that war, but the survivors fought on. Since that day, Marco, every person in my family has fought in a war. Many have died in wars. We were once a family of singers, poets, and playwrights. We became a family of warriors." She put down the shadow box. "Marco, now it is our generation that must fight against annihilation. It is we who must become warriors."
Marco nodded, not sure what to say. "Yes, ma'am. I understand."
Ben-Ari rose from her seat. She walked toward a map that hung on the wall, a massive star chart detailing Earth's galactic neighborhood. When she turned back toward him, her eyes were haunted. "Marco, the war against the scum is going to escalate further. We're going to retaliate for what they did to Djemila. They will retaliate in turn. The vicious cycle will spin faster. Like the wheels of a scythed chariot, it will cut all those in its path. We're putting together a new brigade to fight the scum on the frontier—right at our most distant colonies in deep space. I'm going with them. And I want you with me."
"But . . . ma'am!" Marco stood up so quickly he nearly knocked back his seat. "I'm not a warrior. I know you think I am. But I'm not like Pinky or Beast or Addy. I'm a librarian. I fought one battle, yes, but I need a job like my father had. To work in the archives. To protect knowledge. To—"
"Marco, you're the finest warrior in my platoon," said Ben-Ari. "Because you're careful. You're wise. You're decent. Violence is not your nature, and that's the kind of soldier I want fighting for me. That's the soldier we all need up there in space. A man who values peace more than war."
Marco turned away. He lowered his head. This was not what he had wanted. Basic training was supposed to be the hard part. After that, he had hoped to spend his service in the archives, maybe analyzing data from deep space, hell, even mopping floors or making coffee for officers in a cozy, safe base somewhere quiet. Not to leave Earth. Not to fight on the front lines. The memory of his battle still spun his head. He didn't think he could tolerate more violence.
He thought of Caveman, dying on the tarmac. He thought of his mother, dying in the snow. He thought of the billions lost fifty years ago when Earth had fallen into darkness.
And he thought of home—of his books, his father, his city, of that hockey game he had promised to see with Addy, those hot dogs they would eat, that laughter that would fill their days.
But there would be no more books, he knew. There would be no more laughter, no more family or friends, if the scum won.
He turned back toward Ben-Ari. Toward his commander. His officer. His friend.
"I never wanted any of this," Marco said. "I never wanted to join the army. I never wanted to fight. I never wanted to be anything but a writer. But I think that your ancestor didn't want to fight in the forests. And my friend didn't want to die on that tarmac. And millions of people who fought evil throughout history wanted nothing more than to sit at home with a book, a fire in their hearth, family around them. But they all went out and fought, because they knew something." He nodded, eyes damp. "They knew that the world is beautiful, but that it stands on the shoulders of those bleeding, those hurt, those crying out in pain so that others can laugh, love, give us something to fight for. So I will fight. But I have one condition. I'm just a private, and you're my commanding officer, but I make of you this demand. I'll fight for you, ma'am, but not alone. Not without my friends. Not without Addy, Lailani, Elvis, Beast . . ." He thought for a moment. "That is, if they want to come. If they want to fight. If they're braver than I am."
"If they are half as brave," said Ben-Ari, "they will come."
"Ma'am, may I speak freely?"
She nodded. "Go for it."
"I'm so fucking terrified I'm ready to piss my pants," Marco said.
Ben-Ari stared at him, frowning, then sighed. "Go back to your friends, private. We deploy in forty-eight hours. Oh, and . . . bring an extra pair of pants. Just in case."
He saluted. "Lieutenant."
She returned the salute, the hint of a smile in her eyes. "Dismissed."
* * * * *
They sat in the rocket, strapped into their seats. They wore battle fatigues and helmets, and their guns hung at their sides. The rocket idled on the tarmac, waiting for the signal to lift off.
"Poet, move your knee!" Addy shoved him. "You're hogging all the space."
Marco shoved her back. "Then move your elbow. It keeps poking me."
Addy groaned and shoved him. "It's not my fault I've got long arms."
"Will you two hush?" Lailani said. "Be like me and just stay in your seats."
"Easy for you!" Addy said. "You're about the size of my left butt cheek."
"She's a lot smaller than that," said Marco, earning an elbow straight into the ribs.
Sitting across from them, Elvis began to croon. Apparently, he couldn't help falling in love.
"No discipline in this army," Beast muttered, sitting by the singer. "Not like Russia. There is real army."
Fifty soldiers filled the rocket—some survivors of Fort Djemila, others gleaned from other units. None had been to deep space before. All had lost somebody to the scum. None were older than nineteen.
A young officer—only a year or two older—came climbing up the rocket. Her blond hair was gathered into a ponytail, and her green eyes were wise and strong yet carried hidden sadness.
"Listen up, soldiers!" Lieutenant Ben-Ari said. "Are you ready to hit the scum where it hurts?"
"Yes, ma'am!" they shouted.
"Right in the ass!" said Addy.
Marco groaned. "Addy, I told you, scum don't have—"
A voice rose from the speakers, interrupting him. "Ten. Nine. Eight . . ."
They all gripped their seats, inhaled deeply, and raised their chins. Ben-Ari hurried through the hatch above into the officers' deck.
"Two . . . One . . . Blastoff."
The engines roared, and with fury and flame, the rocket flew. They blasted through the atmosphere, and Marco looked out the viewport to see the northern coast of Africa, then the Middle East and Europe, then the vast hinterlands of Russia, and finally the entire Earth, a sphere in the blackness. He had never been so far from home.
For a moment, they all stared in awe. Then Elvis returned to his crooning. Addy was soon arguing with Lailani about who the greatest soccer player was. But Marco remained silent, watching the view, watching the Earth grow smaller and smaller, becoming a blue marble, floating through the black.
"A mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam," he whispered.
Addy turned toward him. "What's that, Poet?"
"Something somebody else wrote," he said. "Long ago."
Addy leaned her head on his shoulder, watching the view with him. Lailani did too. Soon they were all silent, staring out the viewport as the only world they had ever known grew smaller in the distance. They flew onward into the deep, unforgiving darkness. To the colonies. To war. To a dream of home, friends and family, and a precious blue marble in an endless black sea.
The story continues in Earth Lost (Earthrise, Book 2).
Click here to read the next book in the series:
DanielArenson.com/EarthLost
AFTERWORD
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Daniel
NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON
THE MOTH SAGA
Moth
Empires of Moth
Secrets of Moth
Daughter of Moth
Shadows of Moth
Legacy of Moth
REQUIEM
Dawn of Dragons Requiem's Song
Requiem's Hope
Requiem's Prayer
The Complete Trilogy
Song of Dragons Blood of Requiem
Tears of Requiem
Light of Requiem
The Complete Trilogy
Dragonlore A Dawn of Dragonfire
A Day of Dragon Blood
A Night of Dragon Wings
The Complete Trilogy
The Dragon War A Legacy of Light
A Birthright of Blood
A Memory of Fire
The Complete Trilogy
Requiem for Dragons Dragons Lost
Dragons Reborn
Dragons Rising
The Complete Trilogy
Flame of Requiem Forged in Dragonfire
Crown of Dragonfire
Pillars of Dragonfire
The Complete Trilogy
ALIEN HUNTERS
Alien Hunters
Alien Sky
Alien Shadows
EARTHRISE
Earth Alone
Earth Alone (Earthrise Book 1) Page 26