Earth Fire (Earthrise Book 4)

by Daniel Arenson

  Blood trickled down her arm, through a tear in her suit, and onto the carpet.

  Admiral Komagata stood ahead, his back to her. He did not turn around. He stared out into the darkness.

  Since the invasion over four years ago, Ben-Ari had not been invited here to the Dome, to the command center of Nightwall. The transparent bubble perched like a dewdrop atop Space Station One, a massive military base that orbited a dark, starless planet. Standing here, Ben-Ari had a 360 degree view of space. If she turned around, she would face Sol, Earth's star, shining too dimly to see with the naked eye. Ahead of her shone the star Achernar, only a light-year away—the end of the Human Commonwealth and the beginning of the demilitarized zone where the scum had once reigned.

  A dozen warships idled outside Space Station One, silvery vessels large enough to transport marine battalions to battles on distant worlds. A squadron of Firebirds, single-pilot starfighters, was flying on patrol, zipping between the larger starships. A few cargo craft were rising and descending, ferrying supplies between the starships and the military bases that covered the planet like barnacles. Nightwall—the center of Space Territorial Command. The great guardian of Earth's might in the darkness of space. Defending the border of humanity's empire.

  And it's a shell of what it once was, Ben-Ari thought, still holding her salute.

  She remembered serving here during the Second Galactic War. Back then, thousands of warships had been stationed here, not a mere dozen. Millions of troops had mustered here to fight the scum, not a few thousand. Thousands of Firebirds had circled the dark planet, not a handful of squadrons. Ten space stations had orbited the planet, full of humanity's best scientists and engineers and generals, not just Space Station One. But that had been a different time, under different leadership. That had been before millions of soldiers had died in the war. Before Earth had been left bankrupt, reeling from destruction, struggling to rebuild and rise again from the ruins.

  We won the war, Ben-Ari thought. We beat the scum. But we'll pay for that victory for the rest of our lives. So will our children.

  Finally Admiral Hiroki Komagata turned toward her. He was a small man, but his face was stone. His eyes were hard, thick grooves framed his mouth, and his hair was still jet black despite his age. Service ribbons from the Second Galactic War bedecked his chest, and two golden phoenixes spread wings on each of his shoulders. Born in Japan sixty years ago, Komagata had risen through the ranks despite his lack of family influence in the HDF. He was the first intelligence officer who had risen to lead Space Territorial Command, ending a long line of famous, cocky pilots.

  The previous admiral—the famous Evan Bryan—had filled the Dome with memorabilia of the First Galactic War: his first rifle in a glass case, a shard from the first scum ship he had shot down, and the dog tags of fallen comrades. The new admiral had removed those mementos. Hiroki Komagata had filled the Dome with his own artifacts. A bonsai tree coiled on a table. An ancient katana, its hilt wrapped with blue silk, stood on a stand. An original Hokusai ukiyo-e painting, showing Mount Fuji and cherry blossoms, hovered over a pillar: a priceless work of art.

  Admiral Komagata admires art as much as he admires war, Ben-Ari thought. Perhaps that's a quality every good admiral needs.

  Ben-Ari's arm was hurting by the time Komagata returned her salute. Gratefully, she lowered her arm.

  He stared at her, silent. Ben-Ari was of average height for a woman, and he stood no taller, but his eyes were blades. He had none of Admiral Bryan's charm, but—this Ben-Ari dared to hope—more integrity.

  "Sir," she said, breaking the awkward silence. "I would like to attend the infirmary. To check on my lieutenant. To—"

  "She was my daughter, you know." Finally he spoke. "The young soldier under your command. The soldier who died in the demilitarized zone."

  Ben-Ari opened her mouth, closed it. Her head spun.

  "Private Komagata?" she whispered. "I . . . The surname is common, I never . . ."

  "She never wanted anyone to know," said Admiral Komagata, and now a flicker of pain filled those hard, cold eyes of his. "She wanted to succeed on her own merit, not her family name. I offered to send her to the best military academies, and she refused, preferring to join the enlisted." He took a step closer to Ben-Ari, and his eyes reddened. "My eldest daughter is dying of cancer. Now I've lost my youngest child to war. Tell me, Captain. Why do you stand here before me while my daughter never came home?"

  "Sir." She lowered her head. "I'm deeply sorry for your loss. I don't know how to offer proper condolences, how—"

  "Tell me how she died and how you and your lieutenant lived, Captain." And now fury trembled in his voice.

  "We encountered something, sir." Ben-Ari looked up and met his eyes. "A terror in the darkness. Creatures. Monsters. Alien life. There were other humans there. Prisoners. A prison colony in the demilitarized zone. We tried to help, but the creatures were everywhere. They killed my squad. They—"

  "Captain, you are incorrect," said Admiral Komagata. "What actually happened is that the Saint Brendan crash landed on the planet, where you found a group of outlaws who had starved to death. You and your lieutenant managed to repair the ship and fly back to Nightwall, though your squad did not survive the crash."

  Ben-Ari gasped. "Sir! The alien lifeforms I encountered are something new. Something powerful. A threat to humanity. We cannot cover this up, we—"

  "Captain, are you familiar with the story of Edwin Hubble?"

  She stiffened. "Yes, sir, but—"

  "He is considered by many to be the greatest cosmologist. The man who let us gaze into the darkness. Years after his death, the Hubble telescope, named in his honor, discovered countless galaxies beyond our own. For the first time, we realized the true enormity of the universe." Admiral Komagata walked toward the transparent dome that encircled his office. He stared out into space. The spiral arm of the Milky Way spread before him. "To this day, centuries since Hubble's death, we still cannot grasp the sheer size of the cosmos."

  "It's a big one, sir," Ben-Ari said.

  He continued as if he hadn't heard. "We still don't know how many alien species exist in our own galaxy, let alone the cosmos. Even with all our might, all our knowledge, we've explored only a corner of this single spiral arm. According to our estimates, there are ten thousand intelligent, space-faring civilizations in the Milky Way. Some of them are millions of years older than us, have moved beyond physical bodies, and have become beings of pure consciousness not unlike gods. Others are just starting their journey, just reaching out to their local moons. And some—hundreds of them, maybe thousands—are where we are now. Exploring the stars. Seeking to grasp a piece of power. To build empires." He reached toward space and clenched his fist, as if he could grab the stars. "The scolopendra titaniae have left a power vacuum, and space hates a vacuum. Across the galaxy, creatures stir."

  "Sir, with all due respect, these creatures have done more than stir." Ben-Ari came to stand beside him, gazing with him at Achernar, the last human star. "They are a danger we must face."

  She looked at him, and she was surprised to see tears on his cheeks.

  "Captain, we cannot afford another war. We cannot afford more deaths." Komagata turned toward her, and suddenly all the fury was gone from his eyes, replaced with grief. "I have three more children serving in the military. I cannot lose them too."

  "Then we must strike, sir," she said. "We must defeat this menace before it can strike us. We—"

  "We are still rebuilding our strength, Captain. The military is a shadow of what it once was. The days of massive fleets, of thousands of human starships flying together, are over. Too many have been decommissioned to cover the costs of rebuilding our ravaged planet. No. We will not fight again. We will not panic the troops. We will not be warmongers. We will remain as we are, watching the darkness. Aware of the danger. But keeping it in the darkness."

  "And if the marauders muster for war while we wait, sir?" she said.

/>   And now she saw something new in his eyes. Not just grief.

  Fear.

  "Ben-Ari, what waits out there . . . You cannot imagine its might. Its cruelty. There are terrors in the darkness that would freeze your blood. I know." He gazed out into space, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "I know . . ." He inhaled deeply and squared his shoulders. "What happened on your mission, Captain, and the creatures you encountered—those are highly classified. Should you or your lieutenant ever speak of them again, you know what that would entail."

  Ben-Ari knew. Leaking classified information was a good way of skipping prison entirely and leaping right to the firing squad.

  She wanted to argue. She wanted to rail against him. She wanted to demand to reveal this information to the public. To put pressure on politicians. To gain more funding. To build more starships. To do something, not just sit here, not just cover this up.

  But the admiral dismissed her.

  Ben-Ari left the Dome, weary and cold, the alien's warning echoing in her mind. The nightmares are coming.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Marco stood in the cemetery, gazing down at his father's grave. There was no tombstone, just a small marker. There was no epitaph, just a simple name and date. There were no words on Marco's lips, just silence, just despair.

  For a long time, he simply stared, silent. He said goodbye.

  Finally he turned around. Addy stood there, a step away. Trees rose around them, draped with ice and snow. For so many years, serving in the desert overseas, Marco had barely seen trees, had forgotten their beauty.

  "It's a beautiful place," he said. "I used to come here with Kemi. We'd walk along the paths. There are trees of many kinds here, brought from across Ontario, and their leaves all rustle in the spring. There were hawks and foxes here then, and flowers around the fountains, and children played."

  "Strange place to play," Addy said. "Strange place to walk with your girl. Gives me a bit of the creeps, to be honest."

  "Not many green places left in the world," Marco said. "Here is one. Back then, I never saw cemeteries as sad places. I thought they were serene places for the dead to rest, for their families to find solace. In many ways, I preferred the silent company of the dead over the loud, bustling crowds of the living. But it all seems different now. This cemetery. This city. Everything. Me."

  "I'm the same old Addy, at least."

  He looked at her. "No you're not. None of us are the same." He looked at the snowy tombstones around them. "We left too many behind. All of us who were out there, who came home—we left something behind too."

  Addy lowered her head. "I know."

  He thought about his fallen friends. About Caveman, who had died on the tarmac at Fort Djemila in North Africa. About Beast, Elvis, Corporal Diaz, Sergeant Singh, his friends who had fallen in the mines of Corpus in the depths of space. About millions who had fallen in the great battle for Abaddon, homeworld of the scum.

  "How was I any different?" he said softly. "We were all just kids. Just dumb eighteen-year-olds. I wasn't any stronger or braver than them. I was weaker." His eyes dampened. "Beast was a hero, holding back the scum to let us escape. Diaz and Singh always charged right into battle. I always stayed behind, I never sacrificed my safety, and now they're dead, and—"

  Addy grabbed his arms, fingers tight, painful. She glared at him. "Enough, Marco. We were all scared, and we were all stupid, and we were all heroes. We were lucky, you and I. That's all. Just lucky. A claw might have thrust just a few centimeters in another direction, and it would be my body left in space. And Elvis, or Beast, or any one of the others would be here now. Just fucking bad luck for them." She wiped her eyes. "We were lucky, so let's not forget that. Let's do something with this luck."

  "Like what, Addy?" His voice was weak. "What do we do now?"

  "Get a bite to eat," Addy said. "I know we don't have much money. Just whatever cash we found in the apartment. But I say we spend it on a plate of pancakes the size of my ass."

  "With bacon," Marco said.

  "And fried eggs." Addy nodded. "And lots of maple syrup. That's not bad, right?" She wiped away a last tear. "That's something worth being lucky for."

  They headed through the cemetery back toward Yonge Street, the city's main thoroughfare. The foreclosed library was only a twenty-minute walk away. They still had a few days—according to the notice outside, at least—before it was torn down.

  Before we need a backup plan, Marco thought.

  They stepped between the last tombstones and found the street blocked.

  Hundreds of people, maybe thousands, were marching down Yonge Street.

  "No more war!" they chanted, waving signs. "No more war!"

  Marco and Addy stood at the cemetery gates, staring.

  "What the hell?" Addy said.

  Marco shrugged. "It's a nice sentiment."

  Countless cardboard signs rose from the crowd. Marco read a few of them.

  Bring our boys home!

  Close down the colonies!

  End humanity's war of aggression!

  Tear down the human empire!

  Alien killers to prison!

  No more genocide!

  As the protesters marched, they kept shouting, faces red, undaunted by the cold. One man, young and spindly, walked at their lead. His brown hair and beard flowed, and he wore round spectacles.

  "It's like John Lennon bred with a stick insect," Addy muttered, looking at the wiry man.

  "That's not very nice," Marco said.

  "I'm not nice," Addy said.

  The gangling man spoke through a megaphone. "We will dismantle Earth's violent empire in space! We will close every last colony and withdraw every last human from alien worlds. Never more will human aggression victimize innocent alien lifeforms! Every soldier who killed an alien will be imprisoned. No mercy for alien killers!"

  The crowd cheered. The signs rose higher. Drums beat and faces twisted in rage.

  "This is bullshit!" Addy said. "Innocent alien lifeforms? The scum—victims? Did these people forget that the scum destroyed our cities, murdered billions of us before we fought back?"

  Marco placed a hand on her shoulder; she looked ready to charge into the crowd and swing punches.

  "Forget it, Addy. They mean well. They want peace. That's a worthy cause."

  "I wanted peace too." Addy fumed. "I wanted peace when we were stuck in the goddamn mines in Corpus. I wanted peace when thousands were dying around us in Abaddon. But aliens were killing us, so I picked up my gun instead of a goddamn cardboard sign, and—"

  "Addy, pancakes, remember?" Marco said. "Pancakes the size of your ass, and that's a sizable meal."

  She growled at him. "Watch it, or your ass will meet my foot." But some anger left her eyes.

  They walked along the sidewalk, careful to avoid rubbing elbows with the protesters marching down the road.

  "No more humans in space!" a young woman shouted.

  "Stop alien killers!" shouted another protester.

  "Stop human aggression against innocent alien life!"

  Addy's face reddened, her fists tightened, and she seemed ready to leap into the crowd. Marco held her waist, guiding her forward, whispering "pancakes" over and over into her ear to calm her.

  They had almost reached their intersection when a protester stared at them. She was a topless woman with curly hair, and letters were painted onto her breasts, spelling out, "Kill Soldiers." She frowned at Marco and Addy, and then her eyes widened, and she pointed.

  "It's them!" she cried. "Marco Emery! Addy Linden! The war criminals who murdered the alien king!"

  Other protesters turned toward them. The crowd erupted in boos.

  "Nazis!" somebody shouted.

  "How would you feel if somebody butchered your families?" a protester called out, tears in his eyes.

  "They did!" Addy said. "The scum did. That's why we fought them!"

  "Stop using slurs!" somebody cried in the crowd. "Xenophobes!"

&
nbsp; The crowd began to pelt them with coffee cups, with empty wrappers, with snow, with stones.

  This time Marco couldn't stop her. Addy tore free from his grip and leaped toward the crowd, fists flying.

  "Addy, no!" He tried to grab her. "It's not worth it. Back, Addy!"

  Somebody shoved her. Addy shoved back, and the man fell. The crowd mobbed them.

  "Call the cops!" somebody shouted. "Arrest them! Arrest the fascists!"

  "You fucking scum-loving pieces of—" Addy began.

  "Addy!" Marco managed to grab her waist and pull her back. She bled from her lip. "Come on. Let's go. They're just kids. They mean well. Let's go eat, Addy."

  The cries of fury followed them.

  "Arrest the war criminals!"

  "Don't let them get away!"

  "Put them on trial for war crimes!"

  Hands reached out to grab Marco and Addy, and people were dialing the cops, when a voice rang out from a megaphone.

  "Let them go, friends!" It was the tall man with long brown hair, standing at the head of the protest. "They're not our enemies. They were only pawns in the war. Our enemies are the puppet masters. The corporations. The corrupt politicians. The greedy CEOs who profited from the war. Let these two poor souls go. They too suffered at the hands of the warmongers, turned into weapons of war. Do not hate them. Pity them."

  "I don't need your goddamn pity!" Addy shouted. As Marco kept dragging her away, she flipped off the crowd, spat at them, and cursed all the way toward the pancake house.

  Soon they were sitting in the warm restaurant, pancakes piled up before them. Addy ate sullenly, muttering between bites, and Marco had lost his appetite and picked at his food. Even the bacon, those little strips of paradise, tasted stale today.

  "Can you believe them?" Addy said. "Defending the scum? We were there, fighting, seeing our friends killed, and—"

  "Addy, forget it." Marco poured more maple syrup onto his pancakes, hoping to add some flavor. His tongue felt lifeless, everything bland. "Right now we have other things to worry about. We only have a few days until they tear down the library and begin raising that condo building. What do we do?"