Kemi shoved the throttle forward, and they plunged toward the world below, racing along the space station's stalk.
Missiles soared from the planet's surface, streaks of light in the darkness.
Kemi yanked sideways, and the Brendan barrel-rolled, dodging the blows. One missile flew between wing and hull, then slammed into a Firebird that swooped above them. Firelight filled the bridge.
An instant before they could hit the planet surface, Kemi pulled back, and they skimmed along the rocky plains. A few last military bases shone ahead, and the Brendan dodged their fire, then flew into darkness.
Kemi whooped. "All right! We're flying below the radar now. Captain, mind if I turn off the lights?" Not waiting for a reply, she flipped a few switches, and the bridge plunged into darkness. Only the control panels now glowed. "We'll be harder to detect like this. Our stealth engine is a bit wonky, but the planet's surface should disguise us well enough." She dipped down to fly within a canyon.
Ben-Ari checked the monitors. The enemy ships were still following, but they were lost in darkness.
Enemy ships? she thought. So quickly I begin to see the Human Defense Force as my enemy!
"Lieutenant," Ben-Ari said, struggling to hide the tremble in her voice. "What I saw in the Augury . . . we're not prepared for it. Myriads of marauder warships, surrounding our territory. At Nightwall, there's only the remnants of a once-proud fleet. Reports from Earth speak of no preparation. Humanity is being kept in the dark." She inhaled deeply. "I don't know if Admiral Komagata is a marauder agent or just horribly incompetent, but one thing I know. There can be no peace with those creatures we saw in the prison."
Kemi looked at her mechanical hand. "They tend to prefer pieces to peace."
"Do we have enough fuel to make it to Sol?"
"Back to our home star?" Kemi scrunched her lips. "If we coast through warped space, and we slingshot around a few stars, then coast some more . . . yes, we can make it back home. We'll be running on fumes and might have to get out and push the last few kilometers, but I think we can reach Earth."
Ben-Ari smiled wryly. "I said we're heading back to our solar system. Not to Earth. We're going to the asteroid belt."
Kemi raised an eyebrow. "What's on the asteroid belt?"
"The only person who can help us now," Ben-Ari said softly. She looked back at the rear viewport. "Looks like our Firebird friends are scattering. We're invisible." She patted the ship's control panel. "Good girl. Best ship in the fleet."
They kept flying through canyons and along valleys, picking up speed, until the lights of the fleet and space station faded behind them. There they dared leave the planet and plunge into the deep darkness, praying their stealth technology cloaked them from the fleet. Far behind them, they could still see Firebirds scanning the night, finding no trace of the escaped spy ship. The lights grew smaller and smaller, until the starless planet vanished in the distance.
"Ready, Captain?" Kemi said.
Ben-Ari nodded. "Take us out, Lieutenant."
Kemi typed on her control panel. Deep within the starship, a heavy engine rumbled. Spacetime itself flowed into the azoth crystal, then burst out like light through a diamond, taking new form. Around the Saint Brendan, spacetime—the very fabric of the universe—curved, forming a warped bubble. Light bent and the distant stars appeared as streaks.
They shot forward at many times the speed of light. Without azoth technology, using traditional engines, it would take millennia to travel from here to Sol. With their azoth engine, it would take three weeks.
"I just hope we're not too late," Ben-Ari said.
As they flew, she kept seeing it. The marauder in the prison. The one called Malphas. The claws, the fangs, the tongue lapping up the brain. How his eyes had stared into hers. How he had grinned. How thousands of his ravager ships surrounded this corner of the Milky Way, preparing to invade.
We will meet again, the creature had told her. The nightmares are coming.
"Yes," Ben-Ari whispered. "We will meet again. I'm waiting. I will be ready."
They flew on through the darkness, a single dented ship, hurtling toward hope.
CHAPTER TEN
The four of them sat on the filthy sofa, knees pressed together. Marco. Addy. Her hulking boyfriend Steve. The bearded, silent Stooge, his eyes hazy. On the television screen, two robots were pounding at each other. One of the machines swung a hammer, crushing the other robot. Gears and saw blades flew.
"Hell yeah!" Steve said, leaping from his seat and pounding the air. "Hammerhead pounds again!"
"Fucking shit." Addy pulled a sweaty cigarette pack from her back pocket and tossed it at him. "You win again. Someday Switchblade will win."
"Switchblade is a loser." Steve gave a victory lap around the couch, scattering empty beer cans and potato chip bags. "Hammerhead kicked Switchblade's shiny metal a—"
"Shh, the news is coming on," Marco said.
Steve snorted and patted Marco's head. "Got to watch the stock quotes, little dude?"
"Actually, they seem to have a story about Addy and me," Marco said, eyes widening.
"Whoa." Steve sat back down, cramming between them. "No way."
"Whoa," Stooge opined, the most vocal Marco had ever heard him.
The television showed footage from outside the library yesterday, back when the library had still stood. The Never War peace protesters stood on one side, and the Earth Power supremacists marched toward them, circling around Marco and Addy to protect them.
"My ass is not that big," Addy said, frowning at the television.
"They do say the camera adds ten pounds," Steve said. "But judging by this footage, I'd say it's more like thirty."
Addy punched him.
The footage froze when Marco was trying to shove away a violent protester. The freeze frame caught him with his hand raised, looking to the world like a Nazi salute. A caption appeared beneath the frozen frame: Marco Emery, Neo-Nazi?
Addy gasped. "Marco! How could you?"
"Oh, shush."
A stern-looking broadcaster appeared. "The location of Marco Emery and Addy Linden, suspected war criminals and white supremacists, is still unknown. According to our sources, their trial is set to begin tomorrow morning. Both Emery and Linden served in the Second Galactic War and are suspected of carrying out atrocities against the aliens' homeworld, including the destruction of their central hive, resulting in the death of millions of sentient, intelligent alien beings. Sources tell us that Never War lawyers will seek police intervention if the two refuse to appear in court."
Addy rose to her feet and turned off the television.
"Down in front!" Steve said.
Addy turned toward them, hands on her hips.
"Now you listen to me, Marco Emery." She glared at him. "I know what you're thinking. You want to go to that court. You want to defend our honor. You want to fight with words, to show the world our innocence. Well, fuck you and your words. I'm a warrior. Maybe not a soldier anymore, but a warrior still. I'm staying right here, and if any of those goons show up to arrest us, I'll fight them. I don't have a gun anymore, but I have this hockey stick." She grabbed a stick from the wall. "And I have my fists. And I'm strong."
Steve rose to his feet. "I'm with you, Ads. We fight." He raised his fist. "Like Hammerhead!"
Addy patted his head. "Yes, Steve, just like Hammerhead."
"I can't believe I'm saying this," Marco said, "but I agree with you, Addy."
"Marco!" She grabbed his collar. "I told you to listen! We can't go to their stupid court. We—"
"Addy, I'm agreeing with you!" Marco pulled her fingers off his shirt. "For God's sake, calm down. I'm not going tomorrow either." He smoothed his shirt. "If we show up at their court, we're legitimizing it. You heard their lawyer. He's working on getting his court to be government-approved. That means they're still not legal. Not yet at least. If we step into their headquarters, it means we respect their authority. And we do not. We stay right h
ere, and with any luck, the media will find some other scapegoat to harangue tomorrow."
Steve's brow furrowed. "Does that mean I don't hammer anyone?"
"I hope not," Marco said.
That night, Stooge slept on the floor again; Steve assured them that his bearded, laconic friend was most comfortable there, especially after several nights of falling off the couch. Marco lay on that couch, unable to sleep. Too much stress, too many nightmares. Too many dreams of that creature with his face. When Addy and Steve began having noisy sex again in the bedroom—she was shouting out to God like an enraptured nun, and he was grunting like an enraged warthog—Marco knew it was hopeless. He flipped on the television, restless, and cranked up the volume to mask the noise. Stooge kept snoring in the corner, peaceful as a babe in his mother's arms.
Marco paused on a random channel, which was screening an episode of All Systems Go!, a Japanese cartoon about a katana-wielding, cat-eared schoolgirl who fought crime. The bright, flashing colors were so jarring Marco was thankful when a commercial break interrupted the show. He sat on the tattered couch, staring, the light from the television washing over him. On the screen, children gave the thumbs up while munching on Scum Cereal, each piece shaped like a little centipede. A commercial for Chrysopoeia Corp appeared next, showing happy miners tipping their helmets; according to the narrator, they were paving our way to the stars. Marco winced when he remembered the mines of Corpus. On the screen, soldiers replaced the miners, marching across the desert, waving flags. Their drill sergeant pointed at Marco, wanting him to enlist today.
"Been there, done that," Marco muttered.
The desert vanished, replaced with a green suburban street. A family was playing ball in a yard, and a Golden Retriever wagged his tail. Trees rustled, a milkman waved from his truck, and a lovely woman in a flowery dress rose from the garden she was tending to. She smiled at Marco.
"Do you still dream the American dream?" she said. "Some on Earth say it has died. But not in the colonies!"
The camera zoomed out, showing street after suburban street, all lined with trees, then zoomed out some more, showing an entire city enclosed in a massive bubble. Still the shot zoomed out, showing a lush planet. Finally the camera pulled back even more, taking the viewer into a starship that orbited the planet. The same woman in the flowery dress somehow stood in the spaceship too, and she smiled at Marco.
"Book your ticket to Haven today. We seek settlers who dream!"
Smiling, tanned colonists stepped in front of the camera, waving. "Join us in Haven and we'll dream together!"
They vanished, and Godzilla was now fighting a giant scum in Tokyo. Godzilla vs. King Scum! Coming this winter to a theater near you.
As the giant scum reared on the television screen, as Addy screamed in the bedroom, Marco couldn't take it. He was back there again. He couldn't stand this stifling apartment, these sounds, these visions, these flashbacks. Not even pausing to grab his coat, he burst out of the apartment, raced downstairs, and ran out into the night.
He stood on the street, the snow rising around his feet. It was cold. It was so damn cold. His wounds ached as if claws still dug into him, and he looked up at the stars, a futile attempt to seek warmth from those distant suns. Their light was so cold. So far. His tears flowed down his cheeks, freezing.
"I miss you, Father," he whispered. "I don't know what will happen tomorrow. I don't know if I'm going to prison, if I'll end up homeless, if I can still find a life here. Lailani left me. Our home is gone. We're treated like war criminals. And I'm scared. I wish you were here. I don't know what to do."
A voice answered from behind.
"Well, first of all, put on a jacket, you fucking idiot. And then stop pitying yourself."
He turned to see Addy there, holding out his jacket. She wore her own coat. He accepted it gratefully.
"You should have been in military intelligence with all your eavesdropping," Marco said.
She rolled her eyes. "Please. You're the one who kept listening to Steve and me banging."
"The entire city was listening to Steve and you banging," Marco said.
"Well, it's nicer than hearing neo-Nazi chants at least." She elbowed him. "Come on, Poet. It's not that bad. We're still alive, right? And we're back in Canada. So long as those two things are true, it's not so bad."
He looked up at the stars, silent for long moments. "I miss it, Addy. Not the war. Not the army. Just . . . being up there. When I was in space, all I wanted to do was come home to Earth. But I don't know if this planet is my home anymore. We saved the Earth. We saved it for billions of people. But not for us. We don't belong here anymore."
She gazed up at the stars with him. Her breath frosted. "Fuck, I need an ice cream sundae. A giant one. There used to be an all-night place around here. Lots of drunk losers would go there after clubbing." She took his hand. "Come on, it's on me."
"You don't have any money, Ads."
"Can I borrow some? Just the price of two ice creams? My treat!"
She pulled him down the road. Two blocks away, they found the place, a rundown ice cream parlor squeezed between a tattoo shop and a psychic. The place only had four tables, and they sat by the window. Addy ordered a sundae large enough for a family, topping it with chocolate chips, sprinkles, and bacon bits. Why the place even offered bacon bits, Marco didn't know, but Addy tossed them onto her sundae like it was her job.
Marco wasn't hungry, especially after witnessing Addy's culinary butchery. He just ordered a coffee.
"I'm telling you, Poet," Addy said between spoonfuls. "I'm not sharing. Get something."
"Not hungry, and we need to save our cash."
"Ice cream is more important." She shoveled in another spoonful, swallowed, winced, and touched her forehead. "Ow, ow, ow. Brain freeze."
He gasped. "I didn't know you had a brain!"
"Funny, old man with his sad little coffee." She took a sip of his steaming drink. "There, my head is better already."
Marco checked the clock on the wall. "Ads, it'll be morning in four hours. They'll find us. They'll drag us to their kangaroo court. What do we do? We can't hide in Steve's apartment forever. He uses dish soap for shampoo, Addy. Dish soap. And that stick of butter I found in the fridge? It was a moldy cucumber."
Addy cringed. "And I put it on a sandwich." She stuck out her tongue. "Thank God for ice cream to freeze out the germs."
Marco stared into his coffee cup. "This is fucked. All of it. They take us as kids. Eighteen years old. Scared shitless. They have us fight aliens for five years. Then they toss us back out, like nothing ever happened. No money. No place to stay, at least for us. No jobs. No pension, not with the war debt. We're twenty-three years old, and we're helpless as babies on this planet. We know everything about cleaning a gun and killing space bugs, nothing about how to survive on the planet we saved."
Addy nodded. "Shit's fucked up."
A pile of newspapers and magazines topped a garbage bin. Marco approached. He pushed aside a tabloid, its headline announcing that Bat Boy had been named commander-in-chief of the HDF. He cringed to see a photo of himself, supposedly giving a Nazi salute, on the cover of the Toronto Moon Gazette. Finally he found what he was seeking, the week's real estate magazine. He returned with it to the table, where Addy was devouring the last few bites of sundae.
She belched and patted her belly with satisfaction. "Anyone for seconds?"
"God, I don't know where it all goes with you," Marco said.
"I burn all the energy with sex."
Marco cringed. "TMI, Addy. Too much information. Sheesh."
He opened the magazine, leafing through real estate editorials. He cringed to see a full-page ad for Midtown Skylight Condos, set to be built over the ruins of the library. He quickly flipped the page. Finally he found the section he sought: the chapter on Haven Colony.
Humanity had built several colonies within the so-called Human Commonwealth, called by some the Human Empire, the sphere of space an
d stars around Earth. The most famous of these colonies was Nightwall on the frontier, a massive military base, headquarters of Space Territorial Command, home to many of humanity's brightest scientists and bravest soldiers. Most other colonies were owned by corporations, homes to miners. But a handful of colonies were purely residential. There was a sizable colony on Mars, smaller ones on Europa and Titan. By far, the largest colony was Haven.
"Haven," Marco read from the magazine. "Your home among the stars since 2075."
Addy leaned closer, peering at the page. "Haven. Harboring losers who can't make it on Earth since 2075."
Marco pulled the magazine back. "You made that up."
"Did not! I'd never know a word like harbor by myself."
Haven colony took up thirty pages, the entire second half of the magazine. Marco flipped to a page showing an aerial view of the colony. Its planet was named New Earth, due to its size, temperature, and gravity, all of which were nearly identical to Earth. But Marco thought it looked more like Old Earth, like Earth before humanity had polluted and overbuilt it, before the aliens had ravaged it. The colony of Haven nestled between pristine mountains and a shiny blue sea. Silvery skyscrapers rose along the coast, but most of the colony was covered in trees, the roofs of houses peeking between them. Marco assumed that the photo had been taken inside the protective dome covering the city, holding in its air.
"It's pretty," Addy said. She moved her chair beside him, gazing with him at the photo.
"Nicer than this dump," Marco said. "Expensive, though."
"Good thing you're going to be a famous rich author someday."
Marco sighed. "If I can ever find a publisher for Loggerhead, then write another few books."
Addy flipped the page. Her eyes widened. "Ooh, I like this neighborhood. And look! Hockey!"
The page showed a watercolor painting of an idyllic neighborhood. Two children were playing street hockey while Mom and Dad waved from the patio. Page after page showed beautiful homes with catchy slogans.
Live among the stars!
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