The thruster engines hummed for a moment longer, then fell silent.
Scattered clapping sounded across the fuselage.
"Play Freebird!" Addy called.
They emerged into a bustling, indoor spaceport, muscles aching, joints creaking, eyes blurry. For a colony so far from Earth, the port was surprisingly busy. Families stood in coiling lines, waiting for their passports to be stamped. Several soldiers were listening to their platoon commander nearby. A group of Hasidic Jews were swaying as they prayed, while several Buddhist monks were meditating in a corner. A few farmers in overalls and straw hats were leading goats right through the airport, and chickens bustled in pens. In the middle of the spaceport rose a statue, larger than life, of Professor Ilana Teitelbaum, inventor of the azoth engine.
"See that, Addy?" Marco pointed at the statue. "It's thanks to that lady that we're here. She invented warp drives, opening up space to humanity. Thanks to her scientific discoveries, we can fly to new stars."
Addy snorted. "Oh yeah? Well, I invented using a rake to roast ten hot dogs at once, but you don't see me going around demanding statues."
"Addy, you spent that entire camping trip demanding we erect statues in your honor."
"And the statue you built was horribly inadequate!" Addy said.
Marco rolled his eyes. "That wasn't a statue. That was a straw effigy of you we were burning."
She gasped. "So that's why I got sunburned!"
With a sigh, Marco turned away from her. He kept glancing around, waiting for the local police to arrest him. He wasn't sure how powerful Never War's lawyers and lobbyists were, whether they could influence the police on Earth, let alone Haven. But he wasn't taking any chances.
"Remember, Ads, we fly under the radar," he said. "We suffered enough hostility on Earth. We should use fake names, try to keep a low profile, and—Addy? Addy!"
She stood by a kiosk, pounding on the counter, speaking loud enough for hundreds to hear. "What do you mean it rejected my debit card? I want that bag of bacon bits! Do you know who I am? I'm Addy Linden, war heroine! That's right, Addy Linden—that's A-D-D-Y—check the news sometime! And this is Marco Emery, bug killer! Look, we're on that newspaper over there, and—"
"Addy!" The blood draining from his face, Marco pulled her away from the kiosk. "For God's sake. Calm your belly. Ow! Stop biting me!" He tugged his arm free from her jaws.
"But I'm hungry!"
"You've been eating my lunch for a week," Marco said.
"Good. So go buy yourself a meal. So I can steal that too."
"First let's get out of this spaceport," he said. "After a week in space, I want to step outside into the open air, to feel some sunlight on my face, to see Haven. We'll get something better than stale snacks in a plastic bag."
Addy eyed the therapy pig walking by, tugging its owner on the leash. She licked her lips. "Something fresh does sound nice. All right. Agreed. Maybe ten hot dogs? Oh, and I'll also need a rake."
The wait through customs was long and exhausting, but at least they hadn't checked any baggage. All they had was in their backpacks: a few old clothes Steve had given them, a couple of toothbrushes, a handful of books Marco had managed to salvage, and several crumpled photographs. As for money, they had none. The coffee tin was empty, its cash spent on the tickets here. Marco just hoped his credit card would work in Haven until he could find a job. And, he hoped, Never War didn't have the authority to trace his transactions.
"All right," he said. "Here's the plan. We need two things at first. Temporary shelter and work. For shelter, we can check out hotels, hostels, and ideally an apartment we can rent month to month—hopefully using credit for the first month. For work, we'll scour wanted ads, knock on doors, and take whatever we can get. In a few months, once we've saved some money, we can buy nicer clothes, walk into a bank, apply for a mortgage, then move into a permanent place. Once my writing career takes off, we can—Addy. Addy! Are you listening?"
She was busy staring at the therapy pig, licking her lips. She looked back at Marco. "Where in all this do the rake and hot dogs fit in?"
"Those come after we buy a house. We'll get a fire pit for the yard. And we'll build a fire every night, if we want to." His voice cracked, and he was surprised to find tears in his eyes. "You'll roast your hot dogs on your rake, and we'll eat so many it hurts. And we'll just sit outside at night by the fire, looking at the stars, and point out Sol in the distance. We'll tell stories from home. From Earth. And we'll forget about all the bad things that happened. And we'll be happy."
She looked at him, and her eyes softened. She squeezed his shoulder. "We'll be happy." She mussed his hair and kissed his cheek. "I love you, little dude. You know that, right?"
He gave her a playful shove. "Love you too, you crazy Viking berserker."
Finally they reached the exit doors. They held hands, took deep breaths, and stepped outside onto the surface of a new world.
They rushed back inside.
"Fuck," Addy said.
Marco shivered, frost and grime clinging to him. "What the hell was that?"
They opened the doors again, peering outside. They could barely see a thing. The planet stormed. Clouds gurgled overhead and fog filled the streets. Muddy drops and ash rained from the sky. The air stank—hot, acidic, burning their nostrils.
"Move it," somebody said, shoving past them, and stepped outside. He wore a bulky suit and helmet. Through the doorway, Marco could see other settlers wearing similar garments. They looked more like hazmat suits than spacesuits.
Marco and Addy hurried away from the doorway, fleeing the malodorous fog and rain. A man leaned against a nearby storefront, broom in hand, chuckling.
"Uhm, excuse me, sir," Addy said. "But what happened to the dome?"
"What dome?" the shopkeep said.
Marco held out his magazine. It displayed a photo of Haven enclosed within a protective bubble, shielding it from the elements of a foreign planet. "This dome! 'The bubble lauded across the galaxy,' it says here."
The shopkeep snorted. "That thing? They've been talking about building that for years." He jutted his thumb. "Read the plaque if you like."
Marco and Addy approached a sign on a wall. It depicted the same graphic from the magazine—a huge dome enclosing a city like a snow globe. Words appeared beneath it.
Biodome (trademark of Chrysopoeia Corp): Coming soon to Haven! Did you know? The Biodome (trademark) will ensure ideal weather for all colonists. Call your member of parliament today! Insist on funding the Biodome (trademark). Make sure your grandchildren enjoy weather from home . . . among the stars.
Marco sighed. "So, Addy, you want to get busy making those grandkids? Right after we call our local politician, that is."
She stared dejectedly at the magazine. "It lied to us. I can't believe a magazine lied."
"I'm in shock," Marco said dryly. He fished his credit card from his pocket. "Let's just hope this baby works up here. We'll need a couple of those atmosuits."
She gasped. "That's my bacon money!"
"You can hunt the therapy pig instead." He led her back toward the shop. "Come on."
A few moments later, they stood in the shop, wearing the bulky suits. In the military, spacesuits had been slick like diving suits—embarrassingly form-fitting, Marco had often thought. There was no such problem here. These things were a cross between a parka and a garbage bag, as graceful as a potato. The hood zipped up at the neck, transparent in the front. A cheap, plastic air filtration system was connected to a bag simply labeled Earth Air.
"I thought the air on New Earth was breathable," Marco said to the shopkeep.
"Sure it is!" the man said. "I breathe it all the ti—" A coughing fit interrupted his words.
"I think we'll stick to Earth Air," Marco said. "Add another couple bags to our bill."
He paid with his credit card, praying it would work. It was an expensive bill, as costly as a month of rent above the library. Thankfully, the transaction seemed
to work, but Marco already ached at the thought of interest piling up. It might be a while before he could pay it back.
They left the shop, and once more, they braved the surface of Haven.
It felt like walking through a hurricane.
Their atmosuits fluttered in the wind. Their hoods kept sticking to their faces. Raindrops were flying sideways, slamming into them, painful even through the suits, splattering them with mud.
"I wonder what the chemical composition of the atmosphere is here," Marco said. "Is this organic matter?"
"Whatever it is, it stinks," Addy said. "Where are the trees? The flowers? The puppies?"
"Probably waiting for that dome," Marco said.
Addy grabbed the magazine from him and tossed it into the trash. "This is the worst case of false advertisement since your dating profile claimed you're a good cook."
Marco felt his cheeks blush. "First of all, you set up that profile for me. Secondly, I'm sorry that I can't match the culinary genius of hot dogs on rakes or bacon bits on ice cream. Finally, you should never have used that photo of me from gym class."
"Why not? It's a great photo."
"I was buried under a pile of football players, Steve on top!"
"Exactly!" Addy said. "It shows you love sports."
"I was the towel boy!"
"Just say thanks I didn't use that photo of you as a toddler on the potty."
"You did!" he said. "That was the second photo!"
Addy patted his head. "And you looked adorable."
He groaned. "Let's focus on our task. Shelter. Work."
"And hot dogs," Addy said. "Never forget the hot dogs."
Marco wanted to reply, but the wind intensified, making speech impossible. They walked hunched over, breathing stale air from a bag, trudging through their new homeland.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Saint Brendan streamed through space, dented, hobbled, a dozen military police ships in pursuit.
"Are you sure about this, Captain?" Kemi sat stiffly in the pilot's seat. Her hands—one real, one mechanical—hovered over the controls. "A penal asteroid swarming with guards and military police . . . After the shit we've pulled, it's the last place I want to visit."
Ben-Ari could sympathize. A prison was low on her list of vacation destinations, especially after witnessing the horrors in the demilitarized zone. More than anything, she wanted to keep flying. To head deep into the darkness. To find a distant, uninhabited world, ideally one with a tropical island and a bunch of Golden Retrievers, and spend the rest of her life hiding out there.
And yet, the dozen military police ships were chasing them, only a few astronomical units away. And countless marauder ships were gathering around the human sphere of space, a tightening noose just ready to squeeze them. Chrysopoeia Corporation and Admiral Komagata were involved in covering up the enemy threat.
And there was only one man who could help them now.
"We need him, Lieutenant," Ben-Ari said. "If anyone can give us the information we need, it's Noodles."
Kemi sighed. "Lovely. The hope of humanity rests on the shoulders of a man named Noodles." She glanced at Ben-Ari. "Remind me, Ramen or Shanghai?"
Ben-Ari was weary, scared, and it felt like a hungry honey badger was digging through her wounded arm for treats, and yet she cracked a smile. "He has a real name. Private David Min-jun Greene. I commanded him in Fort Djemila. For a while, at least."
She thought back to those days. Better days than this. It was five years ago. She had been only an ensign, a twenty-year-old girl fresh out of Officer Candidate School. A golden bar had shone on each of her shoulders, fresh and polished—a newly minted officer of the HDF, so afraid, so innocent of the horrors ahead. For her first mission, they had sent her to command a platoon undergoing basic training. There, in the safety of a training base, with an experienced sergeant mentoring her, Ben-Ari had learned leadership.
Many of those soldiers had become her friends. After their training, many had followed her to war. They had fought bravely. Some had never come home. She was proud of both those who had survived and those who had fallen.
But two soldiers Ben-Ari had failed. Those two still weighed heavily on her conscience.
One had been named Hope Harris, known as Jackass to her friends and enemies alike. The girl had bounced from one basic training base to another, spending most of her time in the brig. Finally she had come to Djemila's Dragons, Ben-Ari's platoon. Only a couple weeks later, Jackass had placed her rifle into her mouth and blown out her skull before Ben-Ari could stop her. Ben-Ari had never forgotten it. Jackass had been the first soldier she had lost, even before the Second Galactic War had begun.
The second soldier Ben-Ari had failed was Noodles.
She had commanded him for only a few weeks, and nothing she, the platoon sergeant, nor the squad leaders tried could help him. Noodles was weaker than the other recruits, even weaker than the diminutive Pinky and Lailani. After running for only a few steps, he needed his inhaler. He could barely see without his massive glasses. The other recruits mocked him, bullied him; only Marco, it seemed, had ever shown him some kindness. Noodles ate apart from the others, stood apart from them, and shied away if approached. On Sundays, when the recruits played football, Noodles stayed in his tent, reading The Lord of the Rings or The Wheel of Time or A Song of Ice and Fire. He was always last to finish the obstacle course, and he struggled to do a single push up.
Ben-Ari had hoped to toughen him up. A minority herself, she had perhaps sympathized with Greene, the son of a Jewish father and a Korean mother. But after a few weeks, she had realized that Noodles had different strengths. His body was weak, but his mind was brilliant. When she spoke with him privately about his trials, he revealed a startling intellect, a vast knowledge of technology, computing, science, and literature.
And so Ben-Ari had dismissed him from boot camp. She sent him straight to Military Intelligence. There, behind a computer screen, he had thrived, a rising star. He helped analyze the scum's networks, finding patterns in the signals the aliens blasted across space. He even coded the computer chip that went into Lailani's skull, blocking the signals from the scum, enabling Lailani to delve into the hive while blocking the enemy's attempts to control her.
I felt like I redeemed myself for Jackass, Ben-Ari remembered. I lost one soldier but saved another.
Then, a year later, the military police had barged into Noodles' room.
The young, scrawny corporal was busted for hacking into Nightwall's computers. He was caught after confessing the crime to a beautiful, adoring young woman—a military police detective in disguise.
Since then, Noodles had languished in an asteroid prison.
"Today we break him free," Ben-Ari said. "We need more information about the marauders. We need to know why Chrysopoeia and HDF top brass are covering this up. If anyone can hack into their computers, can find us this information, it's dear old Noodles."
Kemi cringed. "That, or we end up languishing on the same penal asteroid with him. At least you two can spend eternity reminiscing about Fort Djemila." She sighed. "Ma'am, we're wanted refugees now. The MP is following us. By now, the galaxy must know we're wanted women. And we're going to fly into a military prison? Isn't that like fleeing the cat by hiding in the litter box?"
"It's also a good way to end up in deep shit." Ben-Ari smiled thinly. "But there's a reason they chose this asteroid for Noodles' imprisonment. There's no wormhole nearby. Communications are slow. No information channels to hack. It'll be a while before anyone there hears about our own crimes. By then, we'll be flying off with our very own genius hacker."
Controls beeped. A monitor displayed an image of this sector of space: the Saint Brendan in the center, several pursuing vessels only a few Astronomical Units away, and ahead—the penal asteroid.
"We won't have long, Captain," Kemi said. "A couple hours before the military police catches up with us."
Ben-Ari took a deep breath and nodded. "It'
ll be enough."
After another half hour of flight, they could see the asteroid with the naked eye. It hovered ahead, the size of Delaware. It was large enough to have a moon of its own, a boulder the size of a town.
"Fort Blackwell Disciplinary Barracks," Ben-Ari said. "The most infamous prison of the HDF."
Kemi shuddered. "I knew a guy who spent time here. He came back saying his week clearing out a scum hive was easier."
Ben-Ari nodded. "They don't call it Hell's Hilton for nothing."
Two structures rose here, their lights dim. On the main asteroid rose concrete buildings and guard towers—a maximum security prison for serial killers, rapists, and other galactic lowlifes. On the asteroid's moon rose a simpler structure, a massive box of metal: a supermax prison for those deemed too dangerous to mingle with the other prisoners.
In that metal box on that moon languished Noodles.
"Ma'am, are you sure?" Kemi winced, pointing at several MP ships orbiting the asteroid. "They've got some serious firepower here. I see five battleships. Maybe twenty gun turrets on the asteroid. All Military Police, the same guys who are hunting us. This is basically the last place in the cosmos I want to be."
"No, I'm not sure," Ben-Ari said. "It's likely that we won't rescue Noodles but join him. But we will take this chance." She turned toward Kemi and smiled. "Remember, Lieutenant. It'll be two hours before they know we're wanted women. Within two hours, we'll be a million AUs away from this place."
Kemi gulped. "Several prison ships are approaching us, ma'am."
Ben-Ari produced the Military Police pins and armbands she had stolen from the men on Space Station One. She handed a set to Kemi. "Put these on. And let me take the lead. As we planned. We faced the scum, Lieutenant Abasi. We can certainly face a few prison guards."
Within moments, the MP ships—armored battle boxes—were escorting them down toward the asteroid. As they approached, Ben-Ari was struck by the sheer size of this rock. Lumpy and misshapen, it was a hundred kilometers long, all dark rock, canyons, cliffs, and mountains. Its moon, a chunk of stone the size of a warship, shadowed the Saint Brendan as it passed overhead on its way around its larger brother.
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