A scorpion landed before her, and Ayumi swerved and raced down the rooftop of Miss Nori's chandlery. Her feet nimble, she skipped over the loose tiles. But the scorpions hit the wrong tiles, and they detached. The aliens slipped and crashed down onto the road. Ayumi swung around the chimney of Masaki's butcher shop, hurling herself onto the watchmaker's balcony. She raced through an attic, scattering gears and screws, out the window, over an alleyway, and onto the cobbler's shop.
Many of the roofs had been damaged. Some were burning. Ayumi leaped through fire and smoke. Scorpions raced around her, covering the city, but she dodged them at every turn.
Father had told her to flee the enclave. But Ayumi was making her way back home.
I have to save Mother and the baby.
She kept running, a thousand scorpions in pursuit. And ahead she saw it—her street, cluttered with homes. Her own home—a small apartment on the top floor. Mother and her brother were in the window, pointing at her, calling out in fear.
"Mother!" Ayumi vaulted over the rooftops. "Mother, I'm here!"
She leaped over an alleyway, soaring toward her home.
One of the dark, triangular starships descended and opened fire.
Blasts hit the building.
The explosion knocked Ayumi back through the air.
She screamed, hit a wall, and slumped to the ground.
More fire rained. The starship was pounding her home with blast after blast.
Ayumi scuttled backward, her legs burnt, screaming.
Her apartment building collapsed before her.
Her mother's burning corpse fell and slammed onto the roadside. Her baby burned in her arms. An instant later, the wall of the building collapsed, burying them.
Ayumi wept as she ran. She wept as she tore off her burning clothes. She wept as she reached the wall of the enclave and found it crumbling, filled with holes. The gates had fallen. The guards lay dead.
She had scaled this wall so many times. Ayumi scaled it again, finding the old grooves between the bricks, until she reached the top and gazed into the city beyond.
Palaevia—this city forbidden to her, a realm of wide boulevards and lush gardens and soaring temples. So many times she had stood on this wall, dreaming of exploring the wonders ahead, only for the feline guards to shout, to fire at her, to keep her imprisoned.
Now the scorpion starships flew over Palaevia, and the airplanes and airships had fallen, and enemy banners draped over the temples and palaces. The banners were as black as burnt corpses, and red stingers coiled upon them, symbols of the Skra-Shen Empire, the color of fresh blood.
Ayumi looked back into the enclave, her eyes stinging. Smoke and dust hovered over her home. Her family was gone.
Human survivors were being marched down the streets. Scorpions were shepherding them through the enclave, up ramps, and into their starships. Soon the ships were soaring, taking the prisoners past the smoke and into the sky.
Ayumi looked away. She lowered her head, and the smoky wind streamed her hair.
"I always knew I'd leave the enclave one day," she whispered. "But not like this." Her voice cracked. "Not like this."
The scorpions shrieked behind her, on the hunt again.
Ayumi tightened her lips and clutched her shred of rug. She leaped off the enclave's outer wall, flying to freedom, to despair, to a life unknown.
CHAPTER TWO
Corporal Rowan Emery sat on the roof of ISS Brooklyn, wearing a spacesuit, gazing into space. The stars shone everywhere, and the Milky Way spilled before her like a dazzling river. Somewhere in that spiral arm, invisible to the naked eye, it waited.
"Earth," she whispered.
Fillister, her dear robot, hovered at her side. He was shaped like a dragonfly with glowing blue eyes and delicate wings. There was no sound in space, but he transmitted his words to the speakers inside Rowan's helmet.
"It's beautiful, ain't it, Row? All them stars. Sure is a sight! What after all them years we spent cooped up in Paradise Lost."
Rowan nodded, smiling thinly. "Remember how we used to climb through the ducts to the top of the space station, curl up by the tiny porthole, and look outside? We saw only one or two stars from there. Nothing like this." She swept her arm at the vista before her. "There must be millions of stars we can see from here. And billions beyond them, invisible to the naked eye."
"Yep, she's a big galaxy, she is," Fillister said. "A beautiful bird, our old Milky Way. Pity them bloody scorpions are knocking about, making a mess of things."
Rowan's mood soured. "Way to kill the moment, Fill."
The dragonfly bristled. "Me, a buzzkill? Blame the bloody scorpions. Never did no good for no one, that lot. The sooner we beat 'em, the better."
Rowan sighed. The stars suddenly seemed less beautiful, the darkness between them more terrifying.
"Beating the Hierarchy won't be easy," Rowan said. "They've been winning every battle against the Concord. They've conquered hundreds of worlds already, and they only invaded a few months ago." She shook her head, wincing. "How can we defeat such evil, Fill? How can we stop such hatred?"
"Chin up!" Fillister said. He buzzed under her helmet and nudged her head higher. "We've overcome evil before, haven't we? We defeated the marshcrabs, the bonecrawlers, and all sorts of nasties. We'll beat them scorpions too, don't you worry."
"I can't help but worry, Fill," she said. "I wish we could just blast off toward those distant stars, find Earth, and build a new home there. But millions of humans still live in exile—behind us. And the scorpions are killing them, Fill. Imprisoning them in gulocks. Skinning them. Slaughtering millions." She trembled. "And Jade is leading them. My own sister."
Tears filled her eyes.
Fillister landed on her knee. "I got no words of comfort for that one, Row. I wish I did. Honestly. All I can say is: I'm with ya, love. Through fire and rain, thick and thin. And so is the rest of our fleet. And a mighty fleet it is these days. That's not too shabby, is it?"
Rowan turned around on the roof of the Brooklyn, facing the rest of the fleet.
And yes, she instantly felt better.
Danger filled the cosmos. The scorpions were conquering the galaxy, slaying every human they could find. Thousands of smaller civilizations had joined the scorpions, serving lower in the Hierarchy. Thousands of worlds who resisted, members of the Concord, fell like dominoes. But here before her flew the Heirs of Earth. The fleet of humanity. There were still good, brave warriors fighting for justice. For Earth. For humans everywhere. And that comforted her.
As she gazed upon the fleet, she tapped her music player, and the sounds of Strauss's "Blue Danube Waltz" filled her helmet.
The ISS Jerusalem, the flagship of the fleet, flew directly behind her, largest and mightiest of humanity's warships. The Jerusalem had been a tanker once, alien-built, used to ferry gasses and liquids between the stars. The Inheritors had bought the aging, rusty derelict and converted her into a mighty warship, coated with shields, bristling with cannons, painted deep blue like Earth's seas. The symbol of the Heirs of Earth shone on her hull: the planet Earth with golden wings growing from her equator.
Admiral Emet Ben-Ari himself, commander of the Heirs of Earth, flew in the Jerusalem, the flagship and largest frigate in the fleet. Even from here, Rowan could see the man standing at a porthole, gazing out into space. He was wearing the brown trousers and blue coat the Inheritors took for their colors, and a black cowboy hat shaded his eyes. Emet was a tall, broad man in his mid-fifties, his long blond hair and beard streaked with white. His soldiers called him the Old Lion. It was his roar that led them forth.
Several other frigates flew farther back, all named after ancient Earth cities. The ISS Jaipur and ISS Bangkok had suffered heavy damage in the Battle of Terminus, but repair crews were clinging to the hulls, welding and mending and painting.
The ISS Nazareth brought up the rear. It was a hulking warship, newer than the others—or at least, less old. Many believed that the
Nazareth could someday become the new flagship, replacing the Jerusalem when that aging frigate was finally scrapped. Commodore Leona Ben-Ari, Emet's daughter, commanded the Nazareth. Many believed that Leona too would someday rise, become the next admiral, would lead the Heirs of Earth, succeeding her father.
Perhaps it will be you, Emet, who leads us home, Rowan thought. And you, Leona, who rebuilds our world.
Corvettes flew in the fleet too. Corvettes were small warships, smaller than frigates, but just as deadly. Each was named after a small city or town from Earth. Each was the size of an old sailing vessel from Earth's seas. Many corvettes had fallen at Terminus. Leona's charge at the lead of the Corvette Company was already legendary. Even the ten corvettes that served today were an impressive force, lined with cannons, thickened with shields, ready for war.
The frigates and corvettes formed the main muscle of the fleet, but there were many other ships here too. Firebirds, small starfighters built for a single pilot, escorted the larger starships. There was a medical ship, the ISS Kos, and an entire ship dedicated to farming, its hold filled with crops and cattle. Heavy freighters, tankers, and cargo hulls lumbered along too, carrying supplies, munitions, and refugees. There were thousands of refugees in those ships, rescued from the horrors of gulocks or the isolation of exile.
Here was a nation in space. A species without a home. A people clinging to a dream.
"What the devil are you listening to, Row?" Fillister said, interrupting her thoughts.
"Blue Danube Waltz," she said. "Strauss. It's tradition. Homer Simpson listened to it in space."
"Space Odyssey did it first," Fillister said. "Listen to something dramatic instead. Some Beethoven! Or Mozart! Or—"
"K-pop it is," Rowan said, switching to a new playlist.
Fillister groaned as the high-pitched voices chirped over dance music so saccharine it could rot your teeth. Hey, call it a guilty pleasure.
A fist banged on Brooklyn's hull from inside, rattling Rowan where she sat.
"Hey, what the hell are you listening to?" Bay shouted from inside the ship, his voice reverberating through the hull into her suit.
"How the hell can you hear that from inside?" she cried.
"There are deaf aliens three systems away who can hear it!" Bay called back. "Put on something good."
Rowan rolled her eyes. "Why does nobody appreciate K-pop? You're all Philistines."
"I don't know that what means," Bay said, voice muffled as he shouted from inside the ship, "but that music is killing off my testosterone as we speak. Put on some heavy metal!"
She hopped on the ship, rattling it. "I'll show you heavy metal."
Now it was Brooklyn's voice that rose. "Hey, ease off, Rowan. I'm a delicate starship, you know, and you weigh a ton, dude. You've been scarfing down too many of those pancakes."
"Great, now even the damn starship is complaining." Rowan rolled her eyes. "I told you a million times, Brook, there's no weight in space."
"Sure there is!" Brooklyn said. "Oh, and—can you put on some smooth jazz instead? Some Kenny G would sure hit the spot."
"I'll stick to the K-pop," said Bay.
With a groan, Rowan shut off her music. Between a talkative dragonfly robot with a Cockney accent, a sassy starship with a phobia of ants, and Bay complaining and banging on the ceiling, it was a wonder Rowan hadn't gone mad.
She floated off Brooklyn's hull and into the airlock. When she pulled off her spacesuit, she shivered. A memory surfaced, unbidden. The Battle of Terminus. Floating in space without a suit. Bay pulling her into this very airlock. Gasping on the floor, barely alive. She could smell space on her suit—a smell like seared steak and welding fumes. Perhaps that smell would always remind her of that battle, of how close to death she had come.
She turned toward a porthole. She looked back outside at the stars.
"Are you out there somewhere, Jade?" she whispered. "Did you survive, my sister, when Emet blew us out into space?"
Rowan shuddered, this time more violently. Yes. That was a big part of her pain. She had not simply fallen into space during the Battle of Terminus. Emet had opened the Jerusalem's airlock, blasting himself, Rowan, and Jade into space. The Old Lion himself, her commander, the very leader of humanity—he had been willing to sacrifice Rowan's life to slay Jade. To slay the Blue Witch, the Skra-Shen commander. His attempt had failed. His intent still stung.
Rowan still loved Emet. She still followed him, fought for him, believed in him.
But now she also feared him.
"You might be a monster now, Jade," Rowan whispered, eyes damp. "But you're still my sister. Still a human, despite what the scorpions did to you. I know you can come back, Jade. That you can remember your humanity. If you're out there, don't despair. I'll find you, sister. I'll make you remember home, and me, and yourself. I'll save you."
Rowan rubbed her eyes. It would not do for Bay to see her crying. She was an Inheritor now, after all. A corporal in the Heirs of Earth. A warrior. She refocused her eyes, looking at her reflection in the porthole.
She was a slender girl, still young; she had just turned seventeen. For most of her childhood, she had lived in the ducts of Paradise Lost, a sleazy space station catering to gamblers and drunks. A lifetime of scrounging for scraps had left her short—she only stood five feet on her tiptoes. Thankfully, she was no longer so skinny. Since joining the fleet, she had been gaining some much-needed weight.
Maybe Brooklyn is right, she thought. I've been enjoying quite a few pancakes from Bay's freezer. I can't help it. The frickin' things are delicious.
The rest of her looked the same as always. Her hair was brown and cut short and messy, just long enough for Bay to muss, which he did often. Her eyes were dark and almond shaped, perhaps hinting at some heritage in Earth's far east, and her was skin olive-toned.
Her worst feature, she thought, was not her stature but her teeth. They were white enough, thankfully, but as crooked as a two dollar bill. She rarely smiled or chewed with an open mouth, and even when speaking, she often turned her head away, seeking to hide those teeth.
But who cares about my teeth? she told herself. She was an Inheritor now! A warrior! She proudly wore the uniform of the Heirs of Earth. She had needed to borrow clothes from the children's closet, yes, but she had found the right colors, at least. Her pants were brown, symbolizing Earth's soil. Her vest was blue, worn over a white collared shirt, symbolizing Earth's sky. It had nifty brass buttons too. Goggles perched on her head, holding back her short brown hair.
But her favorite part? Her pistol, Lullaby. It was a large weapon, the size of a power drill. It was carved of real wood, lovingly sanded and adorned with brass gears. The weapon was shaped like a flintlock from ancient Earth, the kind buccaneers used to fire, but far deadlier. The pistol hung against her hip. It was so hefty that for the first few days Rowan had walked at a slant. But Lullaby comforted her. For the first time in her life, Rowan had a weapon. Had power. For the first time, she was proud of her humanity.
She left the airlock and entered Brooklyn's main cabin. Brooklyn was a tiny ship. The hold was cozy, containing a bed, a desk, and Bay's artwork on the walls. Brooklyn had originally been a shuttle craft aboard the ISS Jerusalem. Bay had refitted her, installing an interstellar azoth drive, cannons and shields, and an AI system.
A particularly neurotic AI, as it turned out.
"Rowan, check yourself for ants!" Brooklyn said, her voice emerging from speakers in the ceiling. "Did you check for ants? You know I hate ants."
Rowan patted a bulkhead. "There aren't ants in space, Brook. I'm fine."
"There might be," Brooklyn said. "I heard tardigrades can survive in space, and they're kind of like ants."
"Brooklyn, she doesn't have ants!" Bay cried from the cockpit. "For Ra's sake."
He entered the hold, wearing his own uniform, except instead of a vest, Bay had chosen a navy-blue overcoat with brass buttons. The sleeves bore two chevrons each—the insignia of co
rporal. He was seven years older than Rowan, but like her, he had just recently joined the Heirs of Earth, ending years on the run. His rifle, Lawless, hung across his back.
He was handsome, Rowan thought—his hair dark blond, his eyes kind. He looked a lot like Emet Ben-Ari, his father, but slimmer and shorter, and also somehow . . . softer? No, not softer. There was nothing soft about Bay. But maybe more thoughtful, more kind. More sensitive, maybe. Rowan knew that he was sensitive about his left hand, at least. He often kept it in his pocket, hiding the fingers that were always curled into a malformed fist. Rowan didn't mind his disability. No more than he minded her teeth.
Our flaws always seem magnified to our own eyes, Rowan thought, even if others barely notice them.
"How was your little space meditation?" Bay asked. "Come to any deep insights about mankind?"
She nodded. "I did! I came to the conclusion that mankind is your concern. Womankind is going to have a shower." She headed toward the bathroom. "I'll sing K-pop really loudly, don't worry!"
Bay groaned. He put a hand on her shoulder. "You'll have to stay stinky for a while longer. My dad called a meeting. He wants us on the Jerusalem in fifteen minutes. He said it's really important. Something to do with the fate of mankind—I mean, womankind—and the universe. And I know that womankind needs at least an hour to get ready."
Rowan scoffed. "I can get ready in ten seconds. And I'm not stinky! I'm just . . . well-seasoned." She pulled off her vest.
"You smell like a seared steak." Bay headed back into the cockpit.
"That's the smell of space!" she cried after him. "It's not me."
"Space doesn't have a smell!" he yelled back, settling down at the helm. "You said so yourself."
"I said space doesn't have weight." She groaned.
Brooklyn snorted, entering the conversation. "You said space doesn't have ants, but what do you know?"
Rowan tugged her hair in frustration. "Ants have more brains than you two!"
She hopped into the shower. Within seven minutes, she was washed, dressed, and ready, and they were flying toward the ISS Jerusalem, flagship of the fleet.
A Memory of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 2) Page 3