A Memory of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 2)

by Daniel Arenson

  The striker broke apart before her, and Leona tugged the yoke, flying over the debris. Chunks of metal skimmed the Nazareth's underbelly. Behind her, she heard her fellow warriors—those who had made it aboard, at least—battling more scorpion invaders.

  Leona checked the monitors around her, surveying the battle. Her heart sank. Several human ships had already fallen. The Jerusalem was still flying, and Firebirds were mustering around it, firing their machine guns, desperate to hold back the enemy.

  The dashboard communicator crackled to life. Emet's voice emerged, staticky.

  "Leona! Leona, damn it, can you hear me? Leona!"

  "I hear you, Dad!" she said. "Damn bastards broke the comm in my helmet."

  "Get your ships out of here!" Emet said. "Continue your mission! To Earth!"

  "Kinda busy now, Dad!" She pulled the Nazareth's yoke, swerving aside from a charging striker. She fired her starboard cannons, hammering the enemy. "Got a battle to win."

  "You got a planet to find!" Emet shouted. Screams and thundering cannons rose in the background from the Jerusalem's bridge. "Fly out—now! We'll keep the enemy busy."

  "I won't leave you!" Leona said.

  "You must! You must find Earth. Go now, before the enemy rallies! We'll hold them off."

  "Dad, I will not flee from battle, I—"

  "That is an order, Commodore! Engage your warp drives and fly out!" His voice softened. "Don't you worry. We'll take care of these buggers. Godspeed, daughter."

  Leona's hands shook on the yoke. Her breath was heavy and fast. Her head spun.

  Could she truly do this? Flee from battle?

  She checked her side viewports. Her three corvettes were arranging themselves in formation around her. They had received the order too.

  Ahead, a dozen new strikers emerged from warped space, blocking their path.

  Leona sneered and fired her cannons.

  "Break through them!" she said. "Charge!"

  The strikers opened fire.

  Chunks of spinning, semi-molten metal flew toward them. The enemy was firing a new type of artillery, one Leona had never seen.

  The fusillade slammed into the Nazareth and her corvettes with the fury of gods.

  Leona screamed. Her shields cracked. A breach tore through her hull. At her side the corvettes were spinning, pounded by the enemy.

  "What the hell are those assholes firing?" Mairead cried. The young maverick was flying the ISS Kinloch Laggan.

  "Send them to hell!" said Captain Smith, flying the Stratford.

  "Onward, for the glory of Ra and eternal life!" said Ramses, piloting the Rosetta.

  They charged toward the enemy, cannons blasting.

  Leona's cannons took out one striker, a second, a third. Mairead flew high and swooped, her corvette smaller and faster than the hulking Nazareth, and her cannons took out another striker.

  But the enemy kept charging. Blasts slammed into Leona's ships, tearing off more shields.

  "Leona, Mairead, Ramses, fly high!" Smith yelled. "Fly over them! I'll keep them busy!"

  His ship, the Stratford, stormed toward the enemies. The corvette swung into a mad spin, firing cannons in every direction like a whirling firework.

  "Smith, you crazy son of a bitch!" Mairead said.

  Leona tugged back on her yoke, and her frigate soared, engines rumbling. Mairead and Ramses followed in their corvettes. Below them, the Straford was spinning faster and faster, a mad top, spraying fire, pounding the enemy.

  "You're going to get yourself killed, Smith!" Ramses cried out.

  Captain Smith shouted from inside the spinning Stratford. "Fly, friends! Fly to Earth! Win that planet for me. Go! Go—"

  Globs of molten metal slammed into the Stratford, cutting off his communicator. Still his ship spun faster, overheating, whirring like a pulsar. It took more fire. The Stratford careened madly, flying at the enemy like a throwing star, and rammed into the strikers.

  Leona kept flying, sailing over the battle.

  Mairead and Ramses followed.

  Behind them, the Stratford exploded, showering shrapnel over the enemy ships. The strikers burned.

  He died for us, Leona realized. To let us fly free.

  She looked behind her. Smith had taken out many strikers, but the battle still raged. Her father was still fighting aboard the Jerusalem, and other human ships were fighting at his side. Missiles and plasma and bullets filled space. Leona wanted to fly back, to join her father.

  But Smith died for me, Leona thought. For this mission. I cannot let his death be in vain.

  "Mairead, Ramses, you with me?" she said.

  Their two starships flanked her.

  "We're here, Captain," Ramses said.

  "Here and ready to go, Cap," said Mairead.

  Tears burned in Leona's eyes. "Activate azoth drives. Forward!"

  She pushed a lever, igniting her interstellar engine.

  Deep inside her ship shone an azoth crystal, able to bend spacetime like a diamond could refract light. The fabric of reality curved around the Nazareth, forming a bubble. Leona's head spun, and she felt disconnected from her body, floating by the ceiling, past and present blending together. She was a child. She was a grieving bride. She was a warrior. She was an old woman. She was time and space and light.

  The warp engine kicked into gear.

  The stars stretched into lines.

  The Nazareth blasted forward, engulfed in curved spacetime, flying faster than light.

  Within a second, they were millions of kilometers away from the battle.

  Leona sat at the helm, lowered her head, and shed tears.

  I'm sorry, Dad, she thought. I'm sorry, Bay and Rowan. I'm sorry, everyone. I didn't want to leave you. I didn't want to run . . .

  Ramses flew at her starboard side, captaining the Rosetta. Mairead flew at her port side, commanding the Kinloch Laggan. Each ship carried warriors—some wounded, some dying, some already dead.

  We were supposed to fly out as heroes, she thought. We fly out as bleeding, haunted warriors.

  "Commodore?" Ramses's dark, sharp-featured face appeared on a monitor. "You fought well, Commodore. You truly have the heart of a lion."

  "Damn right, you kicked ass, Leo," Mairead said, appearing on another monitor. The young pilot passed a hand through her fiery red hair and chomped on a cigar.

  "Don't you worry, Commodore," Ramses said. "Your father will take care of the scorpions that remained. We killed plenty for him."

  "Wish we could have killed more." Mairead leaned back in her seat and slammed her boots onto her dashboard. "But hell, we'll find plenty of buggers to kill on Earth. Lookin' forward to it! Love me a good fight."

  I don't, Leona thought, eyes stinging. I hate fighting. I've fought too many battles. I've been fighting this war for ten years, and I've hated every battle. But I fight on. For a dream of Earth. For a dream of peace.

  The three starships flew on in silence, the stars stretched into lines at their sides. It would be six months, maybe longer, before they reached Earth, and Leona didn't know what dangers lurked on the way.

  "May we find nothing but darkness and light on our journey," she said softly. "And then a pale blue dot that slowly grows into a world, clement and kind, calling us home." She wiped her eyes, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "Calling us home."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Coral Amber, Journeywoman of the Weavers Guild, stood in the Jerusalem's brig as enemy artillery hammered the warship.

  "Guards!" Coral pounded at the door. "Let me out!"

  Another blast hit the ISS Jerusalem. The flagship jolted. Klaxons wailed. Smoke seeped around the door. There was no porthole in the brig. She couldn't see the battle. But judging by how violently the Jerusalem was shaking, it was bad.

  Coral pounded on the door again. "Boys, you there?"

  Shouts answered her.

  A shriek tore the air.

  Gunfire rattled through the halls.

  The scorpions boarde
d us, Coral realized. And I'm locked in a prison cell. Damn it!

  The guards outside screamed. Blood trickled under the brig door.

  Another blast slammed into the warship, denting the bulkhead near Coral and tossing the Jerusalem into a tailspin.

  I have to get out of here, Coral thought. I can't die here. Not now. I must find the Godblade or we're all doomed.

  She threw herself against the door again and again, unable to break it. The brig had once been a regular crew cabin. The door had been reinforced, but there was still a control panel, keeping it locked. Coral tapped buttons, but the panel kept insisting on a password.

  Coral had grown up on Til Shiran, a desert world where the idea of high technology was a bucket that didn't leak. Until Leona had rescued her from that hellhole, Coral had never even been in an automobile, let alone a Ra damn starship. Hell, she had never even ridden on a muler; back on Til Shiran, humans were considered lower than those beasts of burden. She could pick locks, but this? Buttons and passwords and electronics? It was like sorcery to her.

  But I'm more than a lockpick, she thought. I'm a weaver, a wielder of the ancient light. No door can stand in my way.

  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She tried to ignore the klaxons, the shrieking scorpions, the booming cannons.

  "Be with me, ancient ones," she whispered. "Bless me with your aether."

  And Coral felt their presence. She knew they were here. The ancients did not live in this plane. Theirs was a realm of pure light and majesty. Here, in this reality, there was only their shadow, only the vast stains of black matter upon the cosmos.

  "Let your light seep through," Coral said. "Let it shine."

  She held out her arm. One of her white tattoos, shaped like a key, began to glow.

  She was a conduit to the aether, guiding it from the Empyrean Plane to her reality. Its power filled her.

  Coral approached the doorway and turned on the control panel.

  She began to type.

  She entered a password. Rejected. Another password. Rejected again.

  She began to type faster and faster. Her rune glowed. She typed in hundreds, then thousands of passwords, her fingers moving so rapidly they blurred. She reached tens of thousands of passwords, and the keys were cracking, and—

  "Password accepted."

  The door's lock clicked.

  Coral breathed out a shaky sigh and released the aether. Her tattoo dimmed.

  For a moment, she stood in place, dizzy, struggling for breath. Using the aether always left her winded. If she used too much, she was likely to pass out, even die. Playing with aether was like playing with fire—powerful and dangerous.

  Finally she placed her hand on the doorknob and allowed herself a smile.

  "Yes, these electronics are like sorcery," Coral said. "But I have my own tricks."

  Before opening the door, she drew her runeblade. The dagger was the length of her forearm, carved from a single block of white aetherstone—the solid form of aether. The blade was triangular and shimmering, the hilt narrow. The pommel was the size of her fist, so large the weapon almost looked like a scepter. On that pommel appeared a sunburst rune. In the early days, weavers only used one type of artifact—the ceremonial lume, used for weaving wondrous rugs. Even today, thousands of years later, most weavers dared use no other artifacts.

  But some, like Coral, dared.

  Because I'm more than a weaver of fabric, she thought. I'm a weaver of the cosmos.

  A rune on her palm began to glow—a starburst tattoo. The same rune as on the pommel. As Coral held the dagger, the matching runes connected, the aether flowing through her and into the blade. The power crackled, raising her hair as if she floated underwater.

  Coral opened the door and stepped into the corridor.

  A scorpion knelt there, feasting on a dead guard. The beast hadn't noticed Coral yet. It ripped off a chunk of flesh and ribs, tossed its head back, and guzzled the bite.

  Coral winced. She nearly lost her connection to the aether.

  They are so cruel. They are so evil.

  Her eyes watered. When she used aether, she always had heightened empathy. Often she could see an enemy's frailties and buried goodness, bringing pity to her heart. Perhaps the ancients had given weavers this curse, forcing them to gaze into the hearts of their foes, to see goodness there. Perhaps without this empathy, the ancients feared, weavers would be too dangerous, a terror upon the cosmos. Coral had faced cruel enemies before—aliens who had tried to abuse her, demean her, even rape her. In every one, she had felt at least a kernel a goodness, often buried deep but still glowing softly.

  In the scorpion ahead—nothing.

  No goodness. No pity. No compassion.

  It was a being of pure evil.

  It doesn't just want us dead, Coral realized, trembling, eyes damp. It wants us to suffer. It wants us to suffer so much.

  The scorpion finally noticed her. It lifted its head and grinned. Shreds of bloody human skin dangled from its jaws.

  "Ah, lovely young flesh." The scorpion licked its chops and shoved the half-eaten corpse away. "This one died too soon. You I will keep alive as I feed."

  The scorpion pounced.

  Such terror filled Coral that she could barely move.

  She raised her runeblade.

  The scorpion flew across the corridor.

  A beam of searing, thrumming aether blasted from the blade and slammed into the alien.

  A hole tore through the scorpion and the bulkhead behind it.

  The beast crashed into Coral, knocking her down, dead before they hit the floor.

  She groaned, crushed under its weight. She struggled to free herself, finally shoving it off. Her tattoos had gone dark, and her head spun. She paused for a moment, nearly vomiting. It would be a while before she could summon more aether.

  The Jerusalem shook again. Bulkheads dented. Heat blazed through the corridor.

  Coral knelt and fished a rifle out from a puddle of gore. Her insides churned, and she nearly gagged, and for a moment Coral could only breathe, willing herself not to pass out. Finally she straightened, bloody rifle in her hands. She had never fired a gun before, but she clung to the weapon and ran.

  Doors stood alongside her, leading into living quarters for refugees. Screams sounded from one cabin, and Coral skidded to a halt and kicked the door open. A scorpion was inside the room, cornering several refugees. One man lay on the floor, half-devoured, while the others wept and begged.

  Coral fired her rifle, hitting the beast's back. The bullet embedded itself into the shell but did not reach the flesh. The scorpion spun toward her, shrieking, and she fired into its open jaws.

  It didn't stop.

  The scorpion pounced onto her, and claws tore at Coral's arms.

  She screamed and fell, her blood spurting.

  Teeth dug into her shoulder, and she yowled. Her rifle hit the floor.

  At once, the refugees leaped onto the scorpion, tugging it back, pounding with their fists. One boy slammed a bread knife into its eye, blinding the beast.

  Coral managed to rise, dripping blood.

  She closed her eyes and summoned more aether.

  She slashed her glowing runeblade, severing the scorpion's head.

  At once, she collapsed into a puddle of her own blood.

  Please, ancients. Her eyes were rolling back. A little more. For humanity. For the sake of goodness in the cosmos.

  She could barely sense them anymore. She was a mere journeywoman, not a master. She was not meant to use this much power.

  But she felt it. An inkling. A mere feather of aether. She clung to it, and a rune on her wrist glowed, this one shaped like a serpent coiling around a staff.

  She was trembling, losing blood, but managed to pass her hand over her wounds. Her rune shone. Her wounds closed.

  "Help me up," she whispered. "Please."

  The refugees pulled her to her feet. Coral could barely walk. Another blast hit the
ship, and the floor tilted. She stumbled toward the viewport and looked outside.

  Her heart sank.

  The strikers were everywhere.

  The enemy starships were pounding the human fleet. Inheritor warships were fighting back, but they were woefully outgunned.

  Bullets cannot defeat these creatures, Coral thought. She tossed the rifle aside. Only the Godblade, the greatest artifact of our order, can cast these beasts back into the abyss. And I will find it!

  She left the cabin. She ran down the corridor, heading toward the back of the ship. Above the thrumming engine room, she burst through a doorway into the hangar.

  A battle had been fought here too. The corpses of both scorpions and humans lay across the floor. The Firebirds which normally docked here were gone; the small starfighters were outside now, engaging the enemy. There was only one vessel left: a small shuttle, a dragon painted on its hull. A shuttle equipped with an interstellar engine.

  The ISS Brooklyn.

  "Perfect," Coral said.

  She had to get out of this place. She had to find the Godblade. And this shuttle would take her there.

  Sorry, Bay, Coral thought, running across the hangar toward the shuttle. I know this is your ship, but I need to save the universe.

  She was a few steps away from the Brooklyn when the shuttle jostled. A scream rose from inside—a human scream—followed by a scorpion's screech.

  Coral burst into the shuttle, runeblade raised.

  Bay stood inside, back to the wall. He was bleeding. Blood stained his shirt and pooled on the floor. A scorpion was hissing at him. Bay was swinging his rifle like a club, perhaps out of bullets, perhaps just too close to aim.

  The scorpion leaped onto him, knocking him down, and drove a claw into his chest.

  Bay screamed, then lay still. His blood spilled.

  Bay. No.

  Coral stared, heart cracking. She didn't know Bay well, but she liked the young man. He had always been kind to her, even when other Inheritors mistrusted the strange weaver among them. In many ways, Bay too was an outsider, a former druggie and grogger who struggled to fit in among soldiers.

  Don't you dare die, Bay.