Earth Shadows (Earthrise Book 5)

by Daniel Arenson

  "You're tilting." She pointed. "Marco, you're tilting left!"

  He returned his eyes toward the controls. He adjusted his flight, traveling along their charted course again. Among the strands and spheres, they had set up human monitors, displaying their flightpath and destination. The Ghost Fleet, at least according to Lailani, still lay thousands of light-years away.

  "How do we even know the Ghost Fleet is where you say?" he asked.

  Lailani groaned. "I told you. You don't listen. We studied it for years in the Oort Cloud. The best scientists in the galaxy."

  "And I suppose they were better than all the other scientists, human and alien, who've been searching for the Ghost Fleet for a million years."

  "Maybe they were!" Lailani stood up and placed her hands on her hips. "It's not like you had a better plan."

  "Your plan is ridiculous!" Marco barked. "It'll get us all killed."

  She glared. "Was your plan to lose the food?"

  "My plan was to save Addy!" he shouted. "Not to leave her behind! Not to—" He realized what he was saying, realized he was shouting. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I'm lashing out. It's just this place, Lailani. Trapped in this metal box. The hunger. The thirst. Those fucking points of light that keep chasing us."

  Lailani seemed ready to shout, then breathed deeply and nodded. "It's fucked up. I'm sorry too. It's not your fault we lost the food. We were all in a rush. We all should have checked and double-checked."

  Marco's belly gave a loud growl. As if in response, Lailani's belly answered. They both looked at each other, then burst out laughing.

  "They're talking!" Marco said.

  "Yours is louder." She poked his belly. "And bigger."

  He snorted. "Well, we can't all weigh eighty pounds."

  Lailani bristled. "I'm not that skinny! I weigh ninety-five pounds. Fine! Ninety-three." She sighed. "I need to work out."

  "How about a shift flying the ship?" Marco said. "Tugging all these strands is a good workout. And I told Ben-Ari I'd explore the crawlspace under the main hull. She still thinks I'll find the marauders' pantry. Maybe we'll dine on mummified flies tonight."

  "Guh." Lailani stuck out her tongue. "I'd sooner eat my own hair."

  As Marco left the bridge, some of the tension left his shoulders. That short laugh, that quick banter, had felt good. Almost normal. Almost like they were kids again back at Fort Djemila.

  God, he thought. I can hardly believe it's been only seven years. That we're the same people.

  Those kids back on that base—Tiny, Maple, Elvis, Beast, Caveman . . . It all seemed like a different life. Seven years ago, when he first met Lailani in the desert, Marco never imagined they'd end up here, stuck on an alien warship, fleeing aliens light-years away from Earth.

  I'm only twenty-five, he thought. But I feel old. I feel like I lived too much. Lost too much. Saw too much death. I feel old.

  He thought back to that last night on Haven. To standing on the roof, contemplating suicide. To that horrible night when he had fled from Anisha, had hired a prostitute, had drunk himself into a stupor, so scared of joy, so worried he could never be happy. He had never come so close to death, maybe not even during the war.

  Now I must survive again, he thought. I must find Addy. I want us all back together. Me. Addy. Lailani. All of us who still live. Maybe we'll never be innocent kids again. But maybe, if we can unite, if we can defeat these marauders, we can still find some peace, some worth to our pained lives. He nodded, throat tight. We'll all buy a big house on the beach, a place of peace between trees and water. We'll live together. And we'll forget. We'll all just forget.

  He stepped into the main hold of the Anansi, a cavernous space covered with webs. Most of their equipment from the Saint Brendan still stood here, sucking on battery power. Only a couple days of juice remained. Ben-Ari and Kemi sat on the floor in front of several tablets. A bed sheet was stretched out beside them, marked with arrows, dots, and numbers.

  ". . . and at Nightwall too, we flew it," Kemi was saying, pointing at a drawing on the sheet. "Major Verish insisted we drill the move. It might work."

  Ben-Ari shook her head. "I don't know, Lieutenant. Maybe against seven ships, yes, but twenty?"

  "If we adjust the tilt, and break their formation with an early Spearhead assault, we can divide and conquer. Three maneuvers, one in a row. Like this." With a marker, she scribbled new arrows on the sheet.

  "Too risky," Ben-Ari said. "Let's go back to the Maelstrom Gambit. I felt it was stronger."

  Kemi opened her mouth, eyes flashing, and was about to say more when she saw Marco. She turned toward him.

  "Marco, tell the captain," the pilot said. "A Cabot Gambit, followed by a Spearhead to break the enemy's flight, completed with three Kummerow Maneuvers. It's how you defeat greater odds."

  Marco frowned. "What are you two doing?"

  Ben-Ari rose to her feet and rubbed her neck. "Figuring out a plan to defeat those twenty ravagers in a fight."

  "A fight?" Marco gasped. "Ma'am, with all due respect, they're twenty, and we're just one ship, and we barely know how to fly it."

  "Exactly!" Kemi said. "Which is why we need a Spearhead to break their formation first."

  Ben-Ari shook her head. "In every simulation we've run, Lieutenant, we never survive the Spearhead Gambit."

  Kemi snorted out her breath, blowing back a curl. "Simulators don't know what they're talking about. I've done the Spearhead a hundred times in the Scum War. It'll work."

  "What works against scum pods won't work against the larger, deadlier ravagers." Ben-Ari lifted a tablet. "Let me try the Terrell Maneuver again, followed by Brooklyn Run. We'll see what the computer says."

  Marco looked at the screen. It showed a small image of the Anansi flying against twenty enemies, blowing plasma, and quickly collapsing.

  Ben-Ari cringed. "All right, maybe not the Terrell Maneuver."

  Marco licked his lips. "There's got to be another way. Some way to escape them, or to negotiate with them, or to hide."

  It was Kemi's turn to stand up. She stepped toward him, placed her hands on his shoulders, and stared into his eyes. "In two days, Marco, those ravagers will be on us. We're slower. We have no stealth cloak. We must fight. We must defeat them." Her eyes shone. "Remember the Scum War, Marco. We won battles against greater odds. Throughout history, there are stories of ace pilots winning against greater odds. In two days, I will sit in the pilot's seat of the Anansi. I will unleash our plasma. And I will destroy twenty enemy ravagers."

  Marco didn't want to remind Kemi that even if they defeated those ravagers, they were still likely to starve. That even if they could destroy a thousand ravagers, it was a drop in the bucket unless they could find the Ghost Fleet, and their battery power was days—maybe only hours—away from running out. Their quest seemed hopeless.

  But all Marco could do was nod. Because Kemi and Ben-Ari were right. What other choice did they have?

  "All right," he said. "While the officers figure out how to save humanity, the lowly sergeant is going hunting. With all this chaos, we still haven't explored the engine room. I'll see if I can find a power source we can plug into—and some marauder grub."

  "If you find mummified fly, I'll have that!" Kemi said.

  "Too late, I already promised that meal to Lailani," he said. "But I'll see if I can dig you up some rancid maggots."

  "Mmm, my favorite!" Kemi licked her lips.

  At the back of the hold, a tunnel led into the lower level of the Anansi—a murky network of burrows, sticky with webs. Nobody had explored that shadowy realm yet, not with the mad dash to set up their systems. The Anansi was twice Saint Brendan's size, and the lower deck comprised half of it. Hopefully, that basement contained hidden treasures: food, water, maybe a power source they could rig an adapter for. Marco stared down the tunnel, wincing. The shaft was thick with webs and not much wider than him; though marauders were larger than humans, they were excellent at squeezing through tight
places.

  Before climbing down, Marco drew his knife, a blade Addy had given him back at her apartment on Haven. On further thought, he stepped toward their stockpile of weapons and grabbed a handgun. Just in case of man-eating maggots.

  He leaned over the shaft, sawed through webs, and placed his feet into the opening. It was slow going. Every meter, Marco had to pause, spend a few moments cutting through more strands, then keep descending. Marauders breathed thicker, hotter air than humans, and the stifling air aboard the Anansi didn't help. Soon sweat soaked Marco.

  Eventually he hit bottom. The floor was soft and sticky, like walking over algae. His head grazed webs on the ceiling, the strands as thick as sausages. He lit his flashlight, and the beam illuminated a cavern that seemed organic, the belly of a living beast. The engines thrummed and grumbled ahead, and Marco had the terrible feeling that those weren't engines at all, that the entire ravager was alive, breathing and pulsing like the scum pods.

  Ridiculous, he thought. The ship has a metal hull. An airlock. A bridge. So calm down, soldier.

  He couldn't hear the others from here. The engines hummed ahead, rising, falling, a sound like breathing. The floor quivered. He swept his flashlight from side to side, seeking food stocks, hopefully something edible to humans. Many aliens in the galaxy, Marco knew from school, weren't biological beings. The more advanced ones had uploaded their minds into robots, while others had become beings of pure consciousness with no bodies at all, living in virtual worlds. But the marauders were like humans, still a new civilization, still biological, still needing to feed. Where was their pantry? Would Marco find something to stave off starvation?

  I just hope it's not a fridge full of brains, he thought.

  A rumble sounded ahead.

  Marco froze and his hand strayed to his gun.

  Just the engines, he told himself, gulping.

  He kept walking, the floor softer now, the walls closer together. More webs coated the walls, yet when Marco pointed his flashlight at them, they looked more like veins. Red liquid flowed through them. He frowned.

  "What the hell?"

  He stepped closer to one strand. He passed his fingers over it. It pulsed.

  That's blood inside, he thought.

  The room quivered. The grumble rose again. Marco spun around, pointing his flashlight deeper, and froze.

  Fuck me.

  His beam of light illuminated a giant, pulsing heart.

  He stepped closer, eyes narrowed. The heart was the size of a curled-up man, pumping blood into arteries that ran along the floor, up the wall, and into the ceiling. An airy sound caused Marco to raise his head. Above the heart, clinging to the ceiling, spread two sacks that looked like lungs.

  It is alive, he thought. The ship is alive. Not just built from organic material like scum pods but an actual animal.

  He had always assumed that the claws on the ravagers were merely weapons, part of the design. But they were the actual claws of a living, breathing, space-faring creature.

  Red light glowed behind the heart. Carefully, Marco walked around the pulsing muscle. He passed between other organs, some as large as bean bags, others no larger than a watermelon; they seemed to have no human analogy. Forgetting his hunger and quest for food, Marco followed that red glow, seeking its secrets.

  After a few more steps, he paused and stared. Again, shock filled him.

  "Holy shit," he whispered.

  The largest organ yet rose ahead, taller than he was. It looked like a stomach, stretched with thick membranes. But inside flowed fire. The heat bathed Marco, so intense he narrowed his eyes and dared not step closer. The flames crackled inside the organ, and a thick tube—the width of the tunnel Marco had climbed down—rose from the stomach to the ceiling.

  The plasma depository, he thought. From here, the creature spews out its flame.

  He was inside the belly of an alien—a living, space-swimming, fire-breathing alien. Even with humanity in danger, with Addy missing, with the enemy chasing them, Marco found himself smiling. The creature was amazing, and it was beautiful.

  "Ravagers aren't starships," he whispered. "They're aliens." He placed his hand against the wall. "Hi there, lovely. You'll fly faster for us, won't you?"

  As if in answer, the ravager grumbled.

  As Marco patted it, more grumbles sounded—these ones from below.

  The floor throbbed.

  Marco frowned, pointed his flashlight down, and inhaled sharply.

  He was standing atop another organ. A womb. And it was full.

  Marco leaped back, cringing. He wanted to run, but curiosity got the better of him. He knelt, shining his light on the translucent floor. He could see the babies squirming below, grumbling, moving their clawed legs. Each was the size of Sergeant Stumpy, Marco's old Boston Terrier. They pressed against the walls, blind, squealing, as if eager to emerge.

  "Marauders," Marco whispered. "Baby marauders."

  He took a step back, gasping. The Anansi wasn't just a living starship. She was a mother. A mother to marauders.

  "She's a female marauder," Marco whispered, and his eyes widened with the realization—the marvelous, beautiful, terrifying realization. "The ravagers aren't just the marauders' starships. They're the females of the species."

  And this one was pregnant.

  Kneeling, Marco placed his hand on the womb's translucent wall.

  "Hi there, little ones," he whispered. "You're almost as ugly as your daddies, aren't you? Yes you are, yes you—"

  The baby marauders leaped up, slamming against the top of the womb. Their jaws opened. They screeched. They already had teeth.

  Marco gulped and stepped back.

  Sooner or later, we're going to have a problem here.

  He bit his lip, ready to climb back to the upper deck and rejoin his crew, when one of the juvenile marauders tore through the womb.

  The creature emerged, screeching, reaching out its claws. Its jaw unhinged, full of fangs. It made a pit bull look like a poodle.

  Marco took another step back.

  Sooner rather than later.

  Another baby marauder emerged. A third. A fourth. The womb kept spilling out its children. The creatures scuttled toward Marco, shrieking, demanding to feed.

  "All right," Marco said, voice shaking the slightest, and cocked his gun. "You've been bad boys. You're in time out! I'm just going to . . . back up . . . nice and easy . . . and lock you down here forev—"

  A baby marauder leaped at him, fangs gleaming.

  Marco fired his gun.

  His bullet slammed into the marauder. The creature fell back, mewling. Another leaped toward Marco. He fired again, missed, and the alien landed on him. The teeth sank into his shoulder, and he screamed.

  "Emery!" The communicator around his wrist crackled to life, and Ben-Ari's voice emerged. "Emery, I heard gunfire! What's going on down there?"

  Roaring, he ripped off the baby marauder and tossed it. It hit one of its brothers. More vaulted toward him, and Marco fired again, hit an alien, and shattered its skull.

  "It's a female!" he shouted into his communicator. "And it just gave birth!"

  He heard the footfalls above: Ben-Ari and Kemi racing across the deck, but he knew it was a long climb down. Another marauder grabbed his leg, clawing at him, ripping his pants, ripping his skin. He fired his gun, narrowly missing his foot. The alien shattered. Another jumped at him.

  "Emery!" Ben-Ari's voice rose again from his communicator. "What is going on?"

  He fired. Again. Again. He bled. Another marauder bit his shoulder, and he ripped it off, kicked it aside. He released his empty magazine, loaded another into his pistol, and raised the weapon.

  Three more marauder spawn still lived, busy consuming their dead brothers. They rose together, squealing, blood on their jaws. They leaped at Marco.

  He fired his gun. He hit one. He fired again, missed, again, then hit a second marauder. The third alien knocked him down, and Marco roared in pain, swun
g his gun, and pistol-whipped the creature, shattering its teeth. The marauder fell back, rose to its feet, and bellowed.

  Marco fired, shattering its skull.

  That was the last of them.

  Marco lay, panting.

  "Emery!" Ben-Ari came rushing toward him. "What the hell is—"

  She froze.

  Her voice died.

  Marco leaped to his feet and stared ahead.

  His heart sank to his pelvis.

  "Oh fuck," he whispered.

  One of his bullets had pierced the glowing, pulsing organ ahead—the repository of plasma.

  Cracks were spreading across the organ, and a few tongues of flame began to leak out.

  "Run!" Marco shouted, grabbing Ben-Ari.

  They ran.

  Behind them, fire crackled, then roared. Flames licked their backs. They sprinted, found Kemi approaching, and pulled her along. They raced back into the shaft and began climbing. Fire roared across their feet.

  They were halfway up the tunnel when the ship jolted madly. The ravager bellowed, a cry of agony. The living ship, the female of the species, tilted and shook. Marco clung to the shaft's webbed walls. Kemi slipped and he caught her. They kept climbing, finally emerging back onto the main deck, singed, panting.

  They crawled across the floor, moving away from the heat in the tunnel.

  "What was going on down there?" Kemi whispered, wiping soot off her face.

  Marco ignored her. He raced toward one of the crates from the Saint Brendan. He found them quickly—the fire extinguishers.

  "Help me!" he said.

  They returned into the Anansi's lower deck, the abdomen of this living ship. They sprayed foam, extinguishing the flames.

  Please let the heart keep beating, he thought.

  When he reached the ravager's heart, he froze in terror. The organ was dark, enclosed with a rocky shield. But slowly, as the flames died down, the shell cracked open, revealing the heart again. The other organs too were reappearing, their own shells retracting.

  "A defense mechanism," Kemi said. "Fascinating! When the plasma reservoir is punctured, shells emerge to protect the other organs. Like white blood cells defending our own bodies. The ravagers must have evolved this ability over time, along with metal skin to withstand the vacuum of space."