Kemi glared at the shorter woman. "You don't have to keep reminding Marco he forgot the battle rations. You've been talking about that for weeks."
"I did not!" Lailani said, spinning toward Kemi. "I said nothing about that."
"You hinted it!" Kemi placed her hands on her hips. "You keep trying to harass Marco over one mistake."
"One mistake?" Lailani scoffed. "Maybe if you flew better—"
"Maybe if you detected the ravagers earlier!" Kemi said.
"I wasn't the one dancing and drinking milkshakes." Lailani pointed at Kemi. "I was on the bridge, working, keeping us safe."
"And how safe are we now, Lailani?" Kemi's voice was rising.
"Girls, enough—" Marco began.
"Don't call us girls!" they both said together, spinning toward him.
"What did I do now?" Marco took a step back.
"Soldiers, enough!" Ben-Ari barked.
"I didn't do anything!" Lailani said.
Kemi stomped her foot. "Yes you did!"
"Girls—I mean, women, will you—"
"Marco, shut up!"
Everybody was yelling at once now. Lailani and Kemi were still at each other's throats, turning on Marco whenever he spoke, and Ben-Ari was shouting at everyone to calm down, and accusations flew and soon tears were falling.
A small voice rose between the shouts, barely audible.
Marco turned toward its source.
Keewaji stood nearby, speaking softly through one hand, impossible to hear.
"And it's not my fault the sensors on this damn ship are pieces of shit!" Lailani was saying.
"As if it's my fault the joystick leans to the left!" Kemi said, staring down at Lailani.
Lailani laughed bitterly. "You'd know how to fly the ship if you—"
"Quiet!" Marco roared, surprised at the anger inside him.
They all fell silent. They all stared at him.
"My God," Lailani said. "I've never seen Marco this angry before."
Marco exhaled slowly. His legs shook. He didn't need this. It was bad enough having Lailani and Kemi—the two great loves of his past—here on the same ship. He didn't need them to become enemies. And he certainly didn't need them fighting now when they should be finding solutions.
"I'm sorry for yelling," Marco said. "Keewaji was trying to say something. I couldn't hear him."
He turned back toward the young Nandaki, who had fallen silent and trembled.
Except he no longer looks young, Marco thought. When they had first met him, Keewaji had been the size of a human toddler. He now rose four-and-a-half feet tall, nearly as tall as Lailani. A thin plume of white hair grew on his head, the mark of Nandaki puberty. Only a few weeks had passed, but he seemed to have grown by years. His old clothes no longer fit, and he had taken to wearing human clothing. Like all Nandakis, he had four arms, and he had cut extra arm holes into his shirt.
"What were you saying, Keewaji?" Lailani said, her voice soft now, all its anger gone. She stepped toward the alien and placed a hand on his shoulder.
The Nandaki raised one arm, opened the mouth on his palm, and spoke hesitantly. "You said we could use a wormhole."
Lailani sighed and smiled thinly. "Yes, I said that if Marco could build a wormhole generator using the jukebox and milkshake maker. I was angry. I told a bad, mean joke." She looked back at the others. "I'm sorry, Marco and Kemi. I get mean when I'm scared. I'm sorry."
Kemi nodded and stepped closer. She touched Lailani's arm. "I'm sorry too. I acted like an ass."
Lailani nodded. "You did."
"Hey!" Kemi bristled. "You're supposed to deny that!"
Marco cleared his throat and felt it best to steer the conversation back to Keewaji. "Was there anything else, Keewaji? About wormholes?"
The alien nodded. "They appear in the lore of my people. In ancient stories, tales from ten thousand generations ago, wormholes are great bridges through the sky. All Nandaki children know of them. I heard their tales many times as a child. The ancient ones, the beings of light, built many bridges of starlight. They flew through them to visit many worlds, including Nandaka when our planet was very young, and they gave my ancestors many gifts. An ancient boulder still rises in our forest, brought to us by the sky gods, engraved with a map of the stars and the bridges that pass between them. The sky gods gave the holy map to our hero, the wise Yesawi, and blessed him. Someday, the sky gods told him, we Nandakis would build great ships and sail the skies, and we would need this map of the heavens."
Ben-Ari stepped closer. She narrowed her eyes. "The sky gods? What species are they? I'm unaware of any intelligent civilizations—other than the Nandakis—in this galactic sector."
"Hunters slew them long ago," said Keewaji. "There was a great war in the sky. My ancestors witnessed it. Great empires with much cargo fought among the stars. The centipedes, the great predators of darkness, emerged the victors. The sky gods faded away. All that remains of them are my people's songs, our tales, our stone with its map. And perhaps . . . perhaps their bridges of starlight." His eyes gleamed. "Their wormholes."
Marco looked at the others. He could see the doubt in their eyes. Old legends from thousands of generations ago? On Earth, legends from just a hundred generations ago were full of inaccuracies, their grains of truth drowning in seas of myth.
"Keewaji," Marco said, keeping his voice soft. "In our world, we have old legends too, but they're just stories."
"True stories!" said Keewaji. "My ancestors would not lie. Stories are holy to us Nandakis, as holy as cargo. We are not mighty like the great sky gods, the Night Hunters, or the humans. We are small, weak, and lack cargo. Our lives are short, our cargo made of but straw and wood and stone. Our stories give us strength. I myself have worshiped often at the Sky Boulder, studying the map of the stars. Often I have climbed the tallest trees, gazed upon those distant stars, and imagined the bridges of light flowing between them. The wormholes." His lavender eyes shone, as large as lemons. "We are near one. That white star outside the porthole, and the blue one ahead of us. A bridge of light passes between them, and beyond it, we can travel many bridges to many distant stars. The ancient bridges of the sky gods. They are real."
Again Marco glanced at his peers. They looked as doubtful as he felt.
"Even if the wormholes were real," Ben-Ari said, "they would take enormous energy to maintain. If an ancient civilization built and powered them, the wormholes would be long gone now."
Marco hated the hope that was springing inside him. A fool's hope. Hope based on an old legend. Hope that would still shatter. Ben-Ari was right. This could not work.
"His story . . . might have some merit," Lailani said. She chewed her lip and tapped her chin. "Maybe."
Ben-Ari turned toward her. "Explain."
"For three years, I served in the Oort Cloud, stuck in a little research station on the outskirts of our solar system. Our task was to study, well . . . galactic myths. Primarily the Ghost Fleet, the greatest myth there is. But we studied other myths as well. Observing. Seeking clues. One myth we called the Tree of Light. According to the myth, an ancient civilization built a network of wormholes across the galaxy, portals letting their ships hop from star to star. The network was shaped like a great tree, giving the legend its name. Inexplicably, about a thousand years ago, the civilization vanished. We found no recent signals from them." She glanced at Keewaji. "This little one might be telling the truth."
Keewaji nodded. "Our stories are truth."
Lailani looked back at the others. "We detected what we thought were good signs of the Tree of Light, this branching network of wormholes. But are the wormholes still around? Who knows? Any signals from that far are ancient by the time they reach the Oort Cloud. I don't want to get my hopes up, but . . . Hell, it's worth checking out." She pulled out her tablet and ran some quick calculations. "I can dig up my old notes, and . . . yes. According to our theory, there should be a portal nearby. A wormhole."
"How close?" Ben-Ari s
aid. "Assuming it's still there."
Lailani ran a few more calculations. Her eyes brightened. "Close! Of course, with an azoth engine, we could be there within minutes. But even with our conventional engine, the one we use for flying at sub-light speed, we can get there soon enough. If we fly at top speed—and I mean giving our engines every last bit of juice on this ship, and plugging in the milkshake maker and jukebox for an extra boost—we can be there in two months. It's a fighting chance. And it's hella closer than the ten thousand year journey back to Nandaka."
They all glanced at one another.
There it was, a warmth inside of Marco. Hope.
Can you hang on for another two months, Addy? he thought. Can you stay strong for me?
Ben-Ari nodded. "All right. Lieutenant Abasi, return to the bridge and set a course. De la Rosa will give you the coordinates."
Kemi nodded. "Yes, ma'am! But . . . I'm not getting rid of my jukebox and milkshake maker. Even if it adds an extra month to our journey. I need my Elvis, and I need my ice cream."
They all laughed—a shaky laughter of relief, of new light.
"Find us that wormhole," Ben-Ari said, "and I'll buy you an ice cream factory."
Kemi saluted, then raced onto the bridge. Lailani joined her, shouting out coordinates.
For the next few hours, Marco wore a space suit, helping Ben-Ari repair the ship's damaged hull. He had done space walks before during his integration into Space Territorial Command, but it was still a dizzying experience, hanging here in the middle of so much emptiness. The ship was moving at incredible speed, as fast as her conventional engines would take her, but without any point of reference she might as well have been still.
By the time Marco returned into the ship, the lights were dim, mimicking the natural cycle of day and night back on Earth. The engines purred, and the others were asleep, the ship coasting on autopilot.
The Marilyn came with a decently-sized shower, its water cycling through a filtration system, purifying itself with each round. Marco stood under the hot stream for a long time. He leaned against the tiled wall and lowered his head.
The images still danced. The subways screeching under Haven. His walk through the labyrinth of desks at work, hearing them whisper, call him a war criminal, a freak. Dinner with Anisha, fleeing from her home, hiring the prostitute, leaving Anisha, running from her, so afraid of healing, so afraid of living. Feeling so unworthy. So hurt. So scarred. Standing on the roof of a skyscraper, ready to jump into the storm, to end his life. The marauders reaching out, grabbing Addy, taking her from him.
Marco grimaced and his tears flowed with the water.
He forced himself to think of the good things. Of roasting hot dogs on a rake with Addy, laughing, sharing their secret joke. That day at the planetarium long ago, the first time he had spoken to Addy, watching the stars with her. Kissing Kemi for the first time. Making love to Lailani in the tent at basic training.
There will be more good times, he thought. We'll make it out of here. We'll save the world. We'll buy that house on the beach.
"And you'll be with us again, Addy," he whispered. "I promise."
It was late, and Marco was tired, but he couldn't bear the thought of lying in his bed, of staring up at the darkness, of remembering. Wearing only boxer shorts and a T-shirt, he returned to the lounge, sat at the bar, and made himself a cup of tea. He opened a book—an old paperback about knights, princesses, and fiery dragons—and prepared to spend an hour vanishing into an older, simpler world.
Feet padded behind him.
"Oh, sorry! I didn't mean to disturb your reading."
He turned to see Kemi standing there in her pajamas.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked her, closing the book.
"I was waiting for you in the bunk," she said. "And Keewaji snores anyway. Through four mouths!"
Marco laughed. "He just needs to curl up his fists when he sleeps."
"The poor thing would suffocate!" Kemi joined him at the bar, climbing onto a stool beside him. "Well, also . . ." She looked down at her hands. "We never finished our milkshake. Ben-Ari interrupted our date earlier."
Marco raised an eyebrow. "It was a date, was it?"
Kemi twisted her fingers—both the real and metal ones—still not looking up. "No." She shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe?" She looked at him, then looked away. "I know, I know. I'm being an idiot. Same old Kemi . . ."
"You're very intelligent," Marco said.
She laughed awkwardly. "When it comes to books maybe. To numbers." She pulled out her pendant—the pi pendant. "Like this."
His eyes widened. "You kept it! I gave you that . . . Damn, how long ago was it?"
"We were seventeen. Eight years ago. I never stopped wearing it. Even after . . ." Kemi sighed. "My tongue feels all twisty." She touched his hand and looked into his eyes. "I know you still love Lailani. I see it when you look at her. She's sweet. She's pretty. She's kind. You're right to love her, especially after what I did, how I left you. And she loves you too. Oh, she still misses Sofia. And she's confused. But she loves you, Marco, and she'll realize that before the end." Kemi's eyes filled with tears. "And I don't want to come between you two. I don't want to force you to choose. But I do want us to finish our date." She smiled, wiping her eyes. "So can I buy you a milkshake?"
He smiled, and his heart seemed to melt with sweet sadness. He touched her hair. "I'll never turn down a milkshake."
She poured a milkshake, got two straws, and they shared it. A moment of nostalgia. Of a little peace. Of a little return to their youth. They stared into each other's eyes, and they didn't need to say anything. They spoke without words, as they always could.
I still love you, Kemi. Always.
"Ow, ow!" She pulled back and touched her forehead. "Brain freeze!"
Marco laughed. The Marilyn flew on.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ben-Ari was weary.
She was not merely tired. Not merely exhausted from the chase. She was weary to her bones, a deep destruction inside her.
She had been hiding it from her crew. The headaches. The blurred thinking. The dizziness that sometimes hit her, the despair that clawed inside. She was their captain. She was more than just their commander; she was their leader, their beacon, their source of strength and inspiration, of comfort in the dark. How could she reveal her weariness to them?
And so she was weary in silence, in secret, in quiet despair.
She was weary after two years in prison, struggling to maintain her sanity in a cell. She was weary after fleeing her career, abandoning all that she held dear for the sake of truth. She was weary after the great battles on Abaddon, on Corpus, in the deserts of North Africa, of the nightmares that never ended.
She was weary of war.
And so are they, she knew. Kemi. Lailani. Marco. My soldiers. So I will be strong for them, even if I'm crumbling inside.
Kemi and Marco were both on the bridge; they were taking the night shift, Kemi at the helm, Marco at navigation. Ben-Ari had not slept last night. She had sat up in the bridge, calculating, thinking, worrying, remembering. Tonight, with nothing but empty space around them for millions of kilometers, she walked toward the crew quarters. She needed to sleep. For a few hours, she needed to forget.
Ben-Ari entered the bunk where four cots stood. Three were empty. Lailani sat on the fourth, knees pulled to her chest. She was crying.
"Sergeant?" Ben-Ari sat on the bed beside Lailani. "Are you all right? How can I help you?"
Lailani rubbed her eyes and looked away. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm fine."
"Sergeant de la Rosa." Ben-Ari stared at her. "You are my soldier. I will do anything I can for you. Tell me how I can help."
I'm weary, she thought. I'm weary to the bone. But my soldiers come first. Always.
Lailani let out something halfway between sob and laugh. "It just hurts. Losing people. Being confused. Feeling guilty." She lowered her head. "I'm sorry. I feel awkward. I need to be a good soldier, and
you're my commander, not my therapist."
"Lailani." Ben-Ari placed her hand on the young woman's shoulder. "You're my soldier, and I'm here for you. A commander's job is to listen to her soldiers. To help them find strength. There's no need to feel awkward. All good soldiers cry at night."
"Even you?" Lailani asked, raising red-rimmed eyes.
Ben-Ari smiled. "Sometimes. Secretly." She winked. "Don't tell Emery."
Lailani laughed and dabbed her eyes, but her smile soon faded. "I . . . I feel like a monster."
Ben-Ari grew solemn. "Lailani. You are not a—"
"I know, I know." Lailani sniffed. "I'm 99% human, and the chip in my head stops the 1% monster from manifesting. But I can't forget, Captain. I can't." She met Ben-Ari's eyes. "It was seven years ago, but I can't forget how I killed him. How I killed Elvis. My friend. How I grew claws, tore into his chest, and ripped out his heart." She looked at her slender hand. "How that monster is still inside me."
Ben-Ari clasped Lailani's hand. "You did not kill Elvis." She stared into Lailani's eyes and spoke forcefully. "The scum were controlling you. You were nothing but their puppet. You are not guilty of his death. Do you understand that, Lailani?"
Lailani wiped her eyes. "I know. But it still hurts. I miss Elvis." She gave a weak laugh. "And he would have loved this ship. There's even a statue of the real Elvis in the bathroom!" She sighed. "I miss all my friends from boot camp. Caveman and Beast and all the others. And more than anyone, I miss Sofia. I let her go. When Kemi was airlifting us, I just couldn't hold on, and Sofia fell into the fire, and . . ." Lailani's tears fell, overpowering her words.
Ben-Ari embraced the little soldier. "I've known you for almost eight years. And I know you to be noble, kind, and righteous. In war, we face horrible choices. In war, sometimes we must watch our friends die, even leave our friends behind. Your hands are clean."
Earth Shadows (Earthrise Book 5) Page 22