"Jesus Fucking Christ," Addy said.
Steve nodded. "We knew that next time, Big Joe would be shooting at us. And our security guards mysteriously stopped working for us. Probably threatened. We thought we'd have to close down the bar."
"Yikes. So what did you do?"
Steve sighed. "We did something I'm not proud of. But it had to be done. My dad went and talked to Red Chiyo."
"Another gangster?" Addy said.
"A ruthless one. Chiyo and his gang were notorious. Big drug money, lots of meth. They smuggle firearms too. They mostly operated in the Pacific, but their tentacles reached everywhere."
"They seem nice."
"Oh, very nice," Steve said. "Cost a fortune, but they solved the problem for us. I'm still not sure what Red Chiyo did. But Big Joe and his boys stayed the hell away from us after that."
Addy sighed. "So let me guess. Big Joe and the boys are the marauders. Red Chiyo is Hunt."
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," Steve said.
"Hunt will never be my friend."
"Then think of it as fighting fire with fire," Steve said.
"I prefer using water.
"Well, baby, it's a drought."
Addy turned away from him. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. I hate this. I don't want to sell my soul to win."
Steve placed a hand on her shoulder. "You're not selling your soul. Maybe you're just . . . lending it out for a while."
She closed her eyes and gritted her jaw. Could she do this? Could she truly make a deal with the devil? Even if they survived, how would she then live with herself? Steve hugged her from behind, and Addy held his hands, silent, eyes closed. They made love—silent but hard, eager yet so weary. When she climaxed, she shouted into his palm, and she fell asleep in his arms. She never wanted to leave his embrace.
In the morning, she walked through the military base. She wore no uniform, just jeans and a hockey jersey. She carried her rifle across her back, a bandoleer of bullets hung around her waist, and a cigarette dangled from her lips. Her helmet hung askew, scrawled with the words Hell Patrol. Her people walked behind her, just as ragged. She looked like a haggard survivor, bruised, scratched, her eyes sunken. But the fire burned inside her. And she would tame it.
Fire with fire, she thought. And I will be its mistress.
She met Hunt in the courtyard. He stood in his leather coat and steel-tipped boots, his goons around him. The iron crosses shone on their armbands and the flags above. Addy stood across the courtyard from him. A gust of cold wind scattered snow across the concrete ground.
She spat out her cigarette and stepped on the stub.
"Hunt!" she called.
He stared at her across the distance. "Linden."
She took a step forward. He took a step in turn. They walked, meeting in the middle of the courtyard. Her people stood behind her; his stood behind him. Here, in the center of the snowy yard, they stood alone.
"Here are my terms, Hunt," she said. "You take down your flags. You take off your armbands. You burn them. Any Nazi tattoo you have—whether it's an iron cross, a swastika, or Sig runes—you keep them covered at all times, or you grab a cheese grater and you scrape those fuckers off. You want to fight with me, the heroine who defeated the scum? Then you serve me. You play on my terms. You forget about Earth Power. That group is dead now. You will not fight with me. You will join the Resistance, my group, and fight for me."
Hunt stiffened. "These symbols are our identity. Our pride."
"Fuck your pride, and fuck your identity, and fuck your symbols, and fuck you. There is only one symbol now—Planet Earth. A blue circle in the darkness. If you need a symbol, sew yourself new flags." Addy narrowed her eyes. "I hate this. And I hate you. But right now, I hate the marauders just a fraction more." She reached out her hand. "Do we have a deal?"
His face reddened. Fury filled his eyes. For a moment Addy thought he would strike her. But then he grabbed her hand and squeezed it—painfully, creaking her joints.
"We have a deal, Addy Linden."
He squeezed her hand, nearly crushing it, for long moments, staring into her eyes with a steely gaze. She refused to show her pain, to look away. Finally he released her hand, then walked back to his people, his leather coat billowing in the snowy wind.
I just shook the devil's hand, Addy thought. She lowered her head. She knew that Ben-Ari, Marco, Lailani, and Kemi—her dearest friends—would all be ashamed of her. She was ashamed of herself.
* * * * *
At noon, the combined forces of the Human Resistance feasted in the mess hall. Steve, who had grown up in a pub's kitchen, worked the stoves and ovens with several men to help him. The military base, once belonging to the HDF, was filled with canned and packaged goods—corn, tuna, ham, flour, sugar, and more. They found bottles of wine, and they drank until their voices and songs rose loudly. Addy drank with them. She drank until her head spun. She drank to drown the pain. And she sang—loudly, hoarsely, old songs of Earth.
Her head was spinning when they met in the war room, a bunker below the base. Maps hung on the walls and spread across the tables, and monitors displayed data from sensors across the base and the wilderness. Hunt was here, along with two of his lieutenants. Addy had brought Jethro and Steve.
"This is what we know," Addy said, sharing the information she had gained in the Resistance—the location of webs, hives, and marauder spaceports where their ravagers idled. She spoke of the great slaughterhouse outside the ruins of Toronto, of the thousands who perished there, and of the aliens who had overrun the city.
But she did not speak of her friends' quest to find the Ghost Fleet. Some secrets she would not share. Not with Hunt.
The bald, beefy man pointed at maps, revealing his own information—both of marauder hives and other rebel holdouts.
"There are more of us," Hunt said. "Survivors. Rebels. We have no central leadership. Most are just pockets of ten or twenty fighters, mostly military guys, their officers killed, their units destroyed. Many are just farmers with their families, armed with shotguns and knives."
"We'll bring them here," Addy said. "We will unite them. And we will strike back. Here." She pointed at a spot on the map. "The slaughterhouse."
Hunt stared at her over the map, his fists on the table. "Waste of resources. It's not a military target."
"It's where thousands of humans are dying each day!" Addy blurted out. "It's where we can save the most people. The marauders have raised concrete and metal walls around the slaughterhouse, and many of them guard it, but if we can unite the rebels, we'll have enough force. We'll destroy the slaughterhouse. We'll liberate the humans who are still alive inside."
Hunt shook his head. "Our men and weapons are limited. There are more valuable targets to hit. The hive here, from which they launch assaults on the highways, or the ravager yard here, or—"
"Hunt." Addy pounded the table. "Listen to me. I was there. I was a prisoner in the slaughterhouse. I saw the horrors. I saw the marauders strip humans naked, shave off their hair, and torture them. I saw them rape little girls for sport. I saw them rip babies from the arms of their mothers, toss them into the air, and catch them in their jaws, then laugh as the mothers screamed. I saw them cut off the hands of humans who disobeyed. I saw them hang living humans from meat hooks, thousands of them, driving the metal into their flesh. I saw them slit the throats of screaming prisoners, then slice them into pieces while they were still bleeding out. You want to fight for humanity? That slaughterhouse is where humanity is raped, deformed, torn apart. That is our target. That slaughterhouse and any other we find on this weeping planet."
Hunt stared steadily into her eyes. Finally, not breaking eye contact, he lifted a model from the table—a metal bomber jet.
"We'll take Big Boy," he said.
Addy had seen the real jet outside in the yard. An old HDF bomber, the size of a bus, armed with enough bombs to level a town. It was the greatest weapon the Resistance had, putting even their three hel
icopters to shame.
"No." Addy shook her head. "That's insanity. That bomber would blast holes in the slaughterhouse large enough for a car to fall into. It would kill the human prisoners along with the marauders."
Hunt nodded. "Exactly. We bomb the whole damn installation from the air. Our helicopters will offer backup. We drop hundreds of bombs. We wipe the place out."
She gasped. "Fuck this shit. Fuck it! I knew I couldn't trust you. I—"
"Linden!" Hunt boomed. "Those prisoners in there are as good as dead. You know it. Once you enter that place, you leave piece by piece, nothing but packaged meat. Killing them would be a mercy."
"So that's your idea of fighting for humanity?" Addy said. "Killing humans?"
"Saving humans!" said Hunt. "Saving the next shipment of humans that would be slaughtered there. We stop the cycle. We kill the prisoners already in there, yes. By doing so, we stop the next batch, and the batch after that, and thousands of other shipments."
"We can destroy the slaughterhouse without butchering every man, woman, and child inside," Addy said. "We storm the gates. We have an armored truck, Humvees, motorcycles, bulldozers. We have three assault helicopters for aerial cover. We have nearly three hundred warriors, and we'll collect more from the other bases. We even have a goddamn tank. We tear down the walls. We hit them with everything we've got—aside from those bombs."
Hunt stared at her across the table, eyes simmering. "Many warriors will die."
She nodded. "Yes, they will. But many thousands of civilians will be saved."
He was silent for a long moment, staring at her. "You make many demands, Linden."
For the first time, Steve stepped forward and spoke. "She's your commander, Hunt. Remember that. She's not asking for your opinion. She gives you orders. You obey. You Nazis love hierarchy, don't you? So respect ours."
The young hockey player's cheeks were flushed red, and his eyes blazed, and at that moment, Addy loved Steve more than she ever had.
Hunt stared at them, not bothering to mask the loathing in his eyes. But then he stiffened. He raised his chin. He saluted.
"I will not cower from a fight. All right, Linden. We will storm the gates with the glory of the warriors of old. We will sound the war horns, and the fury of Earth will rise."
Fire with fire, Addy thought, and the whole world burns down.
That night, even lying in Steve's arms could not soothe her. He slept, and she curled against him, her loins still tingling from his lovemaking. This was normally a time for comfort, warmth, and deep slumber. But this night, she kept thinking of iron crosses, flames, and falling bombs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The pod of starwhales swam through the cosmic ocean. They glided through darkness and starlight. They flowed toward the Cat's Eye Nebula and swam between its shimmering curtains of luminous starstuff. Through swirls of light in every color, the pod swam and sang. On the third day of their journey, with the nebula distant behind them, they reached their destination.
On the lead whale's back perched the Marilyn—scarred, broken, barely still flying. From the bridge, the crew stared out into the swirling lights of warped space.
"These are the coordinates," Lailani said. "We're here. After months of traveling, we're here. According to everything we studied in the Oort Cloud, the Ghost Fleet is right ahead."
Marco looked out the viewport. "I can't see anything."
"We're still traveling through warped spacetime," said Lailani. "We won't see objects as small as ships. But all my sensors are picking up something massive." Her eyes shone. "The Ghost Fleet is here."
Marco took a deep breath.
We're coming back soon, Addy. We're coming back with help.
Ben-Ari stood at the front of the bridge, hands behind her back, gazing out into space. She nodded and whispered something Marco couldn't hear, perhaps a soft prayer. Then she nodded and looked over her shoulder back at the crew.
"Lieutenant Abasi, rise off the alien and fly out of its warp bubble."
"Yes, ma'am." Kemi worked at her controls. "Rising off the starwhale."
With a jolt, the ship rose. They ascended between the other starwhales, moving higher in the pod. The giant aliens gazed at the ship, singing their song. Marco brought the conch to his lips and played a last note—a sound of thank you and farewell.
"Reaching the edge of the warp bubble now," Kemi said. "About to pass into regular spacetime. Hold on. This might get bumpy."
They ascended higher, and Marco shuddered as they passed through the border. Bending and straightening spacetime always felt like having his organs sucked out, rearranged, and shoved back into him. He rubbed his temples, struggling to focus his eyes, and saw a streak of light as the starwhales vanished in the distance, moving faster than light.
Farewell, friends, he thought.
"Do you see it anywhere?" Marco asked, turning back to the others. "The Ghost Fleet?"
The rest of the crew stared ahead, silent. Marco frowned, his vision still blurry, and stared outside. His eyes widened.
"What . . ." he whispered.
He saw no great, ancient fleet. Instead he saw the starlight curve ahead, spinning in a whirlpool. Space dust formed a glowing ring. In the center—a massive black sphere, a floating orb of darkness.
"It's a black hole," Lailani said.
Kemi cringed. "And it's starting to tug us." She flipped some switches, and engines rumbled. "I'm pulling back to a safe distance. This sucker is more powerful than God's vacuum cleaner."
Like Addy when she sees hot dogs, Marco thought.
As the ship pulled back, they all stared at the wider view. A pair of binary stars shone nearby. The Cat's Eye nebula was a small splotch behind them. Ahead, looming, the black hole gaped open, a hungry mouth in the cosmos, ringed with luminous debris.
"I don't see any ghost ships," Marco said.
Ben-Ari turned toward Lailani. "Sergeant de la Rosa, run a scan. Send out a few probes to the rim of the black hole. The ships would be too small to see visually from here. They might be floating among that space dust, or they might just be dark. Scan everything."
Lailani nodded. "Yes, ma'am." She hit buttons in a fury, and numbers scrolled across her monitors. She chewed her lip. "There's a fuck-load of interference from that black hole. It's warping every goddamn signal around here. I'm not picking up anything that might be a fleet."
"Send out those probes, de la Rosa," Ben-Ari. "And mind your language on my bridge."
Lailani nodded. "Aye aye, Captain. Sorry, Captain. Sending out a probe."
The probe shot out from the ship. They watched it fly through space, growing dimmer, dimmer. Closer to the black hole, the probe seemed to stretch out, then vanish into the darkness.
Addy would say we're probing a giant space butt, Marco thought. But the crew aboard the ship was silent, just staring.
"Let me send another," Lailani finally said.
Another probe flew toward the black hole, then got sucked in.
Lailani sighed. "I'm picking up all that dust, rocks, radiation . . . nothing that might be a ship. At least, not a functional ship."
Ben-Ari nodded. "All right. If there's a fleet here, it might just be shut down. In sleep mode. It might still be ahead, just emitting no signals."
Lailani wrung her hands. "From the Oort Cloud, we clearly received signals denoting a massive armada. An alien intelligence was broadcasting those signals. But at that distance, the signals were thousands of years old. I'm picking up nothing now."
"Lieutenant Abasi, can you bring us closer?" Ben-Ari said. "Right to the event horizon? Let's orbit the black hole along with that space debris."
"That would be extraordinarily dangerous, ma'am," Kemi said. "A kilometer off, and we might get sucked in. Or the debris might hit us."
"Understood," said Ben-Ari. "I trust your abilities. Bring us closer, as close as you can. I want to get a clear visual of whatever's floating up there."
Kemi cringed, gulped
, but nodded. "Aye aye, Captain."
The Marilyn flew closer. The black hole grew in the viewports, seeming to stare back at Marco. Unlike a wormhole, this hole in space emitted no light; its gravity was so intense it sucked in photons, sucked in spacetime itself. In fact, it didn't look like a hole at all. Holes, as Marco was used to thinking of them, were circular. This emptiness ahead was spherical, a three-dimensional void.
"If you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you," he said softly. "Nietzsche."
Lailani shuddered. "Don't be a poet for once. That thing creeps me out."
Keewaji sat on the bridge, staring at the black hole. The alien was so frail he could no longer walk; they had made him a wheelchair. His white hair and beard flowed across his body, and his eyes peered from deep nests of wrinkles. He clutched his wheelchair's armrests.
"The Emptiness," the Nandaki whispered. "Our elders spoke of it. The portal to the underworld. Death in the darkness."
Lailani shuddered. "Great, another poet. Both of you, stop freaking me out."
Keewaji looked at the young woman. "There is no reason to fear death. Death is but a journey to another life. The Emptiness is a gateway to an afterlife. It is a journey I myself will soon take."
Marco approached, knelt, and placed his hand on the Nandaki's shoulder. "You will live for many more days, my friend."
The ship began to rattle. Controls flashed and alarms beeped. Keewaji's wheelchair rolled toward the wall, and books fell off a shelf.
Kemi winced. "We're as close as I can get. The gravity is stronger than any star I've seen." Her mug of coffee bounced, splashing the hot liquid. "Any closer and it'll tear us apart. I'll try to place us into orbit."
"Watch out for those asteroids," Ben-Ari said.
Kemi nodded, pulling on the joystick. "I see 'em. It's time for some fancy flying."
Thousands of rocks were orbiting the black hole, maybe millions. Some were massive, larger even than starwhales. Others seemed as small as grains of sand. Marco kept looking for alien starships. Nothing.
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