Earthling's War (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 3)

by Daniel Arenson

  Jon stood in the smoldering battlefield. The fighting still raged all across Camp Apollo. Starfighters clashed overhead. Tanks and mechas pounded one another with rockets and metal fists. Infantry slugged it out the mud, soldiers in blue clashing with soldiers in black. But here, on the north side of camp, Jon and George stood alone. Only enemy troops surrounded them.

  "What do you want, Cardinal?" Jon cried.

  The cardinal stepped closer. He came to stand before Jon. Only a few steps away.

  He looked ancient beyond measure. Barely human. His skin was papery white, deeply lined. Dark bags hung under his bloodshot eyes. The cardinal raised a liver-spotted hand. His fingernails were painted crimson, and rings shone on his fingers.

  "It's you…" he hissed. "It really is you. Jon Taylor. Don't you remember?"

  Jon sneered, his rifle still shouldered, for all the good the damn thing did. "I remember seeing you in Basilica. You were drinking my captain's blood."

  The cardinal licked his lips. "Yes, I drained him of his life force. He tried to kill me. So I took his essence to prolong the life he would cut short. But you, Jon… you will not die. You will join me."

  Jon barked a laugh. "Why would I join you? Is this when you tell me that you're my father? That we can rule the galaxy together?"

  "No, Jon," the cardinal hissed. "I am too old to be your father. I am nearly four hundred years old. But I am your direct ancestor."

  "Bullshit!" Jon said. "First of all, nobody's cured aging yet. If all the scientists on Earth couldn't figure it out, you sure as hell didn't. Second, there's no way I'm related to you. I'm an Earthling. And you're…" Jon grimaced. "I don't know what the hell you are. Are you even human?"

  "I've heard enough!" George suddenly boomed. The giant stomped closer to the cardinal. "You might be bulletproof, but I'm going to crush you with my bare—"

  The cardinal swung his arm.

  George flew into the air. The giant weighed hundreds of pounds, yet some invisible force hurled him like a rag doll. He slammed into the lines of enemy infantry, knocking several soldiers down. The Bahayan troops grabbed him, held him back.

  Jon was about to run to his friend. But the cardinal grabbed his arm. Those bony fingers tightened with incredible strength, holding Jon back. The cardinal's other hand reached up, tipped with claws, and gripped Jon's face like a vise. He was a skeletal man, short and frail, yet he held Jon with inhuman might.

  "Look into my eyes, Jon Taylor. You will see the truth. I was there. Three hundred years ago. When the Santelmos came to Earth to deliver my people from evil. I summoned them!"

  A vision filled Jon's mind.

  He gasped.

  He saw a tropical island long ago. He saw farmers and fishermen gathering outside a church. The peasants were Filipino. But the priest who stood on the church staircase was a white man, elderly, his hair gray, his back stooped.

  It was him. The cardinal. But he was only a humble priest then, wearing simple clerical garb.

  "Come, gather before me, my flock!" the priest said. "You know me as Clement Taylor. I've come here from America, which has lost its way. Which shunned the true Catholic faith. I've come here to find a place of grace and worship. Yet now American ships have come here to burn and destroy!"

  The vision zoomed out like a film. It revealed American sailing ships arriving in the Philippines. Soldiers emerged. Judging by their uniforms, wide hats, mustaches, and antique rifles, it was the late nineteenth century. They were firing their guns. Bodies filled pits.

  Then the vision returned to the church on the island.

  "My flock!" the priest said. "Enemies keep coming to our islands. The Spanish. Now the Americans. Already the Japanese whisper of conquering our shores. They will never stop. It's time to sail away, to seek another land. We will sail among the stars! I will lead you to a paradise no foreign power can touch. No more will you be colonized, oppressed, murdered. On our new planet, a world called Bahay, we will be free!"

  The priest raised his arms high. A starship descended, shaped like a cathedral.

  The starship I saw in Basilica, Jon thought. The one that perched atop the mountain, forming a true cathedral. They coated it with basalt, and they adorned it with gargoyles. But it was this ship.

  The alien starship landed on the island. Santelmos glowed inside, beckoning. The islanders entered the silvery ship, and it rose to the sky.

  The vision faded. Jon found himself back on the battlefield, three centuries later.

  "I left Earth then," the Red Cardinal said. "I led my people here. In this promised land, God granted me an unnaturally long life, so that I may watch over my flock. I left my children and grandchildren on Earth. I left everything. But I've been watching. Child after child. Son to son. It all led to you, Jon Taylor. You are my direct progeny. You are my heir. And now you've come to me. You've joined me on this paradise world. You came here as an enemy. But you will become my greatest ally. Join me now! Rule at my side."

  Jon sneered. "Even if we are related, which I seriously doubt—I don't care! You're a monster."

  "Am I the monster, Jon?" The cardinal smiled sadly. "I delivered these people from evil. I brought them to a land of milk and honey. Then you and your army came here from Earth. Like so many colonial powers came to my island. And you burned. And killed. And destroyed the rainforest. You turned paradise into hell. You are the monster, Jon. You and all other Earthlings. But you can find redemption. You can seek forgiveness from God. You can turn away from evil, join the light, and work to cast out the demons from this burning heaven."

  Jon hesitated. There was some truth here. He could not deny that.

  Then he remembered the cardinal drinking Carter's blood.

  He remembered the cardinal executing the prisoners, hurling their heads over the walls.

  "We Earthlings are not a force of goodness," Jon said. "We did not come here to liberate the innocent nor fight evil. We came as conquerors. Throughout the war, this truth has tormented me. How could I be a good man in an evil army? How could I maintain my morals in a world of nihilism and chaos? And I don't have an answer. I struggled to cling to morality, but I killed men and women who were merely defending their homes. I stood up and resisted the massacre of innocents at Santa Rosa, but I also marched with armies that dropped poison on a thousand villages like it. I fell in love with a Bahayan girl, but I wear the uniform of those who slaughtered millions of her brothers and sisters. You come to me now, Cardinal, and you offer me a path out of darkness. But the path you offer only leads to more shadows. We are not good men, Cardinal. We fight on opposite sides, but we are both killers. A road paved with sin will never lead to salvation. And just because a man fights evil does not mean he is good."

  "Yes, that is true," the Cardinal hissed. "We are both cruel. We've both killed many enemies. But I kill for freedom, while you kill for conquest."

  Jon thought about this for a long moment. "Yes, maybe that's true. Sometimes monsters fight for justice. Stalin led a war against Hitler, but that did not make him a good man. My own war is unjust. My leader is evil. But my friends are good, and I am good, though we are lost. Why do I wear this uniform of a force that has burned, raped, slaughtered? Why do I still march for a cause I cannot believe in? Because of George Williams, my friend, the most honorable man I know. Because of Etty, who sacrificed everything to save the innocent. Because of Carter, who took a bullet for me. Because of my brother who fell here, a brother I love."

  "You have a chance to fight on the side of justice," the Cardinal said. "Do not die fighting for evil."

  "Evil?" Jon said. "Yes, maybe we Earthlings are evil. By marching here, we've all sinned, and that will forever be our shame. There is no forgiveness for what we've done on this world, no path to redemption. Though I'm ashamed, I'm loyal to my friends, to my fallen brother, to my planet. I can't betray them. Maybe that's a misguided sense of honor. Maybe that makes me a bad man. Maybe a stronger soldier would have the courage to defect. That's what Ett
y did, and maybe she's braver then I'll ever be. There's no honor fighting where I fight. But nor is there any honor in you. I saw your crimes, Red Cardinal. I will never join you. We must remain enemies."

  "No, Jon," said the Cardinal. "You do not understand. We will not remain enemies. Only I will remain. You have chosen death."

  Chapter Eight

  The Last Rose of Summer

  Let nobody say that I'm not moving up in life, Maria thought, examining herself in the mirror. I went from cheap whore to fancy courtesan.

  She sighed.

  She wore a cocktail dress, yes, not red lingerie like Charlie or Pippi. That was something. But the dress was far too revealing, the skirt too short, the neckline too low, the entire thing too tight. To make things worse, Maria teetered on high heels, so clumsy she could barely take a step. At least her new employer had given her stockings. They would hide all the bruises from her inevitable falls.

  White gloves, a bow in her hair, and a choker completed the ensemble. It was not a look Maria particularly liked. Clearly, serving wine was only part of her job. The rest was to tantalize the men she served.

  Maria already knew how this worked. She had seen it in the Go Go Cowgirl. True, the Cowgirl was a rundown bar in the seedy Blue Boulevard, and the Maison de la Terre was a fine dining club inside Little Earth, the fanciest neighborhood on the planet. Grunts filled the Cowgirl, thirsty for cheap beer, while senior officers frequented the Maison to sip fine wines. But the premise was the same. They just wore different costumes—both the buildings and the girls.

  Once a bargirl, always a bargirl, Maria thought.

  But no. That wasn't entirely true. She shouldn't think like that.

  It's a disguise, she told herself. This isn't who I really am. I'm not really a bargirl anymore. I'm a spy. I'm here to collect information from these officers. She looked at her reflection, at this girl in a tiny cocktail dress, this expensive prostitute. This isn't me. This is just me undercover.

  And she didn't have much time.

  Maria looked at her reflection again. She stood in profile and placed a hand on her belly. She wasn't too far along, but she imagined that she could feel the baby inside. Jon's child.

  I won't be able to hide my pregnancy for much longer, Maria thought. She was barely showing. She could easily explain it away as a big lunch. But not for long. Soon enough, her belly would swell larger, and her career here would end. Earthling men wanted to fantasize about an Oriental seductress, docile and dripping sex. Nobody wanted to fantasize about a pregnant woman.

  I'll have to seduce a general here quickly and get the information I need. Before my belly is bigger. And before anything can happen to Jon in the war.

  She looked around her at the little room. White concrete walls. A wooden dresser. Bunk beds pushed against the walls, currently empty, with only a narrow passageway between them. Here did the waitresses of Maison de la Terre live. To an Earthling, Maria suspected, the room probably seemed plain, even claustrophobic. To her it was a palace.

  The roof here didn't leak, and the walls wouldn't collapse during hurricane season. No rats and cockroaches scurried across the floor. No mold infected the mattresses. Eight waitresses lived in this room, each with their own cot, not thirty refugees huddling together in a shanty half the size. This was luxury.

  But I can't stay long, Maria thought.

  She checked under her mattress. Her father's knife was still there. Good. It was a beautiful blade, the hilt carved from a greendeer antler, a mystical animal from the deepest shadows of the rainforest. She could not carry this weapon around Little Earth. Not dressed like a cocktail waitress. Wearing such a little dress, she had no room to hide a big knife. Hell, in a dress this small, she probably couldn't hide tweezers.

  She lowered the mattress, concealing the blade. She would keep it hidden, keep it secret. It was more than a memento from her father. The knife had a destiny. A grand purpose to fulfill. The dreamtoad had spoken in the forest long ago on a night of fever dreams.

  It will be the only way to save her. You must use his knife.

  Maria did not know what those words meant. But they kept echoing through her mind.

  She looked at the mirror. Her face stared at her. For the first time in her life, she wore makeup. She barely recognized herself. But she knew those hard dark eyes.

  I am Maria de la Cruz. I am from San Luna, a village in the provinces. I am a rice farmer. I do not forget who I am. I am a warrior.

  The door banged open.

  Maria started and spun toward it.

  Buddy entered the room, dressed in his tuxedo, his chest puffed out. "You still here, girl? Get down there!"

  Maria crossed her arms. "You said I need a name tag first. You didn't give me one."

  The maitre d' nodded, pulled a name tag from his pocket, and pinned it to her chest. Maria read the name. She frowned.

  "Candy?" She raised an eyebrow. "My name isn't Candy! What kind of silly pute name is that?"

  Buddy, himself the owner of a silly pute name, slapped her forehead. "Don't call them putes! That's a dirty slur. It's like when they call us slits."

  "But they call us slits all the time!" Maria said, hands planted firmly on hips.

  "Well, now they can call us Buddy and Candy." The maitre d' snorted. "Who cares what they call us anyway? They let us live here. That's good enough for me. Do you want to return to the slums?"

  "I want to be proud of who I am!" Maria said. "Not grovel like a leashed pet. We're not dancing monkeys."

  Buddy snarled, and he seemed ready to slap her again. But then he turned away. He looked at a spot on the wall, perhaps gazing at some distant memory, and his voice softened. "We can be dancing monkeys. Or we can be dead lions. My brothers chose to be dead lions. What good is that?" He tightened his lips, looked back at her, and flicked her forehead again. "Enough of your nonsense! Get down into the club and dance, little monkey."

  Maria crossed her eyes and scratched under her arms. "Ooh ooh ah ah!"

  Buddy sighed and shoved her out the door.

  * * * * *

  Maria stepped down the spiraling oak staircase, a little wobbly on her heels, and entered the Maison de la Terre's dining hall.

  I'm like goddamn Cinderella entering a goddamn palace, she thought, gazing around with wide eyes.

  She had never seen anyplace so fancy. Tablecloths covered the tables—actual white linen, fabric that cost a fortune! In Maria's village, they normally wore piña, fabric woven from banana leaves. These tablecloths could be used there for wedding gowns. And that was just the start of it! Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a million beads of light. The napkins were folded into swans. Grapes, oranges, and apples rested in crystal bowls—Earth fruit, probably shipped all the way through space. Flowers bloomed in golden vases, and high windows displayed views of the gardens in sunset. You couldn't even see the shantytowns from here.

  Is this what Earth is like? Maria wondered. Did they bring a piece of Earth with them here to Bahay?

  Jon had promised to take Maria with him to Earth. She had imagined a place of comfort, yes. But nothing like this. This dining hall, all this wealth… it scared her.

  She didn't belong here. She was too plain. Too poor. Her skin was too dark, and she was too short. Just a Bahayan, that was all. Not a powerful, wealthy, beautiful Earthling. If Jon took her home, would she feel so ashamed there too?

  She took a deep breath.

  No, she told herself. If Jon brings me to Earth, I won't be a servant. I won't wear a revealing cocktail dress with Candy on the name tag. I will be his wife, and I will be proud. And if anyone mocks me, and anyone calls me a slit, Jon will punch them in the face.

  Shoulders squared, Maria took the last few steps into the dining hall.

  Many officers sat in the Maison de la Terre, enjoying a fine luncheon. They were all middle-aged men, dressed to the nines in formal uniforms. In the dingy clubs, Maria had only met young enlisted soldiers—cannon fodder for the
jungle. But she had learned a little about Human Defense Force insignia. She spotted many golden stars on shoulder straps—senior officers like majors and colonels. But some men here, generally the older ones, had golden phoenixes pinned to their shoulders. They were brigadiers.

  This is the high command, here in this room, Maria thought. These are the men who run this war. Who ordered the bombing of my village. Who killed millions of Bahayans. These are the architects of genocide.

  If she could, she would have dropped a bomb on the whole damn place. She would gladly burn with these brigadiers to save her planet and avenge her people. Here in this palace of crystal and lights—here the ghosts of her people cried in anguish. And suddenly, standing here, gazing upon the dining hall, Maria had a vision of blood filling the goblets. Of corpses strewn on the floor. Of her parents, burnt beyond recognition, served on platters.

  She took a deep breath, and the vision vanished. But Maria would never forget why she had come here. To serve wine. To flirt. And to destroy these people.

  Buddy came walking downstairs behind her. He smacked the back of her head.

  "Stop gawking like a villager fresh from the provinces! Go to them. Smile at them. Laugh at their jokes. Take their drink orders. Move, you useless cow!"

  He smacked her again. Maria glared at the man, then rubbed her head, grumbled, and walked into the dining room.

  "Hey, sweetheart!" A brigadier whistled and snapped his fingers. "Yeah, you. Over here!"

  Maria approached him. The brigadier had rosy cheeks, a handlebar mustache, and an impressive potbelly. Several empty wine bottles stood before him. A few other senior officers shared his table.

  One brigadier was here with his wife, a stately woman with blond hair, icy blue eyes, and milky white skin. Some Bahayan women spent their life savings on skin whitening cream, but they would never be so pale. This woman looked like a fairy-tale princess, and Maria marveled at her Earthling beauty. But the other officers…

  Maria gasped. These officers were sitting with Bahayan girls!