The War for Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 4)

by Daniel Arenson

  "We'll get off this world," Tom said. "I don't know how. But we'll find a way. We will continue our mission."

  Leona looked doubtful. "How?"

  "Remember what you said? Worlds this nice generally attract attention. Especially here in the bustling Orion Arm of the galaxy. This place might not be uninhabited. Let's explore." He winked. "Might be we'll find a casino after all. Hopefully one with a few spaceships parked outside."

  "It'll take a miracle," Leona said.

  Tom nodded. "We're in the business of miracles. We are bringing humanity home to Earth. We are the miracle makers. Let's make another one."

  They left the beach behind, walking toward an alien forest. The trees grew tubular leaves and round, blue fruit. Fluffy little critters fluttered between the branches, their wings transparent, their hum as soothing as the song of birds.

  "This planet is stinkin' perfect," Leona said as they walked through the forest. Flowers bloomed around them. "It even smells like a mucking fairy tale. Honestly, it's so gorgeous I'm getting a little nauseous. I half expect Bambi to frolic toward me."

  One of the fluffballs was eating fruit. Hoping that meant it was safe for humans too, Tom chanced tasting one. The fruit was sweet and cold and invigorating, and soon he and Leona were devouring them, then stuffing more into their pockets. They drank from a stream. The nourishment filled them with healing energy. Their wounds shrank, appearing weeks old already.

  Truly—a paradise, filled with everything they needed.

  How the hell has nobody built a strip mall here yet? Tom thought.

  They walked for a while longer, crested a hilltop, gazed down into a valley, and Tom had his answer.

  "Oh," he said.

  Leona cringed and grabbed his arm. "Lovely. Just lovely."

  Ants.

  Millions of ants.

  Giant ants.

  Ants who built cities of wood, stone, and metal.

  No—this planet was not a virgin world. And Tom understood why everyone else was keeping the hell away.

  "Nasty little buggers," he muttered.

  "Not so little," Leona said. "Those things are as big as raccoons."

  Tom and Leona made to backtrack into the forest. But the ants saw them. The giant insects chirped, wriggled their antennae, and clacked their mandibles. Several came racing uphill toward the two human invaders.

  Leona raised her rifle, but Tom gently nudged it down.

  "We can't fight them all," Tom said. "Maybe we can resolve this peacefully."

  "This'll end peacefully all right," she muttered. "A piece of us over here, a piece of us over there …"

  A group of Oridians reached them, a hundred or more. The ants reached out their antennae and brushed the two humans' legs. Tom had seen many ants in his life. Evolution took similar paths on many worlds, and variations of ants were common across the galaxy. Tom had always been fond of them, thinking them industrious and friendly. But all those other ants had been tiny. Ants the size of border collies was a different matter. At this size, they were creatures of nightmares.

  Yet, ugly as they were, the ants seemed more curious than hostile. They kept touching Tom's legs, tugging his pants, and chirping to one another. Some ant species, such as those on Earth, communicated with pheromones, relying on sense of smell rather than sound. But these insects, it seemed, could talk.

  Tom looked at their city in the valley. Clearly, these were no mere animals. They were intelligent beings. Tom saw buildings of wood and stone. Bridges. Even some towers. When he looked closer, he even saw vehicles of metal and wood moving along the streets, belching out steam. A train was moving along distant tracks, heading toward the horizon.

  "We found a new civilization," Tom said. "Leona, these ants are in the steam age."

  "Great," she muttered. "We just need to grab a locomotive and blast off to the stars. Ooh, think they can build us a steam-powered wormhole?"

  Tom rolled his eyes. "An hour ago, we thought we were doomed."

  Leona nodded. "Doomed to spend eternity in paradise. Thank Ra we found an infestation of giant hungry ants!" She tugged her pack away from grabbing insects.

  Tom couldn't help but smile. "Come on, Leona. They're not that bad once you get used to them. Hey, they're better than the damn scorpions and basilisks, right? Let's see if we can communicate."

  He fished his minicom out of its pouch. It came with a translation algorithm, one that boasted a hundred thousand languages. Tom activated the program, allowing it to listen to the chattering ants. Soon enough, the device picked up the language. The translation appeared on the screen.

  "What are they?" one Oridian said. "Are they the scaly ones?"

  "No!" said another ant. "They are not the basilisks. These are mammalians. They grow their young in their abdomens, and they produce a liquid nutrient in sacks of their own flesh, which their juveniles suck out."

  "Disgusting cannibals!" said another. "What kind of twisted creature feeds its own flesh to its young? Do they not lay eggs like civilized beings?"

  "They came from the stars," said a particularly large ant. "I saw them fall! It was no falling star like our priests said. It was them! Invaders from the stars! They are dangerous."

  "Yet they are powerful," said an ant. "Perhaps they can teach us. Perhaps they have great understanding. Great tools. Engines more powerful than our own. We have seen the great beings that fly among the stars. The cannibals will know them! They will teach us."

  "We will hurt them until they show us!"

  "No! They are not an enemy. They are teachers and prophets."

  The Oridians kept chattering, arguing back and forth.

  Tom spoke, filtering his voice through his minicom. It emerged translated—a language of clicks and clatters and grunts.

  "Hello, friends. We come in peace."

  The standard greeting of the Peacekeepers Corps. Most times, a hailstorm of bullets followed. Usually from the Peacekeepers' guns. Tom hoped that wouldn't be necessary today.

  The ants scurried a few steps back, gasping at him.

  "The creatures can talk!"

  "They learned our language within moments."

  "They are gods! They can teach us!"

  "They can show us how to be mighty. We can become as great as the snakes and scorpions."

  Tom grimaced. He didn't want these ants to become the next basilisks or Skra-Shen. But the creatures seemed peaceful enough. Hopefully he had something to work with here.

  He turned toward Leona. "We flew into space to find allies. Maybe we just found them. I know they're not much, but maybe—whoa!"

  An ant grabbed him. And lifted him overhead.

  Despite its humble size, the insect was as strong as a bodybuilder.

  Another ant lifted Leona. Both humans were tall, covered in armor, and carrying heavy equipment. The ants didn't mind. They began carrying them toward their city.

  "Looks like we're invited for dinner," Tom said.

  "For dinner or as dinner?" Leona said.

  Their hosts—or were they captors?—carried them through an elaborate gateway woven of coiling wood. They entered a kingdom of copper, rope, steam, and millions of curious ants.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Bay walked through the hold of the HDFS Byzantium, comforting the poor souls around him.

  They filled the Byzantium to the rafters. Two thousand refugees crowded in here. Eighty other starships of Operation Exodus flew behind the Byzantium, and they too ferried humans.

  "Bless you, Young Lion," said an old woman, reaching out to touch Bay as if touching a holy relic.

  "Thank you, warrior of Earth," said a young girl, hugging him.

  Bay moved among them. Letting them see his uniform. His rifle. His pride and strength. Letting them know that they were protected.

  They think me strong, Bay thought. But they're far stronger than me.

  These people had survived the scorpion gulocks. They had tried to make their own way to Earth, flying in an assort
ment of salvaged ships. Only for the basilisks to capture them. To brutalize them.

  And still they lived.

  Still they dreamed.

  Around him, they sang the song of Earth. They prayed for their homeworld. They were starving, beaten, many dying. Many were orphaned children. Many others were grieving parents. But they were all warriors.

  "We will bring you home," Bay vowed. "We will bring you to Earth!"

  Silently, he added words he could not speak. Not without shedding years.

  You deserve more than this pain. You deserve to lie on the grass and see blue skies. To eat the fresh food that grows from our soil. To be among family and friends. To listen to music. To admire art. To build and grow. Not just to survive—but to live. To live!

  He made his way to the bridge. Leaving the refugees behind, he stepped onto the bridge and gazed out the viewport.

  He could see Earth in the distance, a pale blue dot. He knew they were waiting there. Thousands of Rattlers. Warships blockading Earth. Warships that wouldn't hesitate to destroy every human ship and slaughter every refugee aboard.

  Bay approached Coral, who sat on the bridge, holding a warm cup of tea.

  "Coral," he said softly. "Are you sure you can do this?"

  She turned to look at him. She nodded. "Yes. I've rested enough. I can open another portal."

  But Bay was worried. Coral was not herself. Opening the last portal had ravaged her. The weaver had spent days shivering, wrapped in a blanket. She had recovered a little. Her eyes were less sunken now. Her skin was a richer brown, no longer ashen.

  But where was the vivacious, confident weaver Bay had known? The woman who would talk a mile a minute, order everyone around, then—in the same breath—comfort the fearful and share her wisdom? These days, Coral barely spoke to anyone.

  She was the only weaver in the fleet. And using so much power weakened her. But Bay thought there was more to it.

  He turned to look at Rowan. She was standing near the viewport, hands clasped behind her back, legs slightly parted. She was staring ahead, not acknowledging him.

  Rowan too was different these days. No longer the girl he had known, who would joke around, tease him, have a Monty Python or Simpsons quote for every situation, yet feel shy in a crowd. Her stance, her hardness, almost reminded Bay of his father.

  You are the woman I chose, Rowan, he thought. The woman I love. That I want to be with forever.

  But he remembered another day. A day a year ago when he had made love to Coral. And when he turned back toward the weaver, she was looking at him. And he saw the jealousy in Coral's eyes.

  She still loves me, Bay thought. She knows I chose Rowan. Is that what hurts her? Even more than the aether?

  "I can do this," Coral repeated, more firmly this time. "For Earth, I would do anything. All my heart is for Earth."

  A tear trickled down her cheek. Bay did not miss the message beneath her words.

  They flew closer.

  They were moments away from the heliopause, the border of the solar system.

  "Row, you wanna make the announcement?" Bay asked.

  But Rowan didn't seem to hear him. She still stood, facing the viewport, staring ahead. She had barely spoken since the battle against the hydra. Her face was hard, almost lifeless.

  We'll all have to grieve, Bay thought. But not now. Not here.

  He picked up the comm. "Exodus Fleet, this is Major Bay Ben-Ari speaking from aboard the HDFS Byzantium. We're about to open a portal to Earth. Ten thousand basilisk ships are still orbiting Earth, blockading the planet. We're going to sneak right past them, emerging into low orbit, just above the sky. While our fleet orbits Earth, shuttles will deliver the refugees to the surface, then return. Once the last refugee is on Earth, the Exodus Fleet will re-enter the portal, heading back to the stars—and to collect more refugees. The operation will be dangerous. The Rattlers are likely to attack. We'll be evacuating the refugees under fire. All refugees—enter your shuttles now. We're going to orbit only a hundred kilometers above Earth's surface, and you're going to deploy at once. Move fast! We have twenty thousand people to land. Our window of opportunity will be short. Godspeed, children of Earth! Let's go home."

  Coral rose to her feet. As she approached the viewport, her robes fluttered, and she seemed almost to be floating. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. Her hair billowed as if she were underwater. A glow appeared behind her eyelids, and her tattoos shone.

  Suddenly she winced. She let out a small, strangled cry.

  "Coral!" Bay made to approach, but Rowan grabbed him. She pulled him back.

  "Let her work," Rowan said.

  They both watched the weaver. She was trembling. The glow intensified. Coral inhaled sharply, and light burst from her palms.

  Before the fleet, hovering in space, a portal materialized.

  "Hurry," Coral whispered, voice shaking.

  Bay pushed down the throttle.

  The Byzantium flew through the portal and emerged just above Earth's sky.

  The other ships followed.

  Bay looked around him. They were a hundred kilometers above the surface—grazing the atmosphere. Below—the colony awaited. Above—Rattlers noticed them.

  The enemy warships opened fire.

  "Deploy, deploy!" Bay shouted. "Now!"

  Across the Exodus Fleet, hangars opened.

  Laser beams slammed into the starships.

  The Byzantium rattled. A laser beam sliced through the hull near the stern. Air began to escape the back decks.

  "Deploy, dammit!" Bay shouted.

  From the ship's underbelly, they emerged.

  The shuttles.

  Shuttles carrying hundreds of refugees.

  Bay grabbed a gun turret's controls. He opened fire.

  Soon the entire Exodus Fleet was firing with him. Their shells flew upward, slamming into the Rattlers. Their Firebirds fought with them, pounding the enemy. Laser beams flashed downward, crashing through starships.

  But the shuttles kept descending.

  With every beat, another shuttle plunged downward, delivering refugees—then rose again to collect more.

  A Copperhead made it to the edge of the sky. It fired, taking out a shuttle, slaying a hundred refugees on board. Bay shouted, fired his cannons, and took out the starfighter. The heavy human warships crowded together, forming a shield wall, protecting the shuttles beneath them.

  Throughout the battle, Coral stood on the bridge, eyes shut, hands trembling, struggling to maintain the portal.

  "Hurry," she whispered. "Please."

  The lasers hit a ship behind them, slicing it in half. It crashed into the sky and burned up.

  More lasers kept pounding them. The other human starships—the hundreds who had not flown on Operation Exodus—joined the fray. They too pounded the Rattlers, trying to buy the refugees more time. The battle raged across orbit. The shuttles kept descending.

  "I can't … hold it . . . much longer," Coral whispered.

  Bay ran toward her. He grabbed her as she collapsed. He held her in his arms. Coral was still clinging to the portal, desperate to keep it open—to give them an escape route. Bay knew she couldn't just let the portal dissipate and reopen it. She would need days of recovery to open a new portal.

  "Rowan, we have to get out of here!" Bay shouted.

  Rowan stood at the helm, gripping the yoke. "Give me another five minutes! We still have refugees to send down!"

  The shuttles flew in a fury. A laser hit the Byzantium, tearing through another deck. Another ship exploded. A Firebird crashed into the atmosphere and burned up.

  Finally, the last shuttles were rising, empty.

  "Please …" Coral whispered. "Hurry …"

  "Hold the Rattlers back!" Bay cried. "Fleet, hit them with everything we've got!"

  Still holding Coral in his arms, he managed to grab the cannons and fire. He hit a Rattler.

  The last shuttle entered the hangar.

  "Al
l right, we're done, let's blow this joint!" Bay shouted.

  Rowan tugged the yoke, spinning the Byzantium back toward the portal.

  The shimmering gateway was nearly gone. It was a faint flicker in space.

  The Byzantium roared toward it, all while laser beams kept nipping at her stern.

  Seconds later, they burst out of the portal—back into interstellar space. The other Exodus ships followed.

  So did several Rattlers. Their lasers fired, taking out a ship.

  "Azoth drives—engage!" Bay cried.

  With pops of light, the Exodus Fleet shot outward. The Byzantium went last, taking heavy fire, shooting back at Copperheads. The bastards kept trying to follow through the portal.

  Coral collapsed, and the portal vanished behind her.

  "All right, let's go, warp speed!" Bay said, firing a shell at the last lingering Copperhead.

  Rowan shoved down a lever, and the azoth drive activated. The stars stretched into lines, and they were off.

  The Byzantium rejoined the rest of the fleet, and they glided through interstellar space, leaving the solar system far behind. They still had eighty ships, all still staffed with pilots and soldiers. Cheers rose from every ship.

  They had spent only moments back home—and evacuated nearly twenty thousand refugees.

  Within moments, Earth's population had doubled.

  They had lost a few hundred lives. Each death was a tragedy. But they all knew: Today was a victory.

  And Bay knew their work was only beginning.

  There were still several million humans stranded across space. Gulock survivors. Refugees desperate to go home.

  We have a year, Bay thought. A year before the Galactic Council votes on who owns Earth—the basilisks or humans. We have a year to stake our territory. To land as many people as we can. We have a year to save Earth.

  They would not rest to celebrate. Not even a day. Already the Exodus Fleet was flying toward its next destination—another refugee camp, this one on a barren world of ice and snow. Another community of humans. Another battle.

  That night, they gave command of the ship to Fillister and Brooklyn, allowing the two artificial intelligences to fly it onward. Until they found them new bodies, it gave the two something to do.