The War for Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 4)

by Daniel Arenson

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The first rocket exploded forty-seven seconds after takeoff in a shower of flames and smoke and jagged debris.

  Leona and Tom stood below with the crowd of ants, watching the destruction.

  "Muck," Leona muttered.

  She knew accidents were normal. She knew the test rockets might explode. But still her heart shattered with that rocket.

  We're running out of time, she knew.

  The ants managed to collect some of the debris over the next few days. The trained aphids, who had been strapped into the rocket, were never recovered.

  They got to work again. Leona and Tom supervised while thousands of ants toiled. They worked in smelters, creating a new metal tube. They toiled in laboratories, brewing fuel. Thousands worked as living calculators, doing meticulous math with paper and charcoal.

  The entire Oridian nation dedicated itself to the task. Not just this city but the entire planet. Space mania was sweeping Oridia. Ants everywhere dreamed of becoming cosmonauts, as mighty as the great alien civilizations they had heard so many legends of. Generals clattered their mandibles on the radio, announcing that if the damn basilisks ever invaded, they'd meet ant warships in orbit. Scientists spoke of the wonders of the galaxy awaiting exploration. Juvenile ants, some barely more than larvae, played with toy starships—and even dolls of the famous Leona and Tom, the bringers of knowledge.

  Finally, the second rocket was ready.

  It soared for nearly two entire minutes before exploding in the stratosphere.

  A few days later, they launched the third rocket.

  It rose an entire twenty kilometers, the highest flight yet, drawing cheers from the ants. When it exploded at twenty-two kilometers up, only a quarter of the way to space, the cheers died.

  After that, children tossed out their toys. Aphid farmers refused to offer more test pilots. And the Ant Queen grounded all other rockets.

  The next morning, Leona woke up to terrible news.

  "What do you mean, she's canceling the space program?" she said.

  Tom nodded. "It's been all over the wires. The Ant Queen is tired of losing rockets. The program has ended."

  "How can you be so calm!" Leona shook him.

  He winced. "Would shouting, punching things, and stomping on a few ants help?"

  "It's a start!" Leona turned and marched out of the den they shared. "I'll stomp a queen if I have to."

  She stomped right into the queen's throne room, shoving aside the guards.

  "What do you mean the space program is canceled?" Leona shouted.

  The queen sat on her pile of soil. At one end, her workers were feeding her honeydew from jars. Her other end kept pumping out eggs. The car-sized ant looked at Leona.

  "We've lost too many rockets," the queen said. "We're not ready to explore the stars. We need to explore these new gifts of technology more slowly. Maybe in a few years, or a few decades, we can wade into the cosmic ocean."

  "We don't have a few years!" Leona blurted out. "Damn it, the Council is going to gather in a few days. A few days! And they'll draw the borders within this galaxy. You better believe the basilisks are gonna get a huge chunk. What will you do when they arrive here? Fight them off with sticks?"

  The Queen Ant glared. "It seems to me, human, that you care only about the basilisks around your own world. Do not condescend and pretend to care about us ants. You have used us for too long. We are a proud species, not slaves to humans."

  "Used you?" Leona cried. "Slaves? I gave you great gifts! You were using damn gas heaters when I showed up. I gave you electricity! I gave you physics, chemistry, engineering! I gave you computers and medicine!"

  The queen regarded her, and her eyes narrowed. "But you did not give us spaceflight."

  "We're almost there!" Leona said. "We just need a few more tests, and—"

  "Silence!" the queen snapped. "You've brought nothing but a curse upon us. You turned our fair city into a realm of smog, dirt, and filth. You turned our lives of earnest endeavor into an obsession with forbidden knowledge. You turned a happy, industrious civilization into a land of failure and despair. And all the while, you scoff at our primitive lives, and you boast of your own superiority. I am weary of your insolence. Leave this hall! And leave this city. You are banished! Leave now and never come back."

  Leona stormed out of the hall, fists clenched, fuming. But inside, deep under her anger, there it was—her fear.

  Tom was waiting outside.

  "I heard from here," he said. "So, new plan—you stage a coup and become the new Ant Queen."

  Leona paused, tilted her head, and gave him a sidelong glance. "Did you just tell a joke, Tom Shepherd? You?"

  He nodded. "I do that when the cosmos is about to end."

  "Then I hope you never tell a joke again," Leona said. "But no, I have no plans to begin living off aphid vomit while pumping out eggs. But I do intend to fly off this planet. With you. Today." She grabbed his hand. "We better hurry."

  They hailed a steam-powered taxicab and hopped in. The ant driver pulled levers, and the automobile trundled over the cobbled streets. Along the roadsides, the other ants stared, hissing, clattering their mandibles.

  "Look at the humans," one said.

  "False prophets!" said another.

  "Bringers of misery."

  "Bringers of smog and death!"

  Leona gritted her teeth. "Why do they hate us? Just because we crashed a few rockets? We brought them gifts!"

  Tom sat beside her, head lowered. "We forced gifts on them. Gifts they weren't ready for."

  And we weren't ready for the centipedes, Leona thought. And we weren't ready for the Hydrian empire. And I wasn't ready for the scorpions to murder my husband and steal my child. But the universe isn't about being ready. It's about being able to stare change in the face—and adapt.

  The chariot took them to the gates of the city. From there, Leona and Tom walked. But not into exile.

  They walked to the last remaining rocket.

  The only one the ants hadn't tested yet.

  It was, in fact, the first rocket the ants had built. A rocket they had deemed too risky to fly. A rocket that was more of an exercise than an actual attempt to build something spaceworthy.

  Today, it'll have to take us to the stars, Leona thought.

  Tom frowned at her. "Tell me you're not thinking about flying in that thing."

  "Actually, I hope not to think about it too much," Leona said. "It's more of a Nike moment. Just do it."

  Twentieth century reference? Rowan was rubbing off on her.

  "Leona!" Tom tugged at his hair. "We'd have better luck attaching our jetpacks to a chariot."

  "Don't give me any ideas," she said.

  Tom gestured at the rocket. "This is just a prototype! We had no idea what we were doing when we built it. We had to completely revamp our designs after this."

  "Maybe that's a good thing," Leona said. "The other rockets all exploded, remember?"

  "Yes, I remember!" he said. "That's exactly what I'm remembering right now!"

  "Tom." She grabbed him. "Now you listen to me. We must reach the Council within a few days. If we don't—we're dead. You. Me. Everyone we know and love. All of humanity. If we die in this rocket, we die for Earth. I'd rather die in a ball of flame than in a basilisk's belly." She stroked his cheek. "We've done suicidal things before. One more for the road."

  He took a deep breath. "You're crazy, you know that?"

  She grinned. "We're all crazy in this cosmos. Haven't you figured that out?"

  They put on their spacesuits, helmets, and jetpacks. They walked toward the rocket.

  Several ants greeted them, antennae fluttering in agitation.

  "The news has come!" they said. "The queen has banished you!"

  Leona nodded. "Yep. Banished us from Oridia. So you better get us up into space."

  The ants glanced at one another, chattered amongst themselves, then nodded.

  "Ac
ceptable," they said.

  Leona handed one ant her azoth crystal. "Slide this baby into the engine. This is no test flight. We're off to the stars."

  And you better hurry, she thought. Before the queen's guards show up with big swords.

  They took the elevator to the capsule atop the rocket—a small vessel, barely large enough for the two of them to squeeze into. The azoth engine was installed inside. But bending spacetime could only work in space.

  And to get there, they had to ignite a rocket the size of a skyscraper filled with explosives. Leona gulped. Yes, better not think too much.

  As Leona was entering the capsule hatch, she saw them in the distance. The queen's guards. And they had their swords.

  She hopped in and strapped herself into her seat. Tom followed.

  "Let's get this show on the road!" she said into her transmitter.

  An ant answered from the control center below. "Teacher, there are guards at the door. They are asking about—"

  "Ignore them and launch this rocket!" she said.

  Thankfully, at least one ant below loved science more than authority.

  The rocket began to rumble.

  "Here goes nothing and everything," she muttered, clinging to her seat.

  The rumble became a roar. Smoke and fire burst from the rocket. And suddenly they were soaring.

  Leona gritted her teeth, pushed back into her seat.

  "Ra damn, this kicks like a mule!" she said.

  Immense G-force pressed her down. She had flown to space many times, but always in more advanced transport. Now she was basically riding atop a barrel of explosives. They were flying ten times faster than a bullet, she knew. And she felt every one of those Machs.

  Only her years as a pilot prevented Leona from passing out. Tom was not so lucky.

  She tried to check her monitor, to see how long they'd been flying . But everything was rattling. She could barely see. Gauges shattered. Control panels tore loose.

  The capsule suddenly jerked. Leona was sure this was it. That the explosion was here.

  But no. It was the first rocket booster detaching. It plummeted down toward the ocean.

  The second booster ignited with a roar, shoving the shuttle upward. Leona felt herself beginning to black out. She clung to consciousness with all her might.

  How long have been we soaring for? A minute already? Two? Longer than the other rockets?

  The world was fire and smoke and pressure and pain. She didn't know if she was alive or dead. The weight of heaven and hell seemed to be pushing against her.

  For Earth, she thought. For Earth. For Earth. For Earth. Stay alive. Oh Ra above.

  The second booster detached.

  They roared upward on their last tank of fuel.

  And above Leona saw them. The stars.

  The last of the fuel burned, shoving them out of the atmosphere—and into space.

  The last piece of the rocket fell back toward Oridia. The capsule—this cramped little can—glided toward deep space.

  They had made it.

  Leona gulped down a huge, shaky breath. The G-force released her. She slumped in her seat.

  "Ra damn," she said.

  Tom woke up, blinked, and rubbed his eyes.

  "We're still alive," he said in wonder. He laughed. "You did it, you crazy lunatic! I need to change my underwear, but you did it!"

  Leona grinned at him.

  I don't think I ever heard you laugh, Tom Shepherd.

  At that moment, she saw a glimpse of the man he must have been before the war. Carefree. Joyful.

  She placed a hand on his knee.

  "Told ya," she said. "We crazy lunatics rule the cosmos."

  The planet was already growing small behind them. Ahead spread the stars.

  Once they were far enough from Oridia's gravity well, Leona took a deep breath and flipped a switch. Inside the capsule, right below her feet, the azoth engine activated.

  The stars stretched into lines. And they were off at warp speed. Heading toward the distance. Toward the Council. Toward a shred of hope for Earth.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  After seventeen years of service in the Heirs of Earth, fighting in space, followed by a grueling year in the Human Defense Force, fighting on Earth, Lieutenant Colonel Ramses "Pharaoh" al Masri took his first vacation.

  He figured that he had earned it.

  He flew his Firebird over the Atlantic. He flew alone. He was not flying to battle. Not to liberate a gulock, face monstrous aliens, or bomb distant worlds. He was flying in Earth's sky. He was flying on his own free time.

  It felt weird.

  Between the ocean and sky, he took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves

  For half my life, I've been on edge, he thought. How the hell does one even relax?

  Ramses had never known peace. He had grown up inside a damn asteroid, hiding with a small community of humans. Even as a boy, he had hated hiding. At age sixteen, he had smuggled himself into deep space, a stowaway on a supply barge. But what was a human to do? Nobody would hire a damn human.

  So he joined a drag racing outfit, one of the illegal ones where homemade space-racers tore through asteroid fields, competing for the roaring crowds. Ramses had grown up among asteroids. He was good at dodging them. So he raced. For money. For fame. Zipping around asteroids, black holes, and planetary rings. All while the cameras rolled and the crowds booed the villainous Human Lightning, the wretched pest in the red space-racer, the one aliens tuned in to watch lose, crash, and hopefully burn.

  Two years later, when the Peacekeepers shut down the drag race operation, Ramses found himself out of work.

  That was when a crazy old man named Emet Ben-Ari found him.

  The tall, bearded human had shown up, asking to buy the space-racer pods. And to buy Ramses with them.

  And so the space-racers had been refitted, loaded with weapons, and turned into Firebirds. And so Ramses, a dumb lanky teenager, had become a fighter pilot.

  And so he had fought in battles.

  And so he had slain hundreds of aliens.

  And so he had watched so many friends die.

  And so he had come to Earth. Here to this blue planet. The world he had dreamed of in a distant asteroid, during the races, throughout all his wars. The dream had come true.

  For eighteen years, I fought for you, Emet Ben-Ari. Half my life. Yes, I deserve this day off.

  He glided over the North African coast and saw it ahead.

  The land of his ancestors. The land he had dreamed of so often in his long exile.

  He glided over Egypt.

  "I'm home," he said softly.

  The Nile stretched across the desert, a verdant strip across landscapes of sand. The pyramids were still there. Two thousand years since the exile, one alien invasion after another, and the damn things still rose from the desert, as solid as always.

  Land of the pharaohs, Ramses thought. My land. It's real.

  He spiraled downward. Several meters above the desert, he engaged his stabilizing thrusters, raising clouds of sand. His Firebird thumped down.

  He popped the canopy, stepped out of his cockpit, and inhaled the hot desert air. The sun beat down. Before him soared the head of the sphinx, its body buried in sand. The pyramids rose farther back, as eternal as the dream of Earth.

  All the other works of humanity were gone from the world. Sand and soil buried the ancient cities. Only a few thousand humans lived on Earth, concentrated in a single, distant colony. All of humanity's labors—their songs, art, bustling lives and industry—all gone. All just faded memories. Yet the pyramids remained. And the head of the sphinx emerged from the golden dunes, gazing stoically across the deserts of time.

  Leaving his starfighter behind, Ramses walked across the dunes. He left his helmet too. He wrapped a scarf around his face, blocking the sandy wind. He reached the sphinx, and tears filled his eyes.

  He had seen old photographs of this wonder. Today sand buried most of the s
tatue, hiding the paws and body, rising up to the sphinx's shoulders. Ramses placed his hand on the ancient stone face and closed his eyes. A jolt ran through him—but not painful. Antiquity was flowing through the old sandstone. These stones had seen so much: empires rise and fall, humanity exiled and reborn.

  And I'm part of that story, Ramses thought.

  "I'm back, old girl." He pressed his forehead to the stone. "I never forgot you. The seed of the pharaoh returns."

  He took a step back and bowed his head.

  He had to admit to himself: those last words felt dishonest.

  Was he, Ramses al Masri, truly descended of the great dynasties of ancient Egypt? His father had claimed so. His father was also a compulsive gambler who had beaten Ramses as a child. How could the man have traced their heritage so far back?

  And yet Ramses had clung to the story. For the same reason, he supposed, that the others clung to their own tales. Emet claimed to be descended of Einav Ben-Ari, the Golden Lioness who led Earth in its golden age. Rowan believed herself descended from Marco Emery, the Poet of Earth, and Addy Linden, the great heroine of old. Mairead sometimes boasted that she was descended of William Wallace himself, the great Scottish hero. As far as Ramses knew, those stories had no more credence than his.

  We all need a connection to Earth, he thought. We all need to believe that the blood of heroes flows through our veins. This has always been my anchor.

  Something rustled behind him.

  Ramses spun around, raising his rifle.

  A camel stood on a dune, snorting. The animal spat at him, then sauntered off.

  Ramses took a shaky breath and lowered his gun. He was still antsy. Two decades of nonstop warfare would do that to you, he supposed.

  The basilisks are far from here, Ramses reminded himself. Unlike Earth snakes, basilisks snakes prefer cold climates. Now enjoy your damn vacation.

  He began walking toward the pyramids. He had crossed half the distance when another sound rose behind him. A rustle. Soft breathing.

  Ramses spun around again.

  The camel was back there again—and a dark flutter like a scrap of cloth.

  Ramses frowned.