The Song of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 5)

by Daniel Arenson

  The evacuation continued for hours. The Exodus Fleet had been doing this for nearly two years now. They had become professionals. By nightfall, the fleet was blasting away. Twenty warships—the last remnants of humanity's fleet. The HDFS Porter—a massive cruise ship, filled with a hundred thousand shivering refugees. A handful of Firebirds and freighters.

  We bought a million people home so far, Bay thought. But was it all for nothing?

  The news had been coming in for days. It was spreading across the galaxy.

  The Wrath Offensive was underway. A turning point in the war.

  "Xerka is at a state of full war now," Bay muttered the next morning, reviewing reports. "The snake has gone berserk."

  He stood on the bridge of the HDFS New Orleans. Bay and Luther had been using it for gunrunning for months now. The freighter was heavily armored and massive, large enough to carry many weapons and bombs to the troops. It also came with a handful of sturdy shuttles, used to deliver those armaments down to the planet through the Talaria tunnels. The ship wasn't particularly comfortable. The freighter was decades old, a rusty old floating warehouse. But she did her job. She had become, in Bay's opinion, the most important ship humanity owned—alongside the Porter, at least.

  The HDFS Porter delivered refugees. The New Orleans delivered weapons. Bay had hoped that together, the two ships could win this war.

  But that was before this. Before the Wrath Offensive.

  "She's throwing everything at us," Bay said. "So are her allies. Port Addison is under siege. Many communities on Earth and space—wiped out. My Ra. How many died?"

  Luther sat beside him, face stern.

  "We must return to Earth," the old starling said. "They can use our ships."

  Bay sighed. "Twenty warships won't make much of a difference against thousands. But you're right. We'll head back now. We're done smuggling. We must fight for our soil."

  He shoved down the throttle, activating his azoth drive. The New Orleans blasted toward Earth, the stars streaking. The other ships followed.

  They flew for days—and every day tore at Bay. Every day he paced the bridge, thinking of Rowan, wanting to be there with her, to hold her, protect her. Every day he knew countless humans were dying.

  He was ten light-years from Sol when Bay replotted a course. The ship turned in space, heading toward a smaller, colder star.

  Luther raised an eyebrow. "We're not going to Earth?"

  "A detour," Bay said. "To Epsilon Eridani."

  "I thought we were done gunrunning for now," Luther said.

  "Oh, we are," Bay said. "I'm not flying to Epsilon Eridani to buy guns." He smiled crookedly. "We're out of money, as it is."

  The rest of the Exodus Fleet followed. Good. Bay didn't want them flying to Earth without help.

  "I know what you're thinking, kid," Luther began. "It won't work."

  "We're only twenty warships, Luth," Bay said, flying toward the nearby star. "Not enough to protect the Porter. Not enough to help Earth. We need more ships."

  Luther leaned back in his seat, looking very old. "Starflare won't fight with us."

  Bay gave him a thin smile. "She might not. But she's just one starling. You fight with us. When it comes to starlings, I'm batting fifty-fifty so far. Hey, if half the starlings at Epsilon Eridani add their starships to ours? Well, my friend, we'll have an armada."

  They had flown between Epsilon Eridani and Earth many times by now—buying weapons from the former, smuggling them to the latter. Salvage crews on Earth had been scouring the plains and oceans, seeking azoth crystals from their fallen fleet. Each azoth crystal, even just a shard the size of a fingernail, could buy more guns. Xerka might have shattered Earth's fleet, but with the remains, Earth had funded the Human Defense Force.

  The days of paying with crystals were over. Xerka's troops had claimed nearly all of Earth, making azoth retrieval impossible. Humanity was broken, hungry, and facing extinction.

  But there is more than one kind of humanity, Bay thought. We might still have some friends.

  He flew toward Niraya, this dark, rocky planet of outcasts. Thousands of starships orbited the world: bounty hunters, smugglers, gamblers, mercenaries. Bay was unique here: he had a species. Most who came here had no species of their own, let alone a homeworld. Mutants. Genetic experiments. Freaks.

  And starlings, Bay thought. Humans mixed with alien DNA.

  He took a shuttle through the dense, smoggy atmosphere. He flew over a rotting metropolis, a hive of chimneys, brothels, fighting pits, and shanties. This world was awash with money, yet rife with decay. There was not a blade of grass in Niraya, not a flower or clear view of blue sky. It was a place of needles in dingy alleyways, of knives in your back, of graffiti on filthy washroom walls, or two-scryl whores who would give you pleasure for a night and bacteria to last a lifetime. Bay had been to some sleazy worlds in his time. He had never seen a place of such misery.

  Whenever Bay flew here, he had the same thought.

  Why did they live here? The people of Niraya had money. They sold weapons, drugs, sex. Why did they stay in such wretchedness?

  But he knew the answer.

  They had no other home. They were the freaks of the galaxy. So they hid in the galactic sewer.

  He flew his shuttle between several chimneys, descended, and landed at Starflare's compound. The guards recognized his shuttle and waved. After all, Bay had been paying their salary all year.

  Starflare met him in the courtyard outside her warehouse. As always, the arms dealer wore black boots over green leggings, and grenades and magazines draped her vest like badges. Her smooth black hair, cut the length of her chin, blew in the smoggy wind, revealing pointy ears and horns. She bared her fangs at Bay.

  "Why are you here?" Her tail stuck out straight, a sign of aggression, and she extended her bat wings. "I thought you were broke."

  "And you're now a wealthy woman," Bay said.

  She glowered, hands on her hips. "Woman?" She snorted. "I ain't no woman. That implies I'm human. I'm a starling, boy. We all are in this place. Unless you come here with another azoth crystal—leave. Humans are unwanted here."

  Across the courtyard, starlings turned toward them. Two boxers paused their fight in a sandy ring. Guards stepped closer. Several starlings rose from a table, abandoning a game of dominoes.

  No two were alike. Some were only vaguely human. They were creatures of fangs, wings, tails. Some had scaly skin. Others boasted skin of stone. Some were mutants. Others were hybrids, humans spliced with alien DNA. A few were the product of medical experiments—creatures of stitches, alien body parts, and terrifying power.

  All were miserable. The dregs of the universe.

  "Yes, you are starlings!" Bay said. "You are monstrous. You are mutants and freaks. You are creatures of shadows, lurking in the sewer of the galaxy."

  They stepped closer, sneering, raising weapons.

  Starflare drew a pistol. "Watch it, boy, or—"

  "But you are also human!" Bay cried, voice echoing across the courtyard.

  More starlings now appeared—emerging from doorways, leaning over rooftops, peering from the compound's windows. Some stared with human eyes, others with alien or mechanical eyes.

  "Yes, you are human!" Bay said. "Not fully, maybe. But so what? Human blood flows through your veins, and that's good enough for me. I come to offer you a home. I come to offer you citizenship on Earth. Join me, starlings, and become Earthlings!"

  They stared, silent.

  The silence stretched on awkwardly long.

  Finally Starflare laughed—a cruel, mirthless sound.

  "Go home, boy." She turned to leave.

  "At least I have a home!" he called at her.

  She spun back toward him, pistol raised. Her face was a mask of fury. "We have a home! Niraya is our home!"

  Bay snickered. "You call this a home?" He gestured around him. "I've seen refugee camps in better shape. This isn't a home, Starflare. It's a leper colony! It
's where the rest of the galaxy sends the freaks to rot."

  She cocked her pistol. She aimed at him. "You've been a good customer. But if you don't shut up, I'll put a bullet through your head."

  "No you won't," Bay said. "Because you need to save your bullets for the basilisks. You all do!" He looked around him. "Every starling here—come with me to Earth. Fight with me for Earth! For once in your life—stand tall, in the open, and fight for a cause! Don't just sell weapons but wield them! Help humanity reclaim our world—then settle it with us. You don't have to live here anymore, on this planet without any growing things, without a sun in the sky, without a future or shred of hope. You can live on Earth. You can have a homeworld of your own. A species of your own. We accept you, welcome you, need you. You are not freaks. You are human!"

  "I'm warning you!" Starflare said. She stepped closer, glaring, her pistol trembling in her hand. "Shut up! I don't need your pity. I don't need your mucking amnesty. I built a home here! A true home for the starlings. I—"

  "Say, you have good soil on Earth?" A burly starling stepped forward—one of the domino players. "Soil that can grow some taters?"

  Bay nodded. "Sure do."

  The starling licked his lips with three tongues. "Love me some taters. Always wanted a bit of land. Ain't nothing but barbed wire can grow on Niraya."

  "Go back to your game, Hort." Starflare shoved him away. "This is no concern of yours."

  Another starling stepped forward. He had milky white skin, a cleft lip, and elaborate antlers. "You still have trees on Earth? Real trees, with a canopy like a cathedral, and roots that wind, and the sound and smell of leaves?"

  "We do," Bay said. "Xerka burnt many of them. But we still have some forests to cherish."

  The antlered starling nodded. "We must cherish them, and we must plant more. I've seen trees before on a distant world. Kept in glass tubes. I've often dreamed of forests."

  "You're a Ra damn drug smuggler!" Starflare shot at the starling. "What the hell do you know of trees?"

  "They are in my blood," said the antlered starling. "I still remember. Deep in my being."

  Bay wanted to say more. But he kept quiet. He had done enough selling. Now he simply listened.

  More starlings emerged from the warehouse. They approached Bay. They spoke of their dreams. Dreams of rivers and oceans. Of blue skies. But mostly dreams of a home. A world that was truly theirs. Not just a refugee camp or temporary shelter. Not just a hiding place. But a world of pride. A home.

  Starflare stood, fuming, but slowly the fire left her eyes. And tears replaced it. She stood silently, listening to these stories. Stories of children who had escaped from labs. Of mutants, disowned by their parents, exiled from their worlds. Of travelers who had gone too deeply into space, who had come back changed, the stars seared into their eyes, their souls forever lost in the black. People who had always longed for a home.

  "They found a home with you, Starflare," Bay said softly. "I was wrong to mock it. You gave them a good home."

  She wiped tears from her eyes. "Many of them were abandoned as children, even as babies. I tried to be like a mother to them. They're all my children." She gave a weak laugh. "Most are twice my age and my size, beefy mercenaries and bounty hunters. But they're my children."

  "And now you can lead them to another home," Bay said. "It won't be easy. We'll have to fight. All of us. But I learned something five years ago, Starflare. Back then, I hid from the cosmos. In brothels. Bars. Drug dens. I learned that fighting is better than hiding. Fighting for a home is better than peace in exile."

  Starflare stepped closer and clasped his shoulder. She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him.

  "Can we do this, Bay? Can we win?"

  "How many starlings are on Niraya? And how many ships do they have?"

  "Ten thousand starlings," she said. "All armed. Maybe a thousand ships between them, most with cannons and shields."

  Bay nodded. "Spread the word. We leave today. It's time to go home."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  "Let's go over the plan again, Mairead." Rowan lifted her notebook. "One more time."

  Mairead snorted, blowing back a strand of her hair. "Oh please, Tiny. We've gone over this a hundred times by now."

  "Not yet a hundred!" Rowan crossed her arms. "Barely twenty times. I like to be diligent."

  Mairead rolled her eyes and ruffled Rowan's hair. "Little buddy, I've been fighting for a long time, and let me share something I've learned. In war, plans need flexibility. Set everything in stone, and if anything goes wrong, you can't improvise."

  Rowan scrunched her lips. "You know, Mairead, I've been a soldier for over five years now, fighting every day."

  Mairead snorted. "Newbie."

  Rowan couldn't help but laugh. At twenty-one, Major Rowan Emery was the youngest senior officer in the Human Defense Force. But Mairead, at twenty-eight, was the second youngest. In meetings with the others—Emet, Tom, Cindy—they felt like kids among adults. Even Leona and Ramses were well into their thirties by now.

  It doesn't help that I still look like a kid, Rowan thought.

  She looked around her at the bunker. A dozen of her computers were here, along with notebooks, whiteboards, and holographic simulations. Rowan had come up with a perfect plan to distribute the Troy virus. Mairead was an integral part of that plan. Rowan wanted to trust the pilot, but Mairead's casual attitude didn't inspire confidence.

  She looked at Mairead. Brash. Chomping on a cigar. Her helmet askew on her head, the words Hell's Princess written in marker across the front. Bandoleers of bullets criss-crossed her chest, and her red hair cascaded across her shoulders.

  She's among the toughest, smartest warriors we have, Rowan reminded herself. She's fought more battles than I have. I need to trust her. She can do this.

  "All right, all right!" Rowan tossed the notebook aside. "If anything goes wrong, you improvise."

  "I always do." Mairead grinned.

  Rowan checked her watch. "We have forty-eight minutes. It's enough time to run some last-minute calibration on the software. Oh, and maybe we can review the Copperhead's API again? I'll run her through debug mode, and then we can prime the Firebird's electronics again, and—"

  "Rowan!" Mairead said. "For Ra's sake! You're making me nervous. And frankly, confusing me with all that nerd talk. We're ready, all right? Sit down. Relax for a bit. See that couch? Put your ass down on it!"

  Rowan sat down, pressed her knees together, and placed her hands on her lap. "Fine! I'm relaxing, see?"

  Her eyes strayed toward her minicom.

  Mairead grabbed the computer. "I'm confiscating this! No more work now. Right now—we wind down. Have you ever wound down before?"

  Rowan tilted her head, frowning. "I'm not sure. I might have boogied down once with Luther. He was teaching me bass. And I'm pretty sure I've moseyed down to the cantina a few times. Not sure about winding."

  "Well, you're in luck." Mairead grabbed two bottles of grog from a cupboard. "Today we're going to do some serious winding down." She bit the lids off the bottles. "Here, have a brew."

  Rowan took the bottle. She frowned at Mairead. "Are you sure we should drink before a mission?"

  Mairead sat beside her on the couch and stretched out her legs. "Hell yeah! I always get buzzed before a fight. Makes it more fun." She began to chug.

  "I hope we're not flying to a fight." Rowan held her bottle, not drinking. "I hope the virus I coded does the job for us."

  "Meh, virus, bullets, nukes—all ways to fight the bad guys." Mairead belched. "You're not drinking!"

  Rowan took a sip, then coughed and scrunched up her face. "Ugh, awful! It tastes like cold dog fur and paint thinner."

  "Those are my secret ingredients," Mairead said. "I brewed this moonshine myself. I call it Firebug's Fury."

  Rowan took another sip and shuddered. "Oh God." She placed down the bottle. "It's hopeless. I don't know how to wind down."

  Mairead raised an eyeb
row. "Well, what do you do to relax?"

  "Code software," Rowan said. "Read technical manuals. Sometimes brush up on some trigonometry or Dungeons and Dragons stats."

  Mairead poked her. "Do better!"

  "Well …" Rowan felt herself blush. "Sometimes I look at pictures of baby cows. And baby ducks. Really, any baby animals. Especially when there are two of different species who are best friends. Seriously, the Earthstone is full of those photos. Did you know there's a puppy who's best friends with a baby boar?"

  "You're shitting me," Mairead said.

  "Am not! And there's a baby hippo who's best friends with a giant tortoise. Oh, and an orangutan who's friends with a baby elephant!"

  "Get out of town!" Mairead said.

  "I'll show you if you give me my minicom back," Rowan said.

  Mairead obliged, and soon Rowan was scrolling through photos of animal friendships. Mairead raised her eyebrows at first, but soon her heart seemed to melt. They kept scrolling, admiring the adorably saccharine photos.

  "Aww, so muckin' cute I could eat them," Mairead said. "Not literally! Well, maybe some of the piglets. Aww, no, I can't. Look at that piglet, he's in a mini wheelchair, and his name is Chris P. Bacon! My poor heart can't handle the cuteness."

  Rowan grinned. "See? I told you it's fun."

  "Not my usual jam," Mairead said. "I'm more of a grogging and bar fighting girl. But yes, this was fun. A lot of fun. Thank you, Row."

  Rowan bit her lip, remembering the task ahead. Only minutes from now—they would have to fly up there. To face the enemy. Maybe even die.

  "I had fun too," she said. "It helped me wind down, though I'm still nervous. I suppose that's why I work a lot. Because I get nervous. But I want to learn to unwind more. Maybe even to have friends." She frowned. "I don't think I've ever had a friend. Well, not a human friend at least. I love Fillister and Brooklyn to death. Almost as much as I love baby animals."

  "What about Bay?" Mairead said. "And Leona? Aren't they your friends?"

  "Well, Bay is my boyfriend," Rowan said. "That's not really the same. And Leona, well, she's a heroine. A great leader. A woman I admire. She's my role model. But not a friend, not really. She's too far above me. She's a mentor."