The Heirs of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 1)

by Daniel Arenson

  "Back up," she said. "I'll join you at the bar. Drunken Truckers is probably the only damn place in Paradise Lost that'll tolerate roaches, mice, and humans."

  Bay managed to back out from the duct—with some help from Rowan pushing. Soon both were seated at the bar. Several aliens gave them hairy eyeballs. A liquid alien swirled angrily, then wheeled his aquarium away. A toothed plant snorted, stretched out roots, and hobbled off in his clay pot. A transparent alien at the back, a ghostly creature who kept failing at drinking grog, floated away, leaving a puddle of ale. Bay bought them two more drinks—grog for himself, pink fizzypop for her.

  They sat in silence for a moment, regarding each other.

  Another human.

  Rowan almost wept.

  Before she could stop herself, she reached out and touched him.

  "You're real," she said. "You're really real." She bit her lip. "I sound like an idiot." She quickly covered her mouth, realizing she had revealed her teeth. "I didn't know any others were left."

  "There are a few of us," Bay said. "Survivors. They live in hiding. Many are gone." He stared into his grog, and demons seemed to dance around him. He looked up at Rowan, and his eyes were solemn. "And there are the Heirs of Earth. I used to be one of them."

  Rowan leaped from her chair, knocking over her fizzypop. Mice scurried forward to drink the spilled pink soda.

  "Terrorists!" she whispered.

  Bay scoffed. "That's what aliens call us. No, they're not terrorists. They're the good guys."

  She tilted her head, frowning. "So why did you leave them? Are you not a good guy?"

  "I . . ." Bay winced. "It's complicated. The guy who leads them . . ." He shifted in his seat and gulped down grog. "It doesn't matter right now." He narrowed his eyes, examining her. "How long have you been hiding here? Where are your parents?"

  What? No! Rowan had so many questions for him! Where were the Heirs of Earth? Did they really have guns, warriors, spaceships? How many other humans were there? Could she join the Heirs of Earth? Did Bay have his own spaceship? Could he take her to a planet with grass and sunlight? She didn't even know where to begin asking so much. And he was lobbing questions at her!

  "Bay," she said. "I have many questions, and I'm sure you do too, but we have no time. The marshcrab who runs this place is a nasty fellow, a bully called Belowgen. Only a while ago, he tried to shoot me. And he threatened to call the scorpions over. He thinks we humans are breeding in the walls. He's so disgusting." Her cheeks flushed. "Not that I think you're disgusting. Or that, um, breeding is. Or . . ." She cursed her hot cheeks. "That doesn't matter. What matters is—Belowgen wants us dead. And he might call the scorpions over. The same creatures that killed my p—" She bit her lip. "That killed so many humans already."

  Bay smiled thinly. "Yes, I've met Belowgen. He tried to stop me when I docked at Paradise Lost. A bribe calmed him. Rowan, I've met a thousand Belowgens at a thousand space stations and worlds. They rant about humans, call an exterminator or two, and by the time the guys show up, I'm long gone. They all say things like: 'I wish the scorpions came and took care of the humans.' Don't you worry about him. This is Concord territory. And Concord aliens hate scorpions just as much as humans. You don't have to hide in the ducts. You don't have to fear the Skra-Shen. If Belowgen threatens you again, I'll protect you."

  Rowan blinked at him. "A thousand worlds . . ."

  She could barely even imagine it. She hadn't even been to a thousand vents, let alone a thousand worlds.

  "Take me with you," she blurted out. "I don't need you to protect me. I've been protecting myself for years. I know how to fight. I'm small but I've fought many battles already. Half the time I enter a bar to steal money or food, somebody picks a fight with me." She touched her cheek, just under her eye, where she was still bruised. "But I want to see those worlds. A thousand of them. Like I've seen in the movies. Like I read about in books." The words were spilling out from her now. She could not stop them. "I want to see worlds like Middle Earth, with mountains and glens. I want to visit planets like Tatooine and Arrakis and see golden deserts. I . . ." She frowned. "Why are you looking at me funny?"

  Her cheeks flushed. Had he seen her crooked teeth? Rowan covered her mouth, cheeks burning. Or did he merely think her a fool who confused fantasy with reality? Perhaps she was a fool. Perhaps she had embarrassed herself, had blown her first meeting with another human.

  Bay frowned. "Middle Earth. Tatooine. Those are . . ." It was his turn to leap from his seat, spilling his grog. "I know those. I remember those! I read those books as a kid. But how . . ." He gasped, eyes widening. "You saw it." He pointed at her. "You saw the Earthstone!"

  Rowan blinked at him. "What, this?" She reached under her dress and pulled out the crystal. "Yeah. It's great."

  Bay's jaw unhinged. He touched the stone, then pulled his hand back as if bitten. "Whoa." He clutched his head. "Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. You have the Earthstone." He pointed at her. "You have the Earthstone."

  Rowan frowned. "Don't you have one?"

  "No!" Bay cried. "Rowan. Rowan!" He grabbed her hands. "There's only one Earthstone in the entire galaxy. It's thousands of years old! It's a priceless artifact! It contains the cultural heritage of humanity. All of humanity's accomplishments in art, philosophy, poetry, science, literature, ethics—the very essence of our race, all that we created, that we were—it's all contained within that single, precious stone."

  Rowan gasped.

  I wear the cultural heritage of humanity around my neck, she thought. And I've been using it to watch Monty Python and listen to K-pop.

  "Um, yeah," she said, twiddling her thumbs. "I've been protecting it. Our, um . . . cultural heritage."

  Bay sat down again. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. "We used to possess the Earthstone. The Heirs of Earth. Back when I was a kid, when I still flew with the Inheritor fleet. But somebody betrayed us. He was my dad's best friend, cofounder of the Heirs of Earth. He was like an uncle to me. His name was David Emery. He claimed to be descended from Marco Emery himself, the legendary author from Old Earth. That David bastard stole the Earthstone. He ran off with it. He betrayed the Heirs and stole humanity's heritage. Last I heard, the scorpions killed that cowardly son of a—"

  "He was not a traitor!" Rowan shouted, voice echoing across the pub. Her rage shocked her. "He was not a coward! David Emery was a good man. A kind and wise man! He was my father!" She pointed a shaky finger at Bay. "And you know nothing."

  The bartender turned toward them. "Hey, keep it down, pests."

  Rowan barely heard. Her tears flowed. Her chest shook. She leaped through the vent and crawled along the duct. Her world collapsed around her. She could barely see through her tears.

  Another human was here. And he had brought with him only danger, insults, and pain.

  Finally she reached her living room—the little area where several ducts met, allowing space for her blanket and shelves. And she found the place trashed.

  A large hole had been carved into one duct, then crudely patched up. Somebody had sneaked in, smashed her monitor and keyboard, then left. A bear trap was set on Rowan's blanket, toothy jaws open. A candy bar lay in the center of the trap.

  Bits of saliva and mud covered the living room. A piece from a model starship, covered with glue, clung to the ceiling.

  Belowgen had been here. Belowgen had done this.

  Rowan turned and crawled away.

  The time for hiding had ended.

  It was time for war.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Belowgen stood in his office, his mandibles clacking, his legs trembling with fury.

  Humans breeding in the walls. Threatening me. Infesting my space station. He grunted, and his barbels fluttered. I wasn't meant for this. I wasn't meant to ever be here.

  Belowgen looked around him. The office was large as far as they came. A private office, more than most had in Paradise Lost. But it was still a damn metal box. He had installed a mud bath, but it
was a pale imitation of the moist, foggy, aromatic swamps down on Akraba.

  His model starships, his one escape from the stress of his job, lay shattered around him. He had smashed them in his rage. Belowgen had spent years assembling these models, gently lifting plastic pieces and tubes of glue with his barbels—nothing to sneeze at, considering the models were made for species with hands. Literally nothing to sneeze at, not when you used the tendrils around your nostrils. Now his beloved models lay in pieces. Much like his dreams.

  He should be back on Akraba. Dwelling among the roots of wet trees. Rolling in the mud until the sweet scent of soil and spoor coated his shell. Finding a female, maybe two, marshcrabs with hard shells and soft innards. Protecting her eggs in a wet pit full of worms and moss and rotting things.

  Belowgen's tendrils drooped. He had been born a runt. The weakest larva to hatch from his brood of eggs. The other males had all chosen mates, had scarred his shell with their claws. So many nights, Belowgen had huddled in the mud, hearing and smelling the males fertilize the females' eggs. So often he wished he could join them, but he remained out in the cold, mud below him, starlight above.

  So he had flown to the stars.

  He had come to Paradise Lost. Up here in space, it didn't matter that he was smaller than his brothers, that his back leg was twisted, that his claws were dull. He had mopped floors, unclogged toilets, risen from janitor to security guard, then to clerk, finally to Head Administrator of Paradise Lost.

  He had no window in his office. Windows were reserved for the casinos and brothels, for those who brought money into Paradise Lost, not who sucked up a paycheck. But Belowgen could imagine Akraba orbiting outside, the planet of his kind, basking in the light of Terminus Wormhole.

  "Someday I will return a wealthy crab," he vowed. "Someday you will lay your eggs before me, females. Someday you will beg me to fertilize them, and your broods will hatch in my pit."

  But not if the humans remained.

  Not if they kept breeding in the walls.

  The past few years had been tough for Paradise Lost. Visitation was declining. Money was tight. Staff turnover was high. Every day now, his bosses called to berate him, and Belowgen never forgot they came from a species that loved crab legs. If Belowgen could not fix things, the entire station might shut down.

  The humans had caused this. The damn humans in the walls. Who wanted to gamble and grog when pests were crawling around you? The humans were scaring visitors away, and it was Belowgen's shell on the line.

  Belowgen ran Paradise Lost, but he did not own it. His masters lived on other worlds, places far nicer than this. If he failed them, if he let this infestation run wild, he wouldn't return to Akraba a hero. He would be chopped up and served to his lords on a platter. Instead of fertilizing eggs, he'd be served alongside them.

  The scorpions could kill the humans.

  Belowgen shuddered. His shell clattered, and he parted his mandibles. Then the terror became too great, and he curled up in the corner, legs folded beneath him.

  Yes, he had threatened the pest in the vents. He had vowed to summon the scorpions. But once you unleashed those creatures . . .

  Belowgen had seen the Skra-Shen scorpions before. Sometimes they crossed the border and visited Akraba to test their weapons. The marshcrab chiefs took the scorpions' money, then gave them clans of crabs to destroy. Years ago, Belowgen had stood atop a tree, watching as the scorpion starships flew, raining bombs on marshcrab broods. Every year, the scorpions returned with larger, more powerful ships, more weapons to test. And every year, Akraba's chiefs grew richer and fatter, selling their fellow marshcrabs for silvered scryls.

  They are marvelous creatures, Belowgen thought. Scorpions are true hunters. Apex predators. Next to them, we crabs are nothing.

  A longing filled Belowgen to kneel before the scorpions, to worship them, to roll over and expose his underbelly. There would be no shame to it. Only joy.

  And yet fear too.

  What if they saw Belowgen not as a fellow hunter but as prey? What if their claws tore through his exposed belly? What if the female marshcrabs heard of his weakness?

  Belowgen sloshed through the mud bath, then fished out his prized possession: a scorpion's stinger.

  It was a huge organ, so large he could barely lift it. It was empty of venom now. But it was still sharp, still powerful enough to crack a shell. Years ago, Belowgen had bought the stinger from a traveling merchant. Marshcrabs had no stingers, no pincers, only small claws on their legs. Here was a reminder of the scorpions' might.

  Belowgen scraped the stinger across his shell, just enough to etch a small line. He shuddered. He could imagine this stinger piercing him, injecting him with venom.

  No, I cannot summon those beasts. Not yet. They are too horrible. They are too mighty.

  He put the stinger away.

  He lifted his communicator and shook off the mud.

  "This is Belowgen, Head Administrator of Paradise Lost. I need the best exterminators in the galaxy. My station is infested with humans, and they're breeding. Come with guns. Come and kill them. I will pay fifty thousand scryls for each human head."

  It was ten times what he normally paid. But the best exterminators cost a splendid scryl. And Belowgen needed the best.

  He looked up at the bullet holes in the duct.

  "Soon, girl," he hissed. "Soon your head will hang on my wall."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Admiral Emet Ben-Ari sat among the refugees, listening to their tales.

  The ISS Jerusalem had once been a tanker, a vessel tasked with ferrying fuel between worlds. When Emet had bought her, she had already been decades old, rusting in a scrap yard. He had patched her up, lovingly working away the kinks and dents, scraping off the rust, installing shields and cannons and battle-class engines, turning her into a machine of war. On the outside, she was now a mighty frigate. The Jerusalem had become the flagship of his fleet, a symbol of hope for humanity.

  But on the inside, the starship still showed her humble origin. Her hold was a vast, cavernous place, once used for storing her cargo. Often she had ferried fuel. At other times, she had ferried water, taking the precious liquid to dry worlds. Once, Emet had heard, she had carried grain to a planet undergoing drought. Today no water, fuel, or grain filled the Jerusalem. Today, in this cavernous hold, huddled survivors of humanity.

  There were three hundred. They had come from deep in Hierarchy space. Sitting around Emet, they shared their stories.

  "The scorpions came for us at night," whispered a woman. She sat wrapped in a cloak, a kerchief hiding her wispy hair. Her eyes were sunken. "We were two thousand humans, hiding on a cold world of snow and icy mountains. There were native aliens there, tall and coated with white fur. They kept us humans isolated, walled off like lepers. But we had peace. We had some food. We traded with the natives. With our smaller hands, we were good at mending, stitching, sewing. They needed our skills. Then the scorpions came." She lowered her head. "The natives led them to us. Aliens we knew, our friends and neighbors—they betrayed us, brought the scorpions to our homes. A few of us tried to fight. The scorpions flayed them alive. We all heard them scream. Then they took the rest, loaded them into cargo ships. Only five of us escaped. We walked for so many days through the snowy mountains, and the scorpions were always in pursuit. Some of us starved. Some froze. Some fell to the scorpions." She wept. "I left my village with five of my children. By the time I found a smuggler ship to ferry me away, I had only one left."

  She clutched that one child in her arms, weeping, unable to continue her tale.

  A man spoke next. It was impossible to determine his age. He might have been young, but he was withered down to bones, his face like a skull draped with skin, a deathly mask.

  "The scorpions came to our hideout too. There were seven of us, living among aliens on a forested world. It was a hard life, but we got by. We foraged for nuts and sold them to the natives. One day we arrived at the local village to se
ll our nuts, only to find that the natives had betrayed us. The scorpions were there. They're seeking humans everywhere. They took me and my family. They crammed us into a cargo ship with thousands of other humans, captives from many worlds. They took us to a rocky moon. A gulock, we called it. And they . . ." The skeletal man shuddered. "They tortured us. They starved us. They laughed as we bled. Every day, they skinned a human alive. They made us watch. They used the skins to coat their thrones. I watched them skin my wife and children. I watched their flayed bodies live for hours. The scorpions let me live, because I was strong. I could work in their mines, dig for ore, and load the metal into Rawdigger ships. A Rawdigger helped me escape, but it was too late. Too late to save my family . . ." He wept.

  A young girl spoke next. "I'm an orphan. I lived in an orphanage with thirty other humans. One day a woman came to us. A human woman! She was very beautiful. She had long blue hair and very white skin, almost like an android. I could see metal parts on the side of her head, where the hair was shaved. She seemed kind. She said she would take us to visit our parents, that she had found them alive. She loaded the other orphans into a ship, but I saw the scorpions inside. I ran. She chased me, but I'm small and quick. I never heard from the other children again."

  "I saw the woman too," said a man. "She walked through our city. It was a city of a million aliens, but dozens of humans lived there too, hiding in gutters and basements. The woman with blue hair seemed kind. She told us she would bring us to a place of safety, a haven for humans. I followed her." The man winced and hugged his emaciated knees, the kneecaps prominent on the stick-thin limbs. "We all followed her. We went into her ship. But she took us to a gulock. There was so much agony. Those who starved to death were lucky. The unlucky screamed as the scorpions peeled off their skin. A few of us fought. My brothers lay against the barbed wire fence, dying so that I could climb over them, so that I could escape. I wandered the wilderness for weeks before finding a Rawdigger ship. The Rawdiggers helped us. The Blue Witch betrayed us."