"All right." He nodded. "I think it's time to wake up Brook. She can navigate a hell of a lot better when she's awake. Just get ready for her to freak out."
Bay and Coral stepped into the cockpit and took the two seats. Space spread out before them, and the galaxy's spiral arm shone above, smeared through the warp bubble. They woke up Brooklyn and spent a few moments calming her down, assuring her that no ants were aboard. Then they flew onward. They flew across the light-years. They flew toward the front line—toward the scorpions, toward a distant world with an ancient temple, toward myth and the hope of humanity.
CHAPTER TEN
The three starships flew across the darkness, seeking a distant blue world, and the enemy followed.
Leona sat on the bridge of the Nazareth, flooring her throttle. The frigate surged forward, rattling and grumbling. The Nazareth used to be a cargo freighter, and she was still slow and lumbering. And the enemy was inching closer every hour.
"Damn it," Leona muttered.
She glanced at the controls. The strikers were too far to see with the naked eye, but they appeared as dark triangles on her monitor. Fifty of them. Too many for Leona and her companion ships—two small corvettes—to defeat.
The strikers inched closer.
Every time she looked, the bastards were closer.
Damn.
"I'm telling you, Commodore, you should abandon that flying mule cart of yours. It's slowing us down. Who needs a big, slow, lumbering frigate? Come fly with me aboard the splendorous and speedy ISS Rosetta! She flies with the grace of a pharaoh's chariot."
The voice emerged through her speakers, rich and smooth as aged wine, coming from the starship to her left.
Leona looked out the viewport. She could see the Rosetta flying there. She was a slender, graceful corvette, and her captain had painted her hull with ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. The Rosetta was barely larger than the ship Columbus had sailed thousands of years ago—smaller than the lumbering Nazareth which Leona was flying. Rosetta was just large enough to be considered a warship, but small enough to be fast and agile, almost as fast as a starfighter.
Captain Ramses "Pharaoh" al Masri sat on the Rosetta's bridge. He waved at Leona through a porthole.
Leona tapped her controls, initiating a video feed. The Pharaoh's face appeared on the monitor before her—dark and sharp, ending with a pointy beard. A handsome face, but there was always something cocky about those arched eyebrows.
"You've suggested that already, Pharaoh," Leona said. "And I said no. We need the Nazareth. She's the toughest ship we have."
Ramses raised a small, porcelain cup of steaming coffee. "And the slowest." He took a sip and sighed with satisfaction. "Ah, perfect! Thick and black and seasoned with cardamom." He lowered the cup. "Sooner or later, Commodore, those scorpions are going to catch us. Now, you know me. A proper pharaoh is always up for a fight. And yet I feel some discretion behooves us. If Earth is truly our mission, we need speed more than firepower. A wise pharaoh, like any wise leader, chooses his battles."
A snort sounded through the comm—coming from the second corvette, the one that flew to Leona's right.
A new voice emerged through the speakers. "Well, I must be a Ra damn idiot, because I say we fight every last mucking scorpion. Choose battles? To hell with that! I'll fight 'em all, anywhere, anytime. Speed's only good for one thing—charging at the enemy, all guns blazing. Say the word, Commodore, and I'll blast those scorpions so hard they'll regret ever hatching."
Another monitor flickered to life, and Mairead appeared on the screen, chomping on a cigar. Her fiery red hair was in disarray, and she had smeared war paint beneath her green eyes—but not enough to hide the freckles that covered her impish face. She rested her feet on the dashboard, and she was twirling a pistol in her hand. She blew a ring of smoke.
Each captain was allowed to customize his or her ship, and Mairead had painted flames across the Kinloch Laggan, a snarling mouth filled with teeth, and furious eyes. Mairead had claimed it was the Loch Ness monster, but it looked more like a dragon. In either case, it suited the Firebug.
"We've been over this," Leona said. "Ramses, we're not ditching the Nazareth. There will be enemies on the way. The Nazareth might be slow, but she's tough as nails with furious firepower. Mairead, we're not engaging the enemy yet. I know you're eager for a fight. But we're three warships. They have fifty."
Mairead snorted and puffed out more smoke. She scratched her chin. "Hell, I've faced worse odds. I'll take 'em all out myself. You two can keep choosing your battles."
Ramses sipped his coffee. "As much as I'd love to watch your freckled posterior kicked in a fight, we need your ship. For the true battle—the battle for Earth. Fighting scorpions is for other Inheritors now. We're on the mission to Earth."
"Well, ain't this a pickle." Mairead cracked open a bottle of beer with her teeth. "The Commodore says we can't fight. But the scorpions will catch us soon. She says we can't ditch that giant turtle she's flying. So we can't outrun the bastards." She looked at Leona. "So what'll be, Curly? Fight or flight? You gotta choose one."
Leona glared at the younger woman. "Captain McQueen, you might be a wunderkind, a maverick pilot, and the youngest Inheritor to ever command a warship, but you will still call me Commander or ma'am. Not Curly." She passed a hand through her hair. "Besides, my hair is wavy, not curly."
Mairead snorted. "Ma'am, I've seen fewer curls on a pig's ass. Pardon my French."
Ramses took another sip. "So crude. Your mouth is filthy."
Mairead leaped to her feet and raised her fists. "Say it to my face, mate. I'll smash your mouth across space!"
The Pharaoh scoffed. "Firebug, if I were face to face with you now, rather than talking through the comm, I wouldn't smash your mouth. I'd wash it out with soap."
"That does it!" Mairead grabbed her yoke, tilting her corvette toward the Rosetta. "I can't smash your mouth, but I can smash your Ra damn flying piece of—"
"Enough!" Leona roared. "Captain McQueen, resume formation or I will relieve you of duty!"
"But—"
"Silence!" Leona said. "Damn it, McQueen, you are a captain in the Heirs of Earth, not a street fighter." When Ramses chuckled, she spun toward him and glared. "And you should know better than to goad her, Pharaoh."
Ramses had the grace to look remorseful. "I suppose you're right." He set down his porcelain cup. "We're all edgy, torn between fleeing and fighting. So what is the plan, Commodore? Which path do we choose—fleeing, as I recommend, or a fight that will almost certainly end with our deaths, as the crazy little imp suggests?"
"You better believe I'm crazy, you bastard." Mairead glared through her viewport. "They call me the Firebug, and I'll burn your ass if you ever try me again."
"Splendid." Ramses poured himself another cup of coffee and swallowed. He seemed to be swallowing a retort as well.
"Yes, we're slower than the scorpions," Leona said. "Yes, yes, Ramses, close your mouth—fine, I am slower than the scorpions. So we'll lose them in the wormholes. We're near a wormhole portal. We can be there within hours. We'll shake them off along the Wormhole Road."
"If we can get there fast enough," Ramses muttered.
They raced onward at top speed.
Three warships. Inside them—over a hundred warriors and a handful of starfighters. Before them—the vast emptiness of space.
Even flying as fast as they could, even using the wormholes, even if everything went smoothly, Earth was still six months away. It seemed an infinity.
They flew in silence.
Leona checked her monitor.
The strikers were closer.
Damn it.
She reduced life support to a minimum. She carried a hundred warriors in her hold, and she moved them to one section, then shut down life support entirely in the other rooms. She switched off her cannons. After a moment's hesitation, she switched off power to the shields too, disabling the electromagnetic field that surrounded the g
raphene plates. She figured she could withstand a few hours of space dust hitting her. Every drop of power she could squeeze out—she diverted to the engines. To speed.
And the strikers were closer still.
She should never have flown on this mission in a full-sized frigate. Her father needed the Nazareth, a heavy warship. She needed small, fast vessels. A mistake. A damn mistake. But she could not turn back now. And she would not abandon this ship, not a single cannon or missile or soldier.
Our mission is Earth. A fight might await there. And I will arrive well armed.
"Commodore." Ramses on the comm again. "Those strikers—"
"I know, I know!" Leona said.
"I hate to pester," Ramses said, "but according to my calculations, even at this speed, we're still an hour away from the nearest wormhole. And the enemy will be upon us in fifty minutes."
"So it's a fight." Mairead joined the call. She had replaced her cigar with a strip of jerky. She ripped off a piece like a wolf ripping flesh off a bone. "I'm ready. Let's show those bastards human pride."
Ramses winced. "There is no pride in how you're devouring that cheap meat. On my ship, we enjoy fine dining. I cook for my troops—all the delicacies of ancient Egypt."
Mairead belched and flipped him off. "Cook this."
The Pharaoh winced. "What are the Inheritors coming to? Riffraff piloting starships. Heavens above, how standards here have fallen. This would have not passed along the Nile, I can tell you that."
Leona tried to ignore them. She ran her own calculations.
Her heart sank.
"Captains," she said, "looks like you both get your wishes. New plan: fight and flight."
"Um, yay?" Mairead said. "Boo?"
"The scorpions are gonna hit us ten minutes before we reach the wormhole," Leona said. "That means that for ten minutes, we're gonna fight them—while simultaneously fleeing toward the wormhole. Fight and flight."
"Well, my dear Firebug, we should both be happy," Ramses said.
"Don't wet your pants in the battle, mate." Mairead tore off another strip of meat.
"I assure you, my darling, my pants are quiet safe unless there are lovely ladies around. And aside from Leona Ben-Ari, who is my commanding officer, I see none."
Mairead rolled her eyes. "Haha, very funny, Casanova. What say we make it interesting? Whoever kills more scorpions wins. Loser pays ten scryls for each scorpion less killed—fewer killed, that is—than the other person killed scorpions, if you subtract the total number of scorpions killed."
Ramses blinked at her. "I have no idea what you just said, my dear. But I'm on. I'm Egyptian, after all. We've been killing scorpions for thousands of years."
"Yeah, well, this ain't your ancient desert, mate. I'm going to kick your backside so hard that—"
"Enough," Leona said. "This isn't a game. These scorpions have killed millions of our people. Millions still need us. This isn't a time for banter."
Both captains were quiet for a long moment.
Finally it was Mairead who spoke. For once, her voice was soft. "Ma'am, I've seen the Earthstone. I know about the genocides humanity faced in the past. I know how serious this is. I know how mucking awful things are. Humor is how I cope with the terror."
Ramses lowered his head, sounding unusually contrite. "Yes, perhaps I too have been using humor as a defense mechanism. My homeland on ancient Earth fell, and all that remains is memory. We all lost our home. We all lost Earth." He raised his chin and squared his shoulders. "But we will regain it. We, my friends, will be the first humans in two thousand years to set foot on Earth. I believe this. The enemy cannot stop us. Nobody can."
They flew onward.
The minutes ticked by.
And the enemy drew closer and closer.
Leona diverted power back to her cannons and shields. The three warships took defensive positions. Battle was near.
She left the bridge.
She walked down a corridor, boots thumping. She passed by the hangar, where her Firebirds waited, then stepped into the hold.
A hundred warriors were there. The best and bravest Inheritors. They ranged in age from youths to graybeards. They wore no proper uniforms, just assorted garments. Brown trousers, cargo pants, leggings, even a skirt or two. Blue shirts, vests, cloaks, and coats. Most of the clothes were second or third hand. Some of these warriors were bald, others had long shaggy hair, A few sported Mohawks and piercings and tattoos. They carried a variety of weapons, no two alike—rifles, pistols, even swords and hammers. The Heirs of Earth were rebels and refugees, not a true military, and they scavenged and scrounged for their uniforms and weapons. But to Leona, they were the best warriors in the galaxy.
"Inheritors," she said. "I handpicked every one of you to accompany me to Earth. Yet the scorpions seek to slay us before we reach our homeland. Within moments, they will be upon us. They will attack. They will try to board us. Perhaps they will make it into our ships. But we will fight them! We will never surrender! For Earth!"
"For Earth!" they cried, voices thundering across the Nazareth.
When Leona returned to the bridge, the strikers were only minutes away.
"All Firebirds—launch!" she said. "All warships—prepare to give our birds cover!"
The Nazareth opened her hangar. The Firebirds emerged. The Kinloch Laggan and Rosetta each released two Firebirds of their own. The dozen starfighters took battle formation.
Klaxons began to blare. Red lights flashed.
Leona could see them now, closing in rapidly in her rear viewport.
Fifty strikers.
Leona's throat tightened. She forced herself to swallow.
Fifty strikers. Each the size of the Nazareth. Each a machine built to kill humans.
Her hands shook.
She was back on the beach. Seventeen years old. A grieving bride. Blood on her thighs and her husband dead and tears on her cheeks and—
No.
She inhaled sharply.
That was eleven years ago. I am a woman now. A commodore. A warrior for Earth. And I will see my homeworld again.
The strikers stormed closer.
Blasts of plasma hurled forth.
The Firebirds charged.
Leona gripped the Nazareth's yoke, flying as fast as she could as the battle exploded around her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
They fled, and they fought, and fire filled the darkness.
Ten minutes to the wormhole.
The strikers stormed toward them, plasma roaring, and the inferno bathed the sterns of the human warships. The ships fired their back cannons, shelling the enemy. The Firebirds charged, unleashing missiles. Plasma washed over a starfighter, and it burned and shattered, and missiles and shells exploded against the dark hulls of the scorpion ships.
Leona leaned on her throttle, desperate for more speed. She still raced forward, moving as fast as she could. No power to the front shields or cannons. Barely any life support. She kept firing as she raced across the darkness.
Another Firebird burned. The pilot screamed into the comm, then went silent.
Nine minutes to the wormhole.
More blasts hit the warships. The Nazareth shook. The strikers were closer now, right on their tail, meters away, nearly ramming into them. Leona fired shell after shell, pounding them back. Plasma washed across the two corvettes, burning their sterns.
"That does it!" Mairead shouted, spinning the Kinloch Laggan toward the enemy.
"Damn it, Captain McQueen, keep flying toward the wormhole!" Leona said.
"I am!" she shouted. "Fight and flight, remember?"
The Kinloch Laggan began firing her front cannons, pounding the enemy with full fury. Every blast propelled the corvette backward—toward the wormhole.
"I'm with you, Firebug!" Ramses said, spinning the Rosetta around. His cannons joined the bombardment.
"Bullshit!" Mairead shouted. "You only want to beat me at killing them!"
Her corvette soared, sp
un over a striker, swooped, and fired a barrage of missiles into the enemy's exhaust pipes.
The striker exploded, showering shards of metal across space.
Mairead whooped.
As the two corvettes fought, Leona focused on flying toward that wormhole.
"Remember, it's fight and flight!" she shouted.
Five minutes to the wormhole.
Leona still couldn't see it. But she kept flying. She was almost there.
Another Firebird exploded.
Mairead screamed as a striker pounded the Kinloch Laggan, tossing her corvette into a tailspin.
Leona frowned and leaned on the throttle, willing the ship to go faster.
"Come on, come—"
A striker rammed into her.
The Nazareth jolted forward.
Another striker slammed into their side.
The enemy warship extended spinning, shrieking drills.
Sparks rose from the Nazareth's hull.
Three minutes to the wormhole.
Three eternities.
"Scorpions aboard!" rose a cry from the hold. Gunfire rang through the frigate.
Bolts slammed into the Rosetta. The corvette spun madly, hull breached. The Kinloch Laggan was trying to right itself, but enemies rammed her. The strikers were everywhere. A Firebird crashed onto the Nazareth and burned against the hull. A striker charged overhead, another from below. Both came to fly before the Nazareth. Leona screamed as she plowed into them, and the frigate shook and burned.
Two minutes to the wormhole.
She fired her cannons. Again. Again. Desperate to knock the strikers aside. She drove between them, and her shields screeched, and their plasma washed over her viewport.
Leona fired shell after shell.
Ramses and Mairead came from above and below, slamming into the strikers, finally knocking them back.
Ahead she saw it.
The wormhole.
From here—a distant light, barely more than a star.
Just a minute away. Just an eternity.
She stormed forth.
Behind her—a clatter. A screech.
A scorpion burst onto the bridge.
A Memory of Earth Page 10
