But the sound grew louder. Louder still. A rumbling. The bellowing howl of an ancient beast.
Briefly, Maria thought it a demonic god risen from the sea. But then she recognized the sound. She had heard this sound before.
"A machine," she whispered. "An engine." She shivered. "A plane. Maybe several planes."
The rumbles multiplied, came closer, louder. She stared up, but she could not see them. The rainforest canopy hid the sky. They were coming closer, they were over her now—directly over her! She ran, following the sound, leaping over roots. She gripped hanging ivy, swung over a stream, and there! Above the stream, where the canopy was thinner, she could glimpse shreds of sky. And she saw them.
Planes.
A squadron of planes, flying together, beasts of metal, leaving white trails.
Crisanto came to hover beside her. He seemed to gaze at the sky with her.
"They're flying to San Luna," she whispered.
Terror flooded her.
She stood frozen for an instant.
Then she began to run, screaming, calling for her parents, and—
A boom shook the rainforest.
Shock waves pounded into the trees, bending them, ripping off leaves and branches.
Maria fell.
Another boom.
Another.
The sound was so loud, and the forest shook, and branches fell onto her. Fire blazed in the distance. She could feel the heat. She could smell the smoke.
"Nanay!" she cried. "Tatay!"
Mother! Father!
She rose again, but more booms rattled the forest, and she fell, cowered, covered her head with her arms.
And then—the explosions ended.
And the forest was silent.
The song of Bahay was gone.
She heard no birds. No insects. Even the trees no longer creaked and moaned.
But she heard the fire. It crackled like laughing demons.
Maria stumbled through the rainforest, trying to reach her village, to find her parents, but her head kept whirling. She was so dizzy. So tired.
She found herself lying on a carpet of moss. She did not even remember falling. The forest spun around her, and the toad gazed into her eyes, and she slept.
Chapter Nine
Ride the Fire
The drones buzzed over the crowd of recruits, shooting electric bolts.
"Ow!"
"Dammit!"
"God!"
Soldiers winced, rubbing their wounds. The drones kept fluttering around, hurling shards of lightning.
"Into the courtyard!" the machines intoned.
A bolt hit Jon's chest. Pain radiated across his ribs.
"Goddammit!" he blurted.
The drones buzzed like the world's meanest wasps, herding the soldiers outside.
Hundreds of young soldiers spilled into a courtyard. Since parting from his parents, Jon had spent his time indoors, moving through the recruitment center. Medical tests. Interviews. Haircut. Shave. More tests. More doctors. More questions. Stop after stop in the concrete labyrinth.
Jon had no watch, but it felt like many hours had passed in that maze—at least a full day, probably half the night too. But here in the courtyard, the sun still shone. It was barely afternoon.
Time moves slowly in the army, he thought. My God, has it really only been a few hours?
Enlisted men served for three years at least. Many were kept longer. It would be a slow haul.
"Are those starships?" George pointed. "Goddamn, look at those things."
"They're shuttles," Jon said. "Shuttles from a mothership."
George's eyes widened. "Are we going into space? I've never been to space."
"Me neither," Jon said.
It was 2223. Humanity had been operating in space for generations. Starting with a few humble spacecraft in the twentieth century, humanity had built an empire in space. They had colonized worlds. Explored the stars. Fought wars with alien species.
And yet, most humans had never left Earth. Unless you were a soldier, an asteroid miner, an ambitious colonist, or just a little crazy, you stayed home. Space was full of disease, darkness, and nasty alien bugs the size of bears.
"We're going up there already?" George said. "What, to fight the war now? We've only been soldiers for a few hours!"
"I don't know, George," Jon said. "But I doubt they'll hurl us at the slits today. We haven't even gone through basic training."
The shuttles parked across an asphalt spaceport, fifty or more. They were crude, boxy crafts, painted olive green, covered with armored plates. Their wings seemed squat, woefully undersized, like the fragile wings of chubby metal bumblebees. But the exhaust pipes on those shuttles were large enough for a man to crawl into. Their engines probably carried a serious punch.
And suddenly it hit Jon.
A crushing wave of homesickness.
He had only left home that morning, but it washed over him. He thought about his mom making him pancakes. His dad rustling music sheets, helping Jon craft his melodies. Kaelyn, beautiful Kaelyn in the shade of the maple tree, kissing him.
He didn't want to go to space.
Yes, Jon wanted to do the right thing. To fight for his planet. To be a hero like the old heroes from the stories. But so much fear now flooded him. Not just fear of the enemy, of the wily slits in the jungle. But the fear of never tasting those pancakes, never completing his music, never feeling Kaelyn's lips on his own again. It was all suddenly too much, and his eyes watered. He dried them quickly, hoping nobody saw.
If Clay sees me cry, I'll never hear the end of it, Jon thought.
But only George seemed to notice. The giant placed an overgrown hand on Jon's shoulder.
"It's all right, bud," George said. "We'll get through this. Together. It'll be an adventure."
Jon saw the same fear in George's eyes.
He's trying to cheer me up, Jon thought. To be strong for me. But he's just as terrified.
He nodded. "An adventure."
A shuttle's engines rumbled. The exhaust pipes glowed red, belching out smoke. The shuttle rose several meters, hovered toward the recruits, and slammed down. The crowd of recruits stumbled back, coughing, waving aside the smog.
A drone circled above the crowd.
"The following recruits will enter the shuttle!" the little machine announced. "Recruit Troy Murray, ID TY23437. Recruit Damian Smith, ID TY23438. Recruit…"
It kept reading out names and IDs. A few soldiers hesitated. They glanced at the shuttles, up at the sky, then back at the concrete building. A few drones buzzed low and fired electric bolts. Recruits yelped. One by one, soldiers entered the shuttle.
Jon checked his dog tags. He saw an ID written beneath his name. TY23439. That was him now. A serial number. One among thousands here at the recruitment center. One among millions in the Human Defense Force.
An image flashed through his mind. Himself—a puddle of gore in the jungle. Somebody fishing this molten tag from the mess, unable to even read the number. Sending him home in a bag to the wrong family.
He shoved that thought aside. Some adventure.
Finally the shuttle was full. Jon had not counted, but he guessed that about fifty soldiers had entered. Most of the recruits still stood outside on the asphalt—including Jon and George, who had not been called.
The vessel rumbled, belched smoke, and rose to hover several meters above the courtyard. Engines growled. The world shook with waves of bass. Suddenly, with roaring heat and furious light, the shuttle's massive exhaust pipe spewed an inferno. Fire blazed with the wrath of gods. Standing below, everyone covered their ears and hunched over. The shuttle streaked upward, leaving a trail of fire.
Jon took a few steps back, coughing. He squinted, waved aside smoke, and watched the shuttle race across the sky. It blazed in a sphere of light, flying higher and higher, like a comet in reverse, rising from a ruined world. Within a few moments, it was just a distant speck in the afternoon sky.
Another shuttle taxied across the asphalt toward the crowd.
The drone began reading out more names. This time Jon counted. Forty-five names. The recruits entered the shuttle. This vessel too took off, roaring into space. Again, Jon and George remained below.
Shuttle after shuttle approached the crowd, picked up soldiers, and blasted into space. The crowd was seriously thinning out now. Only a handful of shuttles and recruits remained on the asphalt. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the stars emerged.
My first day in the army is ending, Jon thought.
His belly rumbled. He had not eaten all day. Not since his mom's pancakes that morning, which he had only picked at, his belly a knot. Again he felt it—that homesickness, that sting of tears in his eyes. He buried the pain.
"Goddamn, this is taking forever!" rose a high-pitched voice from behind Jon. "I'll die of old age before the Bahayans kill me."
A few scattered laughs sounded. Jon turned toward the recruit who had spoken.
She was petite girl with light brown skin, black hair, and startlingly large green eyes. Jon had never seen eyes so big and bright. They seemed almost luminous in her dark face.
She's rather pretty, he couldn't help but think.
"Could be nice to sit out the war here on the tarmac," Jon said to her.
The girl snorted. "Not for me. I volunteered for this. I can't wait to go kill some bad guys." She winked, aimed her fingers like a pistol, and pretended to shoot Jon. "Pow!"
He clutched his chest. "Ow, you got me."
The girl stuck her tongue out. "Ah, come on, ya big baby. I only shot ya in the spleen, you'll be fine."
Jon held out his hand. "I'm Jon. And the ginger giant beside me is George."
The girl tilted her head. "You mean the giant who just ran off to hide?"
Jon sighed. Indeed, his friend had hurried away. George was now busy staring at an interesting rock.
"Sorry," Jon said. "He's scared of girls."
The girl shook his hand. Her hand was small but her grip was firm. "Etty Ettinger is the name. I know, I know, it's a dumb alliteration. Blame my parents. It makes me sound like a second-rate superhero. Peter Parker, Clark Kent, and the amazing Etty Ettinger!"
Jon laughed. "What's your superpower?"
"Being invisible in a crowd, apparently." She tossed an invisible cape. "Captain Etty to the rescue! Always chosen last for sports teams, group projects, and fighting space wars!"
Jon laughed again, already feeling a bit better.
A glint caught his eye. Etty was wearing a Star of David medallion. Jon looked back into her eyes.
She caressed the amulet, and her voice softened. "My lucky star. I was born in Israel. I bought this medallion there, and it brings me luck." Her eyes hardened, and her hands balled into fists. "You got a problem with that?"
"Of course not," Jon said. "Hey, you guys are tough fighters."
She preened. "Damn right! We Israelis keep getting back up on our feet. The Romans destroyed us. So we rebuilt. The Nazis butchered us. So we rebuilt again. Then the damn aliens bombed Israel to dust. So again… we rebuilt." She sighed. "To be honest, it gets a bit tedious, but hey, it's good exercise."
"The repetition must be boring you to death by now," Jon said.
Etty yawned theatrically. "I know, right? Genocide is so tiresome."
A deep voice rose from nearby, disturbing their conversation.
"Well, well, look at Jon Taylor! First he romances a giant fairy, and now he's consorting with Jews."
Clay Hagen came strutting toward them, smirking. His far-set blue eyes glittered in his wide, pasty face. Several of his lackeys walked behind him.
"What you say, you ben zona?" Etty sneered and raised her fists.
"Get lost, Clay," Jon said. "Go find a rock to crawl under."
The brute flushed red. His eyes bugged out. He snarled like a wild animal. He lunged at them, barely human anymore. His fists swung.
Jon had not fought anyone since the third grade, but his instincts kicked in. He raised his arms, and protected his head. Clay's fist slammed into his shoulder instead. Even with the battlesuit, it hurt. The thug wasn't much taller than Jon, but he was far heavier. Clay had a chest like a gorilla, and his fists were like anvils. Jon stumbled a few steps back, pain pounding through him.
The remaining recruits formed a ring around the two combatants. Somebody began to chant: "Fight, fight, fight!"
Clay came at him again. Jon wanted to run. To hide. To seek help from George. But he knew: If I run now, I'll be running forever.
Against all instinct, he stood his ground. And he swung a fist of his own.
Clay raised his arms protectively. Jon's fist hit the brute's forearm. His knuckles crunched against the armored suit. Jon roared in pain.
I hurt myself more than him, he thought, wondering if he broke his knuckles. Some fighter I am.
"Kill him, boss!" shouted the bucktooth girl from earlier. She had been following Clay around all day.
"You're dead, Taylor!" Clay said. "You're fucking dead. You—"
"Leave him alone!" Etty screamed, lunging at Clay.
The Israeli was short and slender. Even in her battlesuit, she probably only weighed a hundred pounds. But she leaped onto Clay nonetheless, fists swinging. For a moment, she clung to his back, a honey badger attacking a bison.
"Get off, you whore!" Clay howled.
He grabbed Etty, ripped her off like a leech, and shoved her to ground. She hit the pavement, and Clay kicked her stomach. His boot thumped against her battlesuit, a sickening sound. Etty doubled over in pain.
Jon howled. Rage exploded through him, drowning his fear. He leaped at Clay, seeing red, ready to kill or be killed, and—
Electricity shocked him.
Jon screamed.
Another bolt hit him. Another.
He fell back, groaning. Through narrowed eyelids, he made out several drones. The little machines were bombarding the combatants, shocking him, Clay, and even Etty again and again. If the battlesuits offered some protection from punches and kicks, they did nothing for electric bolts. George raced toward them, only for drones to blast him too. The giant fell to the pavement, twitching.
"Into the last shuttle, recruits!" the drone buzzed. "Obey or be punished!"
Finally the drones ended their assault. Jon knelt on the asphalt, coughing. Smoke rose from his battlesuit.
He wanted to curl up and die, but Jon forced himself to limp toward Etty. She lay in a fetal position, moaning.
"Are you all right?" Jon said softly.
"Yeah." She groaned. "The bastard got me right in the ovaries. But I bloodied his nose, so we're even."
He helped her up. Etty stood swaying. She leaned against Jon, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her steady. Woozy as she was, Etty managed to turn toward Clay and flip him off.
Clay struggled to his feet too. Blood dripped from his mouth and nose. He laughed maniacally, teeth red.
"You're dead, Taylor!" He pointed at Jon, cackling. "You're dead! You, the giant, and the Jew! Dead meat!"
Beside him, the bucktoothed girl brayed with laughter. "Good one, boss!"
Jon looked at the laughing girl.
What the hell is your story?
Her buck teeth were the least of her problems. The girl was gangly, her eyes peered from behind massive glasses, and her frizzy hair stuck every which way. In some cruel irony from above, her name was Becky, instantly leading everyone to call her Bucktoothed Becky or just Bucky. She herself had accepted the cruel nicknames, using them herself, often with a laugh, perhaps seeking to hide her pain behind humor.
"You sure showed him, Clay," the girl said. She let out another bray of laughter.
"Shut up, Bucky, shut up!" Clay said.
Only one shuttle remained on the tarmac. Its hatch opened, and the drones herded the recruits in.
Jon entered, grumbling and rubbing his sore knuckles. Whatever optimism had flickered in him now died. Esp
ecially when he realized he'd be sharing the shuttle with Clay and his lackeys.
The shuttle was roughly the size of school bus, maybe smaller. Forty-odd recruits shuffled in. The drones zapped a few of the stragglers.
There was nobody else inside. Not even a pilot. Just a drone hovering around the cabin.
"Goddamn, the last time I saw a living human, he squeezed my balls," Jon muttered.
"Hey, don't we recruits qualify?" George said.
Jon snorted. "We're not human anymore. We're grunts."
This wasn't anything like the stories Jon's father had told. The army today was far more mechanized. Jon had read all about the Alien Wars, including the autobiography of Marco Emery, the War Poet, one of the great heroes. Back then, few robots served in the army, and recruits trained on Earth. But that had been last century. Back then, Earth had been just a fledgling planet, plagued by alien invasions and crumbling technology.
Today Earth commanded an empire.
Here we are, the modern military, Jon thought. A bunch of morons in a metal box.
There were no seats, only harnesses along the walls.
George's shoulders slumped. "No way I'm fitting into one of those harnesses."
"Suck in your gut, buddy!" Jon said. "We'll strap you in."
George sucked his gut for all it was worth. He barely squeezed into the harness. Jon had to grab the straps, place his boot against the bulkhead, and tug with all his strength. Etty helped, tugging another strap. Finally George was strapped into place, looking like a trussed ham.
Jon slipped into the harness beside his friend. Etty took the harness at Jon's other side. She was far smaller than the boys, almost too small. With her, it was an effort to squeeze the harnesses tightly enough.
Clay and his thugs strapped themselves to the opposite bulkhead. Blood still covered Clay's face. He licked his lips and grinned at Jon.
"Asshole," Etty muttered under her breath. "Next time I'm gonna kick him in the—whoa!"
The engines roared.
The shuttle soared, riding a blaze of fire.
The recruits jerked in their harnesses. The g-force tugged on Jon so powerfully he nearly gagged. The straps dug into his chest, and blackness spread around his eyes. He struggled for air.
The Earthling (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 1) Page 8
