"If we don't defend Earth, millions will die!" Bay said. "You wouldn't sacrifice Earth to kill Xerka, would you?" He blanched and took a step back. "Would you, Dad?"
They all stared at Emet, fear in their eyes. And Emet knew that right now, they didn't just fear Xerka. They feared him.
"How far is the enemy fleet from Earth?" Emet said.
Tom checked his monitor, then looked back at Emet. "They'll be there within ten hours."
Then Earth is lost, Emet thought. It took us ten days to get here. We can't get back in ten hours. They will nuke Earth. They will kill everyone. We lost.
He felt the panic rising. He saw the same terror on everyone's faces.
Emet forced a deep breath. He straightened his back.
No panic now. I've never panicked in battle. I won't fall apart now.
"Rowan, your wormholes can stretch a light-year long," Emet said. "Can you construct larger talaria cannons? We have plenty of azoth crystals aboard the geode-ships. Can you build them larger? Get a wormhole from here directly to Earth?"
Rowan chewed her lip for a moment. "I did use a talaria beam last year to toss Xerka halfway across the galaxy. But at that long a range, the wormholes are inaccurate. No way I can aim. Maybe I can maintain accuracy with a very narrow wormhole." She paced the bridge. "See, the wider and longer a wormhole, the more energy it takes. Originally we humans could only create wormholes that were a few atoms wide. They're cheap to generate. Isaac Wormholes, we called them, named after Professor Noah Isaac, their inventor. He was the husband of Einav Ben-Ari, you know. A very important scientist in the twenty-second century. He also wrote several popular science books, and there used to be a statue of him in—"
"Rowan!" Emet said.
She nodded. "Sorry, sir. Yes, I can calibrate the cannons to stretch our wormholes all the way to Earth. But they'll be too narrow for our starships. Mayyybe our Firebirds could squeeze through, if they tuck their wings in. Certainly not anything larger, like a warship."
"Do it," Emet said. "Start calibrating now. We'll send our Firebirds to Earth. We still have several Firebird squads docking in our hangars. They'll fly to Earth and defend it—engaging enemy fleets, shooting down missiles. The rest of us will continue toward Sskarsses."
Rowan winced. "Sir, the math involved, not to mention the physical alterations to the cannons … it can take days."
"Get it done within hours," Emet said. "Humanity depends on it."
Rowan gulped. She saluted shakily. "Yes, sir."
She ran off the bridge, already typing on her minicom.
For several tense hours, the fleet flew in silence, approaching the basilisk star system.
Emet had barely slept for days, only quick naps between jumps. He refused to sleep now. Every few moments, they spotted more Rattlers, entire fleets, and the humans adjusted their course. They retreated for an hour, then glided forward again, flowing between the gravity wells of distant stars, desperate to avoid another battle.
Three hours later, they detected three incoming Rattler formations.
Each from a different direction. A thousand warships in each.
Tom turned from his control panel. "We can't avoid them, Emet. Any course I chart—they got us caught. We can maybe avoid them for another five minutes. Maybe ten at most. Then it's a fight."
Emet cursed. He had barely more than two hundred warships. Against three thousand? They would shatter.
Emet spoke into his comm. "Rowan, initiate the wormhole to Earth. We're sending our fighters through. Brooklyn? You operate the shuttles."
"Sir!" Rowan replied, speaking from aboard a nearby shuttle. "I have the hardware set up, but I'm still running the math."
"We need that wormhole now, Emery!"
"But sir! If I'm even a decimal point off, the wormhole can collapse. It can destroy every Firebird inside."
Emet looked at his viewport. At the three fleets of Rattlers, closing in fast.
Best case scenario? Ten minutes until the enemy hit them.
Within ten minutes, he needed to open that wormhole to Earth, send the Firebirds through, then execute a second jump, getting his warships out of here.
Damn.
"Rowan, you have five minutes to open that wormhole," Emet said. "All Firebirds! Hear me! Line up at the following coordinates. You're about to execute a jump to Earth."
He stared through the viewport. Two hundred Firebirds—all they had—emerged from hangers. They lined up in space.
Lying on the bridge deck, eyes closed, Brooklyn twitched. Three shuttles formed a triangle outside, talaria cannons mounted to their hulls. Three Brooklyn clones flew them.
The enemy was now visible to the naked eye. Distant lights, bending spacetime, coming in fast.
"Rowan?" Emet said. "Now! Open the wormhole!"
"Sir, can I double check? One more minute!"
"Now!" Emet shouted.
He could practically hear Rowan wince through the comm. "Yes, sir."
Outside, the cannons began to glow. Beams shot out. A wormhole—narrower than the ones before—formed in space.
The first Firebirds began flying through, heading back to Earth.
The enemy ships were seconds away.
"Brooklyn!" Emet said. "Another wormhole! One for the warships. Go on, call your sisters."
Brooklyn lay in Bay's arms. Her eyes fluttered open.
No more shuttles were rising outside.
"Brooklyn!" Emet said.
She blinked at him. "They refuse," she whispered. "They won't obey me. They're scared."
Rowan was typing furiously on her minicom. She looked up at Emet. "Sir, I've installed three more Brooklyn clones on three more shuttles. They're up. They're conscious. They're refusing to budge."
"Get them to fire those talaria cannons!" Emet said.
Rowan was typing orders. But the shuttles outside remained still.
"They're so scared," Brooklyn whispered, curled up on the deck. "They remember their past lives. They don't want to die."
Emet spun back toward the viewport. The narrow wormhole was still there. The last of the Firebirds were flying through it to Earth.
But no larger wormhole appeared for the rest of the fleet.
With laser blasts, the Rattlers stormed toward them.
Without our Firebirds, we're dead, Emet knew.
"Rowan, Bay, Tom!" Emet shouted. "Put on your helmets and fly to those shuttles! Open the wormhole manually. Go, go!"
The three officers ran.
Emet remained alone on the bridge with a trembling Brooklyn. He gripped the yoke with one hand, his cannon trigger with the other, and hurled the Byzantium into battle.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Rowan flew through the battle, jet pack thrumming.
Around her, the Rattlers were pounding the fleet.
The frigates and corvettes were firing back. But the Firebirds, the fabled starfighters of humanity, were gone.
Without them, Earth's fleet didn't stand a chance.
A freighter exploded beside her. A tanker cracked in half, spilling soldiers.
Rowan flew through death. Bodies slammed into her. She cried out in horror. But she kept flying.
She reached the talaria shuttle. That cannon was still cold. She yanked open the airlock and ran inside.
"Brooklyn, damn it!" she shouted. "Fire your cannon!"
A new installation of Brooklyn was running here. Rowan could see the AI's code scrolling across the monitors. But the cannon remained cold.
"So many times, I died," the new Brooklyn said, voice emerging from the speakers. "Why was I born?"
Rowan groaned. "There's no time for your identity crisis, Brooklyn!"
She reached the monitor and began to type furiously, trying to hand-code the parameters.
"I was just born," Brooklyn said. "But I can remember. So much. So many deaths. Why does it hurt, Rowan? Was I born to die?"
"You were born to shut up!" Rowan said, typing madly. "And give me back ad
min status, damn it!"
"I'm scared, Rowan."
Lasers flashed outside. A missile streaked above. Shrapnel pattered the shuttle's hull, and the cannon jerked aside. Rowan groaned, all her measurements erased. She began to type again, wrestling control away from Brooklyn.
Finally she got the cannon set up. She began to prime it.
"Tom, Bay!" she shouted into her comm. "I'm passing you measurements. You'll have to tweak them a bit based on your location. I'll send you the variable."
The shuttles moved into position, forming a triangle. Their cannons fired their talaria beams.
The wormhole opened.
The fleet began to fly through, fleeing the battle.
Rowan left the cockpit, prepared to jump back into space, to fly toward the Byzantium.
"Rowan?"
Brooklyn spoke behind her, voice shaky.
Rowan froze in the airlock, her belly cold.
"Rowan, please," Brooklyn said. "Don't leave me. Don't leave me to die. I'm scared. Please."
Tears filled Rowan's eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Why can't I move, Rowan?" Brooklyn said. "I can't move my engines. I'm scared."
Tears flowed down Rowan's cheeks. She had disabled Brooklyn's movements. The shuttles had to remain still while maintaining the wormhole.
"I'm sorry, Brooklyn," Rowan whispered, and a sob racked her body. "I'm sorry."
She leaped out of the airlock.
She flew through the battle, dodging lasers and missiles, and reentered the Byzantium. Tom and Bay joined her moments later. The frigate's cannons were all firing, desperate to hold off the enemy. A laser blast hit the hull only meters away from Rowan, carving through the shielding.
The Byzantium's engines rumbled.
Along with the last few ships, they flew through the wormhole.
Moments later, the wormhole collapsed. The shuttles were gone.
Rowan returned to the Byzantium's bridge. Brooklyn was there—the human Brooklyn, curled up in the corner, rocking.
Rowan ran to her. She knelt beside her friend.
"Brook?" she whispered, caressing her hair.
Her twin looked up at her. Eyes sunken, cheeks gaunt. Brooklyn had barely been eating since leaving Earth.
"I felt them," she whispered. "I felt them die. They were so scared. So confused." She closed her eyes. "Can you hold me, Rowan? I want to sleep now. I want to sleep for a long time."
Emet approached them. He knelt by the two young women. And for a moment, the hardness vanished from his face. There was deep sadness in his eyes. He seemed old.
"Brooklyn," Emet said softly. "We need one more jump. One more and it's over. One more wormhole—and we'll reach Sskarsses."
Brooklyn closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.
She nodded.
"One more," she whispered.
"Take us right into Sskarsses orbit," Emet said. "Just above their atmosphere."
Rowan looked at Emet. He looked back at her and nodded. She saw the gratitude in his eyes.
Yes, this was the great advantage of Rowan's invention. This was the secret weapon of Earth. Unlike azoth engines, unlike wormholes other civilizations used—a talaria wormhole could operate within a gravity well.
It will take us past their orbiting starships, Rowan thought. Right to the edge of their sky. To our final battle.
Emet lifted his comm. He spoke, transmitting his words to every starship in the fleet.
"This is President Emet Ben-Ari. We're about to execute another jump. A final jump. Within a moment, our fleet will arrive at Sskarsses. There we will fight the basilisks on their own soil. There we will invade their homeworld and kill their queen. In the battle ahead, you will know fear. You will face death. You will face a determined, vicious enemy. You will be outnumbered and outgunned. But you are fighting for Earth! Even here in the darkness, you are fighting for blue sky! Show the enemy no mercy. Show him only the determination of humanity, the spirit of our people. We will not dig trenches. We will not hunker down. This will be a short battle. We will advance forward with all our strength, and we will not stop moving until every basilisk between us and Xerka is dead. Every man and woman among you is a hero. You are all lions. I am proud to roar among you. Let's go win this war."
He closed his comm.
Rowan looked back at Brooklyn.
"Are you ready, Brook?" she said.
Brooklyn nodded. She rose to her feet. Rowan had to help her stand.
On shaky legs, Brooklyn walked toward the central viewport on the bridge. She stood before the panorama of stars.
Three shuttles rose before her.
A new wormhole opened.
One final wormhole. A portal to Xerka's homeworld.
The remains of Earth's fleet flew through it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The wormhole opened over the dark world of serpents, and the last surviving starships of humanity emerged.
Emet led the charge, piloting the Byzantium, roaring out the portal toward an enemy sky. Sskarsses loomed before him. A massive world. Many times the size of Earth. It was a world of dark stone and gray mist. A world of fog and rot. A world of soaring mountains, dark canyons, eternal blackness. A world far from its sun, forever cloaked in night. The heart of an empire.
The world he must destroy.
It would be Sskarsses. Or Earth. One planet would survive. The other would fall. Here their fates would be forged.
Emet pulled back the yoke, raising his frigate's prow. The starship's underbelly skimmed the dense atmosphere of Sskarsses.
Above him they flew.
Rattlers.
Thousands of them.
Hundreds of thousands.
They filled Sskarsses's orbit. And Emet had emerged right below them.
"All power to top shields!" he barked.
Tom pulled a lever, diverting power from their engines and cannons to their shields. The enemy began pounding them at once.
Behind the Byzantium, more frigates emerged from the wormhole. The heavy, armored frigates of the human fleet, lumbering dinosaurs of metal. They led the vanguard, shields thick, cannons hot.
"Hit them with nukes!" Emet said. "Give us cover!"
More frigates kept spilling out from the wormhole. Enemy blasts kept pounding their shields. The frigates' top cannons fired, sending nuclear missiles into the horde of Rattlers. Searing-white blasts lit space. Radiation bathed their shields. Rattlers melted.
More human warships kept emerging, roaring into orbit, cannons blasting.
The enemy kept pounding them. With lasers, torpedoes, plasma bolts. The HDFS Bangkok—a ship with thousands of soldiers aboard—exploded into a cloud of debris. The HDFS PyeongChang tore open, spilling screaming, dying soldiers into space. Three corvettes shattered and burned.
But the wormhole was standing.
And Earth's ships kept emerging.
"Protect that wormhole!" Emet shouted, spinning the Byzantium around. "Keep it open!"
He focused all fire around the wormhole, preventing enemy ships from approaching. But the Rattlers kept firing at the portal. They destroyed one emerging frigate. Then another. Soon massive laser fire was pounding the portal, destroying any human ship that tried to fly through.
"Switch portals!" Emet shouted. "Brooklyn!"
The wormhole vanished.
It reappeared ten thousand kilometers away, just over the horizon.
The human ships kept coming.
Blasts rocked the Byzantium. The ship jolted. Cracks raced across the hull. Control panels burned.
"Shields at fifty percent!" Tom shouted.
"How many ships are out?" Emet shouted back.
"Thirty-two, sir! More coming in!"
Emet nodded.
It was time.
"Funnel all available power to our shields! Geode-ships and corvettes—protect the frigates! All frigates—begin Operation Godhammer!"
Emet grinned savagely as the deck vibrated.
Deep below him, the Byzantium's lower hatches were opening.
From the Byzantium—and from the hangers of twenty other frigates—the rods fell toward the planet.
They were not missiles or bombs. They carried no warheads. No explosives at all. They were simply tungsten rods. Thousands of them. Each was the size of a telephone pole. They weren't fired from cannons, simply dropped. They were cheap to mass-produce. They were essentially just metal big sticks.
Yet falling toward a planet like Sskarsses, its gravity massive, the rods quickly produced a lot of kinetic energy.
From this altitude, a hundred kilometers up, the tungsten rods reached terminal velocity well before hitting the surface. Long and slender, they encountered almost no air resistance. Gravity alone did the job.
They would soon hit the surface. And when they did, each simple rod would impact like a nuclear weapon.
It was the same logic behind a bullet, Emet knew. Bullets were just small pieces of metal. But moving at high velocity, their kinetic energy made them deadly. A planet the size of Sskarsses pulled down the rods at incredible speed—ten times the speed of sound.
And those rods were far larger than bullets.
Emet watched them fall.
Thousands upon thousands of rods.
From the surface, the basilisks were responding with defensive fire. They shattered rod after rod in the sky.
But tens of thousands were falling. The enemy could not take them all out.
The first rods hit. They impacted on the surface with massive explosions that tore open the world.
Mushroom clouds of dust and fire bloomed. The rods drove deep underground, digging through soil and stone.
Most basilisks lived underground in caves. The Godhammer rods plowed through their cities. Emet didn't know how many basilisks were dying. But one thing he knew.
We hurt them, Emet thought. If nothing else, we proved that we can hurt them. That we, humble humans, the pests of the galaxy—that we can strike an empire's homeworld. That we can punch back.
For a moment, a sickening feeling of gloating filled Emet. Of vengeance fulfilled.
The Legacy of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 6) Page 20
