Earth Fire (Earthrise Book 4)

by Daniel Arenson

  "You're buying my silence," she said.

  "Not at all!" Pike leaned back. "We want you to function as a consultant. A liaison with the military. Our largest client, after all, is the Human Defense Force. But of course, silence is part of the job." He smiled thinly. "The military is so crude with sealing its information. Squeeze an orange hard enough and the juice leaks. When there's a corner office, a cushy salary, and a company car to lose, well . . . we find that leaks tend to be plugged." He licked his lips, reached out, and touched her shoulder. "Don't think of us as buying you, Einav. Think of us as . . . recruiting you to our team. Join us." A strange light filled his eyes, and his voice became breathy. "There are such terrors in the dark. There is such cruelty in space. And there is such profit."

  What the hell did I stumble onto? Ben-Ari thought. The admiral. Chrysopoeia Corp. Both trying to keep this hush.

  She shuddered to remember the dark world, a planet deep in no man's land, existing in shadow. The structure there, a pile of webs and tar overlaying a prison, still haunted her nightmares. The creatures within, monsters of claws and fangs, feasting upon human brains, still filled her nights. She would never forget seeing Malphas, lord of the beasts, staring at her from across the border. Grinning. His jaws full of fangs.

  The nightmares are coming, he had said. We will meet again.

  Ben-Ari stood up. Her bunk was so small her head nearly hit the ceiling, and Pike had to take a step back. She silently said goodbye to that airy office overlooking the ocean.

  "No," she said.

  Pike narrowed his eyes the slightest. "Does the salary not meet your expectations? Or is the office—"

  "Mr. Pike," she said, "as you said, there are terrors in the dark. There is cruelty in space. My duty is to fight it. For generations, my family has served, has fought evil. So long as there is evil out there, I will remain on the frontier. I will be humanity's first line of defense."

  The marauders lurk in the darkness. Creatures I'm not even allowed to speak of. Creatures they all want to keep hidden. Creatures I must fight.

  Pike stared at her for a moment longer, then sighed. He sat down and sipped his tea. "Yes, I was afraid you might say something like that. Of course, we at Chrysopoeia prepare for all eventualities." He wrinkled his nose. "Too much sugar."

  Movement caught the corner of her eye.

  Ben-Ari spun around.

  She leaped aside, hitting a cabinet.

  A dart flew, pierced the wall, and quivered.

  Ben-Ari drew her gun.

  She ducked, and another dart sliced her hair.

  Impossible. Impossible!

  She saw nobody. Nobody there! But still she moved. She thrust her gun, swinging it like a club, and heard a grunt.

  A man flickered into and out of existence like a crackling television set.

  She heard Pike rise from his seat. Ben-Ari spun back toward him, knocking him down with a roundhouse kick. She reeled back toward the flickering man. He had taken form now, wearing a suit overlain with cables—some kind of invisibility suit.

  The man raised his dart gun again, and Ben-Ari raised her own weapon, catching the dart against the muzzle. She thrust her pistol forward, hitting the assailant's nose, shattering it.

  She spun back toward Pike, who was drawing a gun from under his jacket. She kicked, knocking the pistol out from his hand. Back toward the man in the electronic suit. She lashed her gun again, driving the muzzle into his throat. He grabbed his neck, choking. Still she dared not fire.

  I can't attract more enemies. Silently!

  Pike managed to grab his gun, to fire. There was no bang; he was using a silencer. A bullet whizzed, hitting Ben-Ari's arm. She bit down on a scream. The bullet emerged from her flesh and lodged itself into her mini-fridge.

  Before Pike could fire again, Ben-Ari grabbed his head and snapped his neck.

  She turned toward the second man, the one in the invisibility suit. He was gasping for air, clutching his throat. His nose gushed blood. Ben-Ari grabbed him, knocked him down, and twisted his collar.

  "Why?" she said. "What are you hiding?"

  He stared into her eyes. "I . . . have failed. They know."

  Electricity crackled across his suit.

  Ben-Ari bit down on another scream. The electricity slammed into her arms, and she stumbled back, trembling. The man thrashed on the floor, his invisibility suit crackling, awash with electricity, and smoke rose. The electricity died with a crackle. The man lay dead.

  They know. They know.

  Still trembling with shock, her arm bleeding, Ben-Ari looked around the room. Both men lay dead. Both had died quietly.

  But had somebody been watching? Had somebody remotely activated the man's suit, electrocuting him?

  Somebody is still after me, Ben-Ari thought.

  Her head spun. She was losing blood. Her fingernails were burnt from the electrical shock. She still had her first aid kit in her bunk, the one from the war. She splashed antiseptic into the bullet wound on her arm, gritted her teeth, and began to bandage it.

  She froze, the bandage halfway around her arm.

  If I'm caught here with two dead bodies . . .

  She stood for a moment. She should report the attack to the military police or her commanding officer. She knew this. And yet . . .

  Ben-Ari didn't know how deep this ran. Admiral Komagata himself, commander of Nightwall, had insisted that she keep the marauders secret. Admiral Komagata—a man with a dwindling fleet, a man who depended on Chrysopoeia Corp building him more starships. Chrysopoeia had built this entire space station they all served on.

  If I report this attack, will the military investigate the powerful Chrysopoeia, or will they make sure I—a mere junior officer—disappear?

  She knew the answer.

  She pressed her ear to the door, gun in hand.

  She heard nothing.

  She kicked the door open, pointed her gun, burst outside, aimed left and right.

  A young private, a scrawny boy with freckles, squeaked and fled.

  No Chrysopoeia agents. No military police. But there, on the wall . . .

  A garbage chute. A chute leading to the incinerator.

  Ben-Ari grimaced.

  Come on, Einav, she told herself. You did a lot worse in the war.

  The hour was late, and nobody else walked down the corridor, but she worked quickly. The bodies were heavier than she was, and she was wounded, but fear gave her strength. She dragged them into the corridor. She pulled them up against the wall. She shoved them through the garbage chute; they barely squeezed through.

  Deep in the bowels of the space station, they would burn in the inferno, instantly cremated.

  Ben-Ari stumbled back into her quarters, covered with sweat, her arm still bleeding. She didn't have time. They would send more men after her. She dared not turn to her commanders; she didn't know who was working for who.

  "What the hell did we uncover out there?" she whispered.

  Door locked and gun in hand, Ben-Ari stared out her porthole. The stars spread outside, and in the distance, she could see Achernar, the star marking the edge of the demilitarized zone. They were waiting there. The creatures. The monsters. Malphas, the one who had smiled.

  The nightmares are coming.

  CHAPTER SIX

  After a night on Steve's couch, Marco brushed potato chips and cat hair off himself—which was odd, considering there were no pets in Steve's apartment. After guzzling down the black tar Steve called coffee, Addy and Marco headed back to the library, hoping to find a way back into their home.

  They found more protesters than ever.

  To make things worse, construction workers were also on the scene, trying to get by with some very big bulldozers.

  "Fuck," Addy said.

  Marco cringed. He didn't know if he could stand another night on Steve's couch, listening to Stooge snore and Addy scream to God with religious fervor. After the noises he had heard last night, he still had trouble mee
ting her eyes.

  Both he and Addy wore scarves, toques, and sunglasses, hiding their features from the protesters, construction workers, media personnel, and human supremacists. Nobody seemed to recognize them. A handful of passersby paused to snap photos of the library, but most hurried along the police barricades.

  A commotion at the edge of the crowd caught Marco's attention.

  A young boy stood there, wrapped in a black coat, his back turned to Marco. He was arguing with a policeman.

  "Let me through, damn it!"

  A woman stood beside the boy, her hair curly and blond, and Marco couldn't help but notice that she was quite attractive.

  "Yes, let her through!" the young blonde said, her accent Eastern European. "She lives there."

  "Yeah, that's my goddamn home!" said the boy. "At least, that's what the knucklehead who lives there promised me."

  Marco froze.

  He recognized that voice.

  That wasn't a boy.

  He ran forward, and she turned toward him. Her eyes widened.

  "Lailani!" Marco said.

  She gasped, stood frozen for a moment, then ran through the snow toward him. She hugged him. She wore boots with thick soles, but standing only four-foot-ten, the top of her head didn't even reach his shoulders.

  "No more buzz cut?" he said, touching her hair. It had grown into a boyish pixie cut, just long enough to fall across her ears and forehead. "Your hair is long!"

  "It's a fucking waste of time, washing and brushing it," Lailani said. "I'm going to chop it all off again."

  "Don't!" he said. "Keep it. I like it."

  When he had met Lailani five years ago, she had been an angry, haunted eighteen-year-old, a refugee from the slums of Manila. A recruit in the Human Defense Force, she had been all fire and ice. After cutting her wrists had failed, she had joined the army to die in battle.

  Marco had fallen in love with her, had tried to reach the joy inside her. And over time, Lailani had softened. She had learned to release her anger, to find some love. Today, tattoos covered the scars on her wrists—roses on the left wrist, lilacs on the right, her favorite flowers. These joined the dragon and rainbow tattoos on her arms, both now hidden under her sleeves. Her longer hair softened the tougher look her shaved head had given her.

  The longer hair also hid the scar on her head—the scar from her brain surgery. Marco had never forgotten. Lailani was only ninety-nine percent human. The rest was alien DNA, connecting her to the scums' old hives. Surgery had blocked the aliens' ability to control her mind. Today Lailani was as human as anyone—more than most, if you asked Marco.

  "Oh, Marco." She embraced him again and laid her cheek against his chest. "What the hell is going on here?"

  He kissed the top of her head. "A mess. A mess we'll solve."

  Lailani blinked up at him, eyes damp. "I just got back this morning. Nice welcome home party, huh?"

  "Welcome to civilian life!" Marco said. "Where instead of army bureaucracy and aliens, you get to deal with anti-war activists, fascists, and city hall."

  "And snow." She shivered. "I could never get used to snow."

  A high voice rose behind her, speaking with that Eastern European accent. "I've always liked snow. It reminds me of my home in the Ukraine."

  Marco raised his eyes, and despite his love for Lailani—a love he was fully, deeply committed to—he couldn't help but notice this woman's beauty. Her blond tresses cascaded, her eyes were large and green, and her smile displayed teeth whiter than the snow. She wore an elegant black overcoat, a beret, and boots with high heels. She reached out her hand to him.

  "Sofia Levchenko," she said. "Pleased to meet you. You are friends with Lailani, yes?"

  "I'm Marco," he said.

  "Nice to meet you, Marco," said Sofia, then pulled Lailani close to her and kissed her cheek. "You are very lucky to be friends with this one. She's a sweet flower." She played with Lailani's hair, then kissed her lips.

  Lailani blushed. "Not in front of my friends," she whispered.

  Sofia laughed and mussed her hair. "You're shy."

  Marco blinked, for a moment confused. This was more than casual affection.

  Addy hurried forward. "Sofia! Nice to meet you. Addy Linden." She spat into her palm, then held it out, ignoring Sofia's look of horror. "New to Canada? There's a coffee shop across the street owned by a Mountie, and he sells real, chocolate-coated moose droppings! Come, let me show you while these two old friends catch up."

  Addy grabbed Sofia's arm and all but dragged her away. When the elegant Ukrainian tried to protest, Addy overpowered her with talk of deep fried beaver tails. As she passed him, Addy gave Marco a quick, concerned look, then vanished with Sofia around the block.

  "We should get out of here too," Marco said to Lailani, glancing toward the protesters around the library.

  It began to hail. Marco and Lailani hurried through the downpour, covering their heads, and stepped down into a subway station, seeking shelter. Graffiti covered the walls, and a tattered poster for Space Galaxy III hung nearby. Somebody had given Captain Carter, the movie's dashing hero, a Hitler mustache and breasts. The train tracks plunged into the dark tunnel, and several commuters huddled on the platform, breath fogging. A phone stood by Marco and Lailani, its single button blinking red, and a sign hung above it. Thinking of jumping? You don't have to. Hit the red button now to speak to a counselor.

  "I missed you, Marco." Lailani embraced him again. "When I was out at the Oort Cloud, light-years away, I thought of you a lot. I love you."

  Marco held her close. "I missed you too. I love you too."

  "It's all such a fucking, goddamn shit-show," Lailani said. "The whole world is messed up."

  Lights flared out in the tunnel, and a train rumbled, clattered, screeched along the tracks, showering sparks. It must have been a hundred years old, coated with rust, some ancient, hollowed-out caterpillar of iron and tattered plastic. For a moment they could not speak, and all the world was shaking metal and concrete, whooshing doors, and commuters huddled in coats flowing in and out past sliding doors. With belches and creaks and screaming metal, the train left the station.

  "So," Marco said. "Sofia seems nice. Very . . . affectionate."

  Lailani met his gaze. "Do you remember how, three Christmases ago, we talked? I was just about to leave to the Oort Cloud. We knew I'd be there for three years. You told me that if I got lonely, I could date others, even sleep with other people—so long as they were girls. You said that! So long as they were girls."

  "Jesus, Lailani, I was fucking kidding." Marco's eyes stung, and his throat felt tight. "It was a joke."

  "You seemed serious."

  "Besides, even if I was serious, I didn't mean you could bring a girlfriend back home. Back here! To me."

  Now some anger filled Lailani's eyes. "I don't need your permission to do anything, Marco."

  "You do if you intend to live in my apartment," he said, allowing too much of his pain into his voice.

  She snorted. "Last I checked, gangs of communists and Nazis were fighting World War Three in your apartment. Besides, Sofia isn't my girlfriend. She's my mentor."

  "Oh, good to know she's a mentor. I would hate for a girlfriend to be kissing you in front of me. Did you even tell her who I am, Lailani? That I'm your boyfriend, your fiance?"

  Lailani lowered her eyes, and her fists loosened. "Marco, what we were . . . that was years ago. We were kids. I've barely seen you in years."

  He refused to cry in front of her. Refused to let his grief show. "Lailani . . ." He reached out to touch her cheek. "I love you."

  A tear flowed down her cheek. "I'm only here for a day, Marco. I came to say goodbye."

  "Goodbye?" Marco whispered. "But . . . you're out of the military now. You're a civilian. You can stay here."

  More of her tears flowed. "I can't. I met Sofia in a church. Out in the Cloud. They're called Sisters of Earth. They do a lot of charity work in the Third World. Sofia and I are
moving to the Philippines together." She raised her eyes, and some light filled them. "We're going to build schools. Mobile schools! Wagons with blackboards, chalk, books. We'll teach the children to read, to do their numbers, to find jobs when they're older. If I can save just a few orphans from the kind of childhood I had there . . . It's something I have to do."

  Marco took a deep breath, blinking rapidly. Another train roared by, and for a moment they couldn't speak, and the world was shadows and headlights and sparking metal. The train vanished down the tunnel like a burrowing insect in an alien hive.

  "Then I'll go with you," Marco said. "I'm not very religious. But I'll join your church. If Sofia will have me, it'll be the three of us. We can be together, Lailani. After all this time apart."

  She placed a hand on his chest. "Marco, you'd hate it there. It's hot. It's muggy. The towns we'll stay in—there's no electricity, no running water, no internet, no sanitation—"

  "As if the army had those things," Marco said. "And I survived."

  "And you were miserable."

  He bristled. "And Sofia can handle it?"

  Lailani's eyes flashed. "Sofia grew up a hungry orphan, running from the Russian tanks, and eked out a living by selling matches to soldiers."

  "Well, I'm very sorry that I don't have a miserable childhood story like you and Sofia, but that doesn't mean I can't help too, that—"

  "Marco!" She gave a mirthless laugh. "Listen to yourself. You only want to help to be near me. Not to actually help the children, to actually serve the church. I know that you're not religious. You'd only go there to be with me, and you'd hate it, and I'd feel guilty, and . . ."

  "And you want to be with Sofia," he said, voice strained. "Alone."

  She sighed. "It's not like that. Not like you think. I still love you. But . . ." She looked at her feet. "I love Sofia too. We found something. A connection. An understanding. A shared experience." She touched his cheek. "I have to do this, Marco. I love you so much, but I have to do this. Without you." She smiled through her tears. "I'll come back every Christmas. Just like from the army."