Earth Fire (Earthrise Book 4)

by Daniel Arenson

  Welcome me to your ranch again, Ben-Ari thought. Today I need you more than ever.

  She had kept the president's personal communicator signature. She wrote to her now, broadcasting the message down to Earth.

  Dear Madam President. It's Einav. I need your help.

  For long moments—silence.

  Ben-Ari waited, checking her communicator. No reply.

  Then—message seen.

  Her breath caught.

  More silence.

  "Captain!" Kemi said. "They've spotted us. Earth Guard ships flying our way!"

  Ben-Ari cringed. "Get ready to blast our azoth engine. We might have to escape in a hurry."

  "No can do, ma'am," Kemi said. "We're too close to Earth. This isn't a tiny asteroid. If we make the jump here, the gravity field might crush us like a tin can."

  Alarms blared across the ship. Voices boomed out of the speakers.

  "HDFS Saint Brendan! Disarm your weapons at once and prepare to be boarded."

  "Ma'am, they're aiming weapons at us," Kemi said.

  Noodles rushed onto the bridge. "What the hell is going on?"

  "Should I disarm, ma'am?" Kemi said.

  "Wait," she whispered.

  "Captain, their cannons are heating up!" Kemi said.

  "Wait!" Ben-Ari said. Her communicator beeped on her wrist. She checked the small screen. A message appeared from the president.

  See me at once. My ships will escort you.

  "Ma'am, the Earth Guard ships have lowered their canons," Kemi said, voice shaky. "That was a close one."

  "I almost wet my pants," Noodles said. "But that's mostly thanks to the abysmal coffee on this ship."

  The Earth Guard ships, emblazoned with the blue and green colors of the Alliance of Nations, surrounded the Brendan. Soon they were all flying in formation, entering the atmosphere with roars of fire.

  They descended toward a green valley in Switzerland, shaded by the Alps. They landed by a glistening lake. Snowcapped mountains soared, pines spread across the foothills, and deer grazed in meadows. An ancient church rose on a hill. Here was a place of Old Earth, the planet as it had been, still untouched by the wars. Ben-Ari had grown up on military bases, raised by soldiers, playing with guns and riding in tanks instead of on tricycles. To her, this place seemed unreal, a hologram, a place so beautiful it could not truly exist on this planet of dust and grime and broken stones.

  President Katson met them on the porch of her lakeside chalet. She was a stately woman in her sixties, didn't dye her hair, and still showed a scar on her cheek—a scar from the Cataclysm fifty-five years ago.

  This woman has been fighting for Earth for more than half a century, Ben-Ari thought. First as a teenager, serving in the resistance to the scum. Then as an intelligence officer in the HDF. Today as president of the Alliance of Nations.

  "Einav!" The president reached out her arms, stepped forward, and embraced Ben-Ari. "It's so good to see you." She still carried a slight Georgia drawl, a remnant of her childhood in America. Her blue eyes softened with concern. "When I heard about all your troubles, what happened . . . I couldn't believe it. But you're safe here, Einav. You're safe."

  Kemi and Noodles were back on the Brendan half a kilometer away. A man was rowing in the water, undoubtedly a security guard, and no doubt security filled the chalet as well. But here on the front porch, overlooking the water, the two women were alone: an elderly president and a young officer, two leaders in a place of peace, two women in a galaxy that threatened to collapse.

  "Madam President," Ben-Ari said, finding tears in her eyes. Her legs shook. Finally all her emotions were coming out, all the fear, the loneliness, the terror of the past few weeks. "I didn't know where else to turn. I need your help. We all do."

  For an instant, it seemed that President Katson would cry. Her eyes reddened, but then she sniffed and stepped back from Ben-Ari.

  "Luka!" she barked. "Luka, some sweet tea please!" She turned back toward Ben-Ari. "I taught him to make sweet tea like back home in Georgia. The boy's a bit dense, but he's pretty enough to look out."

  A handsome blond man emerged from the chalet, carrying a tray with two tall glasses. He placed them down on a low table.

  "Should I bring out biscuits and gravy, Madam President?" His Swiss accent was thick.

  "Heavens, no, it's far too early for that. Be a dear and go vacuum the cat."

  "Madam?"

  "Get, get!" She waved him away. "See, Einav? Dumb as a doorknob and prettier than this lake."

  The two women sat by the lake, but Ben-Ari did not sip her tea. She had no time for pleasantries, no time to discuss handsome servants.

  "Ma'am," she said, "a new enemy has arisen. They've infiltrated the DMZ. They surround humanity's sphere of influence in space. A race of vicious, predatory aliens, larger and smarter than the scum. The military is covering it up. Chrysopoeia is providing them with live human flesh from their prisons. We're in grave danger. An invasion of Earth is imminent, and we have no proper defenses in space. I've gone AWOL from the military, ma'am, because I could not remain silent. I had to warn you. We must prepare!"

  President Katson leaned back in her seat, sipped her tea, and watched the lake. "Einav, I knew your father. We served together in the military."

  "I know," Ben-Ari said. "But right now, ma'am, we—"

  "He was a wise man, your father." Katson continued as if she hadn't heard Ben-Ari. "I admired him. He was a good soldier. Do you know why?"

  "Because he dedicated his life to the military," Ben-Ari said. "I know this more than anyone. I was raised on army bases. Even I, his child, was just a future soldier to him. Sometimes I think he made me just to make another warrior."

  And now, even with the marauders' threat, even with the Military Police after her, with the cosmos tearing at the seams, that old grief filled Einav. The grief of a motherless child. A girl who played with bullets instead of dolls. A girl raised by gruff sergeants instead of loving parents or even dedicated nannies. Yes, her father had been a good soldier. And he had made sure that everything in her childhood would lead to her following in his footsteps.

  "He was a good soldier," said President Katson, "because he knew when not to fight. He knew how to forge alliances."

  Ben-Ari nodded. "I remember. So often in my childhood, he'd fly off the planet. He'd fly to distant worlds. He'd meet alien species, negotiate, forge peace treaties, find allies. He never took me with him, of course. I remained behind with this or that sergeant. While he, the famous colonel, the great statesman, wove the galaxy together. Other soldiers destroyed. He built."

  President Katson nodded. "And that is what we must do now, Einav. We must build alliances. We must not rush into war but seek to forge lasting peace. And the greatest peace is forged with the greatest enemy." The president placed down her cup of tea. "Einav, I know about the marauders. Admiral Komagata and I speak about them daily."

  Ben-Ari leaped from her seat. She trembled. When she blinked, she saw the marauders, laughing, scuttling over the pristine mountains and vales, then vanishing in a flash.

  "Ma'am!" she said. "If you knew, why is Earth not defended? Where is the Iron Sphere? Where are the fleets? Why . . ." She shook her head in disbelief, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "And the prisoners fed to the marauders . . . I saw them, ma'am. I saw it happen."

  Katson paled. "You saw one . . ."

  "I saw more than one." Ben-Ari stared into her eyes, refusing to flinch. "I saw an army of them. I saw them stack the bodies of their victims—human bodies. I saw them carve open the skull of a living prisoner and feast upon his brain. And in the Augury, I saw a fleet of those creatures. I saw them surrounding us. How could you know and do nothing?"

  Red flashed across Katson's cheeks. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. She sipped her tea, but her hand trembled. The ice clinked. "Einav, this new enemy . . . They're not like the scum. They're stronger, smarter, beyond anything we could defeat, even during the gl
ory days of our fleet. What would you have me do? Fight them? No. That is a fight we would lose. The best we can do is . . . appease them." She twisted her lips, as if the tea had gone bitter. "It's not a word I favor, appeasement, and its historical connotations are clear to me. But it's the only choice, Einav. We made a decision. Myself. My ministers. My generals. The shareholders of Chrysopoeia Corp. We face a hungry tiger. All we can do is feed him scraps and hope to sate his appetite."

  Ben-Ari stared at her president in disgust. "And you think prisoners are the scraps. They're humans, ma'am. Human beings. Five hundred of them a day. More if the enemy's appetite grows. And what if they're not sated? What if they demand more and your prisons run empty? What then—the poor? Cargo ships full of people from the Third World, fed to the enemy to keep you, your ministers, your generals, and your shareholders comfortable in your chalets, while—"

  "To save Earth, yes." Katson rose to her feet, cheeks red. A strand of her white hair came free and fluttered in the breeze. "To save billions of us, yes, I would gladly sacrifice thousands, even millions. I would feed them to the marauders, because the alternative is our extinction."

  "The alternative is to fight!" said Ben-Ari. "To win! To rebuild the fleet back into its glory. To face this new enemy with the same grit and courage as when we faced the scum."

  "I will not doom millions of soldiers to death!" Katson was shouting now. "I will not watch billions perish on Earth, food for the marauders. Enough have died, soldier! We watched millions die only years ago. I will not condone more violence. And I will not hear more of your warmongering."

  "Warmongering?" Ben-Ari barked a bitter laugh. "I call for defense, not assault! It's you who are sending hundreds daily into the slaughterhouses. And you dare invoke my father's memory to justify it! Tell me, President. Do you do this truly for humanity? Or only for winning the next election?"

  President Katson gazed at the lake. The man in the boat was rowing toward the shore. Birds fled from his advance.

  "This has always been a beautiful place," Katson said softly. "This has always been a beautiful planet. Someday, Einav, maybe you will learn this lesson. That to save the many, we must sacrifice the few. That to protect something we love, we must take actions we hate." She turned toward Ben-Ari, and her eyes were damp. "All this beauty. But you will never see it again, child. Five years ago, you saved Earth. I will not let you destroy it now."

  The rower reached the shore.

  Men with suits and guns emerged from the chalet.

  Ben-Ari had no weapon; they had disarmed her before meeting the president. She turned to run, hoping to make a beeline to the Saint Brendan, but the ship was too far. More agents emerged from behind a shed and trees.

  They raised stun guns.

  Ben-Ari cursed. She ran, zigzagging, dodging several shots.

  "Kemi!" she shouted, but she already saw the agents race toward the Brendan, saw them fire their guns toward the engines. The ship was trying to rise, fell back down.

  An agent emerged from behind a tree. The blast hit Ben-Ari's chest before she felt it.

  She froze.

  She couldn't breathe.

  She tried to inhale. Her lungs would not obey.

  She took another step. She kept running.

  A blast hit her shoulder, knocking her back. She fell.

  Up. Run. Run, Einav!

  Her father's voice. They were laughing in the park, a stretch of greenery on some military base, and he chased her, pretending to be an alien, and she squealed as she fled him.

  Run! Run, Einav!

  A monster, a monster!

  She managed to rise again. She dodged an agent. She ran.

  She was running from the scum. She was running across Fort Djemila as her soldiers died around her. She was running through the hive.

  A third blast hit her, this one to her head. She could barely even feel hitting the ground. A man grabbed her arms, tugged them behind her back, and the last thing Einav Ben-Ari felt before losing consciousness was the handcuffs close.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  They sat on the apartment floor. A single light bulb hummed above. On their old pizza box—it was a month old by now—sat two bowls.

  "I never thought I'd say this." Marco stared dejectedly at the meal. "But I miss Spam."

  "I miss Spam all the time." Addy reached for her bowl. "Just close your eyes and scarf it down, buddy boy."

  For several days now, they had been eating the same dinner. Soppy, sticky rice, bought from the bargain bin at a wholesale shop an hour's walk away. The rice was grown locally in underground farms here on Haven, and once boiled in water, individual grains vanished, leaving a sticky, tasteless mush. A few corn nibblets floated in the porridge, golden treasures from the single can they allowed themselves to open each day, to share, to spread across three meals.

  "Is there anything else we can sell?" Marco said. "Maybe buy some cheap meat? Some vegetables? Anything other than fucking soppy rice porridge."

  "We already sold our atmosuits," Addy said. "And the scum claw you captured in the war. And your watch."

  "Maybe if you sold your hair to make wigs," Marco suggested.

  She glared at him. "Maybe if you sold a book."

  Marco winced. That one hurt. "You know I've been trying to sell Loggerhead. You know publishers aren't buying literary fiction now."

  "So write something better!" Addy said. "Write a fucking fantasy quest story with dragons and shit. Fuck me, write smut about Fabio banging vampires, just make some money from your goddamn writing."

  Marco forced down a bite of gruel. "Why don't you open the can of Spam you carry around everywhere if you're so desperate for protein?"

  "That's my souvenir from the army. You know that."

  "Well, you sold my souvenir!" Marco rose to his feet. "You sold my scum claw."

  Addy snorted. "Big deal. It barely fetched enough to buy a bag of milk. Which, by the way, you drank more of than I did."

  "We shared it, Addy."

  "Yeah, we shared it by you drinking three cups and me only two!" She leaped to her feet, teeth bared. "The way I see it, you can go pimp yourself on the street and let the junkies fuck you for money, but you owe me a glass of milk, and . . ." She let her words die, then lowered her head. "Fuck, Poet. I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I'm being a bitch."

  He sighed. "It's the hunger. I feel it too. It's making us antsy." He looked around him. "And it's this damn place. This damn prison cell, and no work, and we're out of cash again."

  He looked around the apartment. After a month of searching for work and finding nothing, their new home on Haven was still bare. Their only furniture was the pizza box, which served as their rug/tabletop, and the sofa cushions Grant had let them keep, which served as pillows or seats. Sometimes the storm faded, and the intense radiation of Alpha Centauri blasted through the windows, heating the apartment to intolerable levels. They still had no curtains, no blinds, and certainly no air conditioning on those scorching days when it must have soared to fifty degrees Celsius. They slept on the floor. They ate on the floor. When the storms outside raged in a fury, with their atmosuits sold, they stayed indoors. Trapped. A stained wooden floor. Concrete walls. Glass windows that showed either murk or blinding sunlight between them and the next brick wall. This was their world on Haven.

  "We'll try again tomorrow," Marco said. "There's that new office building we found. We'll knock on doors."

  Addy nodded. "All the other buildings loved seeing a pair of disheveled refugees in rags knocking on their doors. I'm sure it'll work this time too."

  "With that attitude, it won't," Marco said.

  She slammed her bowl onto the floor. Sticky rice oozed out. "Fuck you, Marco Emery. Fuck you with a scum claw."

  Leaving the mess, she grabbed a pillow, marched into her bedroom, and slammed the door shut.

  Marco sighed. With no paper towels to clean the mess, he had to scoop up the rice with his fingers and deposit it in the sink, h
andful by handful. For the first few days here, they had slept together in the living room. They had two blankets. With one on the floor, another pulled above them, it had seemed almost like a real bed. And Addy's presence at his side had helped keep the nightmares at bay. But for two weeks now, Addy had been snapping at him, then sleeping in her own bedroom, the door closed. And often, when she closed that door, Marco felt a sense of relief, free for a few hours from her sharp tongue and angry eyes. He missed her poking elbows. They had been kind compared to the Addy he knew now.

  It's the stress, he knew. It's the poverty. It's the cabin fever. Once we find work, she'll be the same old Addy, all goofy grins and jokes and hugs.

  But Marco knew, deep inside, that it was more than that. She had been happy on Earth, living at Steve's place. Marco had taken her to Haven with dreams of a house in the suburbs, a friendly dog, a peaceful garden. All lies. A scam he had fallen for. If such a place did exist on this planet, it lay far beyond the reach of the subways, and walking far through this hellish atmosphere—even if they still had their suits—was impossible. Perhaps the suburbs of Haven were only a few kilometers away, but they might as well have existed in another galaxy.

  He pulled his blanket and sofa cushion into his small bedroom. The storm was back on outside, slamming at his small window. He lay on the floor, blanket beneath him, and hugged his pillow.

  I miss you, Addy, he thought. I miss you, Lailani. I miss you, Father. I miss home, and I don't even know where home is anymore. I don't know if it was the library, the army, or this place. I'm lost. I'm lost and I don't know what to do.

  They had a handful of other items to sell. His watch, worth maybe a meal or three. The medals from the war he kept stuffed at the bottom of his backpack; they perhaps could buy another few meals. But sooner or later, Grant's patience would run out. The man perhaps admired them, but he didn't own the building. He could not let them live here rent free forever, and it had been a month already. After that, it was homelessness. It was the soup kitchen for their meals. It was hunting the dog-sized rats of Haven. It was a slow decay. It was death worse than any the scum had promised.