Earth Shadows (Earthrise Book 5)

by Daniel Arenson

  Including the ravagers.

  Petty glimpsed scattering, severed claws and explosions of fire before they blasted into the distance.

  With Pluto's gravity so close, the Minotaur groaned in protest. Its hull dented. Smoke blasted from its instruments. Alarms blared and engineers howled in protest from the engine room. One bridge officer vomited, another man fainted, and Petty struggled to cling to consciousness.

  "Azoth engines off!" he barked. "All ships, return to regular spacetime and regroup around the Minotaur."

  They sealed off their azoth crystals. Spacetime straightened around them.

  They had traveled, within only a few moments, millions of kilometers. Pluto was now invisible in the distance.

  Five ravagers emerged from warped space behind them. It was all that remained of the alien raid. With missiles, laser beams, and the loss of three more Firebirds, the human fleet defeated the enemy.

  The battle was won.

  For a long time—shouting, running, spraying fire extinguishers, emergency repairs, and medical bays full to bursting.

  A thousand men and women—dead.

  An entire warship and seventeen Firebirds—gone.

  General Petty floated on the bridge of his flagship, its gravity still not restored. He gazed out at his army.

  A hundred ravagers nearly destroyed us, the last human ships, he thought. And a hundred thousand of them still fly around Earth. He inhaled deeply. His chest felt too tight. His heart—that weak muscle in his chest, still recovering from nearly shattering two years ago—ached and twisted. By God, Ben-Ari. Come back soon.

  From the speakers came frantic reports—mechanics sealing the breaches on the hull, power sources lost, the starboard engine sputtering.

  Petty turned toward his android.

  "Osiris, chart a course to the coordinates I give you. Have all other ships lock onto our beacon. We head out now."

  The android stared at him. She tilted her head, and mechanical clicks rose from inside her.

  "Sir, these coordinates lead to . . ." The android's eyes widened. Was her shock real or simulated? "The Ship Graveyard. Sir, why would we go to such a place?"

  Across the bridge, other officers glanced at one another. He could practically hear their thoughts racing: The Ship Graveyard? The place is cursed. Haunted. What madness could drive him there?

  But Petty needed something there.

  He needed a treasure buried in that graveyard.

  If they were to ever fly to Mars, ever liberate the Red Planet from the marauders, they needed to make a pit stop where all other starships feared to fly.

  Petty frowned at Osiris. He spoke loud enough for his entire bridge crew to hear. "It's not your job to question my orders, Osiris. Chart the course to the graveyard."

  The discipline of Space Territorial Command—coded into the android—kicked in.

  "Yes, sir!" Osiris said. "It'll be a few moments until our azoth engines are primed again, but the instant they are, we'll take off."

  Petty nodded. "Good."

  Osiris smiled. "In the meantime, sir, would you like to hear a joke?"

  "No," he said.

  The android ignored him. "Why are ghosts banned from the liquor store? Because they would steal all the boos! It's funny because ghosts don't need to eat or drink."

  Petty sighed.

  A voice rose behind them. "What is the meaning of this?"

  Petty turned to see President Katson walking toward him, wearing the magnetic boots they kept in case of gravity failures.

  "Madam President, the enemy might return any moment," Petty said. "You should be in the ship's bunker."

  "The battle is over for now," she said. "And we need to get the hell out of here, not fly to the most dangerous place in the solar system."

  Petty gave her a steely stare, the kind of stare that could cow even the most battle-hardened soldier.

  "Madam President, the marauders know where we are. We destroyed their sortie, but you can bet the house they sent out a signal before that. The enemy now knows there are still surviving human ships. They'll hunt us across the solar system. They'll send thousands of ships to every planet orbiting Sol to seek and destroy us. If we still want that chance of saving the Martian colonists, we need to do some grave robbing first."

  Katson paled. Unlike his officers, she had no reservations about speaking her mind.

  "General Petty, we suffered serious damage in the ravagers' assault. We lost a thousand lives! How many more will you sacrifice? We saw what only a hundred ravagers can do. Now might be our last chance to flee into exile. To start over." She trembled, then steeled herself. "It's not too late to flee. There is no dishonor in that." She squared her shoulders. "That is my order. You will obey it."

  Petty froze.

  His officers all turned to stare at him.

  She's right, whispered a voice inside him. This is why civilians rule the military. Because the instincts of a soldier—honor, duty, sacrifice—can, without prudence, lead to ruin.

  But another voice, deeper, more tempting, spoke too.

  Yet what is life without honor, duty, and sacrifice? We are not machines. We are human! We are noble. How would we live if we, the last soldiers of our species, fled and let the weak among us perish?

  Two voices. Two paths.

  And Petty knew—he knew—his officers would follow him whether he led them to paradise on another world or to the hellfire of Mars.

  "Human Defense Force Code of Conduct," he found himself saying, reciting the rulebook from memory. "Core Values, Article Seven: Space Territorial Command must defend the existence of humanity's colonies, their freedom from alien oppression, and the security of their civilians. Core Values, Article Eight: HDF servicemen and women will fight courageously in the face of all dangers and obstacles. They will persevere in their missions even to the point of endangering or sacrificing their lives."

  Katson narrowed her eyes. "I'm well familiar with the document, General Petty."

  Petty squared his shoulders. "Then you'll know, Madam President, that I swore on this document when I became an officer. That I cannot be asked to disobey it. That its laws are above the commands of any officer or government official. I am beholden to the core values of the Human Defense Force, and I will not break their rules. We head to Mars."

  She stepped closer to him. She whispered harshly for only his ears, a sound more like a hiss. "It will be on your head, General. If humanity perishes, if this is our extinction—it will be on your head!"

  "I am ready to bear that burden, Madam President. Now I ask of you: Return to your bunker. This ride will get bumpy."

  As she stormed off the bridge, Petty reached into his pocket. He felt her tags there. His daughter's tags.

  I wish you were with me, Coleen. I miss you every day.

  His wife—gone. His daughter—gone. Perhaps all of Earth—gone.

  And the fate of humanity itself, this young, ambitious, confused species—all in his hands. Victory or the total extinction of human civilization—all resting on his shoulders.

  No, not only mine.

  He gazed out into the darkness.

  On yours too, friends.

  He whispered their names like a prayer. "Captain Einav Ben-Ari. Lieutenant Kemi Abasi. Staff Sergeant Lailani de la Rosa. Staff Sergeant Marco Emery. You must succeed on your mission. You must find help. Or humanity falls."

  Osiris approached him. "Sir, we're ready to make the jump to warp."

  "Wait," Petty said.

  The android tilted her head. "Sir?"

  Major Hennessy, his security officer, rushed toward them. "Sir! We're detecting another flight of ravagers! They'll be here within moments!"

  The fate of humanity. Here we stand or here we fall.

  He inhaled deeply through his nostrils. He spoke into his communicator.

  "HDFS Sphinx, do you read me?"

  The voice of the Sphinx's commander came through. "Aye, sir! We're ready to deploy to battl
e."

  "Negative," Petty said. "You're not fighting today, Sphinx. I want you to break off from the formation. Chart a course to the following coordinates." He read them out.

  "Sir?" came the commander's voice. "That would lead us into uncharted territory. Sir, might I ask why—"

  "You're leaving," Petty said. "You and a thousand young men and women aboard. We're hedging our bets, Colonel. If we lose this war, your orders are to find a new habitable world. To start over. To rebuild the human race. Over and out." He hung up.

  "Sir, the ravagers are coming in fast," said his security officer. "We only have seconds."

  Petty nodded. He broadcast his orders across the fleet. "All ships other than the Sphinx, lock onto our beacon. We're making a jump in three, two, one . . . engage."

  The stars streaked into glowing lines.

  They blasted through space, charging faster than light, heading into the darkness.

  To the Ship Graveyard.

  To the haunting ghosts of warriors.

  To find a treasure that could save humanity . . . or doom them all to extinction.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  She faced the wall, arms crossed, eyes stinging.

  "Einavi." He spoke behind her, voice soft. "You have to talk to me eventually."

  Ben-Ari clenched her fists. She grimaced, struggling not to weep. Standing inside the Marilyn, she kept staring at the wall. Her chest was an inferno of raging fury.

  "Daughter." He placed a hand on her shoulder.

  She spun around, shoving him off. Her father took a step back, eyes soft with concern.

  He had aged. She had not seen him in eight years, and more white filled his hair and mustache, and more wrinkles surrounded his eyes. He was still tall, still thin—even thinner than before. He no longer wore his military uniform. Instead, the famous Colonel Yoram Ben-Ari wore Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, the most casual clothes she had ever seen him wear, this man who used to wear his uniform even off duty.

  However, some of the old soldier obviously remained. Father still kept a tight ship. The Marilyn, though covered in brush on the outside, was spotless on the inside. The ship was a good twenty years old, Ben-Ari knew from the model, but sparkling clean as if fresh out of the shipyard. Father had always taken so much pride in a clean ship, a clean home, a clean life.

  "Why?" she finally whispered, eyes damp. Her voice shook. "Why did you lie to me?"

  His face evinced his grief. He was a good actor. Ben-Ari gave him that, had always known it.

  "I wanted to contact you many times," he said. "I didn't know how to. Not without the risk of somebody intercepting. They had to believe I was dead. That the Marilyn had crashed and disintegrated on a distant world beyond our borders."

  "For what?" Ben-Ari said, raising her voice. "So that you could live here among the natives, with Nandakis to worship you, to serve your every need?" She gave a bitter laugh, gesturing at the back of the room. "For this?"

  Three Nandaki females knelt there, holding out baskets of fruit.

  Father's cheeks flushed. He spoke to the three. "You may leave, darlings."

  They backed away, bowing, leaving the fruit in the chamber.

  Ben-Ari barked a laugh. "So they worship you as a god. But I know you. You are no god. You're just a man. A weak, pathetic, lying excuse for a man."

  Father winced. "Those words wound me. But I deserve them. I know."

  She couldn't stop her tears from falling now. "I visited your grave! I thought I was an orphan! You left me alone in the world, alone to fight a war, while you were here, having these aliens serve you!" She was shouting now. "Did you fuck them too? Is that what you're into? Some kind of weird alien fetish?"

  She was being hysterical now. Ben-Ari knew that. She was being the bitter teenage girl again, ranting against the world, ranting against her life on military bases. She was too old to be an "orphan." She was too old to have tantrums. But still, after all these years, he could make her feel this way. Still he could hurt her. She was an adult now, a leader, a war heroine, but he still hurt her so much.

  Father stared at her in silence for a long moment, eyes still soft. "You're angry," he finally said. "I know. What I did to you is horrible. But you have to understand, Einavi. You have to see my side." He heaved a sigh. "I was tired. I fought for so many years. But with the war flaring, I knew they'd never let me retire. When I found this place, I knew it was my home. That I could rest here. After years of serving my species, I deserved rest."

  "And what of me?" Ben-Ari whispered hoarsely, able to shout no more. "You just abandoned me, like that, without a word? Letting me believe you're dead?"

  His eyes hardened. He squared his shoulders. "You didn't need me. You were already twenty years old. A grown woman. An officer in the Human Defense Force."

  "A cadet," she said. "You never even showed up at my graduation. I was the daughter of a famous colonel. Everybody there knew my name, waited to meet you. And you never showed up. By then, you were already here, weren't you?" Her voice rose louder. "Do you know what happened then? Did you hear about Corpus? About Abaddon? About the war with the scum? About what I had to do, how many I saw die?"

  He winced. "Is the war . . ."

  "Over," Ben-Ari said. "We beat the scum. Only for the marauders to arrive, to reach Earth too, to carry on where the scum stopped." Bitterness twisted her voice. "I assume you know about them."

  He nodded, face pale. He stepped toward a counter. With shaky hands, he poured himself a drink, then sat in a chair.

  "Yes," he said softly, gazing at nothing. Suddenly he looked even older than before. "Yes, I know of the marauders. I know what they did here. I did not know they reached Earth." He shuddered. "They're a nasty lot."

  Ben-Ari stepped toward him. She grabbed his glass from him and tossed it. It shattered against a wall.

  "Einav!" He leaped up. "That is rare Earth rye! From my last bottle."

  "You goddamn deadbeat loser!" She shoved him against the wall. "You lying piece of filth!" Her tears kept flowing. "Most of my platoon died! Millions died! We fought the scum on Abaddon. We fought the marauders in space. I needed you! Humanity needed you! And you were here all the time. I thought you were dead. You lied to me. You hurt me, like you always did." She could barely speak now. "Like you always did when I was a child. You never cared . . . Never cared . . ."

  She fell to her knees, shaking, sobbing. Father tried to wrap his arms around her, and she shoved him away.

  He sat down again, and he placed his head in his hands.

  "I was never a good father," he said softly. "I know it. Your mother, now . . . she was a wonderful parent. We both loved you so much, but I never knew how to take care of you. I never knew how to be a dad. She was a natural at being a mother." He laughed softly. "She could always make you laugh with her silly faces. How your eyes lit up when you saw her come home! Even if she was only away for a few moments. You look like her, do you know?"

  "I look like you," Einav said hoarsely, refusing to look at him, still kneeling, staring at the floor. "I have your hair and your eyes."

  "But you have her face," Father said. "And her wisdom. And her kind heart. When she died, I . . . didn't know what to do with you. I admit it. Suddenly I found myself a colonel in a war, my duty to travel the galaxy, to seek alliances with alien nations. All with a little girl, a precious child I loved so much, would have done anything to protect."

  She snorted. "You never cared for me. You just went off on your adventures, leaving me with some sergeant on some military base."

  "Adventures?" Father scratched his chin. "Yes, I suppose some were. There was the exotic waterworld of Gourami, quite lovely. And the forested world of the Silvans was rather nice. But for every nice adventure, there were ten worlds that tried to kill my crew and me. With fire. With radiation. With acid rain. Mostly with vicious local life that saw us as monsters, that tried to kill the invading aliens, that refused to believe we came in peace. Sometimes half my crew wo
uld die on missions. One time, only I escaped, leaving thirty dead corpses below for the natives to murder, rape, and finally eat. I'm pretty sure I got the order right." He cringed. "I know some of those sergeants were a little gruff, but surely they weren't that bad."

  "Nobody tried to brutalize my corpse," she confessed. "Not until I faced the scum, at least."

  "Einav, I know that saying sorry won't help." Father took a broom and dustbin and began sweeping up the broken glass. He paused and looked at her. "But I'm sorry. Truly."

  "You were right," she said. "It didn't help."

  Father sat back down. "Tell me, then. Tell me about the cosmos. About your life. About the war. Tell me what I can do now to help." His shoulders slumped. "I'm old now, and I'm tired, but I want to help."

  Ben-Ari turned away from him. Her fists clenched again. With a tight voice, she spoke.

  She spoke of fighting a battle at Fort Djemila, a larger battle in the mines of Corpus, and finally invading Abaddon with an army of millions. She spoke of rising to captain, of commanding her own ship, the Saint Brendan. She spoke of discovering a conspiracy to hide the marauders, of spending two years in prison after leaking the information. She spoke of Addy being captured, of Haven burning. She spoke of the marauders conquering Earth. She spoke of the legend of the Ghost Fleet, of her quest to find that mythical armada, of fleeing the marauders here to this world.

  But some things she did not share.

  She did not tell Father of the nightmares that filled her sleep. Of her guilt over so many soldiers dying while she lived on. Of the faces of those she lost—Caveman, Sheriff, Elvis, Diaz, St-Pierre, Webb, so many others—and how she thought of them daily. How she would never forget them. Perhaps she did not need to tell him. Perhaps Father already understood. And perhaps he never would.

  "Well now," Father said, standing up and dusting his shorts. "Can I give you a tour of the ship?"

  "Father, I'm not interested in—"

  "Come on, take the tour." A sparkle filled his eyes. "She's a classic Orion model Space Territorial Command explorer, built by Asmotic Institute in 2125. Same year you were born."