"I was born in 2123," Ben-Ari said.
He gave her a sidelong stare. "Are you sure?"
"Quite."
He cleared his throat. "Well, in any case, the grand tour! Come now. Trust me. You'll love this."
When he speaks of his starship, he's excited, she thought. I wish he ever showed half that much enthusiasm about me.
Reluctantly, she followed him through the ship. The Marilyn was a small vessel, about the size of her own lost Saint Brendan. The Marilyn didn't have the latest stealth technology, and she was quite different from any other starship Ben-Ari had been on. Ben-Ari had only ever flown in the highly militarized vessels built by Chrysopoeia Corporation, the main contractor for the Human Defense Force. The Asmotic starships were more elegant, fluid, whimsical, like something out of a mid-twentieth century comic book. There were red barstools in the galley rather than simple folding benches, an actual jukebox, and a milkshake machine. Gleaming blue handrails ran along the walls, and the lamps were shaped as planets. A poster of Marilyn Monroe hung on a bulkhead, presumably the ship's namesake, alongside framed portraits of Buddy Holly, Elvis Presley, Audrey Hepburn, and other old icons, most of whom Ben-Ari didn't recognize. The symbol of Asmotic Institute—a cartoonish rocket, leaf-shaped, with two fins—was engraved on every door.
"She might look whimsical, but she's surprisingly good in a fight," Father was saying. "Armed to the teeth! A whole bunch of heat-seeking missiles, still functioning, and a photon cannon. Machine guns too. Purely for self-defense. She wasn't built for war. She was built for exploration . . . and for fun." He gazed around at Ben-Ari, eyes sparkling. "So, what do you think?"
"I think somebody attached wings to a 1950s diner and launched her into space," Ben-Ari said.
"It's the ice cream parlor, isn't it?" He laughed. "I installed that part myself. A little nostalgia for the long days in space. Do you like her? Come on, be honest! What do you think?"
Ben-Ari heaved a sigh. "She's a good ship," she confessed.
"Good!" Father said. "Because she's yours."
She spun toward him, her rage flaring anew. "Father. No." She gave a bitter laugh. "I should have known. Just more tricks with you. Do you really think that after all these years, I'll let you back into my life? That you can fly with us to find the Ghost Fleet, just another adventure for you?"
His shoulder slumped. His eyelids drooped. And suddenly he seemed so old. "Is the thought of traveling with your old man so horrible to contemplate?"
Ben-Ari closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and had to count to five. She looked at him again. "Don't you think of guilt-tripping me. I know all about Jewish guilt."
"No guilt," Father said. "I don't mean to come with you. No." He looked out a porthole at the rustling trees. "This planet is my home now. I've come to deeply love Nandaka—its pristine wilderness and its gentle people. I even got used to the rapid days and nights. I don't intend to leave. I will grow old here. Perhaps I will die here, surrounded by my new friends. But I think it's time for me to leave my old ship. To live among the natives. They need help, Einav. The marauders destroyed so much. The Nandaki need a soldier to help them defend themselves. They need somebody to help them rebuild. I can no longer hide away in my ship, letting them think I'm some ancient mystic." He clasped her shoulder. "And you need this ship. Take it, you and your crew. Chase your dream, Einav. Save the world again."
She looked at him, eyes damp. "Why are you like this?" she whispered. "Why, even now, does it seem you care more about the world than about me?"
And suddenly her father was crying. She had never seen him cry before. Not him, Colonel Yoram Ben-Ari, the famous explorer, a man so stern, so proud. But now the tears flowed down his cheeks, and he pulled her into an embrace. She resisted at first, then let him hold her.
"I love you, Einav," he said. "I know I never told you that before. I know I was a bad father. I didn't know how to show you my love. I knew how to be an officer, even at home, never a father. I'm sorry. But know this: Since the moment you were born, I loved you deeply. Perhaps I have lived for Earth. Perhaps, throughout your life, I have loved my career, my duty, and my homeworld more than my own family. I cannot atone for that now. But know that I will always love you. And I will always be very, very proud of you, of the woman you've become."
In the darkness of the brief Nandaki night, the ESS Marilyn took flight.
A meteor shower was raining on the forested moon that night, hiding their glow from the marauders below. The ship was old, and she had not flown for years, but she soared fast and true, breaching the atmosphere and shooting between the falling stars. Aboard her flew the last hope, the last heroes of humanity. Captain Einav Ben-Ari, leading the quest. Her pilot, Lieutenant Kemi Abasi, flying the ship. Her navigator and her eyes in the darkness, Staff Sergeant Lailani de la Rosa. Her computer systems analyst, her trusted warrior, and more importantly—her friend—Staff Sergeant Marco Emery. And with them flew a young Nandaki, loyal Keewaji, who had chosen adventure with a foreign race.
One among them was sorely missed. Addy was still a captive of the marauders, never forgotten.
Perhaps in the future, nobody would remember their names. Perhaps the world would fall and all memory of humankind would vanish. Perhaps they would save the world but their names would fade into obscurity. Ben-Ari knew that none of them flew here for glory, for fame; they knew what fame cost. They flew for a memory of loved ones, of green hills and blue skies. They flew for a dream—a house by the ocean, campfires on the beach. A dream of peace.
May we know peace someday, Ben-Ari thought, gazing off the bridge at the stars. May future generations look at these stars and see not terror, not monsters, but beauty and wonder.
"Azoth engine is primed, Captain," Kemi said.
Ben-Ari nodded. "Excellent, Lieutenant. Send us out there."
"Aye, Captain."
The stars stretched into lines. They shot out into the darkness.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Addy arched her back and moaned, wrapping her legs around him. Steve moved atop her, sweaty, thrusting into her, and Addy gripped him so hard, closed her eyes, and bit his shoulder until he cried out.
"Harder," she whispered into his ear, grabbing fistfuls of his hair. "Harder, damn it."
Dutifully, he fucked her harder. It had been too long. Too long without this, without a man inside her, without the smell of his sweat and musk, without the abandon of sex, without quenching that thirst inside her. She scratched her fingers down his back, tearing his skin, and he moaned with pleasure and pain.
"Jesus," he said.
"Think of me, not Jesus. Harder. Oh God. God!"
"Think of me, not God," he said.
"Faster," she moaned into his neck. "Faster."
She placed her hands on the mattress, and he gripped them, pinning her down as he moved atop her, and Addy surrendered to the feeling. The bed banged against the wall, and she didn't care if the whole bunker heard. She was beyond caring about anything but him, but this. Too long. Too long without this. Their naked bodies moved, damp, hot, slapping together.
Addy had always been too tall, too strong, had always felt too . . . beefy by boys like Marco, especially with the petite Lailani hanging around. But she felt so fragile with Steve. This felt so good, so right. The bed rocked, and the ship kept flying through the darkness, and she tried to move her hands but could not. He pinned her down. The webs wrapped around her. The spiders were moving.
"Addy . . ."
The voice of Orcus. The marauder with the missing eye. He licked her. He hissed into her ear. He mounted her, fucked her on the web, shoved a feeding tube down her throat.
"No," she whispered. "No. No!" Her voice grew louder. "No!"
She pushed the marauder off, scurried back, and hissed, teeth bared.
Steve sat before her on the bed, naked and sweaty. Concern filled his eyes. "Addy?"
She panted, trembling, and hugged herself. "I'm fine. It's just . . ." She shook her head
wildly, clearing it of memories. "Lie down. On your back."
She straddled him, and he cupped her breasts in his big hands, and she rode him, eyes closed, head tossed back. She was in control now, safer now, safer from the spiders, from all those who would hurt her. When she closed her eyes, the creatures grinned at her, licked their teeth after slurping the brains. So she kept her eyes open, staring down at Steve, letting the fire grow inside her, slowly, then erupt across her.
She lay beside him, curled up in his arms. In the old days, after sex, she would lay sprawled out, smoke a couple of cigarettes, and yammer on about hockey or wrestling. Today she just wanted him to hold her. To feel safe against his wide chest. To feel small, protected. To never leave this bunker. To never face the world outside. She had sex sometimes before a hockey game, thought that it gave her strength, but it gave her no courage for the battle today, only a taste of what she was so afraid to lose.
"I don't want to leave," she whispered, held in his arms. "I never want to go back out there."
Marco would have stroked her hair, kissed her forehead, spoken of soft love and comfort. Steve gave her a smack on the ass.
"Come on, Ads." He mussed her hair. "You're a warrior."
She shoved his hand away. "A warrior? To everyone else." She closed her eyes. "Out there, yes. I was a warrior on the ice. I was a warrior in the army. I was a warrior in the underground of Haven. And when I step out of this room, I'll be a warrior again. I'll be Addy Linden, ruler of the Resistance, tall and strong and full of fire." A tear fled her eye. "But I don't want to be a warrior today. I want to be soft. Afraid. Safe. Just for one day."
Steve's body loosened. He blew out his breath slowly. "It was terrible out there, wasn't it? In space. Fighting the scum."
Addy nodded, eyes still closed, tears burning. Her throat felt too tight. "Yeah," she said, voice hoarse.
"Man." Steve blew out his breath slowly, then shuddered. "Fuck that shit, man. Fucking sucks."
Eloquent as always, my dear boyfriend, Addy thought. That was another thing she loved about dear old Steve—he was the only man who could make her feel like an intellectual. Sometimes Addy had felt dumb around Marco and Ben-Ari and Kemi. There was no danger of that happening here.
She rose from bed, naked, drenched with sweat. She thought of showering, but she remembered that mold grew in the Ark's shower room, and she decided against it; she was pretty sure the tiles were evolving sentience. The whole damn world stank now. Nobody would notice if Addy did too.
"Come on, Steve." She pulled on boy shorts and a tank top. "It's time to fuck up some aliens."
Steve pulled on boxers, and they walked down the Ark's central corridor. It was a shadowy tunnel, the walls made of raw concrete. A few old lamps flickered on the ceiling, moths flying around them. Doorways peered into the buried school buses that formed the Ark's forty-two rooms. Bunks for families. A nursery. A kitchen. Storehouses. All filled with clutter, rust, dust, and rundown equipment from a thousand garage sales, black markets, and landfills.
The marauders have their hives, Addy thought. We have Jethro's Ark.
She and Steve entered the armory. It was the largest room in the Ark, formed from three school buses stretched in a row. The seats had been removed, and shelves full of weapons rose here, enough to supply a small army. Addy saw assault rifles, handguns, boxes and boxes full of bullets, even grenades and grenade launchers.
"My life's work," said Jethro, walking toward her from the shadowy back of the armory. "Took me thirty years to collect all these weapons." He looked around at the shelves, stroking his long gray beard. "Sold my house and most of my land. Sold all my tractors. Used all the money my old pa left me. Here are the fruits of my labor, the sum of my worth."
"I can't believe the HDF thought you were too crazy to serve," Addy said.
"Look who's crazy now," Jethro said. "The HDF are skeletons on my farmlands, and we're alive underground with enough ammo to blast the marauders apart."
Addy wanted to remind Jethro that the marauders had destroyed thousands of human warships, had killed thousands, maybe millions of trained soldiers, and that even three school buses full of old weapons was nothing compared to their might. But she kept her reservations to herself. Right now, they all needed hope.
A dozen other men and women stood farther back in the armory, pulling on fatigues and grabbing weapons. They saw Addy and saluted.
"Our squad leader—Addy Fucking Linden!" shouted a young man. "Heroine of the war!"
A young woman with flaming red hair hooted. "Time to kill some aliens with goddamn Addy Linden!"
A burly, bald man attached a grenade to his belt. "That's right, boys and girls, we got the famous Addy the Alien Killer fighting with us today!"
Addy stared at them. Farmers. Maybe a few veterans who had only seen combat from afar. The world knew the stories of her, Marco, Lailani, and Ben-Ari killing the scum emperor. People worshiped them as heroes or loathed them as war criminals. But this squad, these dozen people buried in the Ark, what did they truly know of war? They knew nothing of the horror, the blood, the fear that froze the muscles, the nightmares that haunted.
They would learn.
"All right, you perverts," she said to them. "Stop looking at me in my undies. I'm getting dressed for war."
Jethro had perhaps never served in the military, but he had stocked his bunker full of military uniforms bought on the black market, a mix of pilfered HDF fatigues and the cammies of various militias. Once more, as she had so many times, Addy dressed for war. Olive green trousers with tattered pockets. A breastplate of Kevlar, and above it a tactical vest. Heavy boots. A bandoleer of bullets. A helmet, the words Hell Patrol scrawled across the front with a permanent marker. She slung her assault rifle across her back, and she stuffed her pouches and pockets full of ammo, as much as would fit.
She looked at herself in the mirror, prepared to apply war paint, and paused.
She stared at herself.
She didn't know who she saw.
On the surface, she looked the same as always. Blue eyes. A nose that she had always thought too big. Under her helmet—blond hair, slowly growing back. She was something of a mutt, and her face betrayed that. In her features, she saw the broad honesty of her English and Scottish blood, the cold nobility of her Danish roots, and the fierceness of her First Nation ancestors. A bruise marred her cheek and a scrape lined her chin; she had always worn bruises and scratches as her makeup. The same face as always, not much changed since her teenage years.
But the eyes were different. Less fire burned in them. So much more ice. So many more ghosts.
Don't join those ghosts, Marco, she thought. Or when I die, I'm going to catch your soul and kick its astral ass. Be safe, Marco. Be alive. Come back to me.
She smeared the paint on her face. War paint. A mask. Perhaps she had always worn masks. Perhaps her uniform had always been just a costume.
Addy Fucking Linden, the heroine of the Scum War, she thought. If only they knew how terrified I am.
The squad was ready. Steve, wearing fatigues, grenades on his belt and an assault rifle slung across his back. Jethro, wearing a bandanna instead of a helmet, his white beard hanging over his tactical vest, his boots clattering with buckles. Thirteen men and women of the Ark, ranging from the teenage girl with red hair to white-haired men.
And me, Addy thought. Commander of the squad. Famous warrior. Survivor. A scared girl who only wants to hide again in her boyfriend's arms. She inhaled deeply. Put the girl aside, Addy. Put her aside for one more war. Let the warrior roar again.
"All right, boys and girls," she said. "Gather here and listen up."
They stepped closer. She reviewed her squad. None of them were experienced warriors. She missed fighting with Marco, Lailani, Ben-Ari, with soldiers she knew she could count on. Here were a bunch of farmers, preppers, eccentric survivors. But it was the only army she had.
"You all probably want some inspiring speech," Addy said. "I h
ave none to give you. War is hell. I won't try to rile you up with talk of victory, or honor, or any of that shit. Some of you will die today. Maybe all of you. You'll die in pain, your guts spilling out. You'll die shitting your pants and shouting for your mommy. Those who come back will never forget, never stop having nightmares. I know. I still wake up screaming most nights."
They all stared at her, somber. Their faces grew pale.
Addy spat right on the floor. "Ah, fuck this shit. This is why I'm not an officer. Ben-Ari would know how to inspire you. I just know the truth. We're going out into Hell today. And I want you all to know this in advance. Because if anyone wants to back out, do it fucking now. I would rather you stay behind than chicken out on the battlefield when the screams rise and the guts spill and the monsters roar."
They all still stared, silent. Nervous now. But nobody backed down.
"I see how it is." Addy nodded. "You're not scared enough yet. That will change. But I want you all to know something. Whatever hell awaits us out there today, that is nothing compared to the hell in the marauders' slaughterhouses. And every day, the marauders are leading thousands of humans to the slaughter. We can't save them all. But we can save a few. We can bring a few more back here. We can't defeat the marauders, but we can hurt them, if only a little. So long as we can do that, we'll keep fighting. We are the Resistance!" She raised her fist. "We fight!"
They all raised their fists together. "We fight!"
Jethro opened a crate, revealing animal horns and a bottle of hooch.
"Mead," he said, handing out horns to the squad. "Fermented honey. In the days of old, Vikings would drink of this holy elixir before battle."
"No beer?" Addy said. Beer and sweaty sex; she would always partake of both before a big hockey game.
"No beer." Jethro poured the golden liquid into the horns. "Today we are the new Vikings. Today we are the last warriors of humanity. Let us drink—for Earth!"
"For Earth!" they all cried out, raising their horns.
Earth Shadows (Earthrise Book 5) Page 18
