The Heirs of Earth

by Daniel Arenson

  Leona pulled the sword free and raised the red blade high.

  "I am victorious!" she shouted, voice hoarse. "I am Leona Ben-Ari, an Heiress of Earth! I am human! I am proud!"

  The crowd booed.

  "Cheater!" a horned alien cried.

  "Pest!" shouted an alien insect.

  They began pelting her with garbage. Leona remained standing tall, sword raised.

  And there she saw her.

  In the audience, near the very back, wrapped in a white cloak and hood.

  A human.

  Only one human. One among the dozens said to be hiding here on the desert world of Til Shiran.

  The human spectator was young, probably in her twenties. Her skin was dark brown, and a silver tattoo filigreed her cheek. Strands of long, smooth hair peeked from her hood. Despite her youth, that hair was the color of moonlight.

  A human, Leona thought. One who sees that humanity can fight. One who will speak of me to her friends and family. Who will inspire our people.

  Vultures descended to consume the dead Tarmarin. Two other gladiators stood in a nearby pit, putting on armor, preparing to fight. Leona left the canyon, sword raised, as the crowd booed.

  She passed through an archway carved into the cliff, entering a shadowy dungeon. Other gladiators stood here in barred cells: living rocks who rumbled and spewed smoke, cyborgs with blazing eyes and spinning fists, slender reptilians who could move like lightning, and a host of other warriors. Leona walked past them, ignoring their catcalls, her boots thudding against the stone floor.

  At the back of the tunnel, a tentacled alien sat in a stone nook, a cigar in his mouth.

  On most planets, Earth included, only one intelligent species had evolved, rising from an ecosystem filled with humbler animals. But some planets, such as Til Shiran, had produced two sentient species. Tarmarins were the scaly aliens who lived aboveground. Here in the nook lurked a Tiller, a member of Til Shiran's second sentient species.

  Tillers had originally evolved in holes and crannies, lurking in shadows, ready to reach out tentacles to snatch passersby. These days Tillers were often found in caves and tunnels, working underground to keep the planet running. The scaled Tarmarins lived on the planet surface, warriors and merchants. The Tillers remained underground, hidden from the sun, bean counters and pencil pushers.

  This Tiller hadn't noticed Leona yet. Each of his tentacles was busy with another task. One tentacle was writing in a ledger, another was rummaging through a chest, a few were polishing weapons, and one was busy slapping a groveling, toad-like slave.

  Leona slammed her bloody sword onto the counter, nearly slicing a tentacle.

  "All right, bub, pay up." She wiped sweat off her brow. "Thirty thousand scryls. Told ya I'd beat the bugger."

  The Tiller turned toward her. His single eye widened.

  "You!" His jaw hung open, and his cigar nearly fell. "You won the battle? A pest beat a gladiator?"

  Leona rolled her eyes. "This pest is gonna turn you into calamari unless you pay up."

  The tentacled alien snorted. "Get lost. I ain't paying no pest. I—"

  Leona swung her blade, severing a tentacle.

  The Tiller screamed.

  Leona lifted the severed tentacle. Head tilted, she examined the twitching appendage. It wriggled in her grip, suction cups opening and closing.

  "Interesting. How long do they live when sliced off?" Leona looked at the Tiller, who was still howling. "Oh, stop your whining. It'll grow back. And don't you reach for that pistol or I'll slice off another."

  The Tiller drew in his remaining tentacles, leaving his gun on the counter. He cradled his stump and gave her a sullen look. "Give it back."

  "Once you pay me."

  A few of the other gladiators were laughing in their cells. The Tiller flushed, rummaged through a chest, and pulled out a chinking bag. He tossed it at Leona. She caught it and looked inside.

  She smiled and nodded. Scryls filled the bag. Thousands of tiny crystal skulls.

  These are enough to buy a few rifles, she thought. Enough to arm a few Inheritors. Enough to maybe kill a scorpion.

  Her heart lurched.

  The darkness spread.

  The scorpions reared in her memory. Her wedding burned. Leona knelt in a pool of her own blood, reached between her legs, trying to stop it, to save him, to—

  She took a deep, shaky breath. She let fury flow over her fear.

  You did this to me, she thought, closing the bag of scryls. You hurt me, scorpions. You left me a widow. A grieving mother. And I will never stop fighting you. With every breath, with every beat of my heart, I will fight to destroy you.

  She had taken a step toward that goal today. She had inspired a human in the crowd. She had earned enough money to buy weapons for the Heirs of Earth. These were drops in the bucket. But drop by drop, she would fill an ocean.

  She spoke softly.

  "I am Leona Ben-Ari. I am the daughter of Admiral Emet. I am descended of the Golden Lioness. I am an Inheritor. I am human." She leaned forward, lips peeling back. "Never betray a human again."

  She tossed the severed tentacle at the Tiller.

  She reached over the counter and retrieved her rifle, which she had deposited here before the fight. The weapon was heavy with brass gears, and the stock was carved from real wood, lovingly polished. Leona had named the rifle Arondight after Lancelot's fabled sword, and it had saved her life many times. She slung it across her shoulder, then reached across the counter again.

  She grabbed her dark cowboy hat, similar to the one her father wore. She placed it atop her mound of dark curls, tipped it at the Tiller, and nodded.

  Then Leona turned and marched away. With every step, she moved closer to Earth.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Down in the canyon, new gladiators were fighting. One was an armored python, the other a snarling apelike beast. Their shrieks echoed, and their blood sprayed the cliffs.

  Leona watched for a moment from atop the canyon. The sandy wind ruffled her curly hair, nearly blew off her cowboy hat, and billowed her blue coat. A ring system surrounded Til Shiran, larger than the rings of Saturn. The sun passed behind the faded white rings, and for a blessed moment, the light dimmed and the temperature dropped. Leona allowed herself a deep breath, savoring the brief respite from the sun's blinding rays.

  Screams rose from the canyon below. The ape had cracked the python's neck; it was now feeding on the corpse. Only moments ago, Leona herself had battled in that arena, had earned a purse of crystal skulls, money to purchase weapons for the Heirs of Earth. Now she turned away from the canyon and the blood within. She faced the city that sprawled across the desert.

  Turmaresh was a vast city, home to millions. There were more aliens in this one city than humans across the entire galaxy. The city spread under the yellow sky, coating the desert, stopping only at the tan mountains on the horizon. Countless buildings rose here—minarets, temples, fortresses, workshops, homes—all built from the same beige sandstone. Not a single plant grew here—not a tree, bush, or even blade of grass. Here was a city of sand, stone, and sweat.

  The scaly Tarmarins, masters of this planet, were clumsy with technology. They mistrusted and misused machines, more likely to eat a keyboard than type on one. Yet aliens from across Concord worlds visited here. They filled the taverns and brothels and amphitheaters. Their starships hovered above, filling the sky with smog. Their vehicles rumbled down the roads, startling the local beasts of burden.

  Leona gazed upon the city, fists clenched.

  Aliens of every kind were welcome on Til Shiran. Hundreds of civilizations gathered here to trade, refuel, make and spend money, to grog and gamble and gossip. A city of sin but civilization too, a city where statues soared, where music halls echoed with song, where slaves and gladiators died in the dust, where the sky rumbled with engines as a thousand starships soared toward the stars.

  A city where we are vermin, Leona thought. A city of wonder where I
'm a cockroach.

  An alien rode by on a muler, a humped beast of burden. He tossed a rotten peel at her.

  "Out of the way, pest!"

  The alien rode off in a cloud of dust. Leona plucked the peel out of her curly brown hair.

  Even the mice that scurry underfoot do not envy us humans.

  Leona walked through the city. Before she headed back to the Heirs of Earth, she needed to walk here, to see if she could find more humans. To see if they needed her.

  "Whenever humans are in danger," she whispered, "we will be there."

  The words of the Heirs of Earth. The holy vow of every Inheritor. Wherever humans cowered, the Heirs of Earth were a beacon of hope. Brown trousers and a blue coat. A head held high instead of lowered in fear. A hand curled into a fist instead of reaching out for mercy. Pride instead of shame.

  She explored the city of Turmaresh, walking in the open, refusing to hide even when aliens cursed her, hurled rotten fruit, mud, and stones at her. Though filth filled her hair and coated her skin, Leona walked with her back straight, chin held high.

  I'm here to find any human who needs me. But also one specific human. She looked around her. She had sought him on a hundred worlds. Are you hiding here, my brother?

  Crowds filled the dusty, cobbled roads. Circular aliens spun forward like wheels rolling away from a car crash, laughing and chattering. A hogger sat under an awning—a furry alien with a thick snout and curved tusks. The pig was selling swords with "dragon claw" blades, if you believed the sign. To Leona they looked more like polished hogger tusks. A group of elderly, furry aliens with drooping white mustaches hunched over a wooden board, moving living game pieces attached to weights. The tiny pawns fought with needles and buttons instead of swords and shields. A massive, transparent aquarium rolled by, belching smoke. Leona had to leap aside. Inside the tank, mollusks peeked out of spiky conchs the size of pianos, glaring at her. One spat ink toward her, smearing the wall of his tank. Leona leaped aside again when a towering, six-legged camel stepped over her, as tall as a tree. Leona just barely dodged the steaming pile he left on the road. Alien flies the size of watermelons buzzed toward the meal, cackling with glee.

  "Out of the way, pest!" one fly said, buzzing by her.

  Leona was tempted to shoot the damn thing.

  "Eat shit," she muttered.

  "Don't mind if I do!" The fly joined his friends at the feast.

  Leona sighed. When flies called you a pest, you definitely needed to climb the social ladder.

  But right now, she had concerns more pressing than cheeky flies. Before she blasted off this planet, she had to find any human she could. Especially one long-lost human.

  She kept walking until she found a pub. A rusty sign hung above the doorway, depicting a snake curled up inside a mug. Leona stepped inside and waved away smoke. A handful of mustached caterpillars reclined on cushions, smoking hookahs. As Leona approached them, they curled backward, puffing smoke her way.

  One of the caterpillars, a beast the color of bruises with a glorious white mustache, harrumphed. "Who let the pest in?"

  Leona reached into her pocket, pulled out a photograph, and unfolded it. "Have you seen this man? His name is Bay Ben-Ari, though he might be using an alias. He's my brother."

  The caterpillar snorted. "He's a pest! We allow no pests in here. Begone before we call an exterminator." He blew smoke in her face.

  Leona left the bar. She stood on the sunny street, gazing at the photograph. She had not seen her brother in a decade. He would be twenty-four now. Leona had used software to age an old photograph, turning him from boy to man, but how accurate was it? If she finally found Bay again, would she even recognize him?

  I'll know him by his hand, she thought. His left hand, curled up since birth.

  She walked down the road, skirting a cloud of gaseous aliens, and entered another grimy pub. A few aliens with long, thin snouts sat at a bar, snorting ants from jars. A slug lay in the corner, carefully dropping grains of salt on himself, then shuddering. An alien that looked like a skin balloon hovered in the shadows, mouth opening and closing, gulping smoke that rose from a bowl of embers below. A reptilian humanoid stood by a window, sighing with pleasure as two females peeled off his old skin; he emerged reborn, his new skin soft and pink. An alien toad with stony scales sat in the fireplace, gazing balefully from among the flames.

  Here too Leona showed her photograph of Bay. Here too the barflies shouted at her, called her vermin, kicked her out. She left.

  Leona traveled from pub to brothel, from gambling hole to fighting pit. She peered into a hundred shadowy dens where aliens grogged, pounded each other into pulp, lost their scryls at games of dice and stones, and mucked in the mud with anything that could crawl, flap, slither, or hiss. Here was the city's rancid underbelly, far from its soaring temples and palaces. If there was anywhere a renegade human would hide, it would be here.

  Yet there was no Bay.

  Leona found no humans at all, not since seeing one in the crowd.

  "Time to blow this joint," she muttered.

  She began heading back toward the spaceport. Sand swirled around her boots, rising to coat her clothes, hiding the brown and blue colors. Her muscles ached, and her wounds stung. Leona couldn't wait to enter her spaceship, to fly away from this world, to float through the silent darkness of space. She could have a long, luxurious shower, then spend a few days reading, sipping tea, and relaxing before she reached the next world. There too she would search for humans, for hope.

  My time here was not a failure, she told herself.

  No, she had not found Bay here on Til Shiran. After years of searching, her brother still eluded her. But she had earned some money. She had inspired a human in the crowd. She had shown this planet human pride. Drop by drop, she would fill that ocean.

  Leona was walking across a dusty courtyard, passing by a sandstone temple tipped with golden minarets, when she heard the jeering crowd.

  Leona frowned, swung Arondight to her front, and gripped the rifle.

  Trouble. She knew its sound like an old song of childhood.

  Eyes narrowed, Leona followed the sound down an alleyway. She approached a stone archway, scattering six-legged rodents who were chewing on bones. The creatures hissed at her, each glaring with eight eyes. Past the archway, Leona found herself on a wide boulevard. Temples, obelisks, and shops lined the roadsides, selling everything from weapons to fabric to spices.

  It was a nice neighborhood. Leona didn't like nice neighborhoods. Nice neighborhoods attracted Peacekeepers.

  Leona hated Peacekeepers.

  She spotted them ahead. One of their tanks idled on the roadside, its white paint peeling. Several Peacekeepers stood atop a temple, wearing tan armor, gazing down at the boulevard.

  Galactic thugs, Leona thought, stomach curdling. The Peacekeepers were the police force of the Concord. But Leona feared them more than any criminal.

  These particular Peacekeepers were Tarmarins, same as the scaled beast Leona had fought in the canyon. On every planet, the Peacekeepers recruited the locals. On every planet, the brutes were the same—brainwashed, thuggish, and extremely dangerous. The Concord was a loose alliance of ten thousand civilizations. The Peacekeepers kept the alliance glued together.

  Leona hated them almost as much as scorpions. Almost.

  She saw the source of jeering now. A crowd filled the boulevard, pointing, laughing, mocking. Those aliens that could fly hovered above, wings flapping. One scaly creature with leathery wings spat down. The crowd surrounded something. Leona was a tall woman, but some of these aliens stood twice her height. She could see nothing from here.

  She walked around the crowd, approached a monastery, and climbed the wall. Leona had always been good at climbing, famous for scaling trees and cliffs even as a child. She hopped onto the monastery's balcony, ignoring the shrieking nuns. The nuns were female Tarmarins—smaller than the males, scaleless, and so frightened they fled indoors.

&nb
sp; Leona leaned over the balcony's balustrade, peering down at the road.

  From here, she could see what the crowd was surrounding.

  Her heart broke. Her fists trembled.

  She had finally found more humans.

  There were a couple dozen—men, women, children. They were on their knees, holding soapy sponges, scrubbing the street.

  The aliens surrounded them, spitting, laughing. When one human tried to rise, an alien kicked him down.

  "Scrub those streets!" shouted a burly Tarmarin. "Scrub 'em till they shine."

  Another alien, a beaked creature with shimmering blue feathers, pissed on the cobblestones. "Clean! Clean it with your hair, vermin." He gripped a woman's gray hair and tugged it down. "Use your hair as a mop."

  "We want to see these streets shining," purred a feline humanoid. She licked her paw. "I want to be able to eat off them. Clean them, filthy things!"

  The aliens kept laughing. Some spat on the cobblestones, and some emptied chamber pots on the road, splashing the humans. Whenever a human tried to rise, there was a foot, hoof, or talon to shove them down, to force them to keep cleaning. Winged aliens buzzed above, snapping photographs and laughing. The crowd kept growing as news spread.

  Fists clenched, chest tight, Leona looked toward the Peacekeepers. It was their job to keep order in the galaxy! Yet the armored brutes were simply watching the spectacle, leaning from guard towers and standing atop their tank. They had enough dignity not to join the jeers, but their eyes glittered with amusement.

  Leona gripped her rifle. Her hands shook.

  "Wherever there are humans in danger," she whispered, "the Heirs of Earth will be there."

  She brushed sand off her trousers, revealing the brown fabric. She dusted her coat, revealing the blue cloth. Inheritor colors. The soil and sky of Earth. Colors that meant hope. To most aliens, the Heirs of Earth was a terrorist organization. To humans in peril, these colors meant salvation.

  Leona took a few steps back.

  She raised her chin.

  Then she charged forward and leaped off the balcony.