On a cold dark night, the angels of death came with fire.

Their starships plunged through the clouds, leaving wakes of flame. Their engines rumbled like hellish beasts hungry for flesh. Their wings tore the sky.

They found us. God above. They're here.

David stood on the rocky ground, staring up at the flaming shards of black metal, these chariots of vengeance. His breath died.

For years we hid. For years we cowered. For years we survived.

His chest shook. His legs seemed bolted onto the stony ground of this godforsaken planet. He managed to move his hand—it felt like bending steel—and grab his railgun.

But somehow the bastards found us.

The ships swooped, still blazing with atmospheric entry, shedding fire and ash like reptiles shedding skin. There were dozens. Maybe hundreds. As they drew nearer, doffing the last of their fiery cloaks, they revealed their true forms: black triangles the size of buildings. Red portholes blazed upon them like wrathful eyes.

To David, watching from below, they seemed less like starships and more like gods of wrath and retribution.

The hunters.

The bane of humanity.

The scorpions.

For so long, David had run, had hidden. Now his judgment day had come.

No.

David gritted his teeth.

I fled the war. But I'm still a fighter. I'm David Emery, descended of heroes from old Earth. He sneered. And I will fight.

He snapped out of his paralysis. He raised his railgun, a heavy assault rifle mounted with a grenade launcher.

He fired.

A grenade soared skyward at hypersonic speed. Even years after defecting, David's aim was still true. The shell slammed into a starship.

An explosion filled the sky. Shards of metal hailed onto the planet, hissing, digging holes through the rock. The wounded ship lurched and slammed into its neighbor. Both vessels careened, belching smoke and flame and a million sparks like cascading stars.

Yet hundreds of ships still descended, and more kept plunging through the clouds that forever draped this cursed world, and the sky burned.

David could not shoot them all.

He turned and ran.

He raced past his buckets of truffles and worms. He had been collecting the food for his family. Truffles and worms were the only edible things that grew on this world. David had chosen this place for its desolation. Harmonia was a distant planet, far from the front line, its soil barren of precious minerals, its sky forever wreathed in ash. A dead, forgotten world, useless to the great powers that fought among the stars. An oasis where he had hoped to survive.

How had the enemy found him? Had somebody betrayed him? Had the aliens intercepted their lone trading starship, captured the pilot, tortured him?

Right now that didn't matter.

Right now seventy-eight humans underground needed him.

Right now David Emery must do what he had always done. What all humans, their homeworld fallen, must do.

He must keep surviving.

As he ran, his amulet swung on its chain. The Earthstone. The memories and soul of humanity. Yes, this amulet too he must protect. This was a treasure that could not, must not, fall into enemy claws. The fate of humanity hung around his neck.

David reached the cave. He spun around to see enemy starships landing on the planet. Their hatches opened. The aliens stirred within.

David aimed his railgun and fired.

A shell flew into one ship. Flames roared and creatures shrieked. David spun away and leaped into the cave.

He raced down the dark tunnel.

"Scorpions!" he shouted. "Warriors, arise! Scorpions!"

Warriors? They were those who had fled the war. Cowards, some called them. Traitors, others said. But tonight they would fight. Tonight they would be warriors again. One last time—for humanity, for the remnants of this endangered species, hunted and dispersed among the stars. For a memory of Earth.

David kept running. Behind him, he heard the aliens scuttling in pursuit, their claws clattering down the tunnel. Their stench filled the cave. God, the stench of them—a miasma like burnt skin and ash and ammonia, the stink of piss on a smoldering campfire.

The smell summoned memories like demons, and again David was back there, fighting with the Inheritors, battling the aliens in their hives. Again he heard his comrades scream. Again he felt their blood spray him, hot and coppery. Again he saw the claws rise, tearing his brothers apart, and—

David shoved the memory aside.

You still have family, he told himself. Defend them. Survive!

"Warriors, rise!" David cried again.

And from the depths of the caves, they emerged. Twenty men in body armor, holding railguns. They were thin, haggard, hungry. They were perhaps cowards. They were those who had defected, had fled the war, seeking safety in darkness.

So let us now be heroes, David thought. One last time. If we must die, let us die with honor.

David joined his comrades. The cave tunnel was just wide enough for three men to stand abreast. David knelt, gun pointing ahead, and a man knelt on each side. Three more men raised railguns over their heads.

Before them, like demons surging from the abyss, they charged.

Shrieking.

Eyes blazing.

Hungry for the meals to come.

Here they were. Those who had slain David's brothers, who had slain countless humans. Those he could never flee.

Some called them the Skra-Shen, their true name. Others called them the flayers, for they adorned their lairs with the skins of their victims. Some whispered in fear of the bloodclaws or shadow hunters.

To humans, they had just one name. The name of an animal from old Earth, said to resemble these aliens from the depths. A name that filled every man, woman, and child with horror.

Scorpions.

The scorpions from Earth were small, David had heard. No larger than his hand. The aliens that charged toward him were the size of horses. Black exoskeletons coated them, harder than the toughest steel. Their pincers gleamed, large enough to slice men in half. Their eyes blazed—red, narrow, flaming with malice. Stingers curled over their heads, dripping venom.

They came from deep in Hierarchy territory, from a planet no human had ever seen. Some claimed the scorpions had emerged from a black hole, while others whispered of beasts from another dimension. They were apex predators. They had conquered countless worlds, yet humans were their favorite prey.

And now they raced toward David and his comrades, screaming for flesh.

David shouted and opened fire.

His railgun roared with fury and flame, and a shell exploded against a scorpion.

An instant later, his comrades fired too, screaming, blasting hypersonic lead against the enemy.

In old legends of Earth, the mythical heroes used gunpowder to fight the monsters from the darkness. Railguns were far deadlier. They used electromagnetic hellfire to launch bullets powerful enough to tear through buildings. One bullet hit the cave wall and plowed a hole through the stone, vanishing in the darkness.

Yet even these mighty weapons barely dented the scorpions' exoskeletons. One bullet sank into a creature's head, but only an inch deep, not even slowing the alien. Another bullet ripped off a claw, yet even that digit kept crawling, snapping, thirsty for blood.

David could barely breathe. His head spun.

We're going to die. We're all going to die here.

The scorpions' stingers rose.

Venom sprayed.

The humans screamed.

A blast of venom hit someone at David's side. The man howled as his face melted. The features dripped off, revealing the bone, until the skull too dissolved. Another venomous spray hit a man behind David, and the warrior bellowed, clawing at his face. The skin came free in his hands. Droplets sizzled against David, burning through his pant leg, through his skin and flesh, eating at his thigh bone like worms through wood.

David screamed and kept firing, launching both bullets and grenades, unable to stop the aliens. A scorpion reached the defenders. A pincer grabbed a man and lifted him high. The claw tightened, slicing the man clean in two. Entrails and blood spilled, and the scorpion tossed the two halves aside, laughing. Another warrior charged forward, face gone but still firing his gun, only for claws to rip off his limbs.

The carnage spread around David—fire, smoke, burning skin, scattered gobbets of flesh. In the old tales, battles were glorious and noble and pure, yet here was a nightmare.

And from the inferno, rose a voice.

A voice David recognized.

A voice gritty, hissing, a voice like flames crawling over sand.

A voice from David's deepest, darkest memories.

"Hello again, old enemy." Metallic eyes blazed through the smoke. "David Emery . . . the coward tries to roar."

Around him, the last defenders of the cave fell. David remained alone. He clenched his jaw, knelt, and grabbed a grenade from a dead man's belt.

David was bleeding, maybe dying. But he had no time for pain.

He hurled the grenade above the hissing, cackling creatures. He aimed not at them—but at the ceiling.

He turned and ran.

Behind him, the explosion rocked the tunnel. Fire washed across David's back. Stones rained. Shock waves pounded him, knocking him down. Sound pulsed across him like waves, the roar of a god, rising louder and louder until something shattered in his ears and the world was ringing sirens and white light.

David lay for a moment, maybe dying, blanketed in stones and heat and pounding sound.

He forced himself up, leaving blood on the stones, and turned to see that the tunnel had collapsed behind him.

For an instant, he dared to hope. Dared to believe that the boulders had buried the scorpions. That perhaps he had redeemed himself, had slain the beasts.

Then the stones shifted. Cackles rose behind them. Dust flew and rocks tumbled. Behind the blockage, the scorpions were still alive.

And they were digging.

David limped deeper into the cave, barely able to run now, his ears ringing, his legs bleeding. He had only moments, he knew, until the scorpions surged again.

I have to get you out.

His blood kept flowing.

I have to save you, my family.

He limped onward, past and present blending. The ghosts of his dead brothers danced before his eyes, and behind him the creatures howled.

He stumbled into the crystal cavern, the home he had built here for his community. When David had found this place two years ago, he had thought it beautiful. Silver and indigo quartz covered the walls. Crystalline stalagmites rose like the towers of a gleaming city. Stalactites shimmered, shining with internal fire. Glowing microbes lived inside the crystals, filling them with blue and lavender light. David still remembered the day he had brought his family here, how his wife's eyes had widened in wonder, how little Jade had laughed with joy.

Across the cave, the colonists were whispering prayers. Some held weapons with shaky hands. Others held their children. A few dozen humans—thin, haggard. Long ago, they had defected. Yes, maybe they were cowards. David had chosen life over courage. Yet had death now found them?

David's family huddled under an overhanging shelf of lavender and indigo quartz. His wife, Sarai, clutched a rifle. Her eyes shone with courage. She was a petite woman, yet strong and fierce when defending her family. Her golden braid hung across her shoulder, showing the first few silver hairs. David still remembered the day they had met, children on a faraway moon, collecting seaweed on an alien shore, food for survivors fleeing from world to world.

Their two daughters stood by Sarai, two lights that lit David's life, that shone so brightly even here in the shadows.

Jade was their eldest, six years old. She looked so much like her mother, her hair golden, her eyes green. And like her mother, she was fearless, her knees and elbows always scraped from running through the caves, climbing narrow tunnels, and diving into deep rivers. Hers was a spirit of adventure. Even now, the girl bared her teeth, and she clutched her crystal sword, her favorite toy. Even at six, Jade was prepared to fight for her family. Perhaps, in another life, she might have grown into a warrior.

But we left the war, David thought. How could I have known the war would follow me here?

Rowan, his youngest daughter, was nothing like her sister and mother. This one took after David. She had his eyes, solemn and dark. Her brown hair was cut short like a boy's. Even at two years old, she was willful and insisted on cutting it short, on looking just like her daddy. Like David, she was thoughtful, reflective, perhaps wise. Rowan loved reading books, coloring, and building with blocks rather than wrestling, leaping, or running like her sister. In another life, perhaps, she could have grown to become an artist, a writer, a thinker.

"Be brave, Fillis'er," Rowan whispered to her robot, holding the electronic dragonfly. "I protect you."

The dragonfly buzzed in her hands, wings fluttering. "I will be brave, Rowan. Would you like to practice counting? Or the alphabet?"

David's eyes dampened. He had bought the dragonfly for Rowan on his last trip to a trading outpost, a dangerous journey to gather food, medicine, and information. It had come installed with full artificial intelligence, a conscious companion. The little robot sang with Rowan, read her stories, practiced letters and numbers with her. David had even taught Fillister to interface with his starship, to load information from its libraries, even remote-start its engines. In many ways, Fillister had become a family member.

"Fillis'er, be brave," Rowan repeated. She held the robot close, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Daddy, Fillis'er is scared."

Sudden fury filled David.

Humanity had once lived on Earth. Once they had ruled an entire planet, their homeworld. Once they had flown fleets to war, had defeated any enemy that dared challenge them. Once the legendary Einav Ben-Ari, the Golden Lioness from the tales, had cast vicious aliens back into the shadows.

But that had been long ago.

The Golden Lioness had seen Earth rise to glory, but she was gone now, and so was Earth.

Both heroine and homeland were now mere legends, perhaps only myths, ancient tales humans whispered of in darkness when all other hope was lost. Some said Earth was just a fiction, that humans had always been homeless, had always wandered across the galaxy, pests for aliens to hunt.

Once perhaps humans had been many. In the old stories, those you whispered in darkest nights, billions of humans had stood united. But nearly all humans were gone now. Today the last survivors hid—on distant worlds, on castaway moons, inside forgotten asteroids, in rusty space stations. Today the scorpions hunted them everywhere. Today they were like mice who hid in walls, fearing the cats.

Once David had dared to dream. Once had fought with the Heirs of Earth. Once he had believed in a leader, a hero who claimed to be descended from Einav Ben-Ari herself, who claimed he could find Earth, could bring humanity home.

After his brothers had died, David had lost hope in those dreams, in that leader.

But tonight I will dream again, he thought. Tonight I must survive.

"David!" said Sarai, rising to her feet. Fear filled her eyes, but she stood strong and tall, rifle in hands, her children at her sides. "How many—"

"Hundreds," David said. "We evacuate. Now. To the port! Run!"

In the tunnel behind David, rocks tumbled. The scorpions screeched, and their claws clattered anew.

David scooped up Rowan, and the solemn toddler clung to him, her dragonfly buzzing in her fist. Sarai lifted Jade, and the older girl snarled, green eyes blazing, her crystal sword held high. Across the hall, other people lifted their children, their elders, their ill and wounded.

The humans ran.

They raced through the glittering cavern, passing by quartz crystals the size of starships, between gleaming columns that could support cathedrals, and across a stream where luminous caterpillars wove lavender webs. For two years, this had been their home. For two years, they had found safety, beauty, even some joy here. Now, behind them, the columns shattered as the scorpions raced into the chasm, and crystals came crashing down like shattering chandeliers.

One shard slammed into a woman, tearing through her. She fell, gasping, dying, her flesh gleaming with crystal shards. A stalactite cracked and fell, crushing a boy.

From the shadows, like a gushing river, the scorpions roared forth. Each was larger than the largest man. They scurried up the walls, raced across the ceiling, and leaped down from above. Their pincers ripped through humans like scissors through yarn. One man tried to fight, only for a stinger to burst through his chest, dripping blood and venom. The heart fluttered on its tip like the last leaf on a winter branch. The shimmering webs of moths caught fire and curled inward, racing with luminous lines of fire, eerily beautiful wings of angelic death.

We were lions, David thought, gazing at the terror, at hell unfolding around him. Now we are lambs.

Those who had guns fired as they ran. But their bullets could not stop these creatures. Even the Inheritor warships had been unable to fight them. The scorpions swarmed, taking life after life. Humanity fell in darkness, so far from home.

Once we ran on green fields.

They ran on hard stones.

Once we were masters of the sky.

They bled underground.

Once we were heroes.

They died, screaming, afraid.

"Earth," David whispered, running with his family, delving into the darkness. He clutched his amulet, the precious Earthstone, the treasure of their lost homeland. "It's real. We must believe. We must remember. We must find our way home."

"Home," Rowan whispered, held in his arms.

"Home," Fillister repeated, fluttering his dragonfly wings in the toddler's hand.

Only a handful of survivors reached the spaceport. It was an echoing cavern, the walls inlaid with uncut diamonds, jewels that were worthless for those who craved but food and shelter and memories of home. The colony's starship stood in the cavern, draped with lichen and cobwebs. The ISS Whitehorse was old and slow and clunky, a warship past its prime. It was the ship David had once commanded, part of the Inheritor fleet. It was the ship he had fled in. The Whitehorse had taken the colonists here, abandoning the war. Tonight perhaps it would offer salvation.

"Into the ship!" David cried. Behind him, the scorpions were already entering the cavern, chortling, draped with human remains and hungry for more.

"Fillister, open the roof!" David said.

The robotic dragonfly buzzed, still held in Rowan's hands. The little machine could interface with every electronic component in the starship and hangar.

"Happy to comply!" the tiny robot chirped, and his eyes shone.

The stone ceiling parted, opening like a cat's eye, revealing the storming sky. Lightning flashed and rain fell into the cavern.

And there were more scorpions above.

They had been waiting.

The arachnids plunged through the opening into the cavern, claws lashing.

Some landed atop the ISS Whitehorse, denting the starship. Other scorpions landed on colonists, and their pincers sliced through flesh, and they feasted. Colonists tried to reach the starship, only for the scorpions to tear them down. A few humans tried to flee back into the crystal cave, but there too they found waiting claws and lashing stingers.

David stepped close to his wife, rifle raised. Jade stood near her mother, eyebrows pushed low over her green eyes. Her chin was raised, and she held her toy sword high, but tears wet her cheeks.

"I will fight them, Daddy," Jade said. "I'm a fighter."

Rowan, four years younger and always so somber, clutched her robotic dragonfly, whispering to her toy.

"Be brave, Fillis'er," Rowan whispered. "I keep you safe."

Around the family, the last of the colonists died. Blood washed the floor, hiding the shine of diamonds.

A familiar laugh rose.

Across a carpet of death, he walked forth.

His claws tore into bodies. A grin stretched across his massive jaws, and blood mottled his teeth, each one like a dagger. He was different from the other scorpions, twice the size, and rather than black, his exoskeleton was crimson and gleaming, the color of deep wounds. His eyes blazed gold and cruel like pools of molten metal eager to swallow flesh.

David knew him.

Here rose the emperor himself, the lord of the Skra-Shen. The creature that had murdered David's brothers.

David spat out the beast's name, twisting the words with his hatred.

"Sin Kra."

The arachnid clattered closer, grinning. Two long white tongues emerged from his mouth, sizzling, and licked his teeth.

"David Emery," the scorpion hissed, his words dripping saliva and mirth. "The great warrior, second-in-command of the Heirs of Earth—found cowering in a hole like a maggot."

David stood, shielding his family behind his body. He raised his chin. "I left the Heirs of Earth long ago, Sin Kra. I sought merely life for my people."

Sin Kra chortled, the sound like shrapnel jangling in a can. "You are still pests. You are humans." The scorpion's face twisted, and he spat out severed fingers. "There can be no life for you. I will purify the galaxy. All pests must die."

David raised his railgun. He had only a few rounds left. Perhaps enough to slay the beast.

"You will not harm my family!" he said. "Take me if you must. Spare them."

David tried to sound strong, but he couldn't help it. His voice cracked with those last words. The memories flooded him. The birth of his daughters. Joyous days, reading the few books they had salvaged from their last hideout. Nights of gentle lovemaking, his wife in his arms. Rowan's eyes widening in delight as Fillister, her dear dragonfly, sang and danced. Evenings around the campfire, singing the anthem of Earth, an ancient song called Earthrise.

As if they could read his mind, Rowan and Jade began to sing that song now. Their voices were soft and pure.

Most folk didn't believe Earth was real, but Rowan was not most folk. She believed.

She knew.

"It's real," she whispered, huddling in the steel duct. "Earth is out there. And someday we'll go there. You know that, right, Fill?"

Her robotic dragonfly tried to flap his wings, but they creaked and shed rust. The poor little creature looked a fright. Rust, dust, and grime coated him, and dents covered his little body. Rowan kept repairing him, but every day, air whistled through the vents, blowing the tiny robot away. Often it took an hour to find him in the ductwork, then another hour to repair him, lovingly tightening sprockets, unbending the teeth of broken gears, and oiling aching joints.

"Course I do, Row!" Fillister said. His voice sounded a little too grainy today, his speakers perhaps clogged with dust. "Real as the gears in me body."

Rowan smiled. "Someday we'll be there," she whispered. "We'll walk along the beach and feel the sand beneath our feet. Well, I will. You can fly beside me. We'll smell the sea air, then find a forest, and we'll walk among the trees and see horses."

"Horses knock about grasslands, not bloomin' forests," Fillister said.

"We'll walk in grasslands too, and we'll feel the sunlight, and we'll drink water from streams. Real water, cool and refreshing, not just condensation on air conditioners. We'll run and fly, not crawl through ducts, and we'll see sunlight, Fill. Warm and yellow like in the stories. And we'll eat real food! Not just scraps. Food like in the movies." She smiled shakily. "I've always wanted to taste some pancakes. They look really good."

Tears filled Rowan's eyes. When she tried to wipe them away, she winced. Her black eye was still swollen, still painful. She had dared to climb out of the ducts last night, to try to steal some food from the casino trash bins. The janitor had caught her—a hulking alien with stony skin and fists the size of her head. One of those fists had left her bruised and reeling and cowering here in the ducts. She had not eaten dinner that night, but Fillister had grabbed her some discarded seeds from the floor before artificial dawn.

She turned toward one of the stainless steel walls of the duct. In the dim light from Fillister's eyes, Rowan could see her blurry reflection. The black eye looked as bad as it felt. Her eye was narrowed to a slit. She touched the puffy bruise and cringed.

She sighed and looked at the rest of her reflection. As always, Rowan wondered if she looked like her parents. She could barely remember them, only what she saw in the single, smudged photograph she kept in her pocket.

Her hair was brown and short. She cut it herself, leaving it just long enough to cover her ears and fall across her forehead, but not long enough to cover her eyes. Those eyes were almond-shaped and dark brown—at least, the eye that wasn't squinting through a bruise. She had a young face, round and soft. She was sixteen already, but it was still the face of a girl.

Earth had fallen two thousand years ago. All the old races of humanity had mingled in their long, painful exile. But Rowan had watched many movies from the Earthstone, and she knew old Earth well. Often she thought herself a mix of Caucasian, Asian, maybe a touch of Hispanic tossed in—but it was hard to tell. The old nations of humanity were long gone, and the survivors had mingled in their diaspora. Today humans were few and far between, the last exiles from a long-lost world, struggling to survive in the darkness of space. As far as Rowan knew, she could be the only human left.

I wish I could see you again, Mom and Dad. She lowered her head. I wish I could see Earth.

"Chin up!" Fillister said. He flew under her chin and nudged it upward. "No need to be so gloomy, Row. Don't you worry. Someday, we'll have hot tea under a splendid warm sun. And you'll ride a bloody fine horse, you will."

She smiled. A while back, she had managed to figure out Fillister's internal programming and give him a Cockney accent. It always amused her, reminded her of Earth.

"A white horse," she said. "Like Shadowfax from The Lord of the Rings." She sniffed, tears on her lips. "Are you up for another movie marathon, Fill?"

The dragonfly bobbed his tiny metal head. "You know I am."

Rowan's smile widened enough to show her teeth. She caught herself and covered her mouth. She was self-conscious of her teeth, how crooked they were, but she couldn't avoid grinning. There was still some joy, even here. She still had a friend.

"Then come on. To the living room!"

She crawled through the steel duct. Her dress rustled. She had sewn it herself from a discarded blanket down at the roach motel. The ductwork coiled for kilometers, branching off, paths twisting, rising, falling, rejoining at junctions. Some paths led to massive furnaces that rumbled like ancient monsters, belching out fumes and fire. Other paths led to air conditioners taller than Rowan, icy beasts like polar giants, sending forth cold winds.

Paradise Lost was a large space station—among the largest in the galaxy, they said. It hovered on the frontier of space, near a wormhole where only the roughest sort traveled. Few decent folk flew this way. Not so close to the border with the scorpion empire. Here was a hive for smugglers, gamblers, thieves, druggers, and countless other lowlifes. They came from a thousand planets.

But not from Earth. Never from Earth.

Rowan had never met another human, only aliens. Large, rough aliens of stone and metal. Boneless aliens that left trails of slime. Reptilian aliens. Furry aliens. Clammy aliens. Aliens as large as elephants and as small as beetles.

All aliens who saw her—a human—as a pest.

And so Rowan stayed inside the HVAC ducts. It was dark and lonely, yes. But it was safe.

As she crawled, she passed by vent after vent, glimpsing bits of Paradise Lost. Through one vent she saw a gambling pit, dark and grimy. A group of aliens—ranging from giant reptilians to dank, feathered beasts the size of chickens—rumbled and shrieked and chortled. They tossed dice, dealt cards, and played slot machines that spewed out crystal skulls instead of coins. Through another vent, Rowan smelled cooking meat, and she glimpsed a group of humanoid vultures leaning over a table, ripping into a roasted alien with many tentacles. Rowan's mouth watered, and she hurried by before the scent could drive her mad. A third vent revealed a robotic brothel. Aliens were mating with robots shaped like their desired species—not always the same species as the customer.

Rowan kept moving through the vents, stomach rumbling. It would be a few hours before artificial dawn, the quiet time when janitors emerged to clean the space station. Then perhaps Rowan could pilfer some food—maybe a leftover tentacle from a restaurant, maybe just some bones from the trash. She kept moving over vents, passing over opium dens where the druggies slept, over clinics where doctors installed cyborg implants or pulled mites off inflamed genitals, over tattoo parlors that specialized in painting any type of skin or scale, and a hundred other establishments, each greasier than the last.

Paradise Lost—a den of sin and sensuality. A space station hovering between war and wormhole. Rowan's home.

The labyrinth of ducts was complex enough for a Minotaur, but Rowan knew every path, every secret in the shadows. She had been living here for fourteen years.

She barely remembered anything from before Paradise Lost. Only vague images. A cavern full of crystals. The soothing warmth of her parents. Her sister. A sister named Jade. A sister stolen away by a terror Rowan could not recall by day, yet often dreamed of, waking up drenched in sweat. She remembered a spaceship, remembered gruff aliens with clammy skin, grabbing her with tentacles, shoving her into a cage.

"Give us twenty scryls for the girl," a voice had rumbled. "You can sell her at the pet shop."

A snort. "She's mucking human! Nothing but pests."

There the memories ended. Over the past few years, Rowan had tried to piece them together. Who had killed her parents? Who had captured her, had tried to sell her at a pet shop? Was it the very shop here in Paradise Lost, a dingy place that sold deformed creatures from across the galaxy?

And most importantly—what had happened to Jade?

Rowan didn't know. So many times, she had strained, desperate to remember more, yet could not. And now she crawled through the ducts, the only home she had known since being a toddler.

"Someday I'll see you again, Earth," she said softly. "Someday we'll be there together, Jade. If you're still alive, I will find you."

A voice rumbled below her. "Mucking pests in the mucking air ducts!"

Rowan winced. She had spoken too loudly. She craned her neck forward and peered through a vent. A stench invaded her nostrils, and she cringed. She was crawling over a public washroom. Aliens filled the stalls, doing their business. Directly below the vent, a giant snail-like alien sat on a toilet, his white shell mottled with brown patches. With slimy tentacles, he held a glossy magazine with the title Seductive Slugs on the cover. The centerfold was open, featuring a fellow alien snail, lying naked in a barn, her empty shell resting beside her.

"Humans in the vents!" the snail bellowed. He tossed down the magazine, drew a pistol, and fired at Rowan.

She yelped and crawled away. Gunshot holes burst open in the duct behind her.

"Don't forget to wash your tentacles!" she cried, rounded a bend, and left the toilets behind.

She kept crawling through the ducts, moving higher up the space station, fleeing the noise, smog, and smells of the lower levels. Soon she was crawling up steep shafts. Some were nearly vertical, forcing her to climb inch by inch while Fillister buzzed above her.

The sounds from below—the grumbles and shrieks of aliens, the slot machines expelling their crystal skulls, the music of lounge acts—all faded. Engines now hummed around Rowan, the great machinery that operated Paradise Lost, turbines and gears and pipes, a city of metal and steam all around her. Rowan liked this place, liked to feel the ducts vibrate, to hear the machinery clink and hum. She had always liked machines: little Fillister with his tiny gears, the rattling air conditioners and furnaces, and this machine she now crawled through, for Paradise Lost itself was a great machine.

Someday Rowan hoped to be inside another machine—inside a starship that could take her home.

Someday I'll see you, Earth. I swear it. Still you call me home.

Finally she reached the living room—or at least, the place she and Fillister called their living room.

"Home sweet home!" Fillister said, buzzing onto a shelf.

Rowan shook her head. "This is not our home. Earth is our home. But . . . this is some comfort."

The living room was a junction where four ducts met. It nestled a short distance over a furnace, just close enough to be warm but not sweltering. Machinery hummed below, a soothing lilt.

Rowan had placed a blanket on the floor, and she had nailed three steel slats into the ducts, forming shelves. The living room was small, of course. It was smaller than the toilet stall where the snail had yelled. The ceiling was too low to let Rowan stand—there was nowhere in the ductwork where Rowan could stand up, even with her humble height of five feet, which she had measured once with a string. But she could sit up here, and her head only brushed the ceiling. She could pull her knees to her chin. She could stretch if she wanted to. She could write poems on pilfered pieces of paper, or work at building her little machines with the gears, bolts, and wires she snagged from the space docks before dawn.

But mostly . . . mostly Rowan came here to use the Earthstone.

She pulled the amulet off her chain. It gleamed in her hand, a small crystal, barely larger than Fillister. Yet this was no regular crystal, no cheap bauble, not even a pricey stone like a diamond.

This was a memory stone.

A few years ago, she had found a magazine discarded in the washroom which contained an article about memory stones. They were rare devices, used to store binary data inside crystalline structures. They were, essentially, hard drives made into jewelry.

And this hard drive contained data from Earth.

A lot of data.

There was music—thousands of albums from every genre. Rowan had spent hours weeping as she listened to great operas, playing air guitar to the blues and rock, and dancing (as best she could in the ducts) to K-pop (both her guilty and greatest musical pleasure).

There were books. Rowan consumed them like hungry hoggers consumed truffles. She loved to read everything, but mostly science fiction and fantasy. She devoured books of a thousand pages, delving into lands of legend, battling dragons, flying starships, and exploring caverns full of treasures and wonder. She traveled through Krynn with the Heroes of the Lance. She explored the shadows of Amber with Corwin and his brothers. She marveled at Asimov's robots, how he had predicted beings like Fillister. Her favorites were the novels of Marco Emery, an author who shared her last name, perhaps an ancestor of hers. Rowan loved his fantasy trilogy The Dragons of Yesterday especially, but she had read all his books several times.

And there were video games! Hundreds of them. Many days, Rowan played her favorite arcade games like Alley Cat, Digger, and Bumpy. Many nights, she delved into quests like Monkey Island, King's Quest, and her favorite—Star Control II.

There were TV shows. She spent many days laughing with Alf, her favorite sitcom character from the twentieth century. She cowered under a blanket while watching Stranger Things, a twenty-first-century masterpiece. She admired the marvels of All Systems Go!, the greatest anime show of the twenty-second century.

And there were movies.

Rowan loved music. She loved reading. She loved games and television.

But she loved movies.

She had watched the Monty Python films, especially Holy Grail and Life of Brian, so many times she could quote them by heart. She still watched them every few weeks, laughing just as hard every time—laughing so much she sometimes forgot to hide her crooked teeth. She could quote This is Spinal Tap and The Big Lebowski at will. She had a crush on Indiana Jones and Marty McFly, and she still dreamed of E.T. someday visiting Paradise Lost. Though of course, her real dream was to someday become a Goonie. Or a Ghostbuster. Or possibly a Jedi. Maybe all three.

But her favorite movies . . .

She smiled.

"Are you ready, Fill?"

The dragonfly nodded. "Always and forever, Row."

Rowan placed the Earthstone into an adapter. Lights shone. Her small monitor, not much larger than her palm, came to life on the shelf. She began typing on her keyboard, pulling in data from the crystal. She had pilfered the electronics from the starship docks, scavenging through the repair shops when everyone was asleep. Fillister had coded an interface, translating Earth's old protocols into the alien code that could read the data.

And like magic, the secrets of Earth were available to Rowan.

She scrolled through her beloved file libraries, then smiled and clicked the right icon. She leaned back, pulled a blanket over her knees, and delved into Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings trilogy.

When she was watching these movies, she was no longer in the ducts. No longer in Paradise Lost. No longer in this universe. She was in Middle Earth. She was enjoying sunlight in the Shire. She was visiting Rivendell, admiring its spires and waterfalls. She was crawling with Frodo and Sam across Mordor, and crowds were bowing before her across Minas Tirith. Instead of a scrawny orphan, a pest in a duct, she was a heroine with a world to explore.

Secretly, Rowan dreamed of someday becoming a filmmaker. A screenwriter, a director, maybe cinematographer too. Not an actress. You needed straight teeth to be an actress. Rowan didn't crave the spotlight. But she craved storytelling. Often she stole napkins from the buffets below, and she filled them with her movie scripts. She had already written a movie titled Dinosaur Island about an island where dinosaurs had never gone extinct. Sometimes when she slept, she dreamed that she was a real director like Spielberg or Lucas, filming Dinosaur Island in the Caribbean.

She lowered her head.

Yet how can I ever achieve this dream? Earth is gone. Tropical islands? I've never even left this space station.

Rowan sighed.

"I've never seen Earth," she said to Fillister when the movie ended. "And I've never met another human, at least not since I was two. But we have a piece of Earth with us." She patted the Earthstone. "We have a bit of home."

Fillister nodded. "Do you reckon we'll someday see Merry Ol' Earth for real?"

Rowan nodded. "I'm sure."

Yet she was lying. They both knew that.

Earth was gone.

Earth had been destroyed.

The Earthstone was a rich library, but it ended in the year 2270. After that year, there were no more movies, no more music, no more books.

After that—silence.

That had been two thousand years ago.

Since then—nothing. Not a whisper from Earth.

Perhaps, Rowan sometimes dared to hope, the Earthstone had simply been made in 2270, and there were other memory crystals out there, some containing treasures from the following centuries. But this was wishful thinking. According to the tales, 2270 was when the Hydrian Empire, an alien civilization that no longer existed, had destroyed Earth. Had slain billions of humans. Had driven the last few survivors into space, into exile.

Now only a few humans remained in the galaxy. Pests, the aliens called them. Vermin.

Every once in a while, the Paradise Lost administrators would hire an exterminator or two, and Rowan would spend a day fleeing through the ducts, avoiding them. They could never catch her. She knew this labyrinth better than anyone. But she heard the exterminators speaking amongst themselves. They spoke of finding humans inside asteroids, lurking outside alien colonies on distant moons, sometimes even infesting large starships. To aliens, humans were no better than mice or cockroaches.

But we're not pests, Rowan thought. We wrote books once. We composed music. We made movies. We're noble, and we're wise, but we're homeless and hunted and afraid.

Her shoulders slumped. Iciness filled her belly. Those familiar demons of loneliness, of depression, of despair—they threatened to reemerge. They had tormented her so often here in the ducts.

With numb fingers, Rowan reached into her pocket, and she pulled out a rumpled, laminated photograph. She caressed the photo, gazing at it through the crinkling plastic.

A photo from fourteen years ago. From when she had been only a toddler. A photo from the Glittering Caves, her family's old hiding place.

The photo showed her father, David Emery, slender and somber. Her mother, Sarai Emery, her eyes green and fierce, her braid golden. In the photo, Jade was six years old, her hair long and blond, and she held a toy sword carved from white crystal. Rowan was there too. Just two years old, her hair short and brown, her eyes solemn. The photograph was wrinkly, blurry, the faces barely visible. But it was her greatest treasure, even greater than the Earthstone.

"My family," she whispered. "I miss them."

"As do I," said Fillister. He nuzzled her. "Chin up. Might be we'll find Jade again someday. She's a tough girl, she is."

Rowan nodded and wiped tears from her eyes. "She is."

"Oi, Row, you up for the second movie now?" Fillister said. "The Two Towers is me favorite, especially the battle of Helm's Deep. Splendid film, that one is."

Rowan rolled her eyes and allowed herself to smile. "I told you, Fillister, the best movie in the trilogy is The Return of the King. It's the most emotional one. I always cry at the end."

The robotic dragonfly rolled his tiny eyes. "Blimey, I'm a robot. I have no bloody emotions."

She snorted. "Is that why you're always a mess when we watch Batteries Not Included?"

Fillister grumbled. "You know that's just the dust in me gears."

"Sure, sure." Rowan sighed. A deep sadness filled her, one that even Middle Earth could not assuage. She thought of all those movies, those books, those songs that would nevermore be written. She thought of her lost planet, her hunted people.

She thought of her parents, slain among shadows and crystals.

She thought of her sister, of Jade, of a girl she could barely remember.

Rowan rubbed her eyes. She began to crawl through the ducts again, leaving the living room. Fillister followed. She climbed higher and higher, the shafts vertical now. Her progress was slow, but she was determined. She rarely moved this high up the space station. It was cold up here, the ducts were narrow, and when air blew through them, it sounded like ghosts. But today she would climb to the top. Today she needed to be there.

Finally she reached the end of the labyrinth. The highest duct in Paradise Lost. The top of her home.

She crawled onto a little ledge, and there she saw it. The porthole.

It was a small window, smaller than her head, gazing out into space. It was the only place in Paradise Lost where she could see the stars.

Oh, there were other windows in Paradise Lost. Before dawn, when she crept into the casinos to rummage through the trash, she saw larger windows than these. In some bars, where Rowan sometimes stole nuts and paper for her scripts, there were windows taller than her. But the view from them was distorted, bright, blinding. Neon lights covered the exterior of Paradise Lost, advertising the brothels, bars, and casinos within. Sometimes you could catch a glimpse of the wormhole outside; its opening was large, as bright as any neon sign. And you could see the starships lumbering outside, belching smoke. But not the stars. To most visitors here, the stars were pedestrian. They preferred the glow of neon or the shine in a bottle of grog.

But things were different up here at the station's top, a sanctuary where antennae rose and wind moaned through pipes. Up here, gazing through the porthole, Rowan saw the most beautiful lights. The stars.

She sat on the ledge, pulled her knees to her chest, and gazed out at those distant lights. Fillister sat on her shoulder. She could only see a handful of stars from here—only four tonight. But Rowan imagined that one of them was Sol, Earth's star. She had read that the stars were so distant that light took centuries, even millennia to arrive here. Maybe the light reaching Rowan now was two thousand years old. Maybe it was the light from a living Earth, light from a world where humans still thrived, still made movies and wrote books and sang songs.

Her eyes dampened, and Rowan sang the song of her childhood, a song she could remember her parents singing. A song called Earthrise. A song of home.

Emet stood on the bridge of his flagship, faced the towering viewport, and gazed upon his fleet.

The Heirs of Earth. Some called them freedom fighters. Most called them terrorists. Twenty starships. Five hundred warriors, all of them human. It was barely an army. It was the flicker of a dream. It was humanity's only hope in the darkness.

Humanity had no more homeworld. But they had this fleet. They had the Heirs of Earth. They had a dream, and they had Admiral Emet Ben-Ari.

"Wherever a human is in trouble, we'll be there," Emet said. "And right now, all across the galaxy, there's a whole lot of trouble for humans."

He stared beyond the fleet, narrowing his eyes, trying to penetrate the darkness of space. The darkness loomed.

They should be here already, he thought. Where are they?

His warships hovered ahead, most of them rusty and aging, even older than Emet. And at fifty-five, he was not a young man. They had been cargo ships once, alien vessels he had purchased for cheap and refitted, adding armor and torpedo bays. Emet himself now stood aboard the flagship, the ISS Jerusalem, an old tanker converted into a warship.

And beyond them—the vast blackness.

The abyss.

Hierarchy territory.

Emet placed his hand on Thunder's wooden stock. Thunder was his rifle, a heavy double-barreled beast of a gun. Not just a gun—a companion. Rifles were of little use on a starship, but he found the touch of wood comforting. The stock was carved from an alien tree—wooden artifacts from old Earth had rotted thousands of years ago. Emet had carved it himself, sanding and polishing and staining, emulating an antique double-barreled rifle he had seen in the Earthstone. The Earthstone was gone now—the traitor had stolen it—but Emet still had his rifle, and the touch soothed him.

Thunder was his main weapon, but he also carried a pistol named Lightning. That smaller weapon hung on his hip, though "smaller" was relative. Lightning too was a heavy machine, shaped like an antique flintlock from Earth. It was all iron and brass gears, its handle curved and wooden. In battle, Thunder roared in fury, blasting bullets the size of Emet's thumbs. But Lightning was fast and deadly and fired electrical bolts. Both weapons had been with Emet for years. Both had saved his life countless times. Both had shed rivers of alien blood.

His eyes refocused, now seeing his reflection in the dark viewport. He was a tall man, among the tallest in the fleet. He wore the uniform of his people: brown trousers, symbolizing the soil of Earth, and a blue overcoat, symbolizing Earth's lost sky, inlaid with polished buttons like the stars. A wide-brimmed black hat completed the outfit. Cowboys on Earth used to wear such hats, Emet knew; he had watched several Westerns in the Earthstone. It seemed fitting. He was a shepherd here in the sky, herding his people home. The uniform was old, shabby, patched and stitched many times, its colors fading. Like everything in the fleet, including himself, it was old.

Many called him the Old Lion. It was easy to see why. Emet had long shaggy hair, once blond and bright, now strewn with many white strands. It framed a craggy face, flowing past his shoulders like a mane. His beard had once been golden, yet the frost of time had invaded it too. His eyes were amber, almost feline, and drooping now, filled with old pain. The Lion of Winter. Old Fang. He had many nicknames.

Yet they called him a lion not only because of his appearance. His surname was Ben-Ari, which meant "son of lions" in an old human tongue. He was descended of Einav Ben-Ari herself, the great heroine of Earth, the Golden Lioness, the warrior who had defeated Earth's old enemies and raised the planet to glory.

That was two thousand years ago, Emet thought. Einav Ben-Ari is gone. Earth is gone. But I'm still here. The Old Lion. And I can still roar.

"Any sign of them yet, lad?" The gravelly voice came from behind him, and a thump thump of heavy boots echoed through the bridge. "The poor bastards should be here by now."

Emet turned to see Duncan McQueen, the fleet's doctor—and a dear friend. Duncan was a stocky man, sixty years of age, with a glorious white beard and bald head. He too wore brown trousers and a blue jacket, though his were of a different design, personally sewn and dyed. Until the fleet owned a textile operation, every man and woman made their own uniform. So long as the pants were some shade of brown, and the top some shade of blue, Emet was happy.

"No sign yet," Emet said.

Duncan approached him. The man never walked so much as stomped. He came to stand by Emet, a foot shorter but just as wide, and gazed out into space with him. He huffed. "Trouble, lad?"

"Do we ever avoid it?" Emet said.

Duncan snorted. "Someday before I die, a mission will go smoothly. I know it."

Emet smiled thinly. "Glad to hear you plan to live to be two hundred. I could use you for a couple more centuries."

Especially now. Duncan was loyal. A good friend. Over the past few years, Emet had lost too many people. David Emery—his best childhood friend, cofounder of the Heirs of Earth—had betrayed him, had stolen the Earthstone, had defected from the fleet. Emet's own son had run, stealing a shuttle, leaving the fleet and vanishing into the darkness.

Being an Inheritor was a hard life, Emet knew, and he was a demanding leader. But every betrayal stabbed.

They abandon me, Emet thought, but I will never abandon humanity.

"Wherever a human is in danger," he repeated the old words, "the Heirs of Earth will be there."

Duncan nodded, stroking his luxurious white beard. "Aye, that's us, laddie. We chase trouble." He sighed. "I should have been a country doctor. I was happy down on Aberglen. Until you damn lot picked me up."

Emet huffed. "You were miserable on Aberglen, tending to broken hooves and sheep with worms."

"A vet is an honorary profession, lad." Duncan looked around him and groaned. "Space is no place for a man. Give me sunshine and hay and the smell of cow shit. Up here there's just darkness. Just emptiness. It's no natural place."

Emet couldn't help but crack a smile. "You don't miss shit. You're full of it."

Like every Inheritor, Duncan had lost people. Like everyone in this fleet, he had seen his home burn. So he had joined them, had switched from tending to farm animals to healing wounded soldiers. A handful of Inheritors had been soldiers in a previous life, serving in alien armies. Most were farmers, milkmaids, haberdashers, a couple of teachers, a few mechanics and engineers—ordinary people. People who dared to dream with Emet. Who dared sing the old songs of Earth. Who dared believe they could someday see that world again.

Yes, Old Duncan McQueen still grumbled and groaned. The vet-turned-doctor was set in his ways. But deep down, the stocky man with the long white beard dreamed of Earth with as much vivid color as anyone.

"Our contact said they'd be here," Duncan muttered. "I knew we couldn't trust the bloody Rawdiggers."

"The Rawdiggers have helped us before," Emet said.

Duncan grunted. "They're bloody arachnids too. Just like the scorpions. Never trust a—"

"There." Emet leaned closer. "Ships. Heading our way."

The ISS Jerusalem had no holographic interfaces like modern ships. Emet pulled out a clunky metal keyboard. He tapped a few keys, and the viewport zoomed in.

Three cargo ships were flying his way, emblazoned with two crossing pickaxes, symbol of the Rawdigger Guild. At a glance, they seemed like simple space freighters ferrying iron ore. But these miners were taking payment from Emet. These were friends—or at least business partners.

The three Rawdigger freighters were still in Hierarchy territory, but they were flying fast toward the border.

Emet squinted, scanning space for signs of trouble. Ahead was scorpion territory. But he saw no strikers, the scorpions' triangular warships, only the friendly Rawdigger freighters. The boxy black starships kept flying closer.

One of the Rawdigger ships was hailing him. Emet flicked a switch, taking the call.

On a viewport before him appeared an image of the alien ship's bridge. It was a dark, shadowy chamber stuffed with levers, pulleys, and chains. The Rawdigger captain hung from chains like a spider on a web. The Rawdiggers had evolved underground, natural miners. Four of their six limbs were tipped with claws like pickaxes, useful for clinging to stone tunnels. Their forelimbs were shaped like shovels, the blades made from the same keratin as their claws. Lures grew from their heads, tipped with luminous bulbs, useful both for attracting prey and seeing underground.

"Admiral Emet Ben-Ari," said the Rawdigger captain, voice like metal scraping on stone. "Do you have the second half of our payment?"

Emet nodded. "I do. Do you have the refugees?"

The Rawdigger swung aside on his chains, shining his lure toward the shadows behind him.

"Your cargo," said the alien.

Emet stared. He tightened his grip on his wooden stock.

"Ra damn scorpions," Duncan muttered at his side. "What the hell have they done to them?"

Tortured them, Emet knew. Broke them. Maybe beyond repair.

Behind the Rawdigger, filling the cargo ship, were human refugees.

They had come from deep in Hierarchy space, fleeing the scorpions. Many were naked. Most were wounded. All were cadaverous, their skin clinging to bones, their eyes sunken, their cheeks hollow. They seemed barely alive.

Emet had grown up in Concord territory, bouncing from world to world. The Concord was an alliance of peaceful aliens, and even here, life for a human was hard. Nobody knew that more than Emet.

But in Hierarchy space? In the dark empire of the scorpions? There, in that cursed realm, life for a human wasn't just hard. It was intolerable. Emet saw the proof of that before him.

"What the bloody hell did they endure in the Hierarchy?" Duncan said, voice rising louder, and his face flushed. "I'll tear those bloody scorpions apart! I wouldn't treat a rat that way. How dare they—"

Emet placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Hush now, Dunc. Wait. We make the deal first. We'll seek vengeance later."

"So, Emet!" said the Rawdigger captain. "This shipment has cost us a lot. Deliver your payment."

"Once you deliver the humans," Emet said.

The alien miner laughed. "No, Emet. That is not how this goes. Send forth the diamonds." The Rawdigger licked his lips. "Precious, lovely diamonds."

Emet nodded. Thankfully, he had found a lab that could produce diamonds for cheap. Diamonds had once been costly for humans too. Today all it took was some carbon and a good oven. The Rawdiggers had no such technology. They were good at digging. They were decent at flying. They knew little about chemistry.

The Rawdiggers admired the stones, not for their beauty but their strength. The miners had sharp claws for digging, but they couldn't dig through the harder minerals they encountered. With diamonds on their claws, they could dig deeper, seeking the iron they craved. The beasts not only built their starships with iron, they ate the element, craving it with the intensity of a druggie.

"Send them!" the Rawdigger said. "Send us our diamonds."

Emet tapped few buttons. His airlock opened, and a crate glided out toward the Rawdigger flotilla.

"Your diamonds, as promised," said Emet.

A hatch opened on the Rawdigger ship. A metal claw emerged, dangling from a chain. It reminded Emet of the claws he had seen in old movies, used to grab plush toys from a bin. The claw flew toward the crate, grabbed it, and began dragging the treasure back toward the Rawdigger freighter.

"Very good, Emet," the Rawdigger said. "A deal is a deal, and we Rawdiggers are arachnids of honor. We will count your diamonds, and if—"

Alarms blared across both bridges at once.

The Rawdigger gasped and cut off the transmission.

Emet stared into the distance and felt the blood drain from his face.

Ships.

A dozen or more.

Dark, triangular ships, leaving trails of fire.

Strikers.

Scorpion starships.

The strikers charged toward the ISS Jerusalem, flagship of the Heirs of Earth.

Emet stood on the bridge, staring at them.

He knew these ships. He had fought them before. Years ago, ships like these had arrived to slay his wife.

Terror filled Emet. For a moment he could not breathe.

The moment ended. He hit the communicator, opening a channel to all other Inheritor starships.

"Scorpions attack!" he said. "Battle stations! Charge forward and meet them!"

Duncan inhaled sharply. "That would take us into Hierarchy territory, lad."

Emet nodded. "Then we bring the battle to them. We must defend those Rawdigger ships!"

Emet took a seat at the helm. In recent years, he had begun to let his daughter fly the Jerusalem, even in battle. But Leona was parsecs away now, seeking human survivors on Til Shiran, a desert world. Emet would fly the Inheritor flagship himself, commanding both Jerusalem and his nineteen other warships.

"We can't take this many," Duncan said, staring at the strikers.

"We will," said Emet. "We must." He raised his voice, speaking through the comm to his fleet. "Show them no fear! Show them no mercy. You are warriors of humanity! For Earth!"

And through the speakers emerged the voices of his captains, brave sons and daughters of humanity. "For Earth!"

Earth. Their heritage. Their birthright. Their beacon in the darkness. Every battle here in exile they fought for that distant blue world. They were now thousands of light-years away from Earth, a planet shrouded in myth and drenched in legend. But they still fought for Mother Earth. Every time.

The strikers stormed toward them. They looked like black arrowheads, each the size of the Jerusalem but far faster, far stronger.

Somebody betrayed us, Emery realized. One of the Rawdiggers sold us out.

But there were still human refugees on those Rawdigger freighters.

"Rawdigger ships, to us!" Emet cried. "Do you hear me? Fly to us!"

The Rawdigger ships were still several moments away, hovering in Hierarchy territory—just beyond the border. They were helpless out there. They were frozen in place, perhaps too afraid to defy the advancing scorpions.

Emet cursed and shoved down the throttle. The Jerusalem—this heavy, bulky warship—clattered forward. Around it flew the nineteen other human warships, taking battle formation, extending their cannons.

The Inheritor fleet was a far cry from the armada Einav Ben-Ari had commanded two thousand years ago. The legendary Golden Lioness had flown to battle with a hundred thousand human warships, according to the Earthstone. The Inheritors had only twenty freighters, purchased from aliens, rusty and patched up, refitted for war. They were slow. They were aging. Yet they charged forth with the courage of any fleet from legend.

"Rawdiggers, to us!" Emet shouted. But the alien cargo ships were slowly turning toward the strikers, perhaps begging for their lives.

They know we can't defend them, Emet thought. Maybe they're right.

"Inheritors, fan out and fire on those strikers!" Emet cried. "Defend those freighters!"

He fired the Jerusalem's cannons. The frigate shook and rumbled as its cannons blasted. Shells flew toward the enemy ships. Around him, the other human ships broadened their formation, then fired too, careful to avoid the Rawdigger freighters.

A few shells slammed into strikers. Explosions rocked space. One striker shattered, but the other triangular warships kept flying.

And the strikers fired back.

Plasma bolts flew from them, blue in the center and flaring out to red, blazing through space.

Emet grabbed the yoke—the heavy, T-shaped control device of the ISS Jerusalem. He pulled the warship sideways, trying to dodge the assault. But the Jerusalem had once been a tanker, built for transporting crude oil. Even with the new engines Emet had installed, she was too slow.

The enemy plasma slammed into Jerusalem's shields.

The warship jolted.

The bridge shook.

Klaxons blared.

Emet cursed. A true warship would have a proper bridge with separate stations for captain, pilot, navigator, gunner, engineer, and communication officer. But the Jerusalem was essentially a glorified space truck. Emet had a hundred warriors in his hold, but in this battle, he fought alone.

He fired his cannons again.

His shells streamed out, skimming the top of the Rawdigger ships—too close for comfort. The shells exploded against the strikers. Flame and shattered metal filled space. One of the Rawdigger freighters was spinning madly. Its claw, the one that had grabbed the crate of diamonds, swung madly on its chain.

"Firebirds, deploy!" Emet said. "Defend those Rawdigger cogs!"

Years ago, at great expense, Emet had installed hangar doors on the Jerusalem's port side. Now those doors opened, and his starfighters emerged.

They were small, agile ships, a single pilot in each. The Inheritors had named them Firebirds, modeling them after Earth's ancient starfighters. Emet had studied the starfighters featured in the Earthstone, had done his best to emulate those old designs. The modern Firebirds were refitted space-racers, purchased from a defunct racing guild. They were weaker than their golden age counterparts. But they were still faster than any other Inheritor ship.

And now the Firebirds roared toward battle, guns firing.

Fire filled space.

The strikers released a barrage of plasma. Blasts hit the Firebirds. One of the starfighters shattered, and the pilot flew from the ship, torn apart. Emet knew that pilot, had watched that pilot grow up. Another Firebird careened, then slammed into a frigate. The smaller ship burst into flame.

"Surround the freighters!" Emet shouted. "Protect the Rawdigger freight—"

Before he could complete his sentence, an electromagnetic barrage hit the Jerusalem. His monitor crackled, died, then turned back on.

The monitor now displayed a message. A message from the scorpion fleet.

Watch, pest. Enjoy the show.

The message vanished.

The strikers turned toward one of the three Rawdigger freighters, ignoring the human starships.

The strikers—a dozen or more—opened fire.

Their plasma bolts slammed into the Rawdigger freighter—a ship with human refugees inside.

The freighter had a thick iron hull. For a moment, it withstood the barrage. Emet shouted, firing his cannons, and managed to take out a striker, but the rest kept bombarding the freighter.

With an explosion of fury and a million shards of metal, the freighter shattered.

Its hull fragments flew through space, some chunks the size of men, others smaller than coins. The debris slammed into the Jerusalem, into the rest of the Inheritor fleet. A Firebird burned. The crate of diamonds shattered, and a rain of sparkling stones filled space like a flurry of snow. The diamonds peppered the Jerusalem, embedding into the graphene hull.

Emet stood on his bridge, staring, for an instant frozen, as the human refugees spilled out from the shattered freighter.

Hundreds tumbled into space. Some in rags, most naked. All thin. All dying. They flailed in the vacuum.

We have time, Emet thought. We can save them.

"Get them into our ships!" he shouted. "Firebirds, get—"

But the strikers fired again.

Plasma washed over the hundreds of ejected refugees.

In space, they burned. In the darkness, they died.

Emet howled and fired all his cannons against the strikers. Around him, the rest of his fleet fired too. Shells slammed into the enemy. One striker shattered. A second. A third. Emet plowed forward, and the heavy Jerusalem slammed into a striker, knocking the enemy ship aside.

The Jerusalem jolted. Emet nearly fell. The striker slammed into its neighbor, and both enemy ships cracked open, spilling scorpions. Firebirds swooped, firing machine guns, tearing the scorpions apart. The beasts' exoskeletons shattered, and their gooey innards leaked out.

Terror pounded through Emet. His hands began to shake around the yoke.

Again he was back there. A younger man. Again he saw the strikers descend. Saw the scorpions emerge. Saw their emperor, the great crimson beast Sin Kra, tear his wife apart.

Emet growled, refocusing on the battle.

There were still two Rawdigger freighters, each transporting human refugees from Hierarchy territory. He had lost hundreds. He could still save the others.

"Inheritor ships!" Emet said. "Surround the remaining two Rawdigger freighters. Focus all firepower outward. Form a defensive sphere and escort the freighters back into Concord space. I am Emet Ben-Ari, descended of our Golden Lioness. I fight with you. For Earth!"

Many of them had fallen. But many still answered his cry. "For Earth!"

The Inheritor fleet surrounded the two remaining freighters. They blasted out a sphere of firepower, slowly moving back toward the Concord. Every kilometer, the enemy struck them. Plasma bolts took out a human warship nearly the size of the Jerusalem, slaying the fifty Inheritors aboard—men Emet had known for years. Another Firebird burned, dived through space, and slammed into the Jerusalem with roaring fire.

More strikers kept emerging from the darkness. Dozens. Then hundreds. They filled space, countless shards like a rain of arrows.

This is a Ra damn disaster, Emet thought, chest constricting.

"Make it back to Concord space!" Emet shouted. "Don't engage them! Fly!"

The Heirs of Earth fled. Surrounding the two remaining cargo freighters, they raced back toward the Concord, cannons blazing, desperate to hold back the strikers. Another Firebird shattered. A warship cracked open, spilling warriors.

When they finally made it back to Concord territory, they were limping, bleeding, decimated.

The surviving human starships turned back toward the strikers. The enemy warships formed a wall in space, hovering before the border yet daring not cross it. Hundreds of strikers flew there.

They dare not invade the Concord, Emet thought. They dare not even fire into Concord space. But for how long will this invisible wall hold them back?

Emet stood on the bridge of the Jerusalem. He stood with only a handful of ships around him. A tiny fleet. From a distance, the Heirs of Earth would be nearly invisible by the might of the Hierarchy.

One of the strikers moved ahead, its prow grazing Concord space. It was a full-sized dreadnought, larger than the other strikers. It dwarfed the Jerusalem, easily twenty times the size. Most scorpion ships were black, but this one shimmered with deep blue shadows, and its portholes were searing white. It seemed almost a living creature, predatory, crouching and ready to pounce.

Aboard the Jerusalem, the communicator crackled.

Duncan turned toward Emet, frowning. "They're calling us, lad. Don't answer."

But Emet needed to see them, to hear them, to stare into his enemy's eyes. He hit a button, accepting the call.

His monitor crackled to life, revealing the striker's bridge.

It was like gazing into hell.

On the inside, the striker mimicked a desert. Rocks and boulders surrounded sandy pits that spurted fire. The scorpions had evolved on a nightmarish world full of volcanoes, canyons, and endless dunes, and their starships brought that world with them. A hundred scorpions filled the bridge. They clung to the walls, perched on boulders, and hissed on the ceiling. A handful huddled on the floor, tearing into a shrieking alien mammal.

There were control panels, but unlike anything human. Huge gears hung on the walls, and scorpions grabbed them, turned them, piloting their machine. Other scorpions tugged pulleys and chains. Some moved levers topped with human skulls.

A boulder jutted up in the center of the bridge, taller than a man. Upon it rose a throne upholstered with human skins stitched together, eyeless faces still grimacing upon them. Other human skins lay draped around the boulder, lurid rugs, some with boneless hands still attached. Emet knew that scorpions flayed humans, stole their skins to coat their dens, but he had never seen the atrocity. His stomach churned.

But more than the hundreds of scorpions, the massive gears, or the flayed skins, it was the figure on the throne that shocked Emet.

She was a woman.

A human woman.

She reclined on her throne, smiling crookedly, one leg tossed across an armrest. Her skin was unnaturally pale, as white as milk. Her hair was long, smooth, and glimmering blue, shaved down to stubble along one side of her head. On that side, cybernetic implants were bolted into her, flashing with blue lights. They reminded Emet of spark plugs. The woman wore an outfit formed of black webs, and steel claws tipped her boots. In one hand she held a blade shaped like a scorpion's stinger.

Is she truly human? Emet thought. Some kind of cyborg or android? What the hell is she doing on a scorpion dreadnought?

"Greetings, pest!" said the woman with blue hair, staring into Emet's eyes through the monitor. "I wanted to look at you. To see the pest whose skin will drape my new throne."

Around the woman, the hundreds of scorpions cackled, shrieked, and raised their claws. Several bowed before her. Others reared, climbing the sides of her throne. The woman placed a hand on one scorpion's head and stroked it. She gave Emet a lopsided smile and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not very impressed," she said.

Emet clenched his fists. He took a step closer to the monitor. "Who are you?"

"The one who will break you," the woman said. "The one who will flay you. The one who will savor your screams as you slowly die, skinless at my feet. Remember my face, Emet Ben-Ari. You will be the last human to gaze upon it."

The transmission died.

The dreadnought spun around, then burst into warp speed, vanishing back into Hierarchy territory. With a thousand blasts of light, the other strikers followed. But Emet knew they would return. He knew many battles awaited.

Duncan barked a laugh. "The cowards flee! They dare not invade Concord space."

"Not yet," Emet said, voice grim. "We won this round. But we lost many warriors. Too many."

The grief nearly crushed him. Across their empire, the Skra-Shen commanded countless strikers. They had billions of warrior scorpions. Barely any humans remained in the galaxy. Most were refugees, exiles, cowering and weak. Only a handful were fighters. Each of their lives was precious, irreplaceable.

Had they truly won this round?

"Come, Duncan," Emet said. "There are refugees who are ill, who are perhaps dying. We're going to bring them aboard. They'll need you."

Duncan suddenly looked a decade older than his sixty years. But he straightened his back and raised his bearded chin. He was one man—a vet by training. He had hundreds of refugees who needed care. And Emet knew that he would go day and night without rest to tend to them.

"Aye, lad." Duncan nodded. "I'll treat each one as if they were my own blood."

"Thank you, Duncan," Emet said. "We did well here today. This is a victory."

They worked for hours, using their shuttles to transport refugees from the Rawdigger freighters into the Inheritor ships. They had lost two hundred refugees in the battle, but they had saved four hundred—smuggled out from Hierarchy space, pale, starving, weeping.

Emet stood in the shuttle bay, welcoming a hundred refugees into the Jerusalem, as many as the old frigate would take.

The refugees limped, shuffled, and crawled aboard. Mothers clung to starving babies, their breasts wilted. Young men stared with sunken eyes, their ribs visible in their thin chests. A naked old man approached Emet. It was hard to believe he was still alive; he looked like a skeleton draped in skin. He dropped to his knees before Emet, hugged his legs, and wept.

"Thank you," the old man said. "Thank you, lion of Earth. Thank you."

Other Inheritors joined Emet in the airlock. They all wore the group's uniform: brown trousers and blue jackets. They helped the survivors toward the hold, where Duncan was moving between them. Across the rest of the fleet, other airlocks were open, and shuttles were ferrying refugees into other ships.

When finally the refugees were all aboard the Inheritor fleet, the Rawdigger freighters turned to leave. Back in Hierarchy space, the alien starships halted. Looking through a viewport, Emet saw the Rawdiggers themselves emerge from their ships. The arachnid aliens floated through space in metallic suits. They ignored their own dead, which still floated among the debris of the battle. Instead, they began meticulously collecting the scattered diamonds.

This is what makes humanity special, Emet thought, watching the Rawdiggers work. We care for one another more than for wealth. Aliens think that makes us weak. But it makes us strong.

As the Inheritor fleet flew deeper into Concord territory, Emet walked among the refugees. He poured water into thirsty mouths, stitched wounds, comforted children. Two refugees died before help could reach them, finally succumbing to weariness or starvation.

A young starfighter pilot approached Emet.

"What happened to them?" the pilot said. "They look like ghosts."

One survivor rose to her feet. She was a dour woman with sunken cheeks, wispy black hair, and large black eyes. She held an emaciated baby.

"The scorpions destroyed our villages," the woman said, gazing into Emet's eyes. "Burned them to the ground. They murdered those who tried to fight. We saw them round up humans, shove them into cargo ships, and take them off into the distance."

Another survivor—the same old man who had hugged Emet's legs—approached too. "They harvest us for skin," he said. "The scorpions. They use it for their nests. They take us to places we call gulocks—great prisons on rocky worlds. Torture us. Flay us alive." He fell to his knees again, weeping.

"We fled them," said the dark-eyed woman. "We joined an underground resistance. Other survivors too. Rawdiggers helped us at first. For a long time we were on our own, wandering across rocky worlds, finding what transport we could. Many of us starved. On one world, the scorpions caught my group. Only I escaped." She tightened her lips and held her baby close. "I found another group. We traveled the underground railroad between the wormholes until we met more Rawdiggers. By then, so many of us had fallen—to starvation, to disease, to scorpion claws. My husband. My sisters. My eldest son."

She turned away. She walked toward a porthole. She stood in silence, staring into space.

Emet didn't know how to comfort her. How to comfort any of them. Every man, woman, and child here had lost so many loved ones, had suffered so much. Some were beyond healing. Some would not last the night.

"Did you see a woman?" Emet asked a few survivors. "A woman with white skin, with blue hair, with implants in her head?"

A bald man cowered. "The ghost."

An old woman looked away, trembling. "The Blue Witch."

"Who is she?" Emet said.

But they would not answer. They wept and prayed. It seemed like mention of this woman terrified them even more than scorpions.

Duncan placed a hand on Emet's shoulder. "Drop it for now, lad. They're too hurt right now. We'll get our answers. Not today."

Emet nodded, gazing at the misery around him.

We have it bad in the Concord, he thought. But we live in paradise compared to humans in the Hierarchy.

Weeping filled the hold. Praying. Despair.

But fury filled Emet.

Fury against the scorpions. Fury against ten thousand other alien civilizations who treated humans like vermin. Fury that Earth had fallen, that David—his best friend—had stolen the Earthstone. Fury that even now, after so many years of fighting, they did not even know where Earth was, if they could ever find their planet again.

Fury that his wife had died.

Fury that Bay, his only son, had left him.

Fury at himself, at his weakness, that he commanded only a few old tankers that had barely survived a skirmish.

A handful of strikers almost destroyed our entire fleet, he thought. How can we survive? How can we find our way home?

Emet worked throughout the night, doing what he could to clothe, feed, and shelter the survivors. He took a shuttle and traveled from ship to ship, letting the other survivors see him, hearing their stories.

Once we were mighty. Now we are this—broken, dying, the last sparks of a great flame.

Yet that fire still burned. The torch of humanity had been passed down for thousands of years. It was Emet's duty to keep carrying that torch. To take his people home.

A few hours later, he was back aboard the Jerusalem, still moving among the survivors, when an old bearded man began to sing. His voice was hoarse at first, then grew stronger. The woman with black eyes turned away from the viewport. Her eyes were now damp, and she added her voice to his. Emet joined them. Soon they were all singing, and through the communicator, Emet heard them singing on the other ships too. The Heirs of Earth flew through space, lost in darkness, alone in shadow, but their song was loud and pure. A song of Earthrise. The song of humanity.

Bay Ben-Ari flew his clunky starship across space, and the living asteroids charged in pursuit.

"This is Ra damn mucking great," Bay muttered, shoving the throttle down. "I just had to play Five Card Bluff with smugglers." He groaned. "Never play Five Card Bluff with smugglers!"

He glanced at his rear-view monitor. Three asteroids were tumbling through space after him, leaving fiery wakes. But these were no simple rocks. These were grugs. Living asteroids.

Long ago, according to legend, grugs had been simple rocks, no different from ordinary asteroids. Their molten cores had churned for eras, rumbling with energy, evolving into a life of stone and magma. Holes appeared on their craggy surfaces, blazing with fiery lenses—eyes that could see far. Cracks stretched beneath the eyes, revealing gullets full of molten stone—jaws to devour prey. Today the grugs roamed the galaxy, traveling from star to star, always hungry.

Still, despite looking like ancient volcano gods, they were mostly harmless.

Bay didn't fear the grugs, these imposing yet dimwitted boulders. No. Grugs were not a problem. It was the creatures inside the grugs that wanted Bay dead.

Lights flashed on Bay's monitor. Ringing filled the cockpit.

"Um, dude?" his starship said. "They're calling you. Want me to answer?"

Sometimes Bay regretted installing speakers on his starship. The vessel was named Brooklyn, and she had an accent to match. Bay found it incredibly annoying.

"Do not answer," he said.

"They keep calling, dude."

"Ignore them!"

The ringing continued. Letters flashed on his monitor: Incoming Call.

Bay tried to ignore the lights and sounds. He dared not remove his hand from the throttle, determined to maintain his speed.

The beeping grew louder.

The letters flashed.

Incoming Call! Incoming Call!

"Dude, they keep calling," Brooklyn said. "They really wanna talk to you."

Cursing, Bay swung his left hand toward the control panel. He tried to uncurl his fingers, but it was no use today, not with his nerves. Even on the best of days, he struggled to unfold his left fist. His right hand was long-fingered, dexterous, quick as a snake snatching eggs. But he had been born with a bad left hand. It was deformed, curled inward, a tight bundle of knuckles and pain. On some days, Bay could just manage to hold a knife, if he carefully slid the handle between the stiff fingers. Most days the damn hand was just a lump of his rage and pain.

Beep! Beep!

"Brooklyn, can't you shut that noise off?"

"No can do, dude. I'm just an interface. Can't even hang up the phone. You took away my admin privileges, remember?"

"Because you kept flying us in the wrong direction!"

The starship huffed. "I don't like where you fly. Casinos, brothels, drug dens." The ship shuddered—actually shuddered, clattering the bulkheads. "They have sleazy ports crawling with ants. Not a place for a lady like me. We'd never fly there if it were up to me."

"Then you don't get admin status!"

Inwardly, Bay was cursing his decision to downgrade Brooklyn's privileges. He could have used her flying abilities now. With one hand, he wasn't doing a spectacular job. But he didn't have time to muck around with her algorithms now.

Clutching the throttle with his right hand, he slammed his left hand against the control panel, trying to hit the Reject Call button. But it was no good. One of his knuckles hit the wrong button—Accept Call.

"Muck!" Bay blurted.

"Oh, lovely," Brooklyn said. If she had eyes, she would have rolled them.

A hellish image appeared on the monitor. It looked like a stew of rock, fire, and meat. Bay understood. He was seeing the inside of a grug.

On the outside, a grug was stone and iron and ice—a lumpy asteroid. On the inside, it was soft flesh, sizzling puddles of acid, and boils that leaked molten rock.

And there, inside this hellish womb, sat the ugliest, nastiest creatures in the galaxy.

"Weegles," Bay muttered. "I mucking hate weegles."

The parasites stared at him. They cackled.

"Says the pest!" they chanted, voices shrill.

Weegles were small creatures, not much larger than a human toddler. But damn, they were ugly. The parasites had soft pale bodies, many legs, nasty claws, and twitching antennae. Bay didn't know their origin, but they had parasitized the grugs long ago, feeding off the warmth and energy inside. They used the living asteroids as starships, rolling from planet to planet, port to port, gambling and whoring and cheating at cards. Bay had never met a weegle with a decent profession. They were loan sharks, enforcers, drug pushers, and pimps.

"Fellas!" Bay said, waving his twisted hand. "Nice to see ya. You're looking extra, uh . . . wormy today. Been drinking all your stomach bile?"

"Spare us your toadying," the weegles said. "You owe us fifteen thousand scryls. Pay up. Or our grugs will swallow you whole, and we will digest your flesh over centuries."

"How can your grugs—in plural—devour me whole?" Bay said. "You have three asteroids. There's only one of me."

"Then we'll slice you into three pieces and devour you that way!" the weegles shrieked. "Do not think that you can fool us with your tricky words, pest. We beat you at Five Card Bluff, and your bet was fifteen thousand. Pay now or die."

Bay grumbled. "Muck you guys. You cheated, yo."

"That is irrelevant!" they screeched. "You still lost. You still owe us. Since you refuse to pay with scryls, you will pay with flesh. We will enjoy drinking your stomach acids."

The transmission died.

Bay groaned. "Drink this!" he said to the blank monitor, grabbing his crotch.

"Really, dude?" Brooklyn said. "That was crude. You should have said something like: Why don't you drink coffee instead?" The starship paused for effect. "Poisoned coffee."

"That is horrible, Brooklyn. Ra damn, you need a humor upgrade."

"I need an upgrade like I need a poisoned cup of coffee!" The starship laughed.

"Brooklyn, please shut up."

The living rocks were charging forward again, even faster than before. More than ever, Bay wished he had two working hands. He could have flown and fought at the same time. But there was no use using the ship's weapons now, not if he hoped to keep piloting.

He had won quite a few scryls down on the grimy moon of Koralon Ceti, a lawless world overrun with casinos and fighting pits. The tiny crystal skulls, each the size of a bean, jangled in his pack. The skulls came from the heads of starflies, pesky buggers bred on some distant, heavily-guarded world. The Concord Mint harvested the starflies, cleaned their skulls, and released them into circulation. It was one of the few currencies—along with slaves and fuel—accepted across all Concord worlds, this alliance of planets where Bay wandered.

None of these planets were his home. Bay had no home. He was a human. Among all sentient species in the galaxy, only humans had no homeworld. Even the damn weegles had a planet of their own somewhere. Bay had spent his life wandering from world to world, station to station. Since running away from his father at age fourteen, he had been flying this starship between casinos and brothels, gambling, saving, hoarding.

He was twenty-four. Someday, maybe even by his thirtieth birthday, it would be enough.

Enough money to buy a new hand, he thought. A prosthetic that can type. That can hold tools. That can hold a woman. And then I'll settle down. I'll get a decent job somewhere. I'll find a secret world where weegles, exterminators, and Peacekeepers can't find me. I'll find a real human girl—not a robot, not a vemale hologram, but a real woman, flesh and blood, a human like me. And I'll have peace.

He blinked away tears. He looked at his pack full of tiny, chinking crystal skulls. None of those dreams would come true if the weegles caught him.

And the asteroids were gaining on him.

Bay cursed his slow starship. To be honest, the ISS Brooklyn was not a starship at all, not a true one. Brooklyn had originally been a mere shuttlecraft, a small vessel used for ferrying a handful of passengers between a mothership and planet. Bay had stolen the shuttle years ago from his father, the legendary Admiral Emet Ben-Ari.

Some called Emet a hero, others an outlaw. The Concord Peacekeepers called him a terrorist mastermind. Whatever the case was, Emet Ben-Ari claimed to be descended from the Golden Lioness herself, the mythical leader of Earth who had slain many aliens. Emet now commanded the Heirs of Earth, a fleet of twenty starships and five hundred human warriors—the only human army in the galaxy.

Bay had no guilt over stealing one measly shuttle.

Fine. Maybe a little bit of guilt. But not enough to return the vessel.

Bay had modified the shuttle, of course, adding an azoth engine for warp speed, mounting cannons onto the prow, and installing a rudimentary AI system, one normally used on larger vessels. Like a true starship, Brooklyn could now fly faster than light, fight in a battle, and—regrettably—sass the pilot. The Inheritors named their starships after old Earth cities. So Bay had chosen a borough. Earth's Brooklyn had not been a true city, and this was not a true starship. The name fit.

This tiny vessel, not much larger than a van from old Earth, was Bay's only home.

For a decade now, Bay had lived in this cramped space, wandering from world to world, fleeing exterminators, bounty hunters, creditors, and even his father. Sadly, cardsharps chasing him was nothing new. It was life.

The starship piped up again.

"Proximity alert!" Brooklyn said. "Dude, proximity alert!"

The grugs were getting uncomfortably close. One of the asteroids belched, spewing molten rock. Bay cursed and yanked the joystick, tugging Brooklyn sideways. He dodged the spray, but droplets sizzled against the hull.

"Dude!" she cried. "I was just painted!"

Another grug charged from their port side, jaws snapping. Bay swerved, narrowly escaping the chomping stone jaws. A third asteroid tumbled from above, chortling, and Bay floored the throttle. Brooklyn blazed on afterburner. They just barely dodged the rolling stone.

Bay slammed at his communicator, hailing his attackers.

"Boys, boys!" he said, sweating now. "We can work this out. Maybe over a nice round of ale. I'm buying. And—"

"Devour him!" the weegles shrieked. "Grugs, swallow him whole!"

"Again with the plural!" Bay shouted, hanging up on them. Boring conversation anyway.

The grugs were snapping their jaws, banging into one another, desperate for the meal. One asteroid chomped on Brooklyn's wing, clipping the edge. The starship howled and careened.

It was a moment before Bay could right the ship. He pulled the joystick toward his chest, soaring, desperate to rise higher, to flee the beasts. The asteroids roared below him, jaws open like baby birds hungry for the worm. Inside their mouths, waiting deep in the gullets, the parasites waited.

Bay couldn't outrun these beasts. He'd have to pay up. Or fight.

"Mucking hell," Bay muttered, spinning Brooklyn around.

He faced the enemy.

"Um, dude?" Brooklyn said.

He shoved the throttle down, charged toward the grugs, and released the joystick.

"Dude!" Brooklyn screamed. "You're gonna get us killed!"

Bay grabbed the cannon controls.

He opened fire.

He had splurged a year ago. After snatching the golden watch off a dead exterminator—a tentacled son of a bitch who had tried to remove Bay from a bar—he had spoiled Brooklyn, buying her a good pair of cannons. Now shells the size of fists flew toward the grugs, leaving trails of fire.

The living asteroids shut their mouths and eyes, becoming balls of featureless stone.

The shells exploded against the beasts, chipping off bits of rock but otherwise doing the grugs no harm.

And now they were only meters away.

"Ra damn it!" Bay said.

He released the cannons. He grabbed the joystick. He tried to veer in time, and the grugs opened their jaws again, and—

He slammed into stone.

Sparks blazed across the starboard, blinding him.

Alarms blared.

The engine died.

A wing snapped off.

Brooklyn screamed.

Bay worked in a fury, reigniting the dead engine, shoving the throttle again. More grugs surrounded him. He managed to break free, to spurt outward like a wet fish from grabbing hands. But he was spinning madly. The stars spun around him. Only by miracle was the hull not breached, but ugly dents deformed it, and Brooklyn would not be flying through an atmosphere anytime soon.

"My wing!" Brooklyn said. "It's gone. I've been savaged!"

"There go my card winnings," Bay said. "It'll cost the full fifteen thousand scryls to replace your wing."

"Tough cookies," Brooklyn said. "Life is a hooch."

Indeed it was. And the grugs were still pursuing him.

Bay dared not face the aliens again. Maybe, with two hands, he could have piloted the ship and fired the guns. But until he could afford that prosthetic—which would cost more than ten starship wings—he would be running, talking, or outsmarting the bad guys.

Talking was pointless with grugs. Running was doing him no good. So it came down to smarts. The weegles were clever little parasites—not the most eloquent but cunning. Their hosts, the grugs, were no more sentient than chickens. The living asteroids cared for nothing but eating and breeding—which involved two grugs banging together until they chipped off baby rocks.

Bay couldn't help them with breeding, but as for food . . .

"They don't eat meat," he muttered. "The parasites eat meat. The asteroids just eat . . ." He gasped and scanned space, eyes narrowed. "Bingo."

He saw it in the distance. A cloud of luminous dust. The Cat's Paw nebula.

It was a small nebula. Not much larger than a planetary system. Bay sometimes used it for navigation. It was formed of glowing hydrogen, helium, and various ionized gasses—a grug's favorite foods.

"And you're hungry, aren't you, boys?" Bay muttered, flying toward the nebula. "This chase is wearing you out. You're mucking famished."

He held the throttle down with his elbow, allowing him to type.

"You know," Brooklyn said, "if you gave me admin status back, you wouldn't have to operate me with one hand."

"You know," Bay said, "if you shut up, I won't have to mute you."

"Hardy har har. So funny I forgot to laugh."

Typing furiously, Bay redirected power from weapons and shields toward the engine. He burst forward with renewed speed. He charged toward the nebula, bending spacetime around him. He was still paying off his warp drive, would be paying it off for years. It was easily the most expensive component on the ship, even more than the damn AI. But speed was priceless. Today speed would save his life.

The nebula grew larger ahead, shimmering gold and blue. Pillars reached outward like claws, tipped with young stars, giving the Cat's Paw nebula its name. From afar, it had seemed so small, a mere splotch in space, barely visible, but now it loomed before him, filling his viewport, a gleaming stellar nursery.

And the grugs saw it too.

The asteroids opened their jaws, revealing their innards of molten metal. Tongues of lava emerged to lick their chops. Their eyes widened. Drooling, the grugs swerved toward the nebula's delicious stew of gasses.

Inside the asteroids, the parasitic weegles were tugging on the beasts' tongues and cheeks, trying to redirect their hosts toward Brooklyn.

Bay opened a comm channel. "Trouble with your rides, boys?"

The weegles were shrieking something, but Bay could barely make out their voices. The grugs were howling with hunger. Their stomachs rumbled. The beasts were big and dumb but smart enough, apparently, to have learned one word.

"Food!" they rumbled. "Fooood!"

Bay slowed his starship. He turned Brooklyn around to watch the asteroids roll into the nebula. They began to feast.

"Hungry buggers," Brooklyn said. "Reminds me of you when you're eating."

Back on Earth, Bay had heard, the largest animals had been the whales. Despite their girth, they had subsided on plankton, creatures so small they were invisible. A handful of species roamed the cosmic oceans like the whales back home, and they too fed on the tiniest of meals—the atoms that floated through space and the microcosmic creatures that swam among them. The nebula's gasses swirled as the asteroids rolled through them like pigs in mud. Their stone jaws were opened wide, devouring the meal.

Inside the asteroids, the parasites were still shrieking, ordering the grugs to return to battle. Their hosts normally obeyed them, but during chow time, the asteroids ignored everything else.

Including Bay.

"Hey, boys!" Bay said, speaking into his comm. On his monitor, the weegles turned to face him. "Time for dessert."

Bay fired his cannons.

His aim was true. His shells flew into the open, feasting mouths of the grugs.

The grugs, still busy feeding, swallowed the projectiles.

An instant later, the shells exploded inside them.

On his monitor, Bay glimpsed the weegles torn apart before the transmission died. Through his viewport, he saw the grugs crack open, spilling lava, stomach acids, and bits of dead parasites.

The asteroids groaned, cracks gaping open across their stone bodies, revealing their raw insides. They coughed, spewing out burnt weegles. The parasites floated through the nebula. A few still twitched, then fell still. The wounded grugs rolled away to lick their wounds, vanishing into the nebula's depths.

Bay leaned back in his seat. He heaved a sigh of relief.

"Time for dessert?" Brooklyn said. "Time for dessert? Dude, that was a horrible."

"Shut up." Bay rubbed his temples.

The starship continued as if she hadn't heard him. "I mean, you could have tied it back into the card game. Something like: Read 'em and weep, boys! Or: You got worms, and here's your medicine!"

"Mine was snappier," Bay said.

"Or: Your breath stinks, have a Tic Tac!"

"I'm going to switch you off," Bay said.

He hit the mute button. Brooklyn flashed angry messages across the monitor, but Bay ignored them. She would give him hell later, but for now, he needed silence.

He rubbed his eyes. He was tired. He needed a drink. He needed a vemale or two, holographic girlfriends who could shove the loneliness aside for a night. His bad hand throbbed, but worse were the memories.

Fire in the grass.

Screams.

"Bay!" Her voice in the distance, and Bay running after her, lost in the smoke. Her skeletal hand, reaching to him, and—

Bay pounded his stiff hand against the dashboard. Pain blasted up his arm like a bullet, exploding in a crescendo across his shoulder. He winced and ground his teeth. Good. Pain drowned the memories. After every battle he fought, from bar brawl to space scuffle, those damn memories sneaked up on him.

He kicked his starship back into warp gear. He flew away from the nebula, one wing missing, hull dented, limping but still flying.

Maybe it would have been kinder to let the weegles devour me, he thought.

A moment of pain, then no more pain ever again. It was tempting.

But no. Eaten by weegles? There were better ways to die. With any luck, he'd be dead within a year, dull with grog and drugs, a vemale or two in his arms.

Bay looked down at his backpack. He nudged it with his foot, revealing the treasures within. Fifteen thousand scryls shone there—crystal skulls the size of marbles.

I'll have to buy Brooklyn a new wing, he thought. So much for buying myself a new hand. For buying a house. For buying a way out of this life.

His eyes stung. A new hand? A new house? What were they worth without Seohyun? Again he could hear her voice, calling to him, see her charred hand. He wanted to remember her smile, her sparkling black eyes, but he saw the burnt hair on her skull, and—

Again Bay pounded his own hand against the dashboard, letting the pain shove her away.

No. Don't think of Seohyun now. Don't fall into that pit.

He clenched his teeth and flew faster. He charged through space, his ship rattling, his fist clenched around the joystick. He was no longer fleeing cardsharps now, but he was still running. He was still fleeing terror.

"Dude, I don't like this," Brooklyn said. "We've never flown this close to the border."

Bay patted his starship's dashboard. "Don't worry, Brook. We'll be fine."

"I can detect your heartbeat and respiration levels, you know," Brooklyn said. "I'm not only a starship. I'm also a flying lie-detector. And you, sir, are lying. We won't be fine." The starship shuddered, rattling everything inside her, including Bay. "Let's get the hell out of here before we fly into a scorpion's nest."

Bay glanced out the starboard porthole. He had left the nebula far behind, along with the damn grugs. Off the starboard bow spread open space. There was nothing to mark the border, but his monitor was already flashing warnings. Just there, less than a light-year away, was Hierarchy space.

Scorpion territory.

It was Bay's turn to shudder. He had spent his life in Concord space, this alliance of sentient civilizations that spread across half the galaxy. Humans were perhaps pests here, the only homeless species. But most of the cheaper bars, casinos, and brothels would tolerate Bay after a bribe.

Out there, in Hierarchy territory . . . that was a different story.

The Hierarchy wasn't an alliance of civilizations. It was a brutal, bloody empire, the scorpions on top. Bay hated weegles. He hated grugs. He hated marshcrabs and hoggers and bonecrawlers and most other aliens for that matter. But the Skra-Shen, the giant scorpions from the darkness, made all those other aliens seem downright cuddly.

The scorpions didn't just see humans as an annoyance. The scorpions were obsessed with humans, had based their entire society, their very religion, on the notion of humanity's evil. Their goal was one—to purify the galaxy of the human infestation.

With another shudder, Bay turned his eyes forward. In the distance he could just see it now, the place he sought. It was a dim sparkle from here, barely distinguishable from the stars, but his navigational systems confirmed it.

Before him hovered Paradise Lost.

"We gotta stop there, gorgeous." Bay patted the dashboard. "You're hurt, Brook. Gotta repair ya."

The starship groaned. "Dude!"

"I know, I know," Bay said. "We don't like docking so close to the border. The scorpions are so close they could piss on us after a pint. But you need a wing if we're to land on a planet again. And they got repair shops at Paradise Lost."

"Dude, no." Brooklyn's dashboard camera shook on its stalk like a head. "We are not going to Paradise Lost. It's the greasiest of all grease joints! There's no smell in space, and I don't have a nose, and I can still smell the grease from here. It's positively crawling with dirty robots."

"You're a robot," Bay said.

"I am no robot! I'm an intelligent starship. Very different thing. The robots at this place, the ones you'll hire to repair me? They drip old oil. Some of them have ants in their joints. Ants, dude!"

"Brook, robots don't have ants in their joints. They're robots, not picnic baskets."

"As if you've ever taken me on a picnic!" Brooklyn sighed, vents rattling. "Take me on a picnic, Bay. Can't we land in some nice, sunny port far from the frontier?"

"Nice ports are on planets," Bay said. "Planets have air. You need two wings to fly through air. We're going to Paradise Lost."

Brooklyn huffed. "You just want to go there because they'll have bars and brothels."

"Damn right," Bay said. "I intend to get properly drunk, win a card game or two, and pass out in a virtual reality tank, two holographic girls in my arms."

Brooklyn was quiet for a long time. Finally she spoke softly. "Bay. It doesn't have to be this way. We can go back home."

He stiffened. "We don't have a home."

"We do," she said. "We did. The Heirs of Earth will welcome us back. I can dock again in the hangar of the ISS Jerusalem. You can reunite with your family. We—"

"No!" Bay shouted, surprised at how loud his voice sounded. "No, Brooklyn. No! Do not suggest that again. Not after what my father did. Not after how Seohyun died." His eyes dampened. "Never speak to me of my family. We will never be Inheritors again. This is our life now. Running. Fighting. Boozing and whoring and gambling. I don't like it any more than you, but this is how we survive. Do you understand, Brooklyn? Tell me you understand, or Ra help me, I will rip out your AI."

Brooklyn had no eyes, but her monitor turned a sad blue. Her camera wilted on its stalk. She spoke in a soft voice.

"I understand."

She turned herself off.

Good. Good! Let her hide in the innards of the ship. Bay didn't care. He didn't care about any of them. Not Brooklyn, not his father, not his sister—nobody. He cared only about one person, and she was dead now, and he would be dead too soon enough.

A glow caught his eye. He could see Terminus ahead now, the last wormhole in Concord territory. He was close.

Nobody knew who had built the wormholes. They were millions of years old, predating any extant civilization. Ancient aliens had built the Tree of Light, a network of passageways that crisscrossed the Milky Way galaxy. Inside Bay's ship was an azoth crystal, able to bend spacetime the way a diamond could refract light. With it, he could travel in a warp bubble, moving faster than light. But a galaxy was a very large place. Even at warp speed, it could take months to travel between Concord worlds. Traveling through wormholes took only moments. You could cross a hundred light-years before you could finish a pint of grog.

The Concord alliance controlled about half the wormholes. The Hierarchy controlled the other half. There were a handful of wormholes in disputed territory too. Most major systems had grown around a wormhole. The Concord Mint, the Peacekeeper Courts, the great Dyson sphere of Aelonia—they were all by wormholes. These galactic stations were prime real estate, and great courts, cities, and establishments grew around them.

And then there was Terminus Wormhole.

You could call it the black sheep of the wormhole family.

First of all, Terminus only led to one other wormhole, one near a sulfur mine only ten light-years away. Not a particularly busy route. Second, the nearest planet to Terminus was a marshy world called Akraba. The entire planet was a swamp crawling with giant, sentient crabs who spent their lives eating carcasses, noisily breeding, and biting anyone who approached. Again, not much of a tourist draw.

And finally, there was the . . . other issue.

Hierarchy space was just next door. Not even a light-year away. The border was so close Bay could practically spit across it

He winced. The Hierarchy. The wrong side of the tracks. The bad half of the galaxy. Call it what you will, Bay didn't like being so close. Not that the Concord was particularly nice when you were human. But the Hierarchy had far worse than marshcrabs and weegles. The meanest, toughest predators of the galaxy made the Hierarchy their home. Thousands of predatory species controlled those star systems, all bowing before the Skra-Shen scorpions.

Nope, not many reasons for most folk to visit Terminus Wormhole. Even the Peacekeepers never came here. Even the damn Concord army didn't patrol here. Deep down, they probably wouldn't mind much if the scorpions destroyed the entire system.

All this made Terminus a hellhole for decent, law-abiding folk—and heaven for thieves, druggers, pimps, pickpockets, gamblers, and the other lowlifes of the Concord.

Including Bay.

And Paradise Lost space station had grown to serve them.

"They say that before the galaxy divided between Concord and Hierarchy, Paradise Lost was respectable," Brooklyn said. "It was originally a luxury hotel."

Bay frowned. "I thought you were sleeping."

"Who can sleep at a time like this?" Brooklyn said. "In this part of space? Thoughts keep rattling through my chips. Probably ants too."

He groaned. "Brook, you don't have ants!" He looked at the space station ahead. "Respectable, you say? Well, those days are long gone."

"Indeed," said Brooklyn. "Paradise Lost is now the galaxy's most wretched hive of scum and—"

"Shush," Bay said.

He gazed at the station. When he squinted, he could just make out the original structure—an elegant cylinder. Over time, hundreds of pods had latched onto the space station like barnacles. Neon signs danced and shone, advertising the wares within.

Slugs, Slugs, Slugs! one sign announced, and a neon mollusk swayed seductively.

Another sign featured a marshcrab sniffing a platter of tentacles. Greasy Grabbers! Get 'em here!

A neon heart glittered. The Love Chapel! Fast Weddings, Cheap Divorces!

As Bay approached, more and more signs shone, promising to buy his gold for cash, to sell him loans, to massage his aching muscles, to polish his scales, to fluff his feathers, and to rid his starship of bed bugs, engine slugs, and humans. He flew by a dozen casinos, twice as many brothels, a hundred or more pubs. There were drug dens and fighting pits, adult virtual reality rooms, even a minigolf course for the kids.

He thought of sprawling grasslands.

He saw in his memory a planet called Vaelia, and the sun dipping behind bales of hay.

He heard her laughter again, saw her smile, her sparkling eyes, and he stroked her long black hair.

"Seohyun," he whispered into her ears, and she laughed and kissed him.

Her skeletal hand reached toward him from the ash. Her long black hair fluttered in the wind, burnt, barely clinging to her skull.

Bay lowered his head.

That old life was gone. Those two years on the plains, the only two years when he had known joy, would never return. Seohyun was dead, and so was his soul.

He approached one of Paradise Lost's airlocks. They glided into a massive hangar.

Many starships were already docking here. Most were small shuttles like Brooklyn; their motherships floated farther out. Brooklyn extended her landing gear. They landed on the greasy hangar floor, sliding and squeaking and nearly hitting other shuttles.

Bay looked around. The space station was packed today. Bay saw bristly marshcrab ships—spiky, ugly things that looked like crabs themselves. There were white spiral ships, mottled with brown patches—the shuttles of the Slurin civilization, sentient snails. Other ships were shaped like coiling, scaled snakes, complete with portholes like eyes. Some ships were cobbled together from scraps, cannons thrusting out from them—probably the ships of roaming merchants or bounty hunters.

"Every ship is uglier than the last," Brooklyn said.

He patted her dashboard. "You'll fit right in."

"Muck you, hooch," she said. "Can't you take me to an Aelonian port for once?"

Bay snorted. "Aelonians are respectable aliens. They don't want us around." He looked at a few wrinkly aliens standing nearby. They were giving him the stink eye. "Even here, the greasiest place in the galaxy, we're not exactly welcome."

He taxied Brooklyn toward a parking spot. They squeezed between a rusty pontoon and a bio-tech starship that grumbled, opened one eye, mumbled something about wingless pests, then went back to snoring.

"You're leaving me here?" Brooklyn said. "By a living starship? Is this a dock or a Disney animator's worst nightmare?"

Bay regretted ever telling Brooklyn about Earth lore. He could do without ancient references.

Funny, he thought. Even most humans wouldn't know who Disney was.

But Bay knew, of course. He was the son of Admiral Emet Ben-Ari himself, founder of the Heirs of Earth. As a child, Bay had seen the Earthstone, the repository of old Earth's culture.

Then, fourteen years ago, they had lost the Earthstone.

They had lost Earth's heritage.

David Emery had been like an uncle to Bay. Hell, more like a father. Bay's own father had always been distant, busy with his battles, but David? David had taken Bay fishing (at least when they were near a world with water), had taught him to throw a ball, to read poetry, to draw.

Then David had betrayed them.

He had stolen the Earthstone.

He had run.

Bay had been only eight years old. To him, the Earthstone had been just a library of old cartoons and books. But Emet had been devastated. Betrayed. Emet had lost his best friend—and the cultural heritage of his people.

Bay shook his head, returning his thoughts to the present.

"Just try to get some sleep, Brook," he said. "I'm gonna spend a few days here. I'll find a mechanic to fix your wing."

"Not a robot mechanic," Brooklyn said. "They all creak."

Bay raised his hands in resignation. "Fine, no robot mechanics! I'll find giant alien ants to repair you." He muttered those last words under his breath.

Bay stepped outside into the hangar. At once the aroma hit him—a familiar mix of old cigarettes, urine, grog puke, and decay. Ah, the good old smells of the galactic fringe, as comforting as Mom's apple pie.

Leaving Brooklyn behind, Bay shuffled across the hangar. He pulled his hood low, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets. He hunched over as he walked, trying to make himself smaller. He never felt comfortable in crowds. He wasn't particularly tall for a human. He was only five-foot-eight, about the same height as his sister, and much shorter than their dad. A decade of running had also left Bay rawboned, almost too thin for health. And yet he always tried to make himself even smaller, wrapping himself in baggy clothes, hooding his head. He shuffled and peered around nervously instead of walking tall. There were too many dangers in the galaxy, especially for a human. Bay had learned to lurk in shadows.

I wish you could walk with me, Brook, he thought.

Someday if he were rich enough, perhaps he'd buy Brooklyn an android body. It would be easy enough to transfer her AI from the starship into an android. He's buy her a classy body. Not a trashy gynoid like the robo-brothels employed. Something elegant. Something better than he was. Something with two working hands and squared shoulders and a straight back. Something like how Seohyun had looked.

Bay looked around him at the hangar. It was a grimy, sad place, a blend of shadows, rude graffiti, and garish neon lights. Slot machines stood against a wall, and a variety of wrinkly, feathered, and scaly aliens were shoving scryls into the beeping, shining boxes. One alien, a creature with a metallic body and wet tentacles, gurgled with joy as he won several furry, purring aliens as a prize. He gulped them down, ignoring their purrs of protest, and continued playing.

"Sir?" A wrinkly alien crawled toward Bay. It looked like a beached starfish, withered and weak. "Sir, a few scryls for a hungry mother?" The starfish raised an arm, showing a brood of eggs nested in her suction cups.

Bay sighed. He didn't have much money. Barely enough to buy Brooklyn a new wing and still feed himself. But he had gone hungry before. He was used to it, and women and children came first. Well, starfish mothers and eggs in this case, but the principle remained. Bay pulled a few scryls from his pocket and held them out.

"Thank you, sir!" The starfish took the money, then huffed. "Greedy human pest, you probably stole it anyway."

She slithered away.

"Yeah, well, at least I have a backbone!" he cried after her.

The starfish flipped him a tentacle, then attached herself to a slot machine and began playing.

Bay supposed he could chase the starfish and wrestle his money back, but he didn't want to make a scene. It was bad enough being human in public. Causing trouble while human would probably get him shot.

He kept walking across the hangar when he heard the clatters and grumbles.

He looked up and his heart sank.

He was trying to avoid trouble. But trouble had just found him.

"Hey, pest!" The deep voice rumbled ahead. "We don't welcome pests here. Begone."

Bay sighed.

A marshcrab was clattering toward him.

Bay hated marshcrabs. Hated them.

The creatures were common here at Paradise Lost. The space station was near Akraba, after all, homeworld of the beasts. The marshcrab towered before him, seven or eight feet tall. All that height was just the legs. There were eight of those legs, long and thin like stilts, coated with a red shell. The marshcrab's body was no larger than a human torso, perched above the legs like a tabletop. Mandibles framed the marshcrab's mouth, evolved to shatter the bones of corpses and suck up the rotting juices. His eyes moved on stalks, black and cunning. Those eyes tilted down to stare at Bay.

"Yo, man, I don't want any trouble." Bay raised his hands. "I'm just here to spend a shit-ton of scryls, ya know? Good for the place. You work here?"

The marshcrab rattled closer, claws tapping, joints creaking. Ra above, did the alien stink—a stench like rotten fish on a tarry beach. Bay struggled not to cover his nose, not wanting to further enrage the alien. The marshcrab leaned down. Barbels grew above his mouth like a mustache—sensory organs. The tendrils thrust forward, then recoiled.

"You pests stink," the marshcrab said.

Bay doubted a bloodhound could smell a pile or rotten eggs anywhere near a marshcrab, but he didn't argue.

"Hey, man, I got scryls here, fifteen thousand, yo." Bay reached into his pack and pulled out a few crystal skulls. "What's the cost of entry? You got a cover price, right?"

The marshcrab narrowed his eyes. "Are you trying to bribe me?" He straightened, joints creaking, perhaps unaccustomed to the dry air of the space station. The creatures did come from a wet, swampy planet, after all. "I am Belowgen, Chief Administrator of Paradise Lost, and I will not allow this place to fall to corruption."

Bay grabbed an entire fistful of scryls this time, more than he usually liked for a bribe, but Brooklyn needed a new wing, and there was no other place within parsecs.

Sure, keep telling yourself it's about Brook. Bay glanced up at the neon signs promising untold sins. Not about yourself. Not about Seohyun.

"Cover charge and stay out of my way." Bay shoved the tiny skulls at the marshcrab. "I'll stay out of yours."

The giant crab huffed, snorted, but then snatched the money. Bay walked past him and into the station.

Someday I'll be rich, Seohyun, a boy had said long ago.

Seohyun had kissed him. I don't need you to be rich, silly. Just to be here with me. To lie like this forever on the grass, finding shapes in the clouds.

He walked by many establishments: exotic massage parlors where seductive aliens, perfumed and naked, worked with many hands; fighting pits where crowds roared, betting on tiny gladiators who held cutlery as weapons; casinos where dead-eyed old aliens, some rotting away, played slot machines that sucked your blood as payment; and opium dens where patrons sprawled on the floor, drooling and inhaling purple smoke. Here were hives of inequity and despair. Hives of forgetting.

Bay had to save his money. He knew that. To buy Brooklyn her new wing. To save for his new hand, a costly prosthetic that could interface with his nerves. To find a grassy world again, a world of sunshine and growing things.

But Seohyun wouldn't be there.

Bay approached a bar, a shadowy joint between a pet shop and an adult movie theater. Neon letters shone, dubbing the place Drunken Truckers. Above the letters appeared two neon starships, smashing into each other again and again, complete with animated flames. Bay was no trucker, but their bars tended to offer cheap grog. He stepped inside.

It was a dark, dusty place, the floor littered with smashed bottles and cigarette butts. A monitor in the corner showed a robot boxing match. A slug slumped at the bar, nursing a pint of khlur—an alien brew of fermented stomach acids. A furry creature with eight legs hung from the ceiling, spinning a small animal in his claws, nibbling on the meal. A green humanoid danced topless in a cage. She flickered out of reality. A burly alien thumped a projector, and the green stripper reappeared in all her holographic sleaze.

Bay slammed a few scryls onto the bar. The crystal skulls jangled.

"Yo, any bartender here?" Bay said, craning his neck over the bar.

The coat hanger moved toward him. At least, Bay had mistook it for a coat hanger at first. Damn giant stick insects.

"We don't serve humans here," the woody alien said.

"This human tips well." Bay nudged the scryls across the counter. "Grog. The strongest you got. And none of that khlur crap. Hit me."

The stick insect filled a dirty mug. Bay grogged. It tasted like gasoline and sweat, but it reeked of alcohol, so it would do.

Old words surfaced in his memory.

One day we'll own a farmstead of our own, Seohyun. One day I'll buy you the sky.

She nestled against him. I don't care about the sky. I'm a girl of the earth.

Bay slammed down his empty mug. "Another!"

He grogged the second mug. The grog didn't taste as horrible this time. The room began to spin, but the pain in his bad hand was fading, the twisted muscles loosening.

Bay! She ran through the flames. Bay, it hurts.

"Hit me." Bay slammed down more scryls. They clattered across the bar.

His father glared. We are leaving, and you are coming with us, and that is that.

She died because of you!

He wept—a boy of fourteen. He ran across the hangar. He stole the shuttle. He grogged a fourth cup.

By the fifth cup, Bay couldn't see straight. He stumbled into the washroom and pissed an ocean. As he stepped by the holographic stripper, she gave him a kiss.

"Scryls for a dance, honey?" the hologram said.

Bay ignored her. He didn't want no damn hologram. He wanted . . .

I'm a girl of the earth. I want the sky always above me.

He staggered out of the bar. He swayed down the corridor, passing by the pet shop where reptiles, birds, and insects gurgled and cawed in cages. A few aliens bumped into Bay. They grumbled. One shoved him.

"Mucking pest!" A living plant walked by him, shedding leaves.

A liquid alien rolled by inside a mobile aquarium. "Who let a pest aboard?"

A man-sized snail slithered on the wall. "First pests in the washroom vents, now this!"

Bay ignored them all. He was used to stares, shoves, insults. He was human. To these aliens, it was like seeing a cockroach.

Once we were masters of a planet. The thought emerged through the groggy haze. Once we had fleets, power, respect. My father believes we can have that again. That we can find Earth, that we can—

But Seohyun had died.

And Bay wanted nothing of that war. That dream was dead. Dead like everything else Bay had ever had.

He found his way to a virtual reality chamber, the kind you hoped they steam cleaned after each use. He paid with a fistful of scryls, spilling them, and the tiny skulls clattered across the floor. He barely remembered making his way into a VR chamber, but soon he was lying on a mattress that reeked of disinfectants. The walls were bare except for some graffiti. Somebody had drawn rude spirals tipped with circles. Alien dicks always reminded Bay of springs.

He picked up the sensors from the floor, wiped them off, and strapped them on. He pulled on his 3D glasses.

"Yo, um, interface?" he said. "Activate."

A hologram appeared before him, featuring the interface. Bay reached out with his good hand. The left hand was curled up against his chest, throbbing and useless. He had paid for only one vemale tonight. Two chicks at the same time cost a pretty penny.

The interface offered him many species, everything from slimy slugs to living plants. Bay scrolled until he found the option for human. He then scrolled through possible bodies, ranging from petite to cartoonishly curvy. Bay chose his woman a body—short and slender. From the next menu, he picked long black hair, almond-shaped eyes, and a kind smile. With each selection, his hologram took shape.

I'm a girl of the earth.

And she materialized before him. Seohyun—risen again. Smiling sweetly. She nestled against him, and with his sensors, he could actually feel her.

"Hey, handsome," she cooed. "Can I suck your—"

"Hush," Bay whispered. His eyes watered. It was too painful to hear her speak like this. It was too painful to shatter the illusion.

"Just hold me," he whispered. "Hold me and sleep."

The virtual girl closed her eyes, smiling softly. She curled up in his arms, warm and soft. The illusion was complete—her breath against him, her hair flowing between his fingers. And Bay wept.

A small, choked sound sounded above him.

He frowned and looked at the ceiling.

There was an air conditioning vent directly above. And a face was peering through it.

Bay gasped. He made eye contact.

She was a teenage girl. She had short, messy brown hair and large brown eyes. The girl gasped, covered her mouth, and her face vanished. Bay heard her crawling through the duct above, fleeing.

That had been no virtual girl.

A human.

She was human.

It had been years since Bay had met another human.

"Yo, wait up!" Bay said, rising to his feet. "Girl!"

He yanked off the VR sensors, and the virtual Seohyun vanished. Bay leaped toward the ceiling, tried to grab the vent, but couldn't reach. He cursed his modest height, wishing he were as tall as his father.

"Yo, girl!" he cried.

Fists pounded on the wall, coming from the room next door. A deep voice grumbled. "Keep it down in there! I'm trying to fertilize some holographic eggs in here."

Bay sat down, head reeling. A girl in the ducts. A human. Another human. Around her neck—a crystal amulet. She was so familiar. Bay knew her face. He had seen her before, seen that jewel . . .

His head spun. Too much grog filled him, too much pain. He fell back onto the mattress. His eyes rolled back, and Bay slept. He dreamed of rolling grasslands and spreading fire.

Commodore Leona Ben-Ari stood in the desert canyon, sword raised, as a hundred thousand aliens howled for her death.

Why does this damn thing keep happening to me?

Leona brushed back her mane of curly brown hair, then charged forward, roaring and brandishing her blade.

The beast stood before her, twice her size. Tarmarins had evolved here on the desert world of Til Shiran, and their scales were the same brownish-gold as the sand, the canyon, the sky, and almost everything on this sweltering planet. The sun blinded Leona, and the heat drenched her with sweat, but the scaly monster facing her probably felt quite comfortable. He snorted as she charged, claws glinting.

"I will teach you the meaning of pain, pest," the Tarmarin said.

Leona vaulted off a boulder, soared into the air, then swooped, her blade pointing toward him.

Like an armadillo, the Tarmarin curled up into a ball.

At least, if armadillos were built like a Ra damn tank, Leona thought.

Her blade slammed into the hard scales, nearly snapping. It didn't even leave a dent. Pain reverberated up Leona's arm.

She fell back and hit the dirt, legs sprawled out. She held her shield in one hand, sword in the other, and the sandy wind blew across her.

The Tarmarin unfurled, limbs and spiny head emerging from the ball of scales. It swung down its claws. Leona rolled, but a claw still scraped across her thigh, reopening her old wound, and she yowled.

The crowd cheered.

Aliens from across the planet had come to watch the fight. It was not every day, after all, that a human battled in Broken Bone Canyon. Most of these aliens had never seen a human, but they had all heard the tales. Heard that humans were demons. That they drank the blood of baby aliens. That they could turn into cockroaches, withered crops, and spread disease. Whenever a starship crashed, they blamed human saboteurs. Whenever a child got fever and perished, they blamed humans for poisoning the wells. Whenever a stock market tanked, they spoke of humans hoarding the wealth.

Yet to actually see one of these villains? To see a human killed in real life? And to see no less than Leona Ben-Ari herself, the daughter of Admiral Emet, the human warlord feared across the galaxy?

Yes, this fight had attracted a crowd. Tiers of seats had been carved into the canyon cliffs, forming an amphitheater. Thousands of aliens had come to see the spectacle.

Most were Tarmarins, the native species, aliens with sharp claws, long teeth, and a natural coat of tawny scales. But Til Shiran was an important planet along trading routes. No fewer than three wormholes shone in its sky just beyond the planetary rings. And so this desert world, cracked and dry as it was, attracted aliens from a thousand Concord worlds. Many other species had come to watch Leona killed.

Sluggers—mollusks the size of men—sat in the amphitheater, sipping from buckets of fermented intestines. A few Esporians clung to their seats—sentient mushrooms—experiencing the fight through vibrations in the canyon. Trillians sat on a balcony—living musical instruments who communicated by plucking their own strings. The sunlight reflected in Silicades, a race of sentient crystals. These living minerals had no eyes, but they could see images in reflected light. Not every alien was solid. There were liquid aliens who sat in bulbs of water, gaseous aliens confined to atmosuits, and aliens formed of intelligent electromagnetic pulses that moved between hovering balls. There were even a handful of Aelonians—tall, glowing humanoids with transparent skin, the most powerful race in the Concord.

There were no humans in the crowd.

Humans were not allowed among "civilized" aliens.

But this human can fight, Leona thought, leaping back to her feet. This human is proud.

She raised her sword and shield.

The Tarmarin gladiator charged toward her, claws lashing.

Tarmarin scales normally bristled like porcupine quills. Only when rolling into balls did the scales lie flat, armoring their bodies. Now, as the gladiator charged, his scales thrust outward, revealing the soft flesh beneath. Leona tried to thrust her sword, but it felt like pointing a butter knife at a charging rhino.

The Tarmarin leaped toward her, and Leona raised her shield.

She caught the claws against her shield. Leona screamed, digging her heels into the sand.

Yet the beast was powerful. He shoved her back. Her heels dug grooves in the canyon floor. She grimaced, pushing against her shield, desperate to hold him back. Leona was a tall and powerful woman. She had trained for years with the Inheritors, lifting weights, battling fellow warriors, becoming strong, fast, fierce. Yet this beast was larger and stronger, and his tail whipped around her shield and stung her hip.

"Muck!" Leona cried.

The crowd roared. They tossed refuse at her—rotten food, soiled diapers, body waste.

"Pests go home!" an alien shouted.

"Kill the pest!" cried another, and the chant swelled across the crowd. "Kill the pest, kill the pest!"

Leona growled. She narrowed her eyes, ignoring the fear. She had battled tough aliens before. She had defeated the evil mushrooms in the salt mines of Esporia. She had slain snowbeasts on the mountains of Isintar. She had even battled scorpions on—

And suddenly Leona was there again.

Ten years ago.

The memories became real.

The albino scorpion reared before her, a Skra-Shen lord named Sartak, a deformed beast with two tails. His pincers lashed.

Her husband, her beloved Jake, cried out her name. His legs were gone.

Jake! she cried, blood flowing onto her white dress, a lost girl on a distant beach.

The Tarmarin whipped his tail again, stabbing her side. Leona hit the ground, jolted back into the present. The canyon walls spun around her, covered with roaring aliens. The sun beat down, searing her. Sand, sweat, and blood coated her.

Leona ground her teeth.

No more pain, she told herself. No more memories. No more loss.

She rolled, dodging the Tarmarin's claws, then leaped up.

She thrust her sword.

So fast she barely saw him move, the Tarmarin rolled back into an armored ball. Once more, his scales flattened, locking into place, coating him with an impregnable shell.

Once more, Leona's blade hit his scales, sparking.

"Coward!" she said.

The crowd laughed. Their chanting continued. "Kill the pest, kill the pest!"

Leona tightened her lips.

I should use my implant, she thought.

A year ago, she had paid a fortune—enough to buy an entire starship—to install a small cybernetic implant, no larger than a coin, in her brain. When activated, it slowed her perception of time. Her enemies appeared to move in slow motion. But it also hurt like a jackhammer in her skull. And the higher she cranked the time-twister, the harder that jackhammer pounded. The last time Leona had used the implant, she had ended up in bed for three days, a wet cloth wrapped around her head.

Better save it for later, she thought. I'm not jackhammering my skull for a damn armadillo.

Roaring, Leona pounded her sword down again and again, hacking at the beast. The wind billowed her curly brown hair, her sweat dripped, and she kept swinging her sword like an axe. Nothing could break through the Tarmarin's scales. She might as well be hacking solid iron. The scales interlocked perfectly, leaving the faintest lines where they met, too thin to even thrust her blade into.

When Leona paused for breath, the Tarmarin's limbs popped back out. His scales bristled, becoming sharp spikes. He lashed his claws.

One claw scraped across her arm, and Leona screamed.

She stumbled backward, blood dripping. The Tarmarin approached, drooling, licking his jaws.

"Die now," he hissed. "I'll enjoy devouring your flesh."

Leona raised her shield.

The Tarmarin's claws slammed against it, shattering the shield into a thousand shards. The pieces stung her.

Leona panted. They had given her no armor. She wore merely brown cargo pants and a blue shirt, Inheritor colors. They had taken her gun. They had even taken her damn cowboy hat. All Leona had was her chipped blade, and it was useless against those Ra damn scales.

As the crowd chanted, the Tarmarin kept advancing, claws lashing. Leona howled, parrying each blow. But she was tired. She fell to one knee, barely blocking another blow. The claws kept slamming down with a fury, and she held her blade overhead, teeth grinding, desperate to hold him off. Her blade chipped again. Sand flew, blinding her.

Sand like on a distant beach.

And again—she was back there.

A young bride. A mother-to-be. Only seventeen and so scared.

The albino scorpion rose above her. Her husband screamed. The stinger burst through his chest, and the scorpion tore him apart, flaying, feeding. Leona knelt on the cold floor, bleeding between her legs, the stars going dark above.

No. Not now.

Leona shoved that memory aside.

"I am no longer that girl," she hissed between gritted teeth. "I am Commodore Leona Ben-Ari, an Inheritor, a warrior of Earth!"

Holding her sword up with one hand, she grabbed a pebble.

She thrust the stone up, embedding it under one of the Tarmarin's erect scales.

She swung her blade, and the Tarmarin rolled up into an armored ball again.

But one of its scales—the one with the stone underneath—was unable to lock into place. It remained distended. A chink in the armor.

Screaming, Leona knelt, then thrust her sword upward with all her strength.

The blade drove under the exposed scale, shattered the pebble, and sank deep into the alien's flesh.

Blood spurted.

The crowd gasped.

Leona roared wordlessly, shoving herself up from her knees, driving the blade deeper. It felt like cutting through raw leather, but she kept shoving, muscles straining, until the blade sank down to the hilt.

She stepped back, panting, leaving the sword embedded in the Tarmarin.

The scaly ball uncurled. The alien lay on the canyon floor, limbs sprawled out, sword impaling him.

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.

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.

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.

Leona soared through the air, legs kicking, leaving the balcony behind.

Below on the cobbled boulevard, the crowd of aliens looked up, wailing in shock. The humans who knelt, cleaning the road, raised their eyes and gasped.

Several winged reptiles flew above the crowd, cawing as Leona vaulted toward them. Leona grabbed one in mid-flight, wrapping her hands around its scaly legs. The creature squawked and flapped its leathery wings, and Leona tugged it downward, using the beast as a parachute. Her boots hit the cobblestones, and she released the reptile. The alien flew away, screeching.

The crowd erupted. Some laughed. Other aliens cried out in fear.

"She has a gun!" somebody shouted. "A pest with a gun!"

"Let her clean the road too!" cried a furry giant.

The Peacekeepers leaned forward. The tank turned, caterpillar tracks clanking, and its cannon faced Leona.

Leona glared at them all. "Stand back!" she said. "These people are no longer yours to torment. Stand back or my bullets sing!"

On the road, still kneeling, the humans looked up at her. Their eyes were wide. Their mouths hung open. The humans on this planet all looked similar. They had mahogany skin, long straight hair, and bright eyes that ranged from indigo to lilac. This community must have been living here for centuries, maybe even thousands of years, isolated from the rest of humanity, forming a new ethnicity. Before her was a new human nation, evolved to survive on this searing desert world.

During their long exile, the old races of Earth had intermingled and reformed, branching off into new ethnicities. Leona herself came from a mixed family. She had the olive skin and curly brown hair of her mother, perhaps remnants of Earth's old Mediterranean, South American, or Middle Eastern cultures. Meanwhile, her father and brother had pale skin and blond hair, echoes of Northern Europe. But those old distinctions no longer mattered, if they ever did.

Today all humans must unite, Leona thought. Today we are all one race, one species, and must stand together against our enemies.

Leona recognized the woman from the canyon, the one who had watched Leona fight.

She's a strange one, Leona thought, gazing at her curiously.

In some ways, the young woman looked like the other humans of Til Shiran. Her skin was dark brown. Her features were delicate. Her eyes were lavender. But there the resemblance ended.

Despite her youth, the woman's hair was silvery white, the color of moonlight. The aliens had forced the woman to clean the road with her hair. But even the dirt could not dull its shine. It flowed like strands of starlight. Silvery tattoos coiled across the woman's cheek, neck, and arms like filigree. They too gleamed. The girl seemed almost like a fairy creature, ethereal and enchanted, and even her degradation could not mar her grace.

The other humans were all older, some elderly, and Leona wondered what had happened to the other young people of this world. Had they all fled? Or been killed?

Leona reached her hand down to the humans.

"Rise, friends," she said. "I am Commodore Leona Ben-Ari, daughter of Emet, descendant of Einav the Golden Lioness. I'm an Inheritor. We are all children of Earth. You need no longer kneel."

Yet still they knelt. They lowered their eyes. Leona saw the bruises, the cuts. She knew that years of trauma had beaten the terror into them. Leona had emancipated humans before. Many still danced with the demons, years later.

Perhaps they will never be healed, Leona thought. Perhaps only their children or grandchildren will stand tall. For their sake, for these future generations, I must bring them all home. To Earth.

"Rise," she said.

The young woman with the silver tattoos rose first. Sand coated her white robes and white hair, but she still stood straight, shoulders squared. Runes were embroidered into her white robes with silver thread, ancient symbols of power. There was fear in her lavender eyes, but defiance too. Yes, there was courage to this one. There was power in those eyes.

"I am Coral Amber," the young woman said. "Weaver of aether. I saw you fight in the arena, Leona." Fire kindled in her eyes. "You are blessed by the light."

A weaver!

Leona suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She had heard of the weavers, a strange religion some called a cult. She had always dismissed them, thinking them a bunch of kooks. Leona didn't believe in anything supernatural, no mysterious consciousness in the void, no numinous energy one could weave. Hers was a world of blood, sweat, and tears. Yet right now, there were more pressing concerns than theological debates.

The other humans glanced at one another, still kneeling, still afraid. Leona held out her hand to them.

"Rise, friends," she said. "Stand tall with me."

Before she could say more, one of the Peacekeepers clanked toward her. Though the Tarmarin already had natural scale armor, he wore the body armor of the corps. Each planet had its own color of Peacekeeper uniform. Here in the desert, they wore tan robes over black plate armor.

"Do you have a license for that rifle, pest?" the Peacekeeper said, clattering closer. "Only members of recognized Concord militias may carry weapons."

Leona stared at the alien. "I am an officer in the Heirs of Earth. And you will stand down."

"Heirs of Earth?" The Peacekeeper snorted and reached for his gun. "Damn terro—"

Leona put a bullet through his head.

The Peacekeeper slammed onto the cleaned cobblestones, dirtying them with yellow blood.

Leona looked around her, raising her smoking gun. "Peacekeepers, put down your weapons!" she shouted. "Your duty is to protect all sentient life." She gestured at the humans kneeling around her. "Here you have sentience! Here you have life to protect! And you have watched them debased and done nothing. You betrayed your duty. You acted like scorpions! You will disperse this crowd now, or I will—"

"You will do nothing!"

The voice rang through a megaphone. The tank came rolling toward Leona, caterpillar tracks crushing insects with a series of tiny pops. An obese Tarmarin sat atop the tank, so large his Peacekeeper armor did not properly close, and even his scales seemed ready to burst off. He pointed a clawed finger at her.

"Do nothing but clean the road with your fellow pests, that is," the Peacekeeper said, speaking through his megaphone. "Kneel, ape! Kneel and clean the road with your filthy rag of hair."

Leona could barely remember her mother. The scorpions had slain her years ago. But Leona had inherited the woman's olive skin, her courage, her honor—and yes, her wild mane of brown, curly hair that could not be tamed. Leona's hair was a reminder of the woman in the grainy old photographs. Leona didn't mind if people mocked her for being too tall, or for her scarred thigh, but this was her mother's hair, and it was not a filthy rag.

"No," she said.

The Tarmarin wheeled the tank's cannon toward her and the other humans.

With a burst of smoke, the cannon fired.

Leona's cybernetic implant kicked in.

Time slowed to a crawl.

Leona leaped aside as a shell flew toward her.

Before she could hit the ground, she fired Arondight, her loyal rifle.

Her bullet slammed into the tank's shell in midair. The shell sparked, careened toward the monastery, and burst.

Time returned to normal.

Leona's head exploded with pain. Every time she used her implant, it felt like her skull would crack. She cursed the serpentine surgeon who had installed the chip in a shadowy alley. It was subpar work. It felt like a coal in her skull. Yet it had just saved her life.

Where the shell hit, the monastery shattered.

Columns cracked and fell. The balcony—where Leona had stood only moments ago—crashed down. The roof caved in and the walls fell. Dust blew across the boulevard and bricks rained. Aliens screamed, and limbs reached out from the ruins.

Leona covered her head as rocks pelted her. A brick hit her shoulder, and she gritted her teeth.

Through the dust, she reached toward the other humans.

"Run!" she cried. "With me—now!"

They were bruised and fearful, but they obeyed. Perhaps obedience had been beaten into them. They emerged from the cloud of dust and saw several Peacekeepers racing toward them, raising riot shields and guns.

Leona knelt, slammed Arondight's stock against her shoulder, and fired.

She put a bullet through one Tarmarin's head. Another Peacekeeper fired, and the bullet hit the ground an inch away from Leona, then skipped up to kiss her hip with hellfire.

She fired again.

Her bullet tore through another Peacekeeper.

Two more of the alien thugs remained. They raised their rifles. Leona tried to fire, but her gun jammed, full of sand, and she cursed, and—

"For Earth!" rose a high, clear voice.

Coral Amber leaped forward, her white robes fluttering, her platinum hair streaming like a banner. Across her skin, her silver tattoos shone, mystical runes emitting light.

The weaver pressed her wrists together and held out her hands. A funnel of air pulsed out from her palms and slammed into the Peacekeepers.

The aliens fell back, scales cracking.

Coral's tattoos faded.

Bloody hell, Leona thought.

Using the distraction, Leona managed to unjam her gun. She fired twice within a second, killing both wounded Peacekeepers.

Behind her, the dust was settling. She glimpsed the tank rolling their way.

"Up!" Leona cried again. "Run!"

She helped the humans forward. One old woman could only hobble, her back bent. Leona held the woman's arm, guiding her forward. Coral helped two other elders. They hurried down the road. When Leona looked back, she saw the tank rolling across corpses, crushing them under its caterpillar tracks. It was aiming its cannon again.

Leona cursed.

"Wait for me, ma'am," Leona said to the elderly woman. "I'll be right back."

She spun around. She raced toward the tank. The cannon lowered, aiming toward her. The shell could easily rip through her body and destroy the humans behind her. Leona slid forward on her knees, tearing her trousers, and grabbed a grenade from a dead Peacekeeper.

The tank fired.

Leona activated her cybernetic implant.

Time slowed down for her. She fired her rifle, trying to deflect this second shell. This time, when her bullet met it, the shell exploded in midair.

The shock wave slammed into onlookers, knocking them down.

Leona hit the cobblestones, howling in pain.

A meter closer, she thought, and that shock wave would have shattered every bone in my body.

The tank was burning but still moving forward. Leona sneered, ears ringing, skin bleeding. She ran, leaped up, and hurled her grenade.

It flew into the cannon's muzzle.

Leona ran back, dropped onto her belly, and covered her head with her arms.

An explosion shook the road.

Bricks rained. Columns tumbled. The tank cracked open, spilling fire. Peacekeepers ran from the vessel, burning. Leona's ears rang. She could barely hear anything but ringing and muffled voices. She was terrified to move, terrified that the shock wave had shattered her spine, torn her eardrums, left her dying.

She tried to rise.

Her head burst with pain. She had never used her implant twice in one day—let alone twice within moments. She fell back down.

More Peacekeepers came racing through the dust toward her, shouting, aiming guns, and Leona knew she was going to die.

Silver light shone.

A figure knelt before her. The air pulsed, blasting out in a funnel.

The Peacekeepers fell.

"Come, Leona!" Somebody grabbed her. "With us! Hurry!"

Coral! Coral was holding her, pulling her up. Leona leaned against the young weaver. The woman was shorter and slimmer than Leona but surprisingly strong. They ran together.

Two of the elder humans had died, but the rest joined them, ran with them. They left the crumbling road as drones flew in, as more tanks rolled toward them. Corpses burned. Through the cover of smoke and roiling dust, the humans raced into an alley, vanishing into the labyrinth of Til Shiran.

Leona and her fellow humans ran down the alleyway, and the Peacekeepers roared in pursuit.

Giant silkworms loomed around them, clinging to the alley walls, expelling their soft fabric. The humans were running through the fabric district. On the other side of the alleyway, storefronts sold the silk. Here in the back alley, the worms toiled, each the size of a man. The humans raced between the dangling strands of fabric, ignoring the huffing worms. When Leona glanced over her shoulder, she could see only strands of silk. She exhaled in relief.

We're hidden in here.

Buzzing sounded above. Leona glanced up.

Muck!

Drones. Peacekeeper drones.

She swerved onto another road, and the other humans followed. Awnings stretched out from shops, meeting overhead. They raced through shadows. Alien merchants with a hundred legs sat in stone nooks, selling spices, gemstones, and baubles from tin dishes. As Leona and the humans ran, one woman tripped over a dish, spilling thousands of clinking, living seashells. The merchant rose, cursing and shaking a few dozen fists. They ran on.

Finally they lost the pursuit. They paused to breathe under a bridge that spanned a rocky canyon. The sun began to set, and shadows cloaked them. A handful of cargo starships hovered idly above, spewing smog that hid the stars.

Leona allowed herself a few deep, shaky breaths. She took off her hat, shook sand out of her hair, and dabbed the sweat off her forehead. She looked at the others. Thirty-two humans. Most were bleeding, but the wounds seemed superficial. Dust and sand coated them. All eyes turned toward her.

"You're safe now," Leona said. "They won't hurt you. They—"

"They almost killed us!" said a balding man. He pointed a shaky finger at her. "Thanks to you."

Leona stiffened. "I helped you. They were forcing you to clean the streets, humiliating you, and—"

"We're humans." The old man scoffed. "We're used to humiliation. We spend our lives under their heels. Do you think that was new? I've cleaned their roads, their shit, their filth a thousand times. At the end of the day, I go home. I lost my pride years ago. This time I almost lost my life."

Leona shook her head sadly. "You don't have to live like a slave." She looked at them all, and she spoke louder. "You can have pride again! Humanity can be proud again! Look at me. I am human and I am proud. I am strong. I fight instead of serve. I am a warrior, not a pest. I am an Inheritor, and I believe that we can see Earth again."

"Earth?" said a woman. She laughed bitterly. "Earth doesn't exist. It's only a Ra damn myth."

"Earth is real," Leona said. "I've seen it in the Earthstone."

"Then show us!" said a man.

"I can't," Leona said. "The Earthstone was stolen."

The traitor stole it, she thought. She clenched her fists. David Emery, the man descended from the legendary Marco Emery, the Poet of Earth. He betrayed us. He stole it from us. The scorpions killed him, and the stone is forever lost. I wish the scorpions could kill him a thousand times.

"If you lost even the Earthstone, how can we trust you to keep us safe?" said a woman.

Leona looked back at them. She spoke softly. "I cannot guarantee your safety. The galaxy is dangerous. It's filled with aliens who wish us dead. And across the border, in Hierarchy space, the scorpions gather their troops, and they hate us humans more than anyone. Which is why we must find Earth! We must rebuild our homeworld, restore our culture, our heritage, our civilization, and our strength. We must nevermore cower and wash the streets like wretches. We must raise guns, armies, fleets. We must tell the galaxy that we can fight, that we are proud, that we are humans and Earth is ours!" Her chest heaved. She stared at them, breathing heavily. "Join me. I have a starship docked outside the city. I can take you with me, give you a home among the Heirs of Earth. Give you hope. Instead of cowering, you can fight. Instead of kneeling, you can stand tall. " Tears filled her eyes. "Come with me. We've been lost for so long. For thousands of years, we wandered the darkness. Earth still calls us home."

Leona finished her speech, tears on her cheeks. The humans stared back at her, and she saw the same sadness in their eyes.

"Earth calls us home," whispered a woman. "We have not forgotten."

"Green hills and blue skies," said Coral, the mysterious weaver with silver tattoos. Her lavender eyes shone. "We'll never forget our blue marble. The aether shines a silver path before us. It leads us home."

Even the balding old man, the one who had scoffed at Leona, softened. He patted her shoulder. "You speak beautifully. You've melted this bitter old heart. But I'm old. Too old to fight. And this is a war that will last many years." He shook his head. "I'll return to my hovel. My grandchildren await. But tonight I'll pray for you. May Ra, the god of our lost star, bless you on your journey home to his light."

A woman approached next, head lowered. "I too must return home. My mother is sick and too old to travel. And I have children I must tend to. I can't go with you, Leona Ben-Ari, but I too will pray."

Another woman stepped forward, gray-haired and stooped over, but her eyes shone. "I'm old too, and I'm frail, but I'll join you, Leona. And I'll fight. I'm slow and bent, and my joints are stiff, but I can still fire a gun, and my eyes are still sharp. I've lived a long life. Let me die under the blue sky of Earth, or let me die in battle, fighting for our homeworld. What have I got to lose?"

Coral approached next. The weaver was the youngest in the group. She had probably never fought in a battle before today. But her shoulders were squared, her eyes strong, and her tattoos glowed.

"I will go with you, Leona, daughter of lions," Coral said. "It is the will of the ancients."

Leona nodded. "Someday you must tell me how this weaver magic works. It saved my life."

Coral smiled thinly. Her eyes shone with wisdom beyond her years. "I do not deal with magic, Leona, daughter of lions. Only with the holy light of the cosmos. That light shines inside you, and it burns bright."

One by one, the others spoke. Many chose to return to their homes, too fearful of the battles ahead. Most had never been to space, had spent their lives hiding in their hovels, cruel aliens living around them. They had become like mice, too timid to leave their hole.

But some joined Leona. Some would become warriors, dreamers, and maybe Earthlings again.

She looked at them. Eighteen recruits, that was all. Eighteen new mouths to feed. Eighteen soldiers for humanity, most already old and bent but still ready to fight. Eighteen lights in the shadow.

"The Heirs of Earth have only a handful of starships," Leona said. "And not much money. It will be crowded. It will be a hard life. Sometimes you'll be hungry and go for days with barely any food. You'll all have to work—cleaning, fixing what you can, tending to the young and old. Every man, woman, and child does their part. Yes, a hard life, but a noble one. And someday, we'll walk under Earth's blue skies."

And someday you'll be with us again, Bay, she thought. Someday you'll return to me, my lost little brother.

A buzzing sounded above, tearing her away from her thoughts. She looked up to see a Peacekeeper drone.

A machine gun unfurled from its underbelly, aiming at her.

Leona opened fire, peppering the drone with bullets. It crashed down and burned, but already she heard more buzzing in the distance.

"They found us," Leona said. "Again—run!"

They raced down alleyways, through an archway, and out into the open desert. Rocky mountains soared ahead, rising toward the stars. The rings that surrounded Til Shiran arched across the sky, silver in the night. The humans ran, sand swirling around them.

More drones appeared above. The machines opened fire, and bullets slammed into the sand. One bullet hit a human, and the man fell, dead before he hit the ground. Leona raised Arondight and fired the railgun. She took out one drone, but more kept flying in. Peacekeeper tanks rumbled out from the city, remarkably fast for their size, raising clouds of sand.

"Faster!" Leona shouted. "We're almost there!"

They raced across the sand, dodging bullets. A tank fired, and a shell exploded overhead, raining shrapnel. In the firelight Leona saw it: The ISS Nantucket, her starship.

She was a small starship, about the size of a yacht from old Earth's seas. She was old, rusty, barely more than scrap metal. But Leona loved the Nantucket with all her heart. She reached the small ship, knelt, and fired Arondight at the Peacekeepers.

"Into the ship!" she shouted. "Get in, fast!"

The other humans leaped inside, even the elders. Leona and Coral entered last.

A shell slammed into the hull.

The ship tilted. The hull's shields dented.

"Muck!" Leona cried.

She raced through the cluttered starship, leaped onto the bridge, and took her seat at the helm.

With roaring fire, rumbling engines, and clouds of sand, the Nantucket rose from the desert. Drones buzzed around the starship, peppering the shields with bullets.

"Is it like this at every world you Inheritors visit?" Coral said.

"This one was easy!" Leona said. "Want to be helpful? Man the cannon! Fire on anything that moves!"

The weaver took position at the gunnery station. Her white tattoos began to glow again, and her eyes shone.

Leona kept tugging the yoke, raising the ship through the sky. In a previous lifetime, the Nantucket had been a starwhaler, used for hunting the giant beasts who flew in space. The Inheritors had bought her third-hand, cheap and rundown, and refitted her, installing shields, battle-class engines, and heavy artillery. Tonight the rusty ship rumbled, lighting the sky with fire. The city of Turmaresh sprawled below, a hive of sandstone and flesh and misery.

One of the tanks below aimed its cannon skyward.

Leona released a bomb. An instant later, the tank below exploded.

"Incoming ships!" Coral cried.

Leona saw them. Several Peacekeeper vessels were flying from each side, lights flashing.

"Terrorist vessel, surrender!" boomed a voice on a megaphone. "Land now, or we will blast you from the—"

"Fire on them, damn it!" Leona cried.

Coral opened fire. On both sides of the Nantucket, cannons shot out spinning shells. The inferno roared across the Peacekeeper vessels. One of the enemy ships managed to fire two missiles before crashing. Leona spun the Nantucket around, grimacing. She fired a hailstorm of bullets from the Gatling gun on the prow, destroying one missile in midair.

The second missile hit the Nantucket. The hull dented. The ship rocked. The people in the hold screamed.

Leona raised her prow, kicked the engines into full afterburner, and soared toward the stars. Coral kept firing the side cannons. It only took a minute to breach the atmosphere, but it felt like a lifetime.

The Nantucket soared into space, rattling, wounded. Several Peacekeeper ships followed. Leona groaned. The Inheritor fleet was still a light-year away. She was alone here.

"Strap in, boys and girls!" she said. "This'll get bumpy."

As missiles flew toward them, Leona hit the warp drive.

She winced.

Like any starship worth its salt, the Nantucket was installed with an azoth crystal deep in its engine. Azoth was among the rarest, costliest material in the galaxy. Unless you limited yourself to wormholes, azoth made interstellar travel possible. Wormholes were like a subway system back on old Earth. A starship with an azoth engine was like having your own car. The way diamonds could refract light, azoth crystals could bend spacetime itself, the fabric of reality. Azoth crystals weren't just rare, found on only a handful of worlds; they also had to be cut by experts, calibrated down to the exact atom. When their angles were perfect, they could warp spacetime into a bubble around a starship, allowing it to fly faster than light.

There was only one downside.

Bending spacetime didn't work very well near planets.

A planet like Til Shiran, a massive world of rock and sand, itself bent spacetime by sheer force of gravity. Using an azoth engine nearby was like lighting a match at a gas station. Sometimes you were lucky. Sometimes you ended up as a pile of ashes.

At least the Peacekeepers won't be this crazy, Leona thought as her azoth drive kicked in.

Spacetime twisted around them like a wet towel.

Leona screamed.

All dimensions of reality swirled around her.

We're too close. Too close to bend reality. We—

She was suddenly ten feet tall, then flat in a two-dimensional world. Reality ballooned and she was everywhere at once. Her consciousness floated outside the starship, and then she felt herself inside the dashboard, inside the machinery. She tried to close her eyes, could not. Outside, the starlight curved. The planet unfolded into four dimensions, a curved cylinder tracing its orbit around the star.

She floated through time.

She was there again. Ten years ago. A seventeen-year-old girl with a swelling belly.

She approached the wedding arch with her groom. It was a sunny, green world, but she was scared and cold. Jake Hawkins was only a year older, a somber boy, the son of an Inheritor captain. Jake had not planned to plant life inside her, but every human life was precious. They would keep the baby. They would keep their honor. Both a priest and rabbi married them, remnants of their lost Earth faiths. The bride and groom sealed their love with a kiss, and Leona could practically imagine their parents with shotguns in the audience.

Yes, a shotgun wedding, she thought, gazing into Jake's blue eyes. But I love this boy. I love him so mucking much.

She drank. She danced. She had been married for only an hour when the strikers swooped from the sky.

Leona screamed.

Her father fought them. So many died. She grabbed a gun, and she fired, tried to stop them, but they ripped off Jake's legs, and he reached out to her, screaming, and Leona wept, wanting to save him, and she kissed his forehead as he died in her arms. A scorpion tore open her leg, but Leona barely felt the pain.

The Inheritors fought them hard. Their guns shook the sunlit world. The starships rumbled, and explosions lit the sky like fireworks. Leona knelt in the devastation, in the ruin of her wedding, clutching her belly as the blood flowed down her thighs, as the life inside her extinguished.

Weeping, she lay on the grass. She looked up. And she saw her there.

A girl.

A human girl with blue hair, with white skin, with madness in her eyes.

"Jade," Leona whispered, reaching out to her. "My friend. What did they do to you?"

The girl smiled and scorpions danced around her.

The stars burst into straight lines.

The Nantucket stormed forward through space, moving at millions of kilometers per second.

The desert planet vanished behind them.

Leona took deep, shaky breaths, finding herself back in the present. Once more, she was twenty-seven years old, an officer in the Heirs of Earth. Once more, the wound on her leg was just an old scar, a groove along her outer thigh.

The spacetime bubble had formed. She shivered. We're alive. We escaped.

Yet tears still filled Leona's eyes, and she placed a hand on her flat belly.

She had never used an azoth engine so close to a planet. She had not been ready for this. Not to gaze back through time. Not to see that day again.

"Leona!" Coral approached her. "Are you all right? You're trembling."

Leona looked into the weaver's purple eyes. She looked nothing like Leona. While Leona had olive-toned skin, Coral had skin like rich mahogany. While Leona had curly brown hair, Coral had silvery hair like flowing moonlight. But Coral was young, still full of life and light, a new warrior for Earth. Eager and hopeful.

So much like I was.

Leona looked down at a wound on Coral's leg, perhaps one that would leave a scar.

Like the scar I carry.

Leona rose to her feet. "The autopilot will keep the ship on its course. The Peacekeepers are too far behind to catch us now. Get some rest."

Before Coral could say more, Leona left the bridge.

She hurried through the hold, ignoring the passengers. A few spoke to her, offering to tend to her wounds. Leona barely heard them. She walked through the ship's cluttered hold, through a doorway, and into her cabin. She closed the door behind her, leaned against it, and took several long, shuddering breaths. Her eyes stung. For a long moment, Leona could merely stand still, eyes closed.

"I miss you, Jake," Leona whispered. A tear rolled down her cheek.

Through the porthole, she saw the starlight streaming, stretched into lines as the Nantucket flew through warped space. Leona stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower. She let the water flow over her, washing off the blood, the sand, the shame. She let the water run so hot it nearly burned her. Pain was good. Pain helped her forget.

Finally she stepped out from the shower. She bandaged her wounds with numb fingers. She stood naked in the steam, gazing into the mirror. The scar ran down her thigh, a deep groove, a memory of that day. A scorpion claw had given her that scar.

She looked at her tattoos. On her left arm, she had tattooed a line from Moby Dick. She owned a single page from that old novel. She had read and reread it countless times, had inked words from that page onto her skin.

I love to sail forbidden seas.

Years ago, Leona had found that single page in an antique shop. A page from a real Earth book, printed on actual paper from an Earth tree. It was two thousand years old, had been preserved through the generations. The line from that page symbolized Leona's dream to someday return. To see Earth, to sail upon the seas, the captain of a sailing ship rather than a starship.

On her right arm, she had tattooed three hearts. One heart for each life the scorpions had taken from her. One heart for her mother, slain when Leona had been only a child. A second heart for her husband, slain on their wedding day ten years ago. A third heart for that child who had grown inside her, the child she had lost.

An albino scorpion had devoured her husband; she had never buried Jacob's bones. Her child was buried at sea. Her mother had burned. She had no mementos, no places of mourning. Only these tattoos.

"I'm an Inheritor, a warrior for Earth," she whispered at her reflection. "But I'm also a widow. Childless. Motherless. And so scared."

She dressed, her fingers stiff. She stepped back into her bedchamber, approached her safe, and opened it. Inside, she kept her treasures. A model sailing ship in a bottle. A seashell on a chain, an actual seashell from Earth. And that single page from Moby Dick. Treasures of the sea. Finally a smile broke through Leona's tears.

"Someday I'll see them," she whispered. "The blue seas of Earth. I'll sail the forbidden seas, the sunlight on my back, the water all around me, the wind in my sails. Still you sing to me, Earth. Still you call me home."

She closed the safe, sealing the bottle and page inside. But she placed the seashell amulet around her neck. She and this seashell shared a common ancestor. Both had evolved in the waters of Earth. This cold shell against her skin was a connection to home. No human had seen Earth in millennia, but Leona wore a piece of that world against her chest, comforting and smooth. She lay on her bed, gazed out the porthole, and tried to imagine seeing the blue marble in the distance, its wind singing for her sails.

Another human.

Rowan trembled. She could barely breathe.

There was another human in Paradise Lost.

She huddled in the darkness. The duct rattled as she shook. She had not met another human since she was two years old. Sometimes she wondered whether any others even lived at all.

But he was here.

She had seen him.

It was real.

"You sure you didn't just see a hologram?" Fillister asked. The robotic dragonfly buzzed beside her, wings fluttering.

"I'm sure!" Rowan nodded. "I mean, yes. I saw a hologram of a human too. A woman. After all, I was peeping into the virtual reality brothel. But I also saw a real human, and—"

"Blimey, you were peeping into the VR brothel?" Fillister frowned—as much as a robot could frown, at least.

Rowan groaned and rolled her eyes. "Oh, shush. I wasn't peeping to look at . . . that." Her cheeks flushed. "You know patrons drop scryls there all the time. How do you think I buy your gear oil?"

Fillister shuddered. "Bloody hell." The dragonfly buzzed around her, grazing the walls of the duct. "Row, another human? Really? The bloody scorpions killed them all. We were both there. We saw it. Only we escaped."

Rowan grabbed him, nearly crushing the tiny robot. "Don't you say that!" She glared at Fillister. "Don't you ever say that. My sister lived. And other humans have been surviving too. The Heirs of Earth are out there, and—"

"The Heirs of Earth are a myth," said Fillister. "A group of human warriors knocking about space? With guns? With starships?" He laughed. "Look, squire, I love me some humans. A human built me. And you're human, and you're me best mate. You're family, you are. You know I'm in your corner. But Earth was destroyed so long ago. The Earthstone is all that's left. And if any other humans did survive, they must be in hiding. Not visiting bloody space stations."

Rowan bristled. "I'm in a space station!"

"That's only because that smuggler caught us and sold us to a pet shop. And we've been hiding in the ducts since. We're not knocking about the bars and brothels here. Well, at least not when they're open." He shuddered again. "I cannot believe you bought me oil with scryls collected off a brothel floor. That's bloody disgusting, it is."

"It's either that, or I grease your gears with snail slime."

"Brothel scryls will do."

Rowan took a few moments to collect herself. She breathed deeply until her trembling eased. Every instinct screamed to flee. She wanted to crawl toward the top of the space station, to curl up by the porthole that gazed upon the stars. Or she wanted to crawl to the bottom of Paradise Lost, where the ducts met great rumbling engines, and gears churned, their teeth larger than her. She wanted to move as far as possible from this new human.

"For years, I wanted to meet somebody else," Rowan said. "For years, I watched movies about humans, read books about humans, listened to human singers. I even wrote my own movie scripts about humans—well, humans and dinosaurs. But now a real human is here, and I'm terrified."

Fillister nodded. "Humans in movies and books can't see you. Can't talk to you. Can't disappoint you. For years, you thought humans are brilliant. You're worried this one won't be."

Rowan bit her lip, then remembered her crooked teeth and covered her mouth.

No. She would not run. She would perhaps never see a human again.

Maybe he can take me away, she thought. Maybe he has a starship. Maybe he'll take me to another world. Maybe I can finally feel grass beneath my feet, sunlight on my skin. Just like the movies. I can even film my own movies, become a director like my heroes.

Yes, for years Rowan had dreamed of leaving Paradise Lost, of meeting other humans, of making movies. But for fourteen years now, she had remained inside these steel ducts. The thought of flying away, of seeing real grass and mountains—not just on a tiny screen but huge before her—spun her head.

She ignored her fear.

She crawled through the ducts.

She returned to the brothel and peeked through the vent, hoping to see the human again. She cringed. The human was gone. A scaled, aquatic alien had rolled his aquarium into the brothel. He was busy fertilizing holographic eggs.

Rowan crawled above another brothel room, only to see an alien insect—it was larger than her—fluttering between two holographic flowers, groaning as he pollinated them.

She approached another brothel room, peeked inside, then shuddered. She scampered away before she could see too much. The giant snail from the toilet was there. Seeing his Seductive Slugs magazine in the washroom stall had been bad enough.

Fillister buzzed above her, following her along the duct. "Really, scryls from this floor! Disgusting."

"Well, the human isn't in the brothel anymore," Rowan said. "Let's keep looking."

Where could he have gone? Paradise Lost was a hive of sin. Hundreds of establishments, each selling some forbidden pleasure, crowded the space station. Was the human tossing scryls at android strippers, licking mushrooms in rooms of sparkling mirrors, buying antimatter grenades from the smugglers behind the pipes? Was he drooling or drugging? Was he gambling, groping, grogging? So many dens of forbidden pleasure, a thousand layers of hell in a world called Paradise Lost.

Rowan crawled over them all, peering through vents. Over a den called Uncle Acid, she saw a group of reptilians dropping furry aliens into vats, laughing as the creatures dissolved, then grogging them down. In the Silver Mines, little bearded humanoids lined up, wearing helmets and elbow pads; larger aliens paid to toss them at Velcro targets. In an adult movie theater, a group of sentient mushrooms clung to boulders, watching time-lapsed videos of expanding spores. In Electric Dreams, androids were giving lap dances. One of the gynoids broke mid-dance and showered sparks onto a furry patron. The alien caught flame and shrieked, and his companions roared with laughter.

Den after den, sin after sin—and no human.

"Maybe I did imagine him, Fill," Rowan said. "Or maybe he was a hologram." She paused from crawling, lay on her side, and blew out her breath, fluttering back a lock of hair. "But he seemed so real."

Fillister landed on her chest. He nuzzled her. "Maybe you imagined him. And that's okay. You're lonely. You're sixteen now. You crave human companionship."

"I have you," she said.

"Me? I'm just a robot, I am. You need mates of your own species. It ain't right for a girl your age to live in HVAC ducts, exposed to the sins of the galaxy. I've watched the old movies. You deserve to live like humans used to. To go to school. To have friends and family."

"I have family," she said. "I have Jade. She's still alive somewhere. I know it."

Fillister fluttered up and gently bopped her nose—his way of kissing her.

"Let's go back to the living room," the dragonfly said. "We'll watch Big Trouble in Little China again. That always cheers us up."

Rowan nodded. She did not smile. It felt like Paradise Lost, the entire space station, weighed down on her. Yes, that movie had always cheered her up. But now she found herself clenching her fists. Now tears burned in her eyes. Now she howled and pounded the duct wall.

"Row!" Fillister said.

Hot tears flowed to her lips. "I hate this. I mucking hate this, Fillister! I hate living like this. Like some damn rat. I want to feel grass beneath my feet. I want to feel sunlight warming my hair. I want somebody to hug me. I want to get off this damn space station, but I can't. Not if I steal scryls for a thousand years will I have enough money to buy transportation. And even if I did, where would I go? Humans are hunted everywhere. I'm going to grow old here. I'm going to be an old woman, still crawling through the ducts, until someday I die and rot here, and they'll find my bones in some furnace."

Fillister lowered his tiny head; it was no larger than a thimble. "I wish I could hug you." Mechanical chirps rose from him, his algorithms deep in thought. "I often feel like I failed you. Your father told me to protect you."

Rowan wiped her tears away. "You did protect, Fill. You kept me safe. Throughout all these years. And you kept me sane. Maybe you can't hug me. But I like hugging you." She cradled the dragonfly in her arms. "Come on. Let's go home."

She had taken a circuitous route here, passing through ducts she rarely crawled through. The HVAC network was not a simple grid. Paradise Lost had grown over centuries, new additions patched on with no central planning. The ducts twisted in a coiling labyrinth. But Rowan knew every bend. She took the shortest route home—insofar as her little area with blankets and monitor was a home.

The way took her through the administrative area of Paradise Lost. Rowan did not come here often. Below these ducts lived those who operated the space station: mechanics, janitors, clerks, accountants, a lawyer, a few security guards (who were thankfully too fat to squeeze into the ducts), and a host of dreary aliens in uniforms and suits. Their offices hummed with fans and computers. Most of these workers spent their time playing computer games and napping under their desks.

Rowan was almost past the admin sector when she heard the voice booming below.

"Another human! Another damn human!" Creaks and clatters echoed. "Do you hear me? You failed to kill the first one, and now they're breeding in the damn walls."

Rowan froze. Frowning, she inched back and peered through a vent.

She saw an office below, larger than most. An intricate model starship stood on a table, half-assembled. A tube of glue lay open beside a hundred plastic pieces still awaiting assembly. Instead of a chair, a bathtub full of mud stood beside the table. Inside sat a marshcrab, shouting into a communicator.

Rowan was surprised a giant crab could assemble model starships. Their legs ended with claws, not very useful for manipulating tools. The marshcrab had probably used the barbels around his mouth. Delicate and nimble, they often acted like fingers. Then again, this marshcrab didn't seem particularly good at modeling. Several completed model ships stood on shelves, shoddily assembled, the pieces crooked and caked with clumps of dry glue and mud.

Rowan recognized the marshcrab in the tub. Here was Belowgen, Chief Administrator of Paradise Lost. He didn't own the space station. A conglomerate from deep space owned Paradise Lost. Belowgen merely lorded over the space station in return for a humble, steady paycheck. He spent his time berating his underlings, grumbling about humans in the vents, and toadying to his bosses whenever they visited.

"I'm telling you!" Belowgen rumbled into his communicator. He splashed around in his tub, spraying mud onto his models. "I am overrun with humans. You assured me you caught them all."

A voice was arguing through the comm. Grumbling, Belowgen reached into the mud, fished out a small creature that looked like a mermaid, and bit off her upper half. He tossed the tail aside.

"No, you listen to me!" Belowgen said. "I'm not interested in your excuses. Can you remove my humans or not?"

Marshcrabs were the most common alien in Paradise Lost. After all, their homeworld—a swampy planet called Akraba—was right next door. The creatures reminded Rowan of crabs from Earth, but much larger and somewhat smarter. Their shells were red and lumpy, their legs thin and long like stilts. One time Rowan had descended into a dogfighting pit to tend to a wounded mutt. A marshcrab security guard had chased her, and she never forgot how coarse their shell was, like steel wool against her skin.

Belowgen was still clutching his comm, continuing his tirade.

"I hired you three times to remove the pest from my ducts, and three times you assured me she's gone. What the muck am I paying you for? Do you realize visitors to Paradise Lost have fallen by fifty percent because of my infestation?"

Rowan doubted visitors were falling due to her presence. More likely, the nearby Hierarchy held more blame. Rumors spoke of impending war. Who wanted to be so close to the scorpions? And yet, the marshcrab kept blaming Rowan. It was easier, she supposed, to blame a single human than an empire of bloodthirsty scorpions.

Rowan remembered a string of exterminators. Some were small gremlins who clanked and clattered through the ducts. One had been a slithering serpent. One exterminator had been a living plant, sending vines into the ductwork. Rowan had escaped them all. These ducts were her domain. She knew how to lose pursuit, how to open and close air flaps, even how to detach some ducts and reattach them, forming new paths. They never caught her. They never would. Unless Belowgen evacuated the whole damn space station and sprayed it with pesticide—and his losses would be astronomical—Rowan would continue to live here.

They can't catch me, she thought. Ain't no one gonna catch me. I'm fast and small and smart. This is my labyrinth, and I'm the goddamn minotaur.

Through the comm emerged the muffled voice of the exterminator.

"She's breeding in the walls," said the marshcrab. "Do you hear me? That's right! Another human popped up. Spent an hour in the brothel. He's grogging in Drunken Truckers right now. Do you have any idea, you idiot, what it does to an establishment's reputation to have humans? Are you going to come over here and remove them, you imbecile, or—" The marshcrab fell silent, then howled. "You quit? You quit? You can't quit, because I fire you!"

Belowgen hurled his communicator across the room. It hit a model ship on a shelf, cracking it. In a fit of fury, Belowgen rose from his mud pit, lifted what remained of the model, and tossed it at the wall. He bellowed, spraying saliva. He lashed his long, red legs, knocking more models off shelves.

Rowan watched through the vent with morbid fascination.

She knew that she should sneak away. She knew it was folly to tempt the beast.

But damn it, let the crab hunt her. For the first time in Rowan's life, there was another human in Paradise Lost. It was real. He was really here, grogging at the Drunken Truckers bar, and Rowan would not allow Belowgen to hurt him. To hurt the first human Rowan had seen in years.

"You'll never catch me, you walking seafood platter!" she cried through the vent. "Also, your model ships suck, and your lumpy red shell looks like a chimpanzee's ass!"

Belowgen raised his head toward the vent and gasped. He reached into his mud pit and fished out a dripping pistol. Rowan fled as gunshots peppered the ducts.

Belowgen's claws tore the vent open. His eyestalks popped into the duct, and his barbels followed, flailing like a sea anemone.

"Your days are numbered, pest!" the alien rumbled. "I won't let you keep breeding in the air vents. I'll call the damn scorpions if I must. They'll take care of you and your kind!"

Rowan blew him a raspberry, then scurried around a corner. Gunshots boomed. Bullets hit the duct, punching holes through the steel. She kept crawling until the marshcrab's roaring faded to an echo.

As Rowan crawled through the ducts, leaving Belowgen's office behind, a tremble seized her. Her breath shook.

"Do you think Belowgen was serious, Fill?" she said. "About calling the scorpions?" She shuddered. "Exterminators are one thing. We know how to escape those. But scorpions . . ."

The dragonfly was flying beside her. "Not bloody likely, squire. Got to be an idle threat. Paradise Lost is near the border, but this is still Concord space, innit? Skra-Shen are Hierarchy beasties. They ain't welcome here. Don't you worry."

Rowan winced.

The sudden memory pounded through her.

A scorpion reared before her, a monster the size of a god. Its shell was the color of blood. Its pincers sliced the arms off her mother. Its claws stole her sister, and it laughed. Rowan still remembered that laughter, that cackle. Still remembered her sister screaming. Her mother bleeding.

"What happened to Mommy?" Rowan had asked, not understanding, so scared.

She froze in the ducts. She forced a deep breath, forced her mind to return to the present. That was her earliest memory. Her only memory from outside Paradise Lost. It was the day the scorpions had killed her parents and stolen her sister. A day she would never forget.

"I want to believe you, Fill," she whispered. "That it's just an idle threat. But I'm scared. Hierarchy space is right nearby. What if Belowgen calls the scorpions, has them hunt me, and they tear down these ducts, and—"

"He won't, and they won't," Fillister said. "Belowgen is a businessman. Well, businesscrab, at least. He knows that a horde of angry scorpions in Paradise Lost is bad for business. Aliens hate humans, it's true. But they don't want the Hierarchy knocking about here either. He might call in another exterminator, one of the usual sorry lot, and we'll flee that one too. Scorpions?" The dragonfly huffed. "He's full of shite."

Rowan couldn't help but laugh. "I love it when my robot dragonfly swears." She sighed. "Come on, Fill. Let's go to Drunken Truckers and find this human. If he has a starship, and if he lets us hitchhike, I want outta here." She looked around her at the ducts, and she inhaled deeply. "You kept me safe in here for fourteen years. But it's no longer safe. We have to leave. Farther from the Hierarchy. Farther from crabs, casinos, and all this crap. We'll find a planet with grass. With sunlight." Her eyes dampened. "We'll film Dinosaur Island or maybe another movie we write. We'll never be afraid or hurt or hungry. We'll be happy, Fill. All right? We'll be happy."

"I don't have sensors to feel sunlight," Fillister said, "or grass beneath me metal feet. But I care deeply for your happiness, Row. Seeing you smile—a true joyous smile—will warm me microchip."

She laughed. "That sounded almost dirty." Hurriedly, she covered her mouth. "Besides, my smile is ugly and filled with crooked teeth."

"Crooked teeth are easier to repair than broken hearts."

She snorted. "Not on Paradise Lost. The one dentist here only treats tusks. And my teeth are that bad."

But maybe soon she could leave Paradise Lost. Yes. Maybe this human had a spaceship of his own. Or maybe he had enough money to buy them both tickets on a commercial ship. They could fly away together. To a planet with soft grass, with warm sunlight, and with affordable dental care.

She gently folded up Fillister and placed him in her pocket. Pubs were dangerous for the little robot; many drunkards carried flyswatters. But Fillister would be right with her should she need him.

Rowan crawled onward, heading in the opposite direction. Finally she was crawling above Drunken Truckers—the dingiest, sleaziest, and cheapest bar in Paradise Lost.

The showy pimps, champion gladiators, and drug barons grogged in the glittering clubs near the space station's crest. Pickpockets, failed boxers, and small time smugglers drank in smaller pubs halfway down the station, their windows affording a view of the neon glow. If you couldn't afford those places, you went deeper. You went to Drunken Truckers.

Ostensibly, the Drunken Truckers pub was for cargo pilots. But even that gruff lot had begun to avoid the place, spending their money instead at the competition, a nearby joint called Truckin' and Muckin' Bar and Brothel.

These days, only the lowest of the lowlifes came to Drunken Truckers. Beggars who had collected enough scryls for moonshine. Down-on-their-luck slobs, their fortunes devoured by the glittering jaws of slot machines. Smalltime thugs too weak to intimidate anyone but one another. They congregated here. If Paradise Lost had a hell, here was its lowest circle. There were cockroaches in the sink, mice on the floor, and a human at the bar.

Peeking through a vent in the wall, Rowan caught her breath.

There he was.

A living, breathing, grogging human.

He was a young man, probably in his mid-twenties. He had dark blond hair. Like hers, it was messy and just long enough to fall across the ears. But unlike her, stubble covered his face, almost thick enough to be called a beard. He wore shabby clothes. A gray sweater with a hood. Baggy blue cargo pants. Frayed shoes. Still, these were a lot nicer than the dusty dress Rowan wore, her own handiwork, sewn from a pilfered blanket.

The human hunched over his mug. His head was lowered, his eyes somber. He seemed so sad that Rowan wanted to weep. She crawled along the duct to a closer vent, one near the floor, right by his feet. She peeked up at him.

He's so sad, she thought. What happened to him?

Suddenly he turned his head.

He looked right at her.

Rowan's heart nearly stopped. She pulled back and began fleeing.

"Wait!" the man said. He leaped off his barstool, spilling his grog.

But Rowan kept scuttling through the duct. All her courage had fled.

"Yo, girl!" His voice filled the duct. "What's your name?"

She kept crawling. She reached a bend in the ducts. She crawled around the corner, then paused, panting. Her heart pounded against her thin ribs. She took several long, deep breaths.

Courage, Rowan, she told herself. Courage for Earth.

She winced and peeked around the corner, back toward the bar. The man had removed the vent's grid. He stared into the duct.

"What's your name?" he repeated.

"Rowan!" she called out, amazed and proud that her voice did not shake.

He stared at her for a moment long, then spoke. "I'm Bay. Can I buy you a drink?"

"I'm too young to drink grog, and you're too poor to buy me a milkshake."

They stared at each other for a moment longer. Rowan was frozen, torn between fleeing and staying.

Then they both burst out laughing.

The ice was broken.

"All right," Bay said, speaking through the vent, "since you're shy, can I join you in there?"

He placed his head into the duct, then an arm. He winced, struggling to squeeze in.

"You're too big!" Rowan said.

"First time anyone's told me that," Bay said. "I'm only five-foot-eight and skinny. But you're tiny." He managed to squeeze in another arm, then both shoulders. "I'm all right! I'll be right there."

He wriggled forward through the duct, inch by inch.

"You look like a baby seal, sliding on his belly toward the water," Rowan said.

"What the hell is a baby seal?" he asked.

Rowan raised an eyebrow. "You don't know what a baby seal is? An animal from Earth."

"Sorry," Bay said. "Haven't been there in a few thousand years."

Rowan placed her hand on her chest. She felt the amulet under her dress, hanging from its chain. The Earthstone. She knew a lot about Earth. She had grown up watching movies and reading books from Earth; thousands were stored on the Earthstone. Did Bay not have an Earthstone of his own? Or had he just been watching the wrong movies?

"It's a small, cute animal," she said. "Vulnerable."

He managed to crawl another meter through the duct, then paused, stuck. "Geez, you sure know how to make a guy feel tough."

Rowan huddled in the bend. She noticed that one of Bay's hands was curled up, stiff, a little smaller than the other. She wondered if he had wounded it, if it prevented him from crawling well.

"Back up," she said. "I'll join you at the bar. Drunken Truckers is probably the only damn place in Paradise Lost that'll tolerate roaches, mice, and humans."

Bay managed to back out from the duct—with some help from Rowan pushing. Soon both were seated at the bar. Several aliens gave them hairy eyeballs. A liquid alien swirled angrily, then wheeled his aquarium away. A toothed plant snorted, stretched out roots, and hobbled off in his clay pot. A transparent alien at the back, a ghostly creature who kept failing at drinking grog, floated away, leaving a puddle of ale. Bay bought them two more drinks—grog for himself, pink fizzypop for her.

They sat in silence for a moment, regarding each other.

Another human.

Rowan almost wept.

Before she could stop herself, she reached out and touched him.

"You're real," she said. "You're really real." She bit her lip. "I sound like an idiot." She quickly covered her mouth, realizing she had revealed her teeth. "I didn't know any others were left."

"There are a few of us," Bay said. "Survivors. They live in hiding. Many are gone." He stared into his grog, and demons seemed to dance around him. He looked up at Rowan, and his eyes were solemn. "And there are the Heirs of Earth. I used to be one of them."

Rowan leaped from her chair, knocking over her fizzypop. Mice scurried forward to drink the spilled pink soda.

"Terrorists!" she whispered.

Bay scoffed. "That's what aliens call us. No, they're not terrorists. They're the good guys."

She tilted her head, frowning. "So why did you leave them? Are you not a good guy?"

"I . . ." Bay winced. "It's complicated. The guy who leads them . . ." He shifted in his seat and gulped down grog. "It doesn't matter right now." He narrowed his eyes, examining her. "How long have you been hiding here? Where are your parents?"

What? No! Rowan had so many questions for him! Where were the Heirs of Earth? Did they really have guns, warriors, spaceships? How many other humans were there? Could she join the Heirs of Earth? Did Bay have his own spaceship? Could he take her to a planet with grass and sunlight? She didn't even know where to begin asking so much. And he was lobbing questions at her!

"Bay," she said. "I have many questions, and I'm sure you do too, but we have no time. The marshcrab who runs this place is a nasty fellow, a bully called Belowgen. Only a while ago, he tried to shoot me. And he threatened to call the scorpions over. He thinks we humans are breeding in the walls. He's so disgusting." Her cheeks flushed. "Not that I think you're disgusting. Or that, um, breeding is. Or . . ." She cursed her hot cheeks. "That doesn't matter. What matters is—Belowgen wants us dead. And he might call the scorpions over. The same creatures that killed my p—" She bit her lip. "That killed so many humans already."

Bay smiled thinly. "Yes, I've met Belowgen. He tried to stop me when I docked at Paradise Lost. A bribe calmed him. Rowan, I've met a thousand Belowgens at a thousand space stations and worlds. They rant about humans, call an exterminator or two, and by the time the guys show up, I'm long gone. They all say things like: 'I wish the scorpions came and took care of the humans.' Don't you worry about him. This is Concord territory. And Concord aliens hate scorpions just as much as humans. You don't have to hide in the ducts. You don't have to fear the Skra-Shen. If Belowgen threatens you again, I'll protect you."

Rowan blinked at him. "A thousand worlds . . ."

She could barely even imagine it. She hadn't even been to a thousand vents, let alone a thousand worlds.

"Take me with you," she blurted out. "I don't need you to protect me. I've been protecting myself for years. I know how to fight. I'm small but I've fought many battles already. Half the time I enter a bar to steal money or food, somebody picks a fight with me." She touched her cheek, just under her eye, where she was still bruised. "But I want to see those worlds. A thousand of them. Like I've seen in the movies. Like I read about in books." The words were spilling out from her now. She could not stop them. "I want to see worlds like Middle Earth, with mountains and glens. I want to visit planets like Tatooine and Arrakis and see golden deserts. I . . ." She frowned. "Why are you looking at me funny?"

Her cheeks flushed. Had he seen her crooked teeth? Rowan covered her mouth, cheeks burning. Or did he merely think her a fool who confused fantasy with reality? Perhaps she was a fool. Perhaps she had embarrassed herself, had blown her first meeting with another human.

Bay frowned. "Middle Earth. Tatooine. Those are . . ." It was his turn to leap from his seat, spilling his grog. "I know those. I remember those! I read those books as a kid. But how . . ." He gasped, eyes widening. "You saw it." He pointed at her. "You saw the Earthstone!"

Rowan blinked at him. "What, this?" She reached under her dress and pulled out the crystal. "Yeah. It's great."

Bay's jaw unhinged. He touched the stone, then pulled his hand back as if bitten. "Whoa." He clutched his head. "Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. You have the Earthstone." He pointed at her. "You have the Earthstone."

Rowan frowned. "Don't you have one?"

"No!" Bay cried. "Rowan. Rowan!" He grabbed her hands. "There's only one Earthstone in the entire galaxy. It's thousands of years old! It's a priceless artifact! It contains the cultural heritage of humanity. All of humanity's accomplishments in art, philosophy, poetry, science, literature, ethics—the very essence of our race, all that we created, that we were—it's all contained within that single, precious stone."

Rowan gasped.

I wear the cultural heritage of humanity around my neck, she thought. And I've been using it to watch Monty Python and listen to K-pop.

"Um, yeah," she said, twiddling her thumbs. "I've been protecting it. Our, um . . . cultural heritage."

Bay sat down again. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. "We used to possess the Earthstone. The Heirs of Earth. Back when I was a kid, when I still flew with the Inheritor fleet. But somebody betrayed us. He was my dad's best friend, cofounder of the Heirs of Earth. He was like an uncle to me. His name was David Emery. He claimed to be descended from Marco Emery himself, the legendary author from Old Earth. That David bastard stole the Earthstone. He ran off with it. He betrayed the Heirs and stole humanity's heritage. Last I heard, the scorpions killed that cowardly son of a—"

"He was not a traitor!" Rowan shouted, voice echoing across the pub. Her rage shocked her. "He was not a coward! David Emery was a good man. A kind and wise man! He was my father!" She pointed a shaky finger at Bay. "And you know nothing."

The bartender turned toward them. "Hey, keep it down, pests."

Rowan barely heard. Her tears flowed. Her chest shook. She leaped through the vent and crawled along the duct. Her world collapsed around her. She could barely see through her tears.

Another human was here. And he had brought with him only danger, insults, and pain.

Finally she reached her living room—the little area where several ducts met, allowing space for her blanket and shelves. And she found the place trashed.

A large hole had been carved into one duct, then crudely patched up. Somebody had sneaked in, smashed her monitor and keyboard, then left. A bear trap was set on Rowan's blanket, toothy jaws open. A candy bar lay in the center of the trap.

Bits of saliva and mud covered the living room. A piece from a model starship, covered with glue, clung to the ceiling.

Belowgen had been here. Belowgen had done this.

Rowan turned and crawled away.

The time for hiding had ended.

It was time for war.

Belowgen stood in his office, his mandibles clacking, his legs trembling with fury.

Humans breeding in the walls. Threatening me. Infesting my space station. He grunted, and his barbels fluttered. I wasn't meant for this. I wasn't meant to ever be here.

Belowgen looked around him. The office was large as far as they came. A private office, more than most had in Paradise Lost. But it was still a damn metal box. He had installed a mud bath, but it was a pale imitation of the moist, foggy, aromatic swamps down on Akraba.

His model starships, his one escape from the stress of his job, lay shattered around him. He had smashed them in his rage. Belowgen had spent years assembling these models, gently lifting plastic pieces and tubes of glue with his barbels—nothing to sneeze at, considering the models were made for species with hands. Literally nothing to sneeze at, not when you used the tendrils around your nostrils. Now his beloved models lay in pieces. Much like his dreams.

He should be back on Akraba. Dwelling among the roots of wet trees. Rolling in the mud until the sweet scent of soil and spoor coated his shell. Finding a female, maybe two, marshcrabs with hard shells and soft innards. Protecting her eggs in a wet pit full of worms and moss and rotting things.

Belowgen's tendrils drooped. He had been born a runt. The weakest larva to hatch from his brood of eggs. The other males had all chosen mates, had scarred his shell with their claws. So many nights, Belowgen had huddled in the mud, hearing and smelling the males fertilize the females' eggs. So often he wished he could join them, but he remained out in the cold, mud below him, starlight above.

So he had flown to the stars.

He had come to Paradise Lost. Up here in space, it didn't matter that he was smaller than his brothers, that his back leg was twisted, that his claws were dull. He had mopped floors, unclogged toilets, risen from janitor to security guard, then to clerk, finally to Head Administrator of Paradise Lost.

He had no window in his office. Windows were reserved for the casinos and brothels, for those who brought money into Paradise Lost, not who sucked up a paycheck. But Belowgen could imagine Akraba orbiting outside, the planet of his kind, basking in the light of Terminus Wormhole.

"Someday I will return a wealthy crab," he vowed. "Someday you will lay your eggs before me, females. Someday you will beg me to fertilize them, and your broods will hatch in my pit."

But not if the humans remained.

Not if they kept breeding in the walls.

The past few years had been tough for Paradise Lost. Visitation was declining. Money was tight. Staff turnover was high. Every day now, his bosses called to berate him, and Belowgen never forgot they came from a species that loved crab legs. If Belowgen could not fix things, the entire station might shut down.

The humans had caused this. The damn humans in the walls. Who wanted to gamble and grog when pests were crawling around you? The humans were scaring visitors away, and it was Belowgen's shell on the line.

Belowgen ran Paradise Lost, but he did not own it. His masters lived on other worlds, places far nicer than this. If he failed them, if he let this infestation run wild, he wouldn't return to Akraba a hero. He would be chopped up and served to his lords on a platter. Instead of fertilizing eggs, he'd be served alongside them.

The scorpions could kill the humans.

Belowgen shuddered. His shell clattered, and he parted his mandibles. Then the terror became too great, and he curled up in the corner, legs folded beneath him.

Yes, he had threatened the pest in the vents. He had vowed to summon the scorpions. But once you unleashed those creatures . . .

Belowgen had seen the Skra-Shen scorpions before. Sometimes they crossed the border and visited Akraba to test their weapons. The marshcrab chiefs took the scorpions' money, then gave them clans of crabs to destroy. Years ago, Belowgen had stood atop a tree, watching as the scorpion starships flew, raining bombs on marshcrab broods. Every year, the scorpions returned with larger, more powerful ships, more weapons to test. And every year, Akraba's chiefs grew richer and fatter, selling their fellow marshcrabs for silvered scryls.

They are marvelous creatures, Belowgen thought. Scorpions are true hunters. Apex predators. Next to them, we crabs are nothing.

A longing filled Belowgen to kneel before the scorpions, to worship them, to roll over and expose his underbelly. There would be no shame to it. Only joy.

And yet fear too.

What if they saw Belowgen not as a fellow hunter but as prey? What if their claws tore through his exposed belly? What if the female marshcrabs heard of his weakness?

Belowgen sloshed through the mud bath, then fished out his prized possession: a scorpion's stinger.

It was a huge organ, so large he could barely lift it. It was empty of venom now. But it was still sharp, still powerful enough to crack a shell. Years ago, Belowgen had bought the stinger from a traveling merchant. Marshcrabs had no stingers, no pincers, only small claws on their legs. Here was a reminder of the scorpions' might.

Belowgen scraped the stinger across his shell, just enough to etch a small line. He shuddered. He could imagine this stinger piercing him, injecting him with venom.

No, I cannot summon those beasts. Not yet. They are too horrible. They are too mighty.

He put the stinger away.

He lifted his communicator and shook off the mud.

"This is Belowgen, Head Administrator of Paradise Lost. I need the best exterminators in the galaxy. My station is infested with humans, and they're breeding. Come with guns. Come and kill them. I will pay fifty thousand scryls for each human head."

It was ten times what he normally paid. But the best exterminators cost a splendid scryl. And Belowgen needed the best.

He looked up at the bullet holes in the duct.

"Soon, girl," he hissed. "Soon your head will hang on my wall."

Admiral Emet Ben-Ari sat among the refugees, listening to their tales.

The ISS Jerusalem had once been a tanker, a vessel tasked with ferrying fuel between worlds. When Emet had bought her, she had already been decades old, rusting in a scrap yard. He had patched her up, lovingly working away the kinks and dents, scraping off the rust, installing shields and cannons and battle-class engines, turning her into a machine of war. On the outside, she was now a mighty frigate. The Jerusalem had become the flagship of his fleet, a symbol of hope for humanity.

But on the inside, the starship still showed her humble origin. Her hold was a vast, cavernous place, once used for storing her cargo. Often she had ferried fuel. At other times, she had ferried water, taking the precious liquid to dry worlds. Once, Emet had heard, she had carried grain to a planet undergoing drought. Today no water, fuel, or grain filled the Jerusalem. Today, in this cavernous hold, huddled survivors of humanity.

There were three hundred. They had come from deep in Hierarchy space. Sitting around Emet, they shared their stories.

"The scorpions came for us at night," whispered a woman. She sat wrapped in a cloak, a kerchief hiding her wispy hair. Her eyes were sunken. "We were two thousand humans, hiding on a cold world of snow and icy mountains. There were native aliens there, tall and coated with white fur. They kept us humans isolated, walled off like lepers. But we had peace. We had some food. We traded with the natives. With our smaller hands, we were good at mending, stitching, sewing. They needed our skills. Then the scorpions came." She lowered her head. "The natives led them to us. Aliens we knew, our friends and neighbors—they betrayed us, brought the scorpions to our homes. A few of us tried to fight. The scorpions flayed them alive. We all heard them scream. Then they took the rest, loaded them into cargo ships. Only five of us escaped. We walked for so many days through the snowy mountains, and the scorpions were always in pursuit. Some of us starved. Some froze. Some fell to the scorpions." She wept. "I left my village with five of my children. By the time I found a smuggler ship to ferry me away, I had only one left."

She clutched that one child in her arms, weeping, unable to continue her tale.

A man spoke next. It was impossible to determine his age. He might have been young, but he was withered down to bones, his face like a skull draped with skin, a deathly mask.

"The scorpions came to our hideout too. There were seven of us, living among aliens on a forested world. It was a hard life, but we got by. We foraged for nuts and sold them to the natives. One day we arrived at the local village to sell our nuts, only to find that the natives had betrayed us. The scorpions were there. They're seeking humans everywhere. They took me and my family. They crammed us into a cargo ship with thousands of other humans, captives from many worlds. They took us to a rocky moon. A gulock, we called it. And they . . ." The skeletal man shuddered. "They tortured us. They starved us. They laughed as we bled. Every day, they skinned a human alive. They made us watch. They used the skins to coat their thrones. I watched them skin my wife and children. I watched their flayed bodies live for hours. The scorpions let me live, because I was strong. I could work in their mines, dig for ore, and load the metal into Rawdigger ships. A Rawdigger helped me escape, but it was too late. Too late to save my family . . ." He wept.

A young girl spoke next. "I'm an orphan. I lived in an orphanage with thirty other humans. One day a woman came to us. A human woman! She was very beautiful. She had long blue hair and very white skin, almost like an android. I could see metal parts on the side of her head, where the hair was shaved. She seemed kind. She said she would take us to visit our parents, that she had found them alive. She loaded the other orphans into a ship, but I saw the scorpions inside. I ran. She chased me, but I'm small and quick. I never heard from the other children again."

"I saw the woman too," said a man. "She walked through our city. It was a city of a million aliens, but dozens of humans lived there too, hiding in gutters and basements. The woman with blue hair seemed kind. She told us she would bring us to a place of safety, a haven for humans. I followed her." The man winced and hugged his emaciated knees, the kneecaps prominent on the stick-thin limbs. "We all followed her. We went into her ship. But she took us to a gulock. There was so much agony. Those who starved to death were lucky. The unlucky screamed as the scorpions peeled off their skin. A few of us fought. My brothers lay against the barbed wire fence, dying so that I could climb over them, so that I could escape. I wandered the wilderness for weeks before finding a Rawdigger ship. The Rawdiggers helped us. The Blue Witch betrayed us."

"The woman with blue hair!" whispered an old man. "I saw her. In the gulock, she was always there, a shadow. She walked among the scorpions. She watched from the towers and laughed. We called her the Blue Angel."

"Our group named her the Blue Ghost," said a child. "She told my family she would bring us to safety. We followed her. Only I escaped."

Emet sat, listening to all these tales, his heart heavy.

Story after story.

They were all variations of the same tale. Small human communities, surviving on Hierarchy worlds. To every world, the scorpions had come. Seeking humans. Loading them into cargo ships. Promising them safety and comfort. But ferrying them instead to the gulocks, to starvation and torture and death.

And in most of the tales, there was her.

The human woman. The witch with blue hair.

Emet thought back to the battle a few days ago.

He had seen her. It had to be her, the woman from the tales. He remembered her lounging on a throne upholstered with human skin, one leg slung casually over the armrest, smiling at him crookedly. He remembered the scorpions kneeling around her. He remembered the spark plugs embedded into her head, pulsing with blue light.

Who are you? Emet thought. Why do you serve them?

Finally all the tales were told. Emet was about to leave the hold, to return to the bridge, when he noticed one last survivor. She was a young girl, maybe ten or eleven years old. She sat in the back of the hold, drowning in shadows. Emet hadn't even noticed her until now.

He approached and knelt beside her. The girl cowered.

"Hi there," Emet said softly.

The girl clutched something to her chest—a piece of bread, he saw.

"Please don't hurt me, sir," she whispered. "I'm sorry I ate some bread. I'm sorry. Don't hurt me."

Emet's heart twisted. He had distributed bread to the survivors earlier that day. He had noticed how many of them—those who had survived the gulocks—ate furtively, hiding the leftovers in their pockets.

"You never have to apologize for eating," Emet said. "I will always feed you and protect you."

The girl trembled. She reached into her pocket, and Emet thought she would pull out more bread, maybe confess to hiding it. Instead she held a memory chip. It was the size of Emet's thumb, black and inscribed with red glyphs. A piece of alien technology.

"My daddy told me to give this to you," the girl whispered. "He took it from the scorpions. He said it's very important. They caught him. They . . ." She covered her face, unable to say more.

Emet took the memory chip. His eyes widened. He recognized the glyphs engraved onto it.

This was scorpion tech.

"Who was your father, child?" he asked gently. "Where did he find this?"

But the girl could not answer. She wept, trembling in the shadows.

Heavy footfalls sounded. Duncan approached, short and burly, wearing leather boots. The doctor could strike a fearsome figure, his chest like a barrel, his white beard wild. But as he knelt by the girl, he was all gentleness.

"Come now, child," he said. "Come with Doctor Dunc, lass. I own a wee cat named Mrs. Tribbles, and she's been lonely. Would you like to meet her?"

The girl nodded. "I love cats."

Duncan took her hand, and as they walked toward the exit, he gave Emet a somber look.

He grieves, Emet knew. Every one of these stories shattered his heart. Every one of those we could not save weighs upon him. As they weigh upon me.

Heart heavy, Emet returned to the bridge, leaving the refugees with a few of the younger Inheritors, soldiers with kind smiles and bright eyes, men and women to provide comfort in the shadows.

A soldier not only kills an enemy. A soldier also comforts those who cower, offers a shoulder to cry on, kind eyes for a wounded heart, and hope for the hopeless.

The Jerusalem was a large ship, but her bridge was humble, a chamber not much larger than a bedroom. The floor and walls were raw, unadorned metal. A viewport stretched across the front wall, displaying a view of space ahead. Other monitors displayed stats from inside and outside the ship. Drawers and shelves held computers, cables, and weapons. Emet had been spending most of his time here. Without a permanent base, without a home planet, here was his headquarters. Often he slept on the bridge, slumped in his chair, ready to wake and respond to any emergency, be it enemy ships, an engineering malfunction, or a call for help from a human community.

Through the viewport, he could now see the rest of his fleet. A handful of starships, mostly old freighters and tankers and cattle cogs, bought from scrap yards and converted into warships. They had a handful of starfighters too, most of them a century old, modeled after Earth's classic Firebirds from two thousand years ago. With the new refugees, these ships were now crowded. Emet would need to buy more ships from Old Luther, his scrap dealer. He needed more food too. Much more. A temporary base, perhaps a place to spend a year or two, to grow crops, to heal.

Emet turned away from the view. He looked at the wall, where he had hung a framed photograph—the only personal touch on the bridge.

The photograph showed him as a younger man, no white to his hair or beard. His wife stood by him, the beautiful Alexis, her skin light brown, her hair black and lustrous. Their children stood by their sides. Bay was seven years old in the photo. He had Emet's light hair, pale skin, and blue eyes, but he was graceful and slender like his mother. In the photograph, Bay was hiding his bad hand inside his jacket, always so ashamed of his disability. Leona stood by him, ten years old. She had inherited her mother's darker colors, but she was tall and strong like her father, a natural warrior.

Those had been happier days, the photo taken on a sunny world. Back before Emperor Sin Kra, lord of the scorpions, had slain Alexis. Back before Bay had run.

Emet touched the glass pane.

So many of us lost families, he thought. So many grieve. Every human left in the galaxy has a tale of tragedy. I must find them all. I must bring my people home.

He looked at the memory chip in his hand. It was no larger than his thumb, yet surprisingly heavy. Emet knew the tongue of Skra-Shen. He could read the glyphs on the device.

The Human Solution.

How had the girl's father come by this? Was there a human resistance within Hierarchy space, the way the Heirs of Earth fought for humanity in Concord lands?

"How do I access the information on this chip?" Emet said to himself. He owned several computers. His drawers were filled with adapters and translators. Yet none would work with Skra-Shen technology.

He stared more closely at the chip, wondering if he could build an interface, hack into this device. What secrets did it contain?

The Human Solution.

Emet shuddered. He winced in sudden pain. The image flashed before him again: the strikers firing on the Rawdigger cog, tearing it open, and the hundreds of refugees spilling out, dying in space, so close to salvation. Deeper memories bubbled up, his wife screaming, reaching out to him, and—

An alarm blared, tearing Emet away from his thoughts.

He turned toward his security monitor.

Incoming starship.

Instinctively, Emet reached for Thunder, the double-barreled rifle that hung across his back. Even now, even here, he still reached for that old weapon.

He took a deep breath and let his hand drop. He recognized the starship on the viewport.

"Leona," he said. "You're back."

At once, a weight lifted from him. Whenever Leona came home safely from a mission, Emet felt half as heavy.

He watched her starship approach. It was a rusty old starwhaler, far smaller than the Jerusalem. Decades ago, Leona's starship had hunted starwhales, great animals who swam through space, feeding on stardust. Emet had purchased the rusty vessel from Luther's scrap yard, had given the ship to Leona on her eighteenth birthday. She had already been a capable pilot, even back then. All Inheritor ships bore the names of old Earth settlements—cities for frigates, towns for the smaller corvettes. Leona had named hers Nantucket, a town mentioned in Moby Dick, her favorite book. She had tattooed a line from that book across her arm. I love to sail forbidden seas. It seemed appropriate that she should pilot an old whaler.

Emet opened a communication channel, hailing the Nantucket.

"Welcome home, daughter!"

Leona appeared on the monitor. "Home, Dad? I'm approaching our fleet, which floats in cold, dark space. Our home is on Earth."

His smile widened. "Well, welcome to our fleet which floats in cold, dark space then."

She grinned. "Better."

There was weariness to Leona's grin. Her eyes were sunken. But her back was still straight, and her hair was thick, wild, and curly as ever. Like him, she had a lion's mane. Many called Emet the Old Lion; she was the Young Lioness. But while Emet's hair was blond, streaked with white, Leona had inherited her mother's colors. She looked so much like Alexis.

I wish you could have known your mother longer, Leona, Emet thought. I'm so sorry you had to grow up like this, here in the cold and darkness.

"Dad, I've got seventeen refugees aboard the Nantucket," Leona said. "We encountered some resistance. From the Peacekeepers."

As the ship got closer, Emet noticed the scars on its hull. Those would cost money to fix. Scryls were in short supply these days. Emet had almost a thousand humans on his ships now. Water and food cost a fortune on the black market, and they needed weapons too, and medicine, and someday another ship, and—

But enough for now. Right now his daughter was home. That was all that mattered.

"We've picked up many refugees while you were gone, Leona," Emet said. "Hundreds of them. Our ships are brimming. But we'll find room and board for seventeen more. Bring them aboard the Jerusalem. Doc will look at them."

Duncan's bearded face appeared around a doorway. "Doc is up to his bloody eyeballs with patients."

Emet suppressed a smile. "Doc, I keep telling you, get one of the village healers to help you. There are a few among the refugees."

He snorted. "Village healers? Next you'll tell me to consult astrologers." With a shake of his bald head, Duncan vanished around the corner again, grumbling something about needing no damn help from anyone.

Emet opened the Jerusalem's hangar, and he sent out two Firebird starfighters to escort the Nantucket back toward the fleet. Not that Leona needed the escort. She was the best damn pilot in the fleet, skilled at flying both small starfighters and larger, heavier corvettes like the Nantucket. She had even begun to take shifts helming the Jerusalem, a vessel the size of an aircraft carrier from old Earth. Leona was twenty-seven, a deadly warrior, a legendary pilot, a heroine of humanity—and yet Emet still worried about her. Still felt the need to protect his little girl.

Soon the Nantucket was back among the fleet. They flew in defensive formation, the larger warships in the center, the smaller fighters circling them. It was barely an army. It was barely even a militia. It was humanity's only hope.

A shuttle ferried Leona onto the Jerusalem, and she met Emet on the bridge. Her uniform was tattered, and sand clogged her rifle.

"You're limping," Emet said.

She nodded. "Lost a heel."

He stared at her thigh. He could make out the shape of a bandage under the pant leg. "Peacekeepers?"

"Mucking Tarmarin claw. Fought a bastard in the arena." She grinned. "You should see him. What's left of him, at least. Which isn't much." She limped closer and embraced him. "It's good to be back, Dad. My Ra! All those refugees in the hold! I've never seen so many. They're so thin. So scared. What happened to them?"

"Scorpions," Emet said.

They spent a few moments swapping tales. Emet told her of the Rawdiggers' help, of the battle at the border, of the refugees' stories. Leona spoke of the events on the desert world of Til Shiran, of beating the gladiator, winning money for the Inheritors, finding human survivors.

Emet met her eyes. "You didn't hear any news of Bay, did you?"

Leona's eyes darkened. She shook her head. "I searched every tavern, brothel, and gambling pit I passed by. Just the types of places he'd like. Nothing."

Emet's throat tightened. He nodded. Every time Leona went down to a planet, seeking human survivors, he hoped she would find Bay. It had been ten years since that horrible day. Since Bay's heart had broken. Since he had stolen a shuttle from the Jerusalem's hangar and fled. Sometimes they heard clues—a barfly who had grogged with Bay, a druggie who had smoked with him, an android prostitute who had comforted him for a night. By the time the Inheritors arrived, Bay was always gone, lost in some other den of sin.

"May someday my son come home too," Emet said softly. "May someday you both greet me here on my bridge."

Leona placed a hand on his shoulder. She was a tall woman, but she still stood half a foot shorter than him, and she had to look up into his eyes. "We'll find him. We'll be a family again. May all our lost children come home."

Emet felt the weight of the alien memory chip in his hand. His heart felt heavier.

The Human Solution.

"Leona," he said, raising the chip. "We need to hack into Skra-Shen tech."

Leona scoffed. "Good luck with that, Dad. We've tried, remember? Last time we grabbed a piece of their tech, we spent weeks at it. None of our technology can crack it."

"But there is one who can help," Emet said, staring into her eyes.

Leona frowned. "No. Dad?" She took a step back. "No."

"It's the only way."

Leona inhaled sharply. "She's a goddamn psychopath!" She growled. "She's likely to turn us in, or kill us herself with twisted dark magic, or—"

"For the right amount of money," Emet said, "she'll help. You won thirty thousand scryls slaying the gladiator. That should cover it."

Her eyes blazed. "Dad! That money is for food. For water. For weapons. Especially with these new survivors, and—"

"And there are possibly millions of humans out there we can still save." Emet grabbed her arm. "Leona, I am not asking you. I am telling you. That is our path. This is my command."

Leona stared into his eyes in silence, face hard. Then she pulled her arm free, spun on her heel, and marched off the bridge.

Emet stood alone, staring at the doorway.

Long ago, I gave Bay an order. He refused. He left. And ten years later, he's still lost.

Emet clenched his fist, and he hated. He hated that the scorpion emperor had slain his wife. He hated that this war had driven Bay away. He hated that it was driving Leona away. He hated that the refugee girl cowered. He hated that hundreds were huddling in his ship, broken souls. He hated that millions still needed him. He hated what this war had done to him, turning him into a haunted man, constantly reaching for his gun. He looked at the framed photograph again. A smiling family, standing on solid ground under blue sky. A lie. Nothing but a Ra damn lie, a ghost of what might have been, of what might never be again.

He looked into space. He gazed upon his fleet. He sought Earth in the distance, but the blue marble was as lost as he was.

A blue witch. A creature with hair as blue as Earth. Emet shuddered. A demon in human form.

He remembered seeing that creature aboard the scorpion ship. A woman with alabaster skin, with blue hair, with mad eyes.

"Who are you?" Emet whispered.

Jade walked across the scorched planet Ur Akad, heart of the scorpion empire. The hot, sandy wind ruffled her blue hair, stung her cheeks, and billowed her cloak of human skin. Jade smiled crookedly. After a long hunt in the darkness, she was home.

The jagged plains of her homeland spread before her. The land was searing bronze and burnt yellow, sprouting mesas and boulders that pierced the sky. Mountain ranges rose like spine ridges, and canyons plunged like scars. Winds howled, slamming into cliffs, forming and reforming dunes like ripples of burnt flesh. Kali Karan, the Red Sun, blazed on the horizon, a massive wound in the sky, dripping its light like blood. Shamash Karan, the White Sun, crackled overhead, smaller but hotter, brighter, crueler.

The scorpions, her brothers and sisters, scuttled and shrieked across the landscape. Millions of them climbed the jutting mesas, spawned in canyons, and rutted in the sand. Thousands of their starships, the mighty strikers, hovered above, filling the sky. Myriads more stormed across space, ruling the Hierarchy with an iron claw. Long ago, the Skra-Shen had been small, barely larger than Jade's hand. Long ago, they had competed with many other predators on their planet, many other hunters between the worlds.

But we rose, Jade thought. We grew larger, stronger. We took over this planet. And we took over the Hierarchy, a mighty axis of power. And soon the galaxy will be ours. She clenched her fists. And the humans will be gone!

Hatred blazed through her.

Humans!

She growled and spat. She loathed them. She loathed them with the fire of ten thousand suns.

"All this glory," she hissed. "The might of the empire. The vastness of the galaxy. All is infested with rot." Blood rushed to her cheeks, and her heart pounded. "Vermin infect the galaxy. But I will wipe them out."

Jade looked down at her own body. She wore the form of a human, a trickery to deceive them. But her skin was not frail like theirs, not like the cloak she wore, the pelt she had ripped off a living victim. Her skin was white as alabaster and hard as steel, formed from the same material as a scorpion's shell. Her claws were long and sharp, made for slicing through human flesh, for flaying them as they screamed. Her hair billowed in the sandy wind, long and blue.

The Blue Witch, they call me. She laughed. How the humans love me, then fear me!

She still remembered her scorpion form. Still remembered slicing into her victims with pincers, stinging them with her tail, injecting them with venom. Her father had broken her. Had shattered her into a thousand pieces. Had reformed her into this new shape, this new shell.

Go walk among the humans, Emperor Sin Kra had told her.

She had stood before him, dripping blood, shaped like the vermin. I am hideous.

But her father had stroked her cheek. You are beautiful in any form, for your deadliness is your beauty. Go and deceive them.

She had laughed. I will wipe them out.

As Jade walked across the plains, her brothers and sisters saw her. Thousands of scorpions bowed before her, hissing in reverence, stingers rising in respect.

"Mistress!" they hissed.

"Great huntress!"

"Predator queen!"

"Bane of humans!"

She nodded at them, smiling thinly, accepting the titles. None in the empire had slain more humans. Her wrath was legendary.

Yet one scorpion scuttled toward her, hissing in scorn. He was a massive beast, his shell as dark as the void between galaxies. He huffed and kicked sand at her.

"Look at her!" the scorpion said. "She's not one of us. She's one of the humans."

Around him, other scorpions squealed in dismay.

"The emperor himself gave her this form!"

"She is Skra-Shen, a holy arachnid!"

"She is the Great Deceiver!"

But the burly scorpion spat. "Lies. I know what I see. I see a weak, frail human. Vermin! She is vermin among us."

Jade doffed her cloak and approached the scorpion. He was several times her size, his teeth the length of her forearms. He snarled and thrust his stinger toward her.

Jade leaped aside, and his stinger drove into the ground. She lashed her claws, slicing his stinger right off his tail.

Yellow blood spurted.

The scorpion screamed and reared, pincers raised.

She lifted the severed stinger, spun like discus thrower, and hurled it. It impaled the scorpion's chest.

The beast fell, dead before he hit the ground.

Jade spat on the corpse, then lifted her skin cloak, dusted it off, and placed it across her shoulders. As she kept walking, she heard the other scorpions leap onto their dead brother and feast.

She walked across barren hills, and she beheld the imperial palace ahead.

The palace had two towers, representing the two claws in a scorpion's pincer. The towers grew from a shared base, soaring so tall they scraped the edge of space. Here was the heart of the Skra-Shen civilization. Here was the heart of the entire Hierarchy, this axis of scorpions and thousands of other species who served them. And here lived her father, Lord Emperor of the Hierarchy.

"The palace of Baal Skran," she whispered in awe, gazing upon the building. "Hall of Masters."

Jade began moving faster, bounding across the jagged plains, leaping over canyons, until she reached the palace. The main gate rose before her. The archway was carved from sandstone, shaped like two scorpion stingers meeting at the keystone.

Jade stepped through the archway, entering a hall of scorpions.

Large scorpions with black shells, the male warriors, stood guard by doorways that led deeper into the palace. Golden females, the emperor's harem, sprawled everywhere, some carrying their translucent young on their backs. The floor was a mosaic formed of human bones, the skulls screaming in silent agony. Human skins hung on the walls, stitched together, forming tapestries the size of starship hulls. Murals had been tattooed into the skins, depicting ancient battles, the scorpions smiting their enemies.

Jade walked across the hall, her heavy boots crunching bones. In the center of the room rose a hill of human bones, and she climbed a staircase paved with femurs. At the hilltop, she found a depression like a volcano's vent. Teeth filled the pit. Human teeth. Millions of them, filling the hollow mound.

Upon this clinking lair of teeth he stood. Sin Kra. Emperor of the Skra-Shen.

Jade stood before him. "Hello, Father."

Sin Kra was twice the size of the largest scorpion in his army. Rather than black or gold like common scorpions, his exoskeleton was a rare crimson color. The color of human blood. He was the most ancient among them, centuries old, wisest and mightiest of the hunters. He was a predator among predators. The top of the food chain. The tip of the Hierarchy. Ten thousand worlds bowed before him, for he was the destroyer of worlds.

And I'm his daughter, Jade thought. And one day this palace, this planet, this galaxy will be mine.

"They are so fragile . . ." Sin Kra hissed. "So weak . . . Yet they scream so beautifully."

He was pinning down a human, Jade saw. A young man, stripped naked. The pest was lying on the pile of teeth, trussed up, trembling.

"Please," the man whispered, looking at Jade. "Help me. Please."

A scorpion's front limbs ended with massive pincers, each large enough to slice through a man whole. Tucked in beneath them, rarely noticeable, were smaller arms tipped with articulated digits. The scorpions used these "hands" to manipulate tools, build starships, and sometimes—like today—torture their victims with beautiful delicacy.

Pinning the human down with his legs, Sin Kra reached into the prisoner's mouth, grabbed a tooth, and yanked it out.

The man screamed.

Sin Kra tossed the tooth onto the pile. It clinked.

"You shouldn't play with your food," Jade said.

The emperor laughed, a sound like cracking ribs. "Torture is not a game, my beloved Jade. It is an art."

He pulled out another tooth, a molar this time. The man howled. Another tooth clinked onto the pile.

"Tooth by tooth," Sin Kra said, "and I raise this mountain. World by world, and I build an empire."

"I can't hear you over all the screaming," Jade said. The man was weeping, begging, crying out in agony.

Sin Kra grunted. He clacked his claws, and several servants scuttled forth, small arachnids with furry black bodies. They wrapped the man in webs.

"Keep him fresh," Sin Kra said. "I want him still screaming when I pluck out the rest of his teeth."

The spiders nodded, bowed, and carried the prisoner away.

"Father," Jade said, "the humans attacked us. Again. They stole several hundred prisoners. They destroyed several of our strikers. It was the Heirs of Earth again. The rebels." She clenched her fists and bared her teeth. "But I killed many of them. I destroyed two of their starships. If you will allow me to chase them into the Concord, I—"

"No," said Sin Kra. "Not yet."

Jade stepped closer. "But the humans muster for war! They build warships, they mock us, they—"

"They will all die, daughter. Fear not." He lifted a human bone from a pile, cracked it open, and sucked the marrow. "First we will slay all humans in Hierarchy space. And soon, very soon now, the Concord will be ours as well, and the skins of their humans will hang in our halls!"

Jade raised her chin. "I can't wait for that day. I yearn for it! A galaxy free of humans, and myself returned to my true form, a scorpion proud and strong."

Sin Kra nodded. He stroked her cheek, his claw scraping across her alabaster skin. "Yes, child. Once the humans are all gone, you will become a scorpion again, and you will rule at my side."

Jade shivered with delight, but then she grimaced, sudden shame flooding her.

"Father, I had the dream again last night." She closed her eyes. "Like so many times before. I was a child. A human child. My hair was golden, not blue, and I wielded a crystal sword. I lived in a glowing cave among other humans. I had a human mother. A human father. Foul vermin! I lived among them like a rat." Tears burned her eyes. "You came to me in my dream. You saved me from them. But I still remember their song. A song of Earth . . ." She opened her eyes and looked at him. "I've never known fear in battle, but that dream terrifies me."

Sin Kra grabbed her in his claws. He pulled her close. His jaws loomed before her, lined with teeth, and his golden eyes blazed like cauldrons of molten metal.

"The humans infected you with a false memory," he hissed. "They have dark powers. They always seek to deceive. They've deceived the galaxy itself, claiming that they have a homeland named Earth. And they've deceived you, making you remember what never happened, making you doubt your true heritage. You hatched here in this chamber, Jade. You were a beautiful Skra-Shen, translucent and shimmering, even as a hatchling. I broke you myself. I molded your exoskeleton into a human shape, so that you may walk among the humans, earn their trust, and lead them to slaughter. Do not let them deceive the deceiver!"

Jade nodded, head lowered. "I will not."

Sin Kra tapped the round implants embedded into Jade's skull. They thrust out from the shaved side of her head. The implants shone, casting blue light against his claws.

"I will have to calibrate your mind," he said.

Jade stepped back. "No! No, Father. I don't need another calibration."

"Clearly you do." Sin Kra chortled. "You stand stooped before me, shoulders slumped, head lowered, and you confess fear. What kind of apex predator confesses fear?"

"I am not afraid!" Jade said, straightening her back. "I am a proud huntress, and—"

"A huntress who dreams of being human!" Sin Kra said. He huffed and turned toward his servants. "Bring the cables."

"Father, no!" Jade cried. "Please! Not again!"

She tried to retreat, but he grabbed her. He held her tightly in his claws. She wriggled, trying to free herself, but he was so strong.

The furry arachnids approached, carrying cables tipped with crackling prongs. The servants hissed, eyes shining. They placed their bristly feet upon Jade.

"Father, no!" Jade said. "Plea—"

The arachnids plugged the cables into her implants.

Jade screamed.

Venom pumped into her, crackling, sizzling, filling her head, flowing through her skull and veins.

She tried to beg, but she couldn't even speak. Only scream.

She was drowning. Burning inside. The agony roared over her memories, crushing them, searing them, burying them. Acid flowed over her parents, that glittering cave, the girl she had been in her dream.

And in the ruins, she remembered.

She was a pale, translucent hatchling, a scorpion tearing through an egg.

She consumed her own mother, ripping into the flesh.

Her own father broke her, remolded her, reformed her into the Deceiver. A scorpion in human form. A great huntress to destroy the vermin.

Sin Kra stared at her, still gripping her, even as the venom kept pumping into her head.

"What are you?" the emperor demanded.

Jade could barely see him through the pain. Barely speak. She felt as if her teeth would fall out, would join the pile.

"What are you?" Sin Kra shrieked.

She managed to shove words past her lips. "I . . . am . . . Skra-Shen!"

"Who is your father?"

"You are, my emperor!"

"What is your task?" the emperor said.

"To slay humans!" she cried. "To slay them all!"

Sin Kra nodded and yanked out the cables. It felt like he had ripped off chunks of skull. Jade fell to her knees, panting, wheezing, weeping. She had bit her tongue, and coppery blood filled her mouth. She had wet herself. She knelt on the pile of teeth, hair crackling, her implants glowing, then fading.

"Rise, Jade of the Skra-Shen," said Sin Kra. "And hunt again."

She rose. She clenched her fists so tightly her palms bled.

"I will hunt them all!" she shrieked, her voice echoing through the cavern. "I was born here. I hatched from a great queen's egg, and I consumed her flesh. I am the huntress of the dark. I am the mistress of pain. I am the flayer, the queen of death! I will kill them all!"

She spun around, bounded across the chamber, and burst out into the searing landscape.

"Gather, my warriors!" she cried. "We fly out! We hunt! We kill!"

The scorpions gathered around her, howling for bloodshed. Jade licked the blood off her lips. She looked up at the blazing suns and smiled.

You're out there, Emet Ben-Ari. You're out there, humans. I will bring you back here, and your teeth will shatter under my boots.

As the Nantucket rumbled toward the hollowed-out asteroid, Leona refused to look at her father. She sat in the cockpit, fists tight, jaw clenched.

"Leona." Sitting at the helm, Emet reached to pat her shoulder. "This is the right choice. We—"

She shoved his hand away. "Don't touch me."

He returned his hand to the controls. He stared forward again, piloting on in silence, brow furrowed.

Let him fume! Leona thought. He's dragging me here. To see her. That . . . creature.

Her lip peeled back in disgust. Ten years ago, as a girl of seventeen, Leona had flown this same path with Emet. They had come to see it. And it had betrayed them. Because of that creature, her womb was empty, her thigh was scarred, and—

Stop.

Leona forced deep breaths. She was still an Inheritor. She could not succumb to her pain. Humanity had never been in such danger, and she must be strong. But why, Ra above, did Emet want to return to the traitor?

Leona stared at the asteroid ahead. From the outside, it looked like any old rock. Hacksaw Cove was hidden from the galaxy. It didn't even orbit a star. Peacekeepers never came here. Most in Concord space didn't know this place existed. But outlaws, pirates, smugglers, and terrorists knew. So did the Heirs of Earth.

If you stole, bought, or sold forbidden data, Hacksaw Cove was your Mecca. Here was the gossip hub of every spy, conspirator, and detective in Concord space. You went to places like Paradise Lost for hookers, drugs, and grog. Hacksaw Cove was not about pleasure nor sin. This place was about information.

The asteroid was many kilometer wide, almost a micro-planet, and never in the same place. No star tethered it. Often it floated among many other asteroids, hidden in the crowd. Hacksaw Cove was nearly impossible to find, unless you had the right code. The Inheritors had paid quite a few scryls for this code.

As they moved closer, details on the asteroid emerged. Its surface was dark and craggy. There was no sign of civilization here. But there was a secret code engraved into the stone. Emet tapped at his keyboard, pulling up a two-dimensional hologram of a rocky asteroid, its surface covered with craters and mountains. He raised the holographic image, aligning it with the true asteroid that hovered outside.

When both images aligned—the true asteroid and the holographic one—new landforms appeared.

The combined images created a network of canals, spelling out words in Aelonian, the Concord's lingua franca:

Welcome, friend.

"We've got the right asteroid," Emet said.

Leona glowered. "Have I mentioned that we're making a mistake?"

"A few hundred times, yes." Emet raised the scorpion memory chip, the one the refugee girl had smuggled out of Hierarchy lands. "But there's important information stored here. Humans died to retrieve it. And there's only one alien who can hack into this chip."

Leona felt her cheeks flush. She leaped to her feet. "Dad, not her! You can't trust that creature again. It's her fault! It's because of her that—"

"Leona!" he roared. "Enough. Sit down. You are an Inheritor. Act like it."

She glared at Emet, trembling with rage.

I can't, she thought. I can't forget that day.

The scar on her thigh, long and deep, burned again. She winced, looking away.

I miss you so much, Jake.

Sometimes the pain was too great. Sometimes Leona wanted to do like Bay. To steal a ship. To flee her father, flee the Inheritors. Yes, Bay had lost somebody too. Bay had run. And before him, the traitor David Emery had run, stealing the Earthstone. So many had abandoned this war. So many grieved.

Leona looked back at her father. At his shaggy hair, streaked with white. At his haunted yet strong eyes. And her shoulders slumped.

I will not abandon him too. I will stay. I will fight with him. For Earth.

She sat back down. They kept flying.

When they were close enough to the asteroid, Emet transmitted his code. A moment later, a hatch opened in one of the asteroid's craters. Several drones emerged, shielded and loaded with cannons. They flew toward the Nantucket and buzzed around the ship, scanning it with sweeping red lasers.

"Mucking hackers," Leona muttered. "Probably stealing our secrets."

"You know we don't carry classified information on the Nantucket," Emet said.

"These muckers can probably hack into our Ra damn brains," Leona said.

Emet gave her a wry smile. "Maybe you should wear a tinfoil hat."

The drones patched into their comm system.

"Visitor recognized: Inheritor Starship Nantucket. Crew: Two. Species: Human. Commander: Admiral Emet Ben-Ari. First mate: Commodore Leona Ben-Ari. Crew outlawed on systems: All Concord worlds. Profession: Underground militia." The drones buzzed out of their way. "Welcome, friends."

"Underground militia?" Leona said. "I thought we were freedom fighters."

Emet snorted. "We're lucky they didn't call us terrorists. Most folk do."

The size of an old Earth yacht, the Nantucket was just small enough to fly into the hatch. Engines rumbling, the ship glided into the asteroid.

The Nantucket floated down a graffiti-covered tunnel. Alien parasites clung to the walls, hissing as the Nantucket flew by, then leaned down to feed on the smog. Grates below revealed shafts that plunged into the heart of the asteroid. Nuclear reactors churned deep below, powering this hidden world.

Several kilometers into the asteroid, the tunnel opened up into a vast cavern. Here was the heart of the asteroid. Here was the galaxy's most secure vault of secrets.

Hundreds of workshops honeycombed the walls. Drones flitted back and forth, and gondolas moved on cables, passing between the nooks. Cables dangled everywhere, flowing out from each nook, coiling together, then plunging into a massive outlet in the floor. It looked like a tree, kilometers tall, reaching out branches to every shop.

But these shops sold no physical wares. They sold information. Hacksaw Cove attracted the best hackers in the galaxy. The brightest and boldest came here. The best cybercriminals, whistleblowers, and data pirates worked here. Some called them electronic terrorists, others saw them as heroes of information. Here lived the famous Captain Electric, the alien child who had hacked into the Peacekeeper Headquarters mainframe, then leaked the information across the galaxy. The infamous Senpai Seven worked here too; any song, movie, game, or software you needed, they offered you a pirated copy. Several shops operated alluring avatars they sent into cyberspace to recruit drug mules. Others streamed illegal content, from pornography to revolutionary manifestos. There were shops that harvested passwords, others that hacked into bank accounts. Some shops hacked into cameras, took compromising photos, and blackmailed their victims.

Here lived the most dangerous criminals in the galaxy. And the most successful. Even the poorest hacker here was wealthier than the entire Heirs of Earth.

"Bunch of lowlifes," Leona muttered. "Online warriors, hiding behind their keyboards. Give me warships and rifles. That's how you win wars." She looked around her, lip curling. "All they care about is money and fame. They fight for no noble cause."

"They fight for our cause," Emet said. "When the price is right, at least."

"Lie down with dogs, wake up with fleas," Leona said.

Emet nodded. "Successful soldiers are rarely knights in polished armor. They lie down with dogs, and fleas infest their uniforms. Wars are not won with good intentions, taking the high road. They're won wrestling in the mud."

Leona brushed her uniform, imagining the fleas. She shuddered.

Piers stretched out from the central stalk of cables, and starships docked here. The Nantucket just met the maximum size limit. Normally, Leona hated to leave a ship unguarded, but there was honor among thieves, and here were the galaxy's best thieves. They left the ship.

A rusty robot rolled toward them, dressed in a shabby uniform and tasseled fez. He reminded Leona of an elevator operator from an old movie. The robot held out his hand, and Leona paid him a scryl. The machine nodded, shedding rust, and guided Leona and Emet into a gondola.

The glass sphere began to move along a cable, taking them through the cavern. Hundreds of other gondolas zipped around them, aliens inside them—some blobby, others bony and thin, some swimming inside aquariums. They were all typing at keyboards and peering through virtual reality helmets. Cables ran everywhere, carrying gondolas and power to the pods honeycombing the walls. The air buzzed with electricity and information. Most of these aliens were deep in virtual reality. Here was just the back end, the machine that operated the countless digital worlds.

And in one of these shops, the creature waited. Leona ground her teeth.

"There must be somebody else," Leona said. "Not her."

"She's helped us before," Emet said.

"She betrayed us before." Leona grabbed Arondight, slung as always across her back. "Maybe I'll put a bullet through her Ra damn head."

Emet wanted to rage, to scold his daughter, even send her back to the ship. But as he looked at her, his fury faded.

"Leona, I'm sorry about what happened that day. I'm so sorry. We fight so that no more will suffer like you did."

She looked away. She did not reply.

Finally the gondola reached its destination—a pod in the wall, one shop in this great honeycomb. A sign hung over the round doorway, displaying the words: Tea Party Madness.

To fit through the small doorway, Emet had to bend over, turn sideways, and pin Thunder and Lightning to his sides. Leona paused, forced herself to take a deep breath, then followed.

They found themselves in a cluttered chamber filled with machinery. There were humming computers, buzzing cables, chugging pistons, and flashing microchips. It felt like standing inside a computer.

And there, at the back of the chamber, she waited.

The creature.

Leona hissed and reached for her gun.

Leona stood in the chamber with her father, staring at the creature ahead.

"Hello, Alice," Emet said.

The creature ignored him.

Alice was not her true name. She gave each visitor a different name, choosing one from that species' lore. In cyberspace, she had thousands of avatars. If she had a true name, nobody knew it. To humans, she was Alice.

And we've followed her down rabbit holes before, Leona thought.

The first time Leona had come here, she had mistaken Alice for part of the machinery. Alice was a clockworker, a member of a mysterious and rare alien species.

Millions of years ago, the clockworkers had been computer bugs—literally. They had begun their evolution inside a massive computer halfway across the galaxy, a machine that covered a planet, the masterwork of an ancient civilization. At first, these lifeforms had been mere insects, scurrying through the machine, dying frequently. They got trapped between gears, burned on hot motherboards, entangled themselves in cables, and caused so many hardware failures that their host species—the builders of the machine—went extinct.

But the bugs had survived. They evolved to survive inside the giant computer. They fed on its energy. Their bodies changed, adapting to fit in the machinery. They evolved tentacles that could plug into ports, could access the data hidden within. Over millions of years, those humble bugs became intelligent, living components of a long-abandoned computer. Computers were usually built by intelligent life. Here was intelligent life that evolved inside a computer.

Alice was shaped like a gear the size of a wagon wheel. Her skin was hard and metallic. She hung on a wall, fitting into her network of computers. Her square teeth, which lined her circular body, connected to smaller gears, these ones inorganic. Tentacles extended from her body like cables, plugged into outlets.

"Hello, Homo sapiens," she said. She had no mouth, but she spoke through speakers mounted on the ceiling, giving her an eerie, disembodied voice. She had eyes, though. Almost human eyes, four of them, deep blue and wise. "How does the pocket watch tick? How does the time flow? Tick. Tock. Dib. Dab. And the chain rattles."

"Enough of your riddles." Leona stepped forward, her overcoat swishing, and placed a hand on Arondight.

Alice turned a few degrees. Her cogs moved the smaller gears around her. Lights flickered.

"Ah, the young one, risen from the meadow where mist flows." Alice blinked her four eyes. "Such a beautiful place! I have studied its numbers. Sometimes here the numbers sing like birds. Your birds are angry and caw. Caw! Caw! Like ravens seeking rotten flesh."

Leona raised her rifle. "I'll show you rotten flesh."

Alice laughed. "Still such fury, delightful as flame! Last time, you did not bring me enough of the crystal skulls I crave. And so my gears did not turn. And so he died. You still hate me. Yet does a plant not wither when you withhold water? Do gears not fall still when you fail to grease them?"

"You mucking piece of filth!" Leona shouted. "How dare you mock his death? My husband died that day! My heart died! You knew the scorpions were going to attack our base. You knew and you said nothing, and he died!"

Alice turned another degree. "Yes, I knew. I offered you a fair bargain. Fifteen megabytes of scryls for a few churns of my gears. You offered only seven megabytes of scryls." She laughed. "It would seem you neglected to water the plant. Do not blame the soil nor sprout."

"You greedy space scum." Leona raised Arondight with shaking hands and loaded a bullet. "I'm going to put a bullet through your mucking—"

"Leona, enough!" Emet roared. He pulled her rifle down. "That was ten years ago. It's over."

"Jake died!" Leona cried, eyes burning. "It's never over!"

"And millions more will die unless we save them!" Emet said. "I thought I could bring you here. That you would hold back your anger. I was wrong. Return to the ship."

Leona laughed bitterly. "Dad, she betrayed us then. She'll betray us again. I didn't come here to buy her secrets. I came here for revenge." She raised Arondight again.

"Leona!" Emet shouted, voice echoing in the chamber. "I gave you an order. Return to the ship."

She glared at him. For an instant, pure hatred filled her. For a moment, Leona understood Bay. Understood David. Understood why so many people had abandoned Emet Ben-Ari, leader of the Heirs of Earth. At that moment, Leona wanted to leave too. Her thigh blazed as if the scorpion was still clawing it.

That scar is on my outer thigh, she thought. But blood also poured down my inner thighs. That day, I lost my husband, and I lost the child in my womb.

She struggled not to weep—not here, not before this alien.

But we all lost somebody. I saw so many humans cowering, bleeding, dying. There are hundreds back in our fleet. Humans who are weak and scared. Who need me.

And now tears flowed down her cheek.

I can't abandon them. So I will stay. I will dance with the devil to save angels.

Lips tight, Leona reached into her pack. She pulled out a bag full of chinking scryls—the money she had won in her gladiator fight. She tossed it onto the floor, and the tiny crystal skulls spilled out.

"Thirty thousand scryls," Leona said, turning to stare at Alice. "I won these in the arena. I bled for them. They're yours. We have work for you, Alice."

Emet exhaled in relief. He gave Leona a small nod.

Thank you, his eyes said. I'm proud of you.

He pulled the scorpion memory chip from his pocket. He showed it to Alice.

"Alice, this was taken from the Skra-Shen," Emet said. "Those we call the scorpions. We need you to hack into it, to translate the data inside into a language our computers understand."

Alice turned several cogs clockwise, then counterclockwise, and her cables flashed with lights. Compartments opened in the walls, and an army of micro-drones emerged, each the size of a mouse. They began collecting the fallen scryls. One of the drones flew toward Emet's hand and took the memory chip from him.

"Interesting," Alice purred. "I do love Hierarchy tech. It feels like raw iron and vibrating silicon and hot sizzling zinc. I would lick my teeth if I still had a tongue. My drone is like a taste bud. It trembles with delight."

The drone clung to the chip with tiny claws. It flew toward an outlet in the wall. Other drones opened drawers and rifled through many adapters, finally choosing one. They plugged the adapter into the outlet, then plugged in the scorpion chip. At once the glyphs on the chip lit up. The words blazed: The Human Solution.

"Can you read the data?" Leona said.

Alice closed her eyes. She turned from side to side, moving the gears around her. It was almost like a dance. Cables buzzed, lights flashed, and humming emerged from the machinery.

Around the room, cameras flickered to life, and holograms appeared.

Leona gasped, stepped closer to Emet, and clasped his hand.

Lists.

Holographic lists hovered before them, scrolling rapidly through thousands—millions—of words.

To their left were lists written in a red font. To their right, lists in blue. Alice had translated them into the common human tongue.

Names.

They were lists of names. Human names.

"Alice, can you slow down the scrolling?" Leona said.

The scrolling slowed down, and Leona got a closer look. Each blue name showed a date of birth, a gender, and location. She read a few.

"Scorpions—here in Hacksaw Cove?" Emet said. "Nonsense. This is Concord space. The scorpions wouldn't dare invade."

But Alice was spinning rapidly, screaming.

"Scorpions! Scorpions! Scorpions!"

From outside, rose the screams of other hackers. Hacksaw Cove trembled.

"No, Dad, this isn't Concord space," Leona said, gripping her rifle. "This is no man's land. This place doesn't even officially exist."

She grabbed the memory chip and pulled it free from the wall. She and Emet stared at it together. It was bleeping and flashing.

The scorpions can track their chip, Leona realized, heart sinking. There's a tracking beacon on the Ra damn chip.

Emet stared into her eyes. Clearly, he realized the same thing.

"Run!" Emet said. "To the Nantucket!"

They raced out of Alice's shop an instant before plasma bolts blasted it.

The shop exploded behind them.

Leona and Emet leaped through the cavernous interior of Hacksaw Cove. It was filled with cables, gondolas, a thousand hacker shops—and a swarm of strikers.

As she fell, Leona activated her cybernetic time-twister.

Time slowed down around her. She fell in slow motion through hell.

The strikers filled the asteroid. They swarmed through the chamber, ripping cables. Gondolas fell and shattered. The strikers were firing everywhere, bombarding hack-shops. Aliens screamed, voices deep and distorted. Shards of glass and metal filled the chasm. To Leona, the shards seemed to hover as gently as snowflakes. Corpses burned.

Her father was tumbling down beside her. To Leona, he seemed to be falling as slowly as a stone sinking in molasses. Even as he fell, Emet aimed Thunder, his mighty rifle. Bullets flew from Thunder's two barrels, rippling the air, sailing toward a striker. Leona watched the bullets glide by like leaves on the wind.

The scorpion ship was turning toward them, cannons hot. All around, severed cables dangled, sparking. Gondolas shattered, filling the air with more glittering shards.

And there ahead, at the piers—the ISS Nantucket.

The time-twister was searing her skull.

Grimacing, Leona reached for a severed cable. It twisted like an irate snake, spraying sparks.

The pain was too much. Leona deactivated the time-twister before it could fry out—or crack her skull.

Time returned to normal.

The shards of glass, which had glided like snowflakes, now flew like bullets. The alien screams rose in pitch. And Leona was falling so fast her head spun.

Screaming, Leona grabbed the cable. It burned her palm. She reached down to her father, and he grabbed her wrist.

They swung on the cable.

The striker fired, and the plasma bolt missed them. It hit a shop above, and chunks of metal hailed.

Emet fired Thunder again, hitting the striker's engine. It exploded, and the shock wave tossed Leona off the cable.

They fell.

Every striker in the cavern was turning toward them now, cannons red-hot.

And from a thousand shops, the drones buzzed forth.

The tiny, weaponized machines fired guns. Bullets slammed into strikers, barely harming them. The scorpion ships fired back, but the drones were everywhere, swarming like bees, dodging the assault. Bullets slammed into striker exhaust ports. Engines exploded. One striker tried to rise, only to crash through drones, tilt, and entangle in cables.

Leona and Emet, still falling, reached out and grabbed drones. They clung to the flying machines, legs kicking.

Inside hundreds of hacker pods, Leona saw aliens typing furiously, controlling the drones. The hackers were fighting from inside their shops, piloting their war machines, pounding the strikers with bullets, lasers, and shells. There were only a handful of strikers, but they were already adapting. Instead of attacking the swarm of drones, the strikers began firing on the shops honeycombing the walls.

The hackers inside screamed as they burned.

Leona's head pounded. She dared not activate her time-twister again. She gritted her teeth, clung to the drone with one hand, and managed to load Arondight.

A striker flew toward her.

She fired.

Her bullet entered the striker's cannon an instant before a plasma bolt shot out.

The cannon exploded.

The striker fell, a hole in its prow. Scorpions spilled out from the ship, burning and shrieking. The ruined striker slammed into the central stalk of cables that rose like a coiling tree through the cavern.

Fire blazed.

Cables tore, buzzing with electricity, and then the power went out, and the asteroid plunged into darkness.

Firelight flared. The strikers kept pounding the drones. The tiny ships swarmed everywhere. In the orange light, the strikers turned back toward Leona and Emet.

"Leona, get rid of the chip!" Emet shouted.

"I can't!" she said. "We haven't saved the info—"

"The enemy is still tracking it!" Emet roared. "Toss it—now!"

The strikers' cannons were heating up again.

Wincing, Leona hurled the memory chip.

The strikers spun toward it like a pack of wild dogs toward a hare.

They opened fire, destroying the chip.

Leona released the drone she held. She fell, then caught another drone, one that was flying upward. She soared past the severed stalk of cables. She swung forward, caught another drone, then another, making her way toward the piers. Emet followed, also swinging from drone to drone. They landed on the dock and raced toward the ISS Nantucket. Hundreds of drones flew all around, firing at the strikers.

The pier stretched out before them, leading toward the Nantucket at its edge. Leona and Emet ran.

Scorpions leaped down from a striker above. The aliens landed on the pier ahead of Leona and Emet, hissing.

The two Inheritors stood side by side. Their blue overcoats billowed back. They raised their rifles and fired.

The scorpions—there were three—bounded across the pier.

Bullets slammed into one, shattering its exoskeleton, tearing off a claw.

Jake screamed, legless.

Her wedding burned.

Leona shoved that memory aside.

No memories now. No fear. No pain. Just this moment.

The scorpions reached them.

One of the arachnids reared before Leona, jaws opening, revealing teeth like daggers. Leona fell onto her back, raised her rifle, and fired into the open maw.

Her bullet shattered a tooth and tore through the scorpion's pallet.

The alien dropped onto her, pincers snapping.

Leona howled, rolled aside, and fell off the pier.

She fell several meters, landed on a drone, and rose back up, gun blazing. The scorpion leaped off the pier toward her. Her bullets slammed into it.

The scorpion fell back. Leona jumped back onto the pier and fired again. Again. The scorpion screeched. Each bullet shoved it back a step. Leona fired bullet after bullet until the scorpion fell off the opposite side of the pier. It burned in the battle's crossfire.

Emet stood nearby, battling two scorpions, one at each side. He was firing Thunder with one hand, Lightning with the other. His pistol was wide and heavy, the size of a drill, and rather than bullets it fired electrical bolts. But it could not break through scorpion exoskeleton. One of the beasts reached Emet, and its pincers opened, and—

Leona fired Arondight's last bullet.

She cracked the scorpion's pincer, diverting the attack.

The massive claw grazed Emet's leg, ripping skin and flesh, but fell short of severing the limb.

As Emet concentrated his fire on the other scorpion, Leona leaped up, grabbed a drone, and tugged it down. She hurled the machine at the scorpion with the cracked pincer. The beast screeched, clawing at the drone. The drone peppered it with bullets. Both scorpion and drone fell from the pier.

With a final shot, Emet slew the last scorpion. It had taken several magazines to take down the bastard.

Father and daughter paused for a single breath. The battle still raged around them, strikers and drones whirring through the hollowed-out asteroid.

"To the ship!" Emet said.

They ran down the pier toward the Nantucket.

They were steps away when a figure leaped down from above, blocking their path.

A woman.

A human woman.

She landed at a crouch, then straightened and smiled crookedly. Her long blue hair billowed, revealing the shaved side of her head where implants shone.

"Hello again, pests." The woman licked her teeth. She raised her hands, and claws burst from her fingertips. "Come to die."

Leona was out of bullets, but she raised her fists. "Who are you?" she shouted over the roaring battle.

The woman's smile widened, tapering to points—a demonic smile. "Don't you know my name?"

Time flowed back. Memories pounded into Leona, so powerful she was there again, viewing her childhood.

Playing with her friend.

With David Emery's eldest daughter—a wild girl with a wide smile.

Leona blinked, returning to the present.

"Jade," she whispered. "Jade Emery. My old friend. What happened to you?"

Jade shrieked—a cry so loud Leona covered her ears and grimaced. Teeth bared, claws gleaming, Jade leaped into the air, then came swooping toward the Inheritors.

Bellowing, Emet hurled himself forward.

He slammed into Jade.

Emet was a large man, especially for this era of hunger and want. He stood several inches north of six feet, and was still burly and powerful despite his age. Jade stood a foot shorter and probably weighed half as much. Emet should have crushed her like a truck slamming into a bicycle.

Instead, he hit her like a truck into a wall.

He fell back, reeling. Jade smiled, still standing, and smoothed her outfit of black wires.

Leona roared and leaped forward too. Out of bullets, she swung Arondight like a club.

The wooden stock slammed into Jade's jaw. It was a blow so powerful it should have shattered the skull and scattered teeth. Instead, the stock cracked.

Jade smiled at Leona, blew her a kiss, then lashed her claws.

As the claws tore into her shoulder, Leona screamed.

Emet rose to his feet, groaned, and grabbed Jade in his powerful hands. He tried to pull her back, but he looked like a man trying to move a statue of solid marble. Jade spun toward him, snarled, and shoved him. Emet flew off pier and crashed onto a gondola below.

"What the hell are you?" Leona shouted, bleeding. "What did they do to you? You used to be my friend!"

Jade laughed. "I was never your friend, human. I was bred in the fiery pits of Skra Shaday. I rose to command fleets! I am the slayer of humans. I am the nemesis of Earth. Die now, human."

She grabbed Leona's throat and squeezed.

Leona gasped for air, found none. She kicked and punched Jade, but it felt like attacking stone. Jade's hand tightened. Leona floundered. Stars floated before her eyes. She tried to speak, could not. Blackness began to spread around her vision.

Jade tilted her head, pouting. "Are you trying to beg? Yes, I think I'd like to hear that."

She released Leona's throat and slammed her down onto the pier. Leona gulped down air. Before she could rise, Jade placed her steel-tipped boot on Leona's chest, pinning her down. The weight nearly snapped Leona's ribs. She gasped for another breath.

Jade examined her fingers. She tilted her head, watching the blood dripping off the claws—Leona's blood.

"You humans are so weak. Skin like paper. How have you ever survived this long?"

Leona lay on the pier, the boot crushing her chest. "You . . . are . . . human."

Jade's face flushed. She howled, teeth bared, hair crackling.

"Die, pest!"

Jade raised her claws high, bloodlust in her eyes.

Engines rumbled behind her.

As Jade drove her claws toward Leona, the ISS Nantucket stormed forward, flying a meter above the pier.

The claws were a centimeter away from Leona when the Nantucket—a starship the size of a yacht—plowed into Jade.

Leona lay on her back, gasping for air, as the Nantucket flew above her. She felt like a woman from an old Western, tied to the train tracks, watching a train roar above her. Her hair and cloak billowed.

The Nantucket passed over Leona, then spun around and hovered, engines rumbling. Behind the ship, the strikers and drones were still fighting. There was no sign of Jade—nothing but a splatter of blood and clump of blue hair on the Nantucket's prow.

She must be dead, Leona thought. Nobody could have survived that.

Emet was at the helm, beckoning Leona. The ship's airlock was open. Leona rose to her feet. Clutching her wounded shoulder, she ran and jumped into the Nantucket.

An instant later, a striker fired on them. Plasma blazed across the Nantucket's shields. Alarms wailed. The ship tilted, nearly crashing.

"Get us out of here, Dad!" Leona shouted, running onto the bridge.

The ship rumbled forward. Drones parted before them. The Nantucket stormed toward the tunnel leading out into space.

A striker rose to block the exit. It fired plasma. A blast slammed into the Nantucket, knocking them back.

Emet pulled the Nantucket downward, dodging more bolts. Leona fired their cannons, pounding the striker. The enemy ship jolted but withstood the assault. It faced them again, cannons hot.

Leona glanced at the Nantucket's stats.

Shields were down at five percent.

She winced.

The next blow will destroy us.

The striker's cannons turned toward them, and Leona cringed.

A hundred gears flew through the air.

The striker fired, but its bolts hit the gears instead of the Nantucket. More gears slammed into the striker, a barrage of them, blinding the ship, clogging its cannons, slamming into its engines. The striker spun madly, a bison beset by hornets.

Leona gasped and looked up. In one of the burnt hacker pods, she saw her. Alice.

The living gear was charred, bleeding, half of her gone. On the outside, she looked like metal, but on the inside, she was pulsing organs. Her eyes met Leona's.

The speakers on the Nantucket crackled to life, and Alice's voice emerged.

"I have detonated the nuclear reactor in the heart of the asteroid. It is over for us of Hacksaw Cove. Yet we will live onward in the virtual worlds. There are more realities than this, layer upon layer, universe within universe. Fight for this one, Emet and Leona. Fly, Heirs of Earth! Fly and fight them."

"Come with us!" Leona said.

"I cannot die," Alice said. "I will live eternally in worlds beyond. Farewell."

With that, the alien fell from her pod and tumbled toward the pit. Below, the nuclear reactors were already churning, grumbling, ready to blow.

"All right, we're outta here!" Emet said, shoving down the throttle.

The Nantucket charged. Leona fired her cannons, knocking aside the last striker, and they burst into the tunnel.

They streamed forward, crossing several kilometers of tunnel within instants.

Fire roared behind them.

They burst out into space.

Behind them, the nuclear reactors blew.

The asteroid vanished under searing light.

Emet activated the warp drive and they blasted forward, moving at millions of kilometers per second.

Leona checked the rear monitor. Behind them, the asteroid was gone, leaving pulsing light like a star.

As her adrenaline wore off, pain flared. She grimaced and clutched her wounded shoulder. It would need stitches. Emet too was wounded, bleeding from his side and temple. The blood matted his beard and stained his coat, turning the blue fabric purple.

"It was Jade," Leona whispered, her hands shaking. "The Blue Witch. The one who was rounding up humans. Jade Emery, my old friend."

What happened to you, Jade?

"She's gone now," Emet said. "Whatever the hell the scorpions did to her, she's gone. Wiped out in the nuclear blast. And so is the memory chip."

Leona gasped and bolted upright. "But . . . Dad! I can't remember any of the locations of the gulocks, or the flight paths, or any of it! Just the one flight path tomorrow, the one near the border. And . . ." She leaped to her feet. "And Bay, Dad! Did you hear what Alice said? Bay is alive! He's at Paradise Lost! And—"

Suddenly she felt woozy. Her blood kept flowing. She fell back into her seat.

"First things first, we rejoin our fleet," Emet said, clutching the ship's yoke. "We get Doc to patch us up." His eyes narrowed. "And then we bring everyone home."

"They sent robots to repair me!" Brooklyn said. "Robots! I told you, Bay, I only like organic mechanics. Robots carry viruses."

Bay sighed. "They only installed a new wing, Brook."

"So? You can catch a virus through a wing. There are computerized sensors in wings, you know. And those robots were rusty and full of crumbs and ants. Can you check my wing for ants?"

Bay rolled his eyes. "Brook, the marshcrab who runs this place has been giving me the hairy eyeball. I'll bet you a silver scryl he put out a call to exterminators. The last thing you have to worry about is ants."

She huffed. "Exterminators don't get between your gears."

They stood in the hangar of Paradise Lost. Well, Bay was standing. The HSS Brooklyn rested on the oily floor. Brooklyn was small. But she was home. And she was Bay's best friend. Bay placed his hand on her hull, trying to soothe her.

Hundreds of other starships and shuttles docked around them. Some, like Brooklyn, were made of metal. Others were constructed of crystal or stone. Several shuttles were filled with water, for many aliens in the galaxy still relied on gills. Service bots rushed back and forth, creaky little things, offering to wash, wax, or repair the vessels. Slot machines stood along one wall, and several wrinkly aliens sat there, shoving scryls into the contraptions. A hot dog vendor stood by a gas pump, and a marshcrab stood inside an office behind a glass pane.

Compared to the rest of Paradise Lost, a hive of brothels and drug dens, the hangar was subdued. Brooklyn was fixed, and it was time to leave. Bay would not miss this space station. He had found a few days of forgetfulness here, a haze of vemales and whatever grog he could afford. He had gotten into a handful of bar brawls, bruising his knuckles and cheek, physical pain to shove back the memories.

And I met her. Rowan. The girl in the ducts.

Bay could not forget her large brown eyes. Her short ash-filled hair. The bruise on her cheek. The fear he saw in her, but also the light that shone through.

His heart twisted.

She's David Emery's daughter. And I called him a traitor to her face. Is it any wonder she ran?

"Bay! Bay, are you listening to me?" Brooklyn tilted herself toward him, banging him with her hull. "I asked you to check me for rust! You can catch rust from robots, you know."

Bay shook his head, banishing the thought of Rowan. There was not much he could do for her. There was not much Bay could do for any human who still lived in hiding. He had flown with the Inheritors once, vowing to fight for humanity. He had been only a child. That life was far behind him.

He patted Brooklyn's prow. "Brook, I need to update your software. You're a bit racist."

The starship rumbled and puffed out smoke. "Dude, robots are not a race. They're just machines."

"So are you!" Bay said.

She snorted. "I'm a starship."

"Actually, you're just a shuttle craft I put a warp engine on."

"That means I'm a starship now! And I deserve proper mechanics."

Bay rolled his eyes. "How does your new wing feel?"

She moved its flaps up and down. "Good," she muttered.

"I'm glad, because it cost every last scryl I had. Ready to fly outta here?"

"Ra yes," Brooklyn said. "This space station reeks of bad oil and rusty robo—"

"Brook!"

"Fine! No more being rocist. Let's amscray."

Bay entered Brooklyn and sat at the helm. The inside was still grubby. There was mud on the floor, dust on the controls, crumbs on the seats, and grog stains in the cup holder. Perhaps Bay should have paid the robots for detailing, but if Brooklyn had freaked out over a wing, he couldn't imagine how she'd react with robots running around inside her, vacuuming and dusting.

He brushed dust off the control panel. My sweet, paranoid starship.

He grabbed the joystick, turned Brooklyn around, and they faced the shimmering force field that led out into open space. Past the glare of neon lights, Bay could make out a few stars. There was danger out there. There were Peacekeepers, mercenaries, exterminators, and scorpions. There was loneliness. There was guilt. There was memory.

He was out of money. He had enough food for only a couple of weeks. He would have to move on. To keep searching. To someday find a virgin world, peaceful and green, far from everyone.

Bay lowered his head.

A pipe dream, he knew. For years, he had searched. There were many habitable worlds in the galaxy—all already colonized. All owned by aliens who hated humans more than Brooklyn hated robots.

We have only one world. Earth.

A lump filled Bay's throat. No. That struggle was over. His war for Earth had ended. If he could find no new world, then he would continue this life. He would bounce from casino to casino, find escape in the bottom of mugs and the beds of whores. So what if Earth was gone? He didn't need Earth! He didn't need the Inheritors, or his father, or anyone.

Not since she had died.

I miss you so much, Seohyun.

Brooklyn spoke softly. "Bay? Maybe . . . maybe this time you can take me home. To my mother. To your father."

Bay shook his head. "No. The ISS Jerusalem is a warship, serving the Heirs of Earth, not your mother. You are no longer a shuttle forced to dock in its hangar. You're a free ship. And I'm no longer my father's son."

But his throat was tight, his voice hoarse.

"Bay." Brooklyn's voice was gentle. "We shouldn't be alone. Nobody should be alone."

"We're not alone!" He laughed mirthlessly. "The galaxy is our home. Ours to explore. We're free, Brook. We're free."

"I guess," she whispered, and her control panel dimmed.

He looked over his shoulder into Brooklyn's hold. He saw a bed, unmade. The fold-out desk where he drew and painted. A handful of drawings on the bulkheads, depicting noble space warriors, seductive alien princesses, and roaring dragons flying over alien planets. Empty bottles of grog. Dirty clothes. Ashtrays. Misery.

Bay shut down the engine.

He opened a drawer, pulled out his pistol, and shoved it into his belt. He opened the hatch.

"Bay?" Brooklyn said. "Bay, where are you going? I thought we were flying out."

"We are," he said. "Soon. I forgot something."

He hopped out the ship and began walking across the hangar.

"Bay, wait, don't leave me with these robots!" Brooklyn called after him. "Bay! What about the exterminators?"

"I'll be quick!" he called over his shoulder. "Just play some video games until I'm back."

"But you only gave me Angry Birds and Q*bert, and I finished them both!"

Bay ignored her. He ran back into the space station, this glittering hive of sin.

He ran past aliens at slot machines, past sex shops and adult movie theaters, past gladiator pits where bones snapped and teeth flew. He ignored the marshcrab security guards who cried for him to stop. He barged back into Drunken Truckers, the pub where he had met her. The stick insect bartender was polishing a mug. Giant alien seashells sat at the bar, licking piles of salt. Ignoring them, Bay knelt under a table, pulled open the HVAC vent, and placed his head and arms into the duct.

"Rowan!" he cried.

His voice echoed down the duct.

No answer came—aside from a gruff voice behind him.

"Hey, pest, no crawling into the walls."

It was the bartender. Bay ignored him and crawled deeper. Soon his entire body was inside the duct.

Damn these ducts were narrow! How the hell did Rowan manage to move so swiftly? Granted, she was smaller than him, and she had two working hands, but Bay still shuddered to imagine spending a life here in the ductwork.

He crawled until he reached a bend, wriggled around the corner, and saw another duct stretch ahead. He crawled onward.

"Rowan!" he cried again. "Rowan, it's me! Bay. Can you hear me? I'm sorry, all right?"

His voice echoed. A gust of hot wind from a furnace ruffled his hair, and he coughed. He kept crawling, reached another bend, and faced a fork. He chose one path, crawled deeper, reached another fork, and chose a path at random. Surely this labyrinth spread through the entire space station. Could he get lost in here, crawl through the ducts for days until he died of thirst?

Finally Bay reached a vertical shaft. He began to wriggle his way up, pushing against the shaft walls. It was slow work. He had climbed half the shaft before he slipped, fell several meters, and managed to reach out and halt his fall. His bad hand hit a protruding screw, and he grunted with pain. His pistol banged into another wall, and the muzzle dug into his thigh.

For a moment, Bay hung in the shaft like Santa trapped in a chimney.

He sighed.

"What the hell am I doing here?" Bay said to himself. "I could be halfway to the next star system by now."

He felt trapped—trapped in this duct, trapped in this life.

What happened to me, Seohyun?

A voice spoke above him.

"You're not very good at climbing, are you?"

He looked up. She lay above him in another duct, sticking her head into the shaft, looking down at him. A girl with short brown hair and dark eyes. Rowan.

"I don't suppose you have a rope?" he said.

She rolled her eyes. "Would you trust me if I tossed you one?"

"No," he confessed. "But my choices are limited."

She groaned. "I don't have a rope anyway. But wait." She pulled her head back from the shaft, and he heard her scurrying away. A few moments later, she returned and lowered a cable. "Here, use this."

He grabbed the cable, pressed his feet against the duct wall, and resumed climbing. Rowan grunted above, tugging the cable.

"God, you weigh a ton," she said.

"I'm average sized!" he said.

She snorted. "For what, an elephant?"

She knows what elephants are, Bay thought.

But of course she did. She had the Earthstone.

Bay still remembered that day—when David Emery had stolen the artifact.

Dad was furious, Bay remembered. I thought the old man would tear the galaxy apart.

Bay couldn't remember Rowan, though. He remembered the traitor having a daughter, a blond girl named Jade. Leona had been good friends with Jade. But Rowan? He could remember nothing of a girl with large brown eyes. The traitor had defected sixteen years ago. Rowan must have been born in exile.

She has no idea who I am, Bay realized. No idea that I knew Jade, her older sister. Ra, how long has she spent here in the ducts?

"Yo, elephant boy!" Rowan called down to him. "Stop daydreaming and climb. I can't just pull you up. You gotta help! Grab the cable with both hands."

Bay stuffed his bad hand into his coat. "I'm fine with one hand!"

He finally reached the top. Rowan moved back, and Bay collapsed onto the horizontal duct.

"You're out of shape," Rowan observed. "Have you considered aerobics?"

Bay tried to sit up but banged his head. He grimaced. "I'm in perfect shape."

Rowan nodded. "Uh huh. I'm sure all the grogging and drugging you do helps with that."

He glared at her, this waif of a girl. She was half his size, and she wore nothing but a blanket, but there was fire in her eyes. One of her eyes, he noticed, was bruised and puffy. Somebody had struck her. Normally, Bay would be furious that somebody should hurt a young girl. But this young girl kept insulting him. She was definitely a troublemaker.

"Hey, what's your problem anyway?" Bay said. "Why are you so rude?"

"I'm rude?" Rowan said. "Last time we met, you insulted my father. You're lucky I didn't let you drop to your death."

Bay nodded. "Rowan, I'm sorry. I didn't know you're David Emery's daughter. See, our dads . . . they had a falling out. Long ago. But it was their feud, not ours. I was only a kid, and you weren't even born. Whatever happened between them, it doesn't need to affect us. I came here to apologize. I'm sorry."

Rowan stared at him, eyes narrowed, as if trying to read his mind. Finally she nodded. "Apology accepted. And I'm sorry I called you an elephant."

He couldn't help but laugh. "Hey, I've been called worse. Already forgotten."

She tilted her head. "I thought elephants never forget."

"Hey now, don't you get clever!"

Rowan grinned. "Can't help it, buddy." Suddenly her cheeks flushed, and she hurriedly closed her mouth.

"You all right?" Bay said.

She looked away. "I . . . Yeah! I'm great. I . . ." She heaved a sigh. "I'm a bit self-conscious about my teeth being crooked. I don't like smiling."

"Hey, at least you have teeth!" Bay said. "All I have are ivory tusks."

She cracked the tiniest of smiles, but she kept her lips closed.

"Funny," she said.

Bay bit his lip, then pulled his bad hand out from his coat. "I'm a bit self-conscious about the claw here, as I call it. I can't uncurl my fingers. It's why I couldn't grab the rope. It's also a bit smaller than my other hand."

She looked at his hand, then into his eyes. "What happened to it?"

"Was born this way," Bay said. "Cruel joke, I guess. My sister Leona was born to be a warrior. She's tall, strong, perfect. I was always the skinny kid with the bad hand, who couldn't fight, who spent his days drawing dragons and space warriors and alien princesses."

Rowan's eyes widened. "I want to see your drawings! Show me! I wish I could draw. I like to write movie scripts. I wrote a movie titled Dinosaur Island—it's about an island on Earth where dinosaurs never went extinct—and bits of other movies. My dream is to become a filmmaker someday—like Spielberg and Lucas—and actually film my movies. Oh, and I love tinkering with machines, almost as much as writing movies, and I've fixed Fillister several times. He's my robot. Belowgen smashed him once, and I had to fix him. But I'm only an average drawer. I can draw pretty good My Little Pony ponies, and one time I drew all five Dinobots, but that's about it. I bet you could draw some wicked Lord of the Rings stuff. I tried to draw all the characters once, but all the hobbits looked the same, and my Gandalf looks more like a hobo than a wizard. So? Show me your drawings!"

Bay blinked at her. "I have no idea what you just said."

She groaned. "Don't you have Lord of the Rings, and Transformers, and My Little Pony, and Ninja Turtles, and all that stuff where you're from?"

"Let me guess," Bay said. "Earthstone."

Rowan nodded, reached under her collar, and pulled out the crystal. "Yep! All here. All the good Earth stuff from two thousand years ago." She heaved a sigh. "Sadly, Belowgen shot up my monitor and keyboard. I'll have to get new ones, and build a new adapter, before I can get movies and books again." She tapped the crystal. "Don't worry, though, all the data's still in here. It's safe. I've dropped the crystal down the shafts three times already, and you can't damage it. I think it's some kind of diamond. Hard as mithril, as beautiful as the Evenstar. Those are Lord of the Rings references, by the way. Once I get a new adapter and monitor, we can watch those movies. I've seen them about a million times. I want to watch them again with you. And Star Wars of course. And Game of Thrones. Oh God, I have so much to teach you about Earth! Sorry. I'm talking too much. I haven't spoken to another person since I was a baby, just to Fillister. I get excited." She blushed. "You must think I'm mental."

Bay blinked at her. "Is Fillister from Lord of the Rings?"

She laughed. "No, silly! I told you about him already."

She pulled out a pocket watch. She unclipped the chain, then hit a button on the watch. Wings burst out from it, and a robotic dragonfly took flight.

"Nice trick," Bay said. "Is that a Transformer?"

"This is Fillister," Rowan said. "Fill, meet Bay."

The dragonfly buzzed before Bay, eyes narrowed. He looked back at Rowan. "I don't like him."

"Fill!" Rowan glowered. "Be nice."

Fillister zipped around her. "Remember what you told me? He insulted your dad! You called the boy a stinky, good-for-nothing, drunk baboon who—"

"Hush!" Rowan blushed. "He apologized. Be nice, Fill. He's our friend now. He agreed to watch all The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, and Star Wars movies with me. And he's going to draw all the characters for us."

Bay blinked. "I did? I mean, I am?"

Bloody hell, she is mental, he thought.

Rowan nodded and gripped his hand. "Of course you are. Now come on! I've set up a temporary shelter for now near the furnace. It's nice and warm there, and I have a spare blanket. You can live with me here in the ducts. They sometimes call exterminators, but I know how to escape them. I want to stress something important. Stay in the ducts during busy time." She stared into his eyes. "All right? Before dawn, we can go down to rummage for food, use the bathrooms, fine some scryls, and maybe—maybe, and only if the coast is clear, play some arcade games. But mostly, we stay hidden here in the ducts. Aliens hate humans, and it's safe in here. Got it?"

She began crawling away, tugging his hand.

"Actually," Bay said, "I was going to fly out of Paradise Lost. On my starship. In a few minutes."

Rowan froze.

She released his hand.

She stared at him.

"Oh," she said. "I'm sorry. When I saw you crawling in the ducts, I thought that . . ." She hid her face. "I'm so stupid."

"I told you we couldn't trust him!" Fillister said.

Bay glared at the dragonfly. If only I had a fly swatter . . .

Rowan dried her eyes. "It's all right, Fill. I just . . . I got too excited. I guess I was lonely, and . . ." She blinked rapidly. "Never mind. He has a spaceship. Why would he stay here with us? We've never needed anyone else, right?" She took the dragonfly into her hands. "Come on, Fill." She began crawling away. "Let's go find a new place to hide, and—"

"Rowan," Bay said softly. He reached out and touched her wrist.

She turned back toward him, eyes huge and damp.

"Yes?" she whispered.

I don't need anyone else! Bay had said so many times. I'm alone! I'm free!

What a bunch of hogwash.

"Come with me," Bay said. "On my ship. It's not a large ship, but it's larger than a duct. And I can't promise you an easy life—I mostly just travel from bar to bar—but sometimes there are nice, sunny planets, and—"

Rowan leaped onto him and embraced him. She wept. For a long time, she just cried, and he wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair.

"Thank you," she whispered, tears wetting his shirt. "Thank you." She looked up at him and smiled. "Do you have a monitor on your ship? And electronics? Of course you do!" Her smile grew into a grin. "I can patch in the Earthstone, and we can watch Lord of the Rings and Star Wars! Oh, and Willow! Wait till you see Willow! And you have to watch the Monty Python movies—I'll make you watch them—but I think I'll teach you Dungeons and Dragons first. You'll find tons of stuff to draw from Dungeons and Dragons! Oh, and remember, you have to read the Harry Potter books before you watch the movies, but with Game of Thrones you can—"

"All right, all right!" Bay laughed. "Go easy on me. I haven't used the Earthstone in years. I was still on Disney by the time—"

By the time your father stole it, he wanted to say. He stopped himself.

Rowan bit her lip and lowered her head, her smile gone. Then she looked up at him, and light filled her eyes.

"When can we go?" she said.

"Now!" Bay said. "My ship's ready." He reached out to take her hand. "Are you?"

"No," Rowan whispered. "I'm scared. I'm terrified. I'll go with you, just . . ." She took a deep breath. "I've been living in these ducts since I was two. Can I have a few moments? To steel myself."

Bay nodded. "Take your time. On some distant world, my sister once dared me to jump off a cliff into the sea. And did I mention there were sharks? It was easy for her. I spent about an hour up there until I finally worked up the nerve. And flying into space is even scarier."

"I feel like Samwise Gamgee the hobbit, too scared to leave the Shire and go on an adventure." Rowan bit her lip. "Sorry. I talk a lot about movies and books. It's pretty much all I've had for the past fourteen years. Everything that I know, I learned from the Earthstone. I wish I could show you Lord of the Rings! You'd understand me better. But the damn crab shot up my damn monitor." She slumped. "It took Fillister and me ages to build that rig, to create an adapter that can access the Earthstone's data, then stream it to an alien monitor. We had to code an entire assembly-level translation algorithms, converting the data between human and alien APIs. The raw binary data is still in the stone, but all our interface code is gone."

Bay began to rummage through his pockets. "Actually, I have a minicom here. Human tech. It should be able to access the Earthstone pretty easily."

Rowan's eyes lit up. "Really?"

He nodded. "Really. Actually, I'm pretty sure I've used this very minicom with the Earthstone before. I was eight years old when we lost it. My dad used to let me use the Earthstone sometimes." He smiled. "Disney, remember?"

He pulled out his minicom, a computer the size of his palm. Instantly, its interface picked up the Earthstone, displaying a library of its data.

Rowan gasped. "It doesn't even need a cable. Of course! Human-to-human tech. Wireless."

Bay nodded, scrolling through the Earthstone's data. "Man, I remember some of this. I used to play these games. Watch some of these cartoons. Let's see, movies, movies . . . Ah, here we go!"

Rowan leaned closer, pressing her body against his. "Wow! Your interface is much nicer than what Fillister and I coded. Damn! You can even see thumbnails and previews! We just displayed green text on a black background." She pointed. "There! That movie! The first Lord of the Rings film. Your screen is even smaller than mine was, I think, but—whoa!"

The minicom cast out a beam of light, projecting the film on the duct wall.

"Cool, huh?" Bay said.

Rowan watched with huge damp eyes. She reached out and clasped his hand.

"I've never seen it so big," she whispered. "It's beautiful."

The movie played. Bay lay on his side, facing the projection on the duct wall. Rowan squeezed in beside him, lying with her back against his chest. She was small enough that he could watch the movie over her shoulder. The girl was tiny.

Living in the ducts all her life, surviving on scraps, I'm amazed she's alive at all, Bay thought.

Rowan was enraptured by the movie, but Bay looked down at her instead. The film shone on her eager face. She smiled at a funny scene, a tight-lipped smile, perhaps still self-conscious of her teeth.

I can't even imagine what your life here was like, Bay thought. I was taught to hate your family. The family that betrayed ours. You're an Emery. I'm a Ben-Ari. But in here, we're both just human.

He looked down at her black eye again.

Who hurt you, Rowan? Was it the marshcrabs?

Anger flared in Bay. He wanted to find whoever had hurt this girl, to slay them with his bare hands.

I will rip apart anyone who hurts you again.

She glanced up at him. "Don't look at me. Look at the movie! The best part is coming up. The Mines of Moria!"

He smiled. "All right, all right."

They lay side by side for a long time. Bay was soon sore. He could barely manage a few hours in these ducts; he couldn't even imagine spending fourteen years in here. Finally the movie ended, and Rowan turned over to face him.

"Well, what did you think?"

"I think I need to pee," Bay said. "That was one damn long movie!"

She nodded, grinning. "And that's just the first one! There are sequels! Oh, and we have to watch the making of documentaries too! We can watch them on your starship, though."

"I'd like that," Bay said. And he meant it. The movie had confused him. In truth, he hadn't paid much attention. In truth, he cared more about lying next to Rowan, hearing her laugh, seeing her eyes shine.

I've been alone for too many years too, he thought. Holographic prostitutes didn't have such light in their eyes. Didn't have such nice smiles.

He held out his hand to her.

"Shall we go on our own adventure, little hobbit?" he said.

Rowan smiled, eyes damp. She reached toward his hand.

Before she could clasp it, a shriek rose, and the ducts jolted.

Rowan inhaled sharply. She reached under her dress and drew a hidden knife.

"Exterminators!" she whispered.

The shrieks filled the ductwork.

Rowan winced.

"Exterminators," she whispered. "And big ones."

Bay stiffened. "Muck." He reached for his belt and drew his pistol. "I hate those guys."

He had dealt with exterminators before. Most humans had. Bay had learned not to spend more than a few days at any one place. Sooner or later, somebody called the local exterminators to remove the pest. Some exterminators were woefully inadequate, guys who had never caught anything more dangerous than a cold. Others were seasoned mercenaries who wore human ears as trophies around their necks.

As another shriek filled the ducts, Bay had the sinking feeling they were dealing with the second type now.

The ducts shook. A mad clattering rose. Something was moving through the ducts. Fast.

"Hurry, we can make it to my starship!" Bay said, about to crawl back the way he had come.

"No!" Rowan said. "They're coming from there. I can tell. This way, hurry!"

They began to crawl through the duct. Rowan moved at incredible speed, scuttling forward like a badger. Her dragonfly flew above her, skimming the duct's ceiling.

"Hurry!" she said over her shoulder.

"I'm trying!" Bay said, dragging himself forward.

He managed to rise to hands and knees, but his head and shoulders kept banging against the ducts' steel walls. Every few meters, they passed over a vent, and he glimpsed the various seedy establishments below. A few patrons in brothels and bars raised their eyes, roused by the clatter, and grumbled about pests in the walls.

The ducts rattled. The shrieks drew closer. Clattering echoed like many pounding feet. A stench hit Bay's nostrils, a sickening mixture of burnt marrow and worms after rain.

"They're in the ducts and moving fast," Rowan said, crawling ahead. She kept having to pause and wait for Bay to catch him. "Come on, Bay, hurry!"

"Where are we going?" he said.

"I know another way to the hangar." She looked over her shoulder at him. "Hurry, they're—"

She screamed and pointed.

Bay looked behind him and felt the blood drain from his face.

By Ra.

A creature was racing toward them through the duct.

Nausea rose in Bay's stomach. Cold sweat washed him.

"They hired Ra damn bonecrawlers," he said. "I hate bonecrawlers."

The alien had a body like a python, thick enough to digest a man whole. Its skin was rubbery, pinkish, and marred with moles, liver spots, and thin hairs. That skin was sickeningly human. The ribs were clearly visible, hundreds of them stretching down the serpentine body, pushing against the skin. The alien moved by contracting and expanding those ribs like an accordion.

Its skull too was disturbingly human, draped with skin. There seemed to be no fat, no muscle, just skin and bone. The teeth were long and sharp, and while the tight skin revealed wide eye sockets, the eyes themselves were vestigial, mere splotches on the skin, almost certainly blind. The creature reached out arms tipped with claws like daggers, and it shrieked again, a cry that shook the ducts and nearly deafened Bay.

They use sonar, he realized. They're blind but—

Rowan grabbed him.

"Come on!"

He crawled after her, moving as fast as he could. Too slow! The bonecrawler followed, screeching, reaching out to him. A claw slashed Bay's boot, tearing the sole. Bay cried out and kicked. He hit the creature's face, ripped the skin, and teeth snapped at him. Bay flipped onto his back, aimed his pistol, and fired.

Ringing filled his ears, flowing over all other sounds.

His ears thrummed and ached, and white blood sprayed.

The creature howled, a hole in its head, but still lived. It reached out a claw, and—

Rowan scurried over Bay and stabbed with her knife, shouting. Her blade found one of the bonecrawler's vestigial eyes, puncturing the skin that stretched over the eye socket like leather over a drum.

The creature roared. Rowan kept stabbing, and Bay winced and fired again, hitting its body. The bullet glanced off a rib, hit a joint in the ducts, and a section of duct tore open.

The bonecrawler's lower body fell through the duct and dangled over a casino. Aliens below screamed. The bonecrawler's upper half was still in the duct, and it clawed at the steel walls for purchase. Bay fired again. Again. Finally the creature fell into the casino, shattering a card table. Poker chips scattered and gamblers opened fire, riddling the bonecrawler corpse with bullets.

But beyond the hole in the duct, Bay saw more bonecrawlers scuttling forward, screaming and snapping their jaws.

"Rowan, are you all right? You're bleeding!"

"I'm fine. Hurry! This hole won't stop them."

They kept fleeing. They made their way around a bend and began crawling up a sloping duct, only to see another bonecrawler racing toward them. They spun around. Now Bay crawled at the lead. He reached a fork in the ducts, saw a bonecrawler down one path, and took the other route. He crawled madly, banging his elbows and knees, ignoring the pain. Several bonecrawlers converged behind them, moving fast.

"How far are we to the hangar?" he cried.

"Almost there!" Rowan said, "Hurry, that way!"

A long passageway stretched before them. They crawled. Three bonecrawlers chased, howling, rattling the ducts. A path opened up to their left, and a fourth bonecrawler emerged. Its claws grabbed Bay's arm. He fired. His bullet slammed into the bonecrawler's face, shattering teeth. Rowan screamed, knifing a bonecrawler that dropped from a vent above. Even Fillister was fighting, buzzing around a bonecrawler to distract it, then dipping down to sting it with his tail.

"This way!" Rowan cried, racing along a duct, leaving a trail of blood. Bay followed. A bonecrawler grabbed his foot, ripping off his boot. He kicked again and again, breaking the creature's teeth. A claw scraped his leg, and he fired his last bullet, knocking the beast back. But more bonecrawlers were everywhere. He could see more scampering up a shaft.

"In here!" Rowan said, and Bay followed her through a narrow opening into a wider shaft. A lever rose here, and Rowan tugged it, grunting with effort. A bonecrawler scuttled toward them, only instants away.

"Help me!" Rowan said.

Bay grabbed the lever too. They pulled together, and a metal hatch moved on rusty hinges, blocking the duct.

The bonecrawler slammed into the steel sheet, denting it. Bay pushed against the metal, trying to hold the beast back.

Rowan slumped down, panting. "These levers are used to direct airflow through the system. There are a few more we can use." She grabbed the lever, pushed her feet against a wall, and snapped it off. "Locked."

Bay pointed at her bleeding leg. "You need help."

"No time." Rowan shuddered. "I've never seen these creatures here before. They're not like the usual exterminators. The usual guys are fat and lazy and no problem to escape. Belowgen means business this time."

Bay blinked. "It's my fault. It's because I'm here, it's—"

More shrieks sounded, interrupting him. The metal hatch rattled. It seemed far too thin to last very long.

Rowan grabbed his hand. "Come. We're almost at the hangar."

They kept crawling. Bay dared to hope they were safe now. But soon more shrieks sounded above. The ducts rattled. More bonecrawlers were entering the ductwork from vents above.

"Damn it!" Bay said. "There must be hundreds of those things here."

Speakers crackled to life.

A gravelly voice emerged.

"Hello, pests! Do you like your new friends?"

Bay gritted his teeth. He recognized that voice. "Belowgen."

"You cannot stop them, pests!" Belowgen said, voice emerging from speakers across the space station. "They are hungry. They will devour your flesh, then build nests for their young from your bones. Farewell, humans."

Bay grumbled. "I will not rest—I swear this—until I turn that Belowgen into crab cakes."

Rowan tugged him. "No time for trash talk. Hurry, this way. I have a plan."

She led him down a narrow, sloping duct. Heat rose from below. Sweat coated Bay, and engines rumbled. They seemed to be heading toward the furnace room. From above came the clatters and shrieks of bonecrawlers. Whenever they passed by a lever, they tugged it, sealing off the duct behind them. But the metal sheets didn't hold the exterminators for long. Their claws ripped through the hatches, and the beasts kept following, closer every moment.

Finally Bay and Rowan reached a narrow, rickety duct. It jangled and swayed as they crawled. This duct was not embedded inside a wall. It hung from a ceiling. Only a few screws held it in place. Through cracks at the joints, Bay could see the room below. He made out rumbling pistons, smoke, and fire. Heat bathed him. The furnaces of Paradise Lost were churning below.

"Bay, come on!" Rowan was crawling ahead.

Bay grimaced. The thin steel was creaking and bending. Rowan was tiny. Bay wasn't tall and burly like his father, but he was still much bigger than Rowan. Would this duct support his weight?

Howls sounded behind him. He turned to see the bonecrawlers chasing. He crawled onward, following Rowan. Heat rose through cracks in the ducts. The metal was so hot it seared his hands. Sweat dripped from his hair.

Finally Rowan reached the end of the duct. A chimney rose there, connected to the duct. Rowan crawled into the chimney, and Bay joined her. They clung to the walls, squeezed in like Santa Claus and an elf. Instead of climbing, they wriggled around to face the duct they had just crawled along.

Above them, the chimney rose toward distant shadows. Below them, the furnace rumbled and blasted up heat and smoke. Before them stretched the rickety duct. It was hanging loosely over the furnace room, cracked and dented.

From her spot inside the chimney, Rowan reached back into the duct. She grabbed a heavy screw that was attaching the duct to the ceiling.

"As soon as the bonecrawlers step into that duct, I'll tug," she said. "They'll plunge into the furnace below. Just like Gollum into Mount Doom."

Bay nodded. "Got ya. I think. Not the last part."

Even bloodied and sweaty and trembling, Rowan managed to smile. "I've got a lot of work to do with you." She gasped. "Here they come!"

The bonecrawlers appeared at the opposite side of the rickety duct.

They paused.

The creatures stared. They stood frozen. The dilapidated duct stretched between the humans and bonecrawlers. The furnace belched below, blasting up flames that licked the duct.

"Come on," Bay muttered. "Come on!" His voice rose. "Come on, assholes! We're here! Come on!"

A bonecrawler took a step into the duct, then pulled back. The creatures hissed.

"Come get us!" Rowan said. "We're trapped!"

The creatures only stared. Rowan and Bay huddled together, waiting.

Come on, come on . . .

The bonecrawlers began to retreat.

"Damn it, they sensed the trap," Bay said.

Rowan gasped. "They'll find another way to us!"

Bay narrowed his eyes. "No they won't. Get ready to tug that screw." He crawled back onto the duct, pounded the steel wall, and shouted. "Hey, assholes! Running away from humans, are you?"

"Bay, careful!" Rowan cried behind him.

But Bay kept crawling, banging against the steel walls, raising a racket. The duct creaked. The joints bent. Through cracks, he saw the furnace swirling with molten metal, a god of fire.

"Hey, you stinking aliens!" Bay shouted, crawling farther along the duct. With every breath, the duct creaked and bent. "You losers! Come get me. I'm just a pest, right? Come fight me, cowards!"

The bonecrawlers turned back toward him. The taunts were working. The beasts roared and raced into the duct, charging toward him.

Bay spun around, banging his elbows and hips against the duct, and raced back toward Rowan.

"The screw!" he cried. "Pull it! Now!"

Rowan sat in the chimney across the duct. She stared at him, eyes wide.

"You're too far!" she said.

The bonecrawlers scurried behind him. Their claws reached out, grazing his ankle, tearing his calf. He kicked himself free and kept crawling toward Rowan.

"Pull the screw!" he cried, still several meters away.

Rowan winced.

She pulled the screw free.

For an instant, the duct held, and Bay kept crawling.

Then the duct detached from the ceiling.

It plunged down toward the rumbling, churning furnaces.

Bay leaped from the collapsing duct, reached out his good hand, aimed for the chimney where Rowan waited . . . and missed.

He fell toward the fire.

Rowan leaned out from the chimney and grabbed his wrist.

"God, you do weigh as much as an elephant!" she cried, tugging back with all her strength.

Bay kicked, dangling over the pit of hellfire, his legs kicking.

Behind him, the bonecrawlers spilled out from the collapsing duct. They flailed and squealed. One grabbed Bay's leg, and he grimaced and kicked madly. Rowan was tugged downward, nearly falling from the chimney. Even Fillister was hoisting Bay up, pulling his shirt. Bay kicked, slamming his foot into the bonecrawler's head. The beast tore free.

The bonecrawlers fell into the furnace below. Pistons grabbed them, tearing off their skin, shattering their round bones. Fire engulfed them. Flames roared upward, and smoke filled the furnace room. The broken duct gave a final creak, then fell off the ceiling, crushing burning bonecrawlers.

"Pull me up!" Bay said, still dangling by the wrist.

"Great idea!" Rowan said, straining, pulling him with both her hands. "Why didn't I think of that?"

If she had been holding him by the bad hand, he could have swung his good arm upward the grabbed the chimney's rim. As it was, Rowan had to keep tugging until he could swing his legs into the chimney. He collapsed beside her, breathing heavily.

For a moment, they both sat in silence, catching their breath.

Finally Rowan spoke. "That . . . was . . . awesome! You almost fell into the pit like Gandalf after battling the Balrog!"

"Speak English!" he wheezed.

"You almost fell like Indiana Jones off the rope bridge into the pit of crocodiles in Temple of Doom! Which is, by the way, a far better movie than the original reviewers thought. Though the third installment is, I would argue, superior to both first and second films. Best to ignore the fourth Indiana Jones film, though, and—"

"Rowan?"

She blinked at him. "Yeah?"

"Shut up." He slumped against the chimney wall. "Just . . . let me breathe for a moment."

Rowan zipped up her mouth and tossed away the invisible key.

For a moment, Bay breathed.

Rowan unzipped her mouth. "We should really go now. There might be more. Up this chimney, we'll find a quick route to the hangar."

Bay nodded. "My starship is ready."

They climbed the chimney, moved through a network of ducts, and eventually reached a grate above them. They shoved it aside with a clatter. Covered with ash and blood, they crawled out into the hangar of Paradise Lost.

The hangar, normally bustling, was eerily silent.

The robot mechanics were gone. The slot machines were dark. Even the marshcrab clerk in his office was gone. A few starships sat here, engines shut down.

Brooklyn was there. She saw Bay and her lights turned on.

"Bay—" the starship cried, then fell silent.

Rowan made to run across the hangar, but Bay grabbed her.

"Wait," he whispered.

Rowan froze.

They stood still, staring. Bay knelt, lifted the grate, and slung his bad hand through the rods. He raised the metal grate as a shield. He was out of bullets. With his good hand, he held the lever from the ducts, wielding it as a club.

Rowan looked at him, eyes huge. "You look like Aragorn from—"

"Shush!" he said.

Rowan shushed and clutched her knife.

A shriek sounded below them. Bay looked down to see a bonecrawler climbing out from the duct. He and Rowan stepped away hurriedly, moving deeper into the hangar. Another bonecrawler emerged from a doorway. A third rose from behind the slot machines. Some crawled on the ceiling.

"It's a trap!" Rowan whispered.

"Yes, I figured that much," Bay whispered back.

"It's a catch phrase from Star—" She groaned. "I'll explain later."

They stood back to back, spinning slowly in circles. The bonecrawlers blocked every exit. The aliens raised their heads, the skulls eerily humanoid, the skin stretched tight across them. Their long bodies contracted and expanded like accordions, propelling them forward. In the open light, they were even more hideous, their skin warty and hairy, their jaws filled with sharp teeth and saliva. Bay's heart sank to see a bonecrawler inside Brooklyn. The hideous alien stared through the windshield.

Bay wished he still had bullets. He only had his metal grate and lever. Rowan stood by him, knife raised. Bay had only seen her crawling until now. She was even shorter than he had expected. At a humble five-foot-eight, Bay was not particularly tall, but Rowan didn't even reach his shoulders. She probably stood under five feet.

"Well, how do we get out of this one?" Bay said.

Rowan winced. "You don't happen to have any flamethrowers in your pockets, do you?"

"Sorry, babe, forgot them in my other pants."

The bonecrawlers moved closer, hissing and grinning, when a rumble sounded in the shadows. Deep. Loud. The aliens shrieked and scuttled back, then lowered their skull-like heads.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A shadow stirred.

The rumble rose louder.

From behind a rusty freighter, the creature emerged.

Bay felt the blood drain from his face.

"Muck," he whispered.

Bay and Rowan stood in the hangar, staring at the creature emerging from behind the starship.

Bay struggled not to faint.

By Ra.

The creature was a bonecrawler, but several times the normal size. Its skull would not have shamed a tyrannosaurus. Its body was lined with spikes, and it reared like a cobra about to strike. Saliva dripped between teeth like katanas, sizzling when it hit the floor. The creature had large eye sockets, each the size of Bay's head, but they were draped with taut skin, and its eyes were just vestigial bumps, barely more than moles. The creature sniffed, nostrils flaring, and grinned toothily.

A boneking, Bay realized. These were rare beasts, the alphas of the species. He had heard they were only a legend, but now this monster reared before him.

"Hello, pests," the boneking hissed, voice like serpents slithering over bones. "I've always wanted to hunt your kind."

Great, Bay thought. It can talk.

"Whatever Belowgen is paying you, we'll double it," Bay said.

The creature coiled forward. A white tongue emerged and licked his jaws. "I am not interested in pest gold. Only your blood and bones."

The beast lunged.

Rowan screamed.

Bay raised his shield.

The alien slammed into the grate with the power of a god. Bay shouted in pain, his arm almost dislocating. The grate's bars slid up his arm, banging his elbow and shoulder. The creature's teeth snapped, grabbed the grate, and tore it free. The boneking raised his head and tossed the grate aside. It slammed into a slot machine, and scryls spilled across the floor.

Bay and Rowan retreated, but smaller bonecrawlers snapped behind them. The towering king rose ahead, drooling and licking his chops.

"Brooklyn!" Bay cried. "Fire your cannons! Fire on him!"

But his starship was shut down. The smaller bonecrawler twisted inside her, cackling, tearing out cables and control panels.

The boneking circled the two humans, his long body forming a ring around them. He was the largest alien Bay had ever seen. His spiky head loomed above. His saliva dripped, sizzling hot where it hit Bay and Rowan. They cried out in pain.

The creature leaned down, teeth gleaming.

"And now, I feed," the boneking hissed.

Bay winced, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his minicom. It beeped.

The boneking snorted. "What is that, pest?"

Bay gave a thin smile. "Your kind uses sonar to see, right? That's why you guys screech so much. When your underlings were chasing me, I made sure to record a few choice screams."

He hit a button on his minicom.

It released a chorus of bonecrawler screeches recorded in the ducts.

The boneking reared, then drove his head downward, jaws snapping.

Bay and Rowan leaped aside, and the massive head missed them, cracking the floor instead. The creature was blind.

Bay and Rowan leaped over his tail. Bay held his minicom high, playing the recorded screams.

"Fillister!" Rowan cried. "Record more screams and play them back!"

The tiny dragonfly nodded, then turned on his own small speakers, releasing more recordings of the screeches.

The boneking whipped from side to side. He snapped his jaws, trying to grab Bay and Rowan, but couldn't see them.

"We're blinding him!" Bay said. "So long as we emit sounds at this frequency, he can't see us!"

"Now who's being obvious?" Rowan said.

The smaller bonecrawlers too snapped blindly. A few let out screams of frustration, only adding to the din. From their perspective, the hangar was filled with pulsing waves of visible sound. It would be, Bay imagined, like a human trying to see in a room filled with blinding spotlights.

"Come on, Rowan!" Bay said.

They ran toward Brooklyn.

They hurdled over the blinded bonecrawlers, reached the small starship, and Bay yanked the hatch open.

A bonecrawler sprang out onto them.

Like a Ra damn snake in a can, Bay thought.

He swung his lever, clubbing the creature's head. It fell to the floor, and Rowan leaped onto the alien, shouting and stabbing in a fury, slicing between its ribs. The girl had looked innocent enough in the ducts, but she fought with speed and fury.

She's like a little honey badger, Bay thought.

He turned back toward Brooklyn, climbed into the starship, and found another bonecrawler inside. The alien slammed into him, clawing, biting, knocking Bay against the broken dashboard. The ship was a wreck. The bonecrawlers had pulled out every piece of electronics. Bay wrestled with the creature, grabbed a fallen shelf, and swung it. He kept clubbing the bonecrawler, knocking it back, and made his way to the bridge.

He found what he sought.

His box of ammo.

He reached for the box, ready to load his pistol.

A bonecrawler bit his leg.

Bay screamed. The beast yanked backward.

The box fell and bullets spilled everywhere.

The bonecrawler was dragging him across the hold. Bay screamed, bleeding, reached out, and managed to grab a single bullet. The bonecrawler swung him against the wall, and Bay grimaced. He slid down and hit the floor with a thud.

The bonecrawler reared above him.

Bay put his bullet through its face.

Hurriedly, he grabbed more bullets and leaped outside. Rowan stood with her back to the starship, lashing her knife, desperate to hold back bonecrawlers. Bay fired round after round, tearing them down. He grabbed Rowan, pulled her into the starship, and slammed the hatch shut.

For a moment, they panted, safe inside Brooklyn.

But the bonecrawlers surrounded them. The aliens slammed against the starship from every side. Their leader, the towering boneking, swung his head, clubbing Brooklyn with his massive skull. The starship tilted. The boneking swung his head again, and Brooklyn flipped over.

Rowan and Bay screamed, falling onto the ceiling.

"This is just like Jurassic Park!" Rowan shouted.

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Bay made his way to the dashboard, but Brooklyn was dead, all her electronics ripped out. It would take days to fix. "Dammit."

"Should I get out and push?" Rowan asked.

Bay handed her his pistol. "Load more bullets. Fire on anything that makes its way inside. I'll try to fix her cannon at least."

He pulled at the cables and broken panels, wincing. It was a hot mess of sparking electronics. He tried to push controls back into place, to reattach broken cables, but the boneking kept lashing at the ship. They flipped over again. Bay hit his head against the floor. He saw stars. Soon Rowan was screaming, firing her pistol.

"Bonecrawlers aboard!" she cried.

Her bullets rang out, slamming into the creatures.

"Hold them back!" Bay said.

"I can't!"

"Another minute, and—there!"

Bay managed to reattach the weapons system. It bleeped back to life. He hit the right button, and a cannon extended from Brooklyn's prow.

He opened fire.

Massive shells, each the size of his fist, flew out in a fury, ripping through bonecrawlers in the hangar. They tore through the creatures. Bones and skin flew across the hangar. Gore splattered the walls.

The boneking reared and howled, towering before them, his head grazing the hangar's ceiling.

"For Earth," Bay whispered.

He fired again.

His shells slammed into the boneking, and the beast shattered.

His massive skull hit the deck, and blood oozed between his jaws. He rose no more.

Bay slumped down, wheezing.

Rowan lowered her gun. A dead bonecrawler lay before her. She limped toward Bay. Her dragonfly fluttered above her shoulder, one wing bent.

"Are they all dead?" she whispered.

Bay nodded, barely able to speak. He managed to pull Rowan into his arms. "They're all dead, you crazy little honey badger."

She gave him a sidelong frown. "Whatchu talkin' bout, Bay?"

He laughed and closed his eyes, heart still pounding. Rowan laid her head against his chest, and he held her close. Soon he realized that she was weeping.

He stroked her short brown hair. "It's over now," he whispered. "I'm going to fix this ship. And we'll fly away from here. We'll fly somewhere hidden. Somewhere safe. Somewhere far from everyone."

Rowan smiled at him through her tears. "We're going to the Fortress of Solitude?"

"I never know what you're talking about."

She grinned, pulled out the Earthstone, and let it shine. "You will."

He covered her hand with his, and they held the stone together.

Engines rumbled.

For an instant, Bay dared hope that it was Brooklyn coming back to life. But no—these were deeper, more powerful engines, and the sound came from outside.

"What fresh hell is this?" he muttered.

He stepped outside of Brooklyn, and Rowan followed. The dead bonecrawlers lay everywhere. Wind blasted as a starship came flying into the hangar. Bay recognized the model. It was an armored delivery ship, about three times Brooklyn's size, almost too large to fit into the hangar. Somebody had refitted the ship for war, adding new shields, mounting cannons, and attaching engines worthy of a warship. The starship thumped down onto the hangar floor, crushing bonecrawlers.

That was when Bay saw the writing on the hull.

Human letters.

ISS Cagayan de Oro.

Below the letters appeared a symbol—a blue planet with golden wings.

It was an Inheritor ship.

Bay's heart burst into a gallop. His fingers began to shake.

"Bay, what's wrong?" Rowan whispered. "You look like you saw a ghost."

A hatch on the Cagayan de Oro opened.

Bay took a step back.

A man stepped out of the warship. He was tall, burly, and in his mid-fifties. His yellow beard was strewn with white. Shaggy hair, gold and silver, spilled out from under a black cowboy hat. The man wore thick boots, brown trousers, and a long blue overcoat with brass buttons. When a bonecrawler rose, twitching with its last breath, the man fired an old-fashioned, double-barreled rifle with a wooden stock. The powerful bullets tore off the bonecrawler's head.

Slowly, the man turned toward Bay and met his eyes.

Emet Ben-Ari nodded. "Hello, son."

"You're coming back with me to the Inheritor fleet," Emet said. "And that's final."

Bay shook his head, jaw clenched. "Muck this. Muck this shit!" He rose from the barstool. "I'm done. Done!"

But Emet pulled him back down. "Sit down, Bay. Drink your grog. And talk to me."

They sat in Drunken Truckers, the seedy tavern in Paradise Lost where Bay had first met Rowan. The girl now stood at the doorway, holding one of Emet's pistols. The gun was the size of a power drill, and Rowan had to hold it with both hands. But if any other exterminator showed up, it would punch holes into them. And the wall behind them. And probably the next wall over.

The sight of that gun, and the heavy rifle Emet carried across his back, had sent the other patrons fleeing. Even the stick insect bartender gave them a wide berth, retreating into the shadows after taking their order. It wasn't every day, Bay supposed, that Admiral Emet Ben-Ari, the galaxy's most notorious terrorist, crashed your bar.

"Uh, yo, man, I'm not interested in talking to you." Bay shoved his grog away. "Or grogging with you. Or, you know, being in the same space station, star system, or galaxy with you. All right?"

He rose to leave again. But again his father grabbed him.

"Sit. Down." Emet's voice was as hard as his eyes. "I didn't fly for light-years, leaving my fleet, for you to act like a child. You're coming home with me. And that is not up for debate."

"The hell I am!" Bay glared at his father. "How the hell did you find me anyway?"

Emet scoffed. "You're not exactly inconspicuous. Strutting around casinos and brothels? Getting drunk and high and mucking vemale holograms? They sent out a call for exterminators across a parsec."

"Uh, yeah, and I took care of them," Bay said. "Did you see all those dead bonecrawlers all over the hangar? I killed them. And Rowan did too. I don't need you to come here to protect me, or—"

"I didn't come here to protect you," Emet said. "I came here to bring you home."

"What home?" Bay rose to his feet, his eyes burning. "What home, Dad? Oh, your little fleet? A handful of rusty starships? Bouncing from world to world, hunted everywhere, terrorists? That's what they call you, Dad. Not freedom fighters. They call you terrorists. Is that the home you're speaking of?"

Emet's face flushed. He bared his teeth, and his fists clenched. "It's more of a home than you have here. Look at yourself, Bay. You're twenty-four. An adult. The age I was when I founded the Heirs of Earth. And you're strung out, addicted to drugs and grog. Don't deny it. I can see it in your eyes. Addicted to virtual girls. Addicted to gambling. I didn't come here to protect you from exterminators. I came here to protect you from yourself."

"And who will protect me from you?" Bay was shouting now. "Is your life any better? Addicted to war? Fighting battle after battle? Maybe I'm not interested in being a soldier! I'm not Leona. I don't care about the Heirs of Earth or your fleet."

"That fleet is your home!" Emet roared.

Bay shoved his grog aside. The glass shattered. "I had a home! Once. Years ago. A nice home. With grass. And sunlight. And a girl I loved." His voice cracked. He hated that his eyes were damp. "And you pulled me away from there. You—"

"Not this again—" Emet began.

"Yes!" Bay shouted. "This again! I was fourteen, and I loved her, and you didn't care. You dragged me away in that rusty old fleet of yours. Like you want to do now."

"You were a child!" Emet said. "What did you know?"

"I knew that I loved her!" Bay shouted. "Her name was Seohyun. Say it! You never said her name. I loved her. I was going to marry her. We were going to live forever in Vaelia. A good world. A world of grass and sunlight. You ruined my life!"

Bay panted. His chest heaved. Damn it. Rowan could hear him. He felt her watching. It was mucking embarrassing. In the back of his mind, Bay knew he was being childish. He was acting like the fourteen-year-old boy again. But he couldn't stop it. This pain had eaten at him for so long. Bay had not seen his father in a decade, and still the grief was festering. Now the wound had been opened, and all the poison was seeping out.

"Son." Emet's voice was softer now. "You knew we were only on Vaelia for a year. You knew we went there to resupply and recruit Inheritors. You knew we were never planning to stay. We grew crops to feed us for years to come. We recruited and trained a hundred good soldiers too. And we had to leave. To leave the others behind. Even Seohyun. We offered them room on our ships. They chose to remain."

"And they died!" Bay shouted, voice hoarse. "Because you weren't there to protect them! At least I tried. I returned to Vaelia."

"Son." Emet reached out to him.

But Bay couldn't stop. Everything was spilling out now. He was fourteen again. Broken.

"I returned because I loved her," Bay said. "And not a week later, the scorpions arrived. And . . ."

The memories pounded through him. He had been so young. More boy than man. He still remembered struggling, shouting as his father pulled him away from Vaelia. He still remembered the fleet flying off to a new world, to seek new humans. He still remembered stealing Brooklyn, just shuttle then, and flying back to Vaelia. Back to Seohyun.

Her family had chosen to remain behind. What life could they have had as Inheritors? They were farmers. Theirs was a life of growing things. Of grass and wheat. Of sunlight and rain. They had never been to space.

For a week, Bay had hidden in the forest. His father had sought him, yes. But Bay knew the forest well, had hidden among the trees, visiting the village by night. Visiting Seohyun.

After a week, Emet had abandoned the search, leaving only two soldiers behind to continue looking. The famous admiral had flown away, on to fight his wars.

A day later, the scorpions had attacked.

"You left us," Bay whispered, sitting at the bar, head lowered. "You left me. You left her. You left the village. The scorpions came and killed everyone. I only survived because I was in the forest. Hiding from you. When I went to find Seohyun, everything was gone. She was burnt, nothing but bones and hair." He raised his damp eyes and stared at his father. "You could have fought them. You could have saved her. With the Inheritors there, she would still be alive."

For a moment, it looked like Emet might actually shed tears. His eyes were red and haunted. But then he narrowed his eyes, and his face hardened, but his voice was still soft.

"Son, listen to me carefully." Emet stared into his eyes. "I'm sorry for what happened. I'm sorry she died. I searched for you. By Ra, I didn't know you were in that forest. Everyone thought you had flown to another world. I searched for you on every neighboring planet, and I haven't stopped searching for you since. And you must understand something, Bay. I could not have saved Seohyun. Our war is for one world only. For Earth."

Bay looked away. His head reeled.

Father didn't abandon me after a week? He's been searching for me all these years?

Bay's voice was weak. "You've always cared for Earth more than for me."

"That is the boy speaking," Emet said. "That is the fourteen-year-old who ran. You're a man now, Bay. A warrior. You and Rowan took out an entire phalanx of bonecrawlers, creatures even my toughest Inheritors fear. I'm proud of you."

Bay snorted. "Spare me the ass kissing, Dad."

And suddenly Bay was laughing. Because he felt empty. All the pain of ten years had flown out. And he laughed.

"Bay." Emet placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know it was hard for you. Growing up the son of Emet Ben-Ari. Hell, the name Ben-Ari alone is hard to bear, the name of the Golden Lioness from the legends. It's even worse to grow up with me as a father. To grow up with the Inheritors. I know that when we had to leave Vaelia, it broke your heart. I know that you still mourn Seohyun's loss. And I'm sorry." And now Emet's eyes did dampen. "You are my son. And I love you. I love you more than anything. More than Earth itself."

Bay looked at him. And he remembered being a toddler, leaping on his dad, tugging his beard, laughing as Emet pretended to become a dragon and breathe fire. He remembered his dad showing him how to tie a knot. How to fire a gun. How to bandage a wound and handle a knife. He remembered laughing. Storytime at night. A father. And everything inside Bay shattered, and he was broken glass, broken memories, a broken shell here in the pub.

"I love you too," he whispered.

Emet embraced him.

A huge sniffle sounded behind them, and Bay turned to see Rowan crying.

"I'm sorry!" the girl said, struggling to rub her eyes while holding her oversized gun. "It's just so beautiful!"

Bay wiped his eyes and reached for another cup of grog. His cheeks flushed. He was embarrassed at his weakness, at his tears. But when Emet patted the seat beside them, and when Rowan joined them, Bay was glad to have her there.

"I guess I should finally introduce you two," Bay said. "Rowan, this is my dad, Emet Ben-Ari. He's the leader of the Heirs of Earth, a paramilitary group dedicated to helping humans in peril, harbor human refugees, and someday find and reclaim Earth. A few call my dad a freedom fighter. Most in Concord space call him a terrorist mastermind. To his followers, he's the new Moses, fighting to lead his people home. Dad, this is Rowan. She's the daughter of David Emery, your old friend. She hasn't met another human since she was two years old, and has been hiding in the ducts of Paradise Lost since then. She's good at killing aliens. She's also in possession of the Earthstone, the holiest relic of Earth." He sipped his grog. "So, funny you two should meet, huh?"

They both stared at him, blinking.

Then they stared at each other.

"I've heard so many tales of the famous Admiral Emet Ben-Ari," Rowan said. "Some call you a prophet. I never imagined I'd meet you."

Emet was pale. "You're David Emery's daughter? You have the Earthstone?"

"Yep." Rowan nodded, reached under her collar, and pulled out the crystal that hung from her chain.

Emet stared at the stone. He reached out and touched the crystal. At his touch, it glowed. His eyes widened.

"The Earthstone," Emet whispered. "For years, I sought it. Within this crystal is stored the cultural heritage of our people. The philosophies of Aristotle, Socrates, Plato. The works of Spinoza, Kepler, Thomas Paine, Newton, Einstein, and Sagan. The holy books of our great religions and mythologies. Literature by Shakespeare, Charles Dickens, Tolstoy. The music of Mozart, Beethoven, Bach. The great works of art by Michelangelo, Donatello, Raphael. All that we have achieved as a species. Our cultural treasures. Our greatest works of art and thought and creation. Who we are, what we almost lost. All shines within this stone."

Rowan bit her lip. "You forgot Leonardo."

"Of course!" said Emet. "The great works of Da Vinci!"

Rowan blushed. "Oh, I thought you meant the Ninja Turtles, but—" She gulped. "Never mind. Yeah! I mean, cultural treasures. Lots of them. I spent the past few years admiring all the heritage! It was so . . . heritagey." She glanced at Bay and winced.

"You managed to tap into the Earthstone?" Emet said, eyes wide.

Rowan nodded. "Yeah! I built an adapter. I was able to translate the data stored inside into something alien tech could understand. I quickly figured out how to read the text files, so I could load up books. It took a bit longer to figure out how to stream videos, but I eventually got that working too. I even wrote my own audio codec. Fillister—that's my robot—helped too. I had a sweet rig set up. But a giant crab shot a few bullets through it. I can show you how to do it again, if you have the right tech. I love machines. Anything with wires, gears, or microchips. I can spend hours tinkering with it. I also spent hours with the Earthstone. It kept me sane." She lowered her head. "The loneliness was often overpowering. Without the Earthstone, I would have gone mad."

"The Earthstone will help many," Emet said. "We've been unable to make copies of the data. But we hope to achieve this in the future. When we find Earth, when we bring humanity home, we'll need to rebuild our planet. Our cities. Our farms. Our population. But just as importantly, we'll need to rebuild our culture. With the Earthstone, we can." He smiled. "I'm glad, Rowan, that you were able to access its secrets. I'm heartbroken that you spent so many years alone, but relieved that you had the works of great artists and thinkers to keep you company."

She bit her lip, blushing, then glanced up at Emet. "Okay, confession time. I hadn't even heard of all those cultural treasures." She cringed. "I spent the past few years playing old Earth video games, reading geeky fantasy novels like Dragonlance, laughing at Mystery Science Theater 3000 episodes, dancing to K-pop music, and watching Monty Python." She winced. "Does Monty Python count?"

At first, Emet gaped, but then a huge grin split his face. Bay had never seen his father smile so widely.

"Rowan, that too is culture," Emet said. "Popular culture is just as valuable, just as wonderful, as classical Renaissance art. You have experienced some of the best culture humanity has produced. Never be ashamed of enjoying popular culture. It's a treasure."

Rowan grinned too, a tight-lipped grin, hiding her teeth. "I'm glad I met you, Emet Ben-Ari. And . . ." She twisted her fingers. "Bay told me what happened. That my dad stole this stone from you. I haven't heard his side of the story. But whatever bad blood was between our families, I hope to remedy that now. To make peace between the Ben-Aris and Emerys. We're all human. The Earthstone belongs to us all." She reached out her hand. "On behalf of the Emery family, let us make peace."

Emet clasped her hand and shook it. "Peace."

Bay watched the exchange.

Peace, he thought. Yes, peace between our families. He looked at Emet. And maybe between father and son.

His heart twisted. It still hurt. It still hurt so badly.

But for ten years, I raged. For ten years, I hated. For ten years, I sank into darkness. Maybe it's time for peace.

Emet and Rowan were still holding hands, but now both were looking at him. Their eyes were soft.

Bay reached out and placed his hand atop theirs.

"Peace," he said softly.

"Peace," Emet said.

Rowan grinned. "We're like The Three Musketeers. All for one, and one for all! Like the Bryan Adams song! Though I think his song from Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves was better, and—" She gulped and blushed. "I mean—peace." She turned toward the bar tender and pounded on the counter. "Hey, can we get some frickin' pancakes here?" She glanced back at Emet and Bay. "You guys like pancakes, right? I've always wanted to try one."

Emet smiled. "I'm not sure aliens know what pancakes are, Rowan. But we'll make you some back at the fleet."

She nodded. "Good. I'll fight for pancakes."

It was a sweet moment, and Rowan and Emet were smiling, but Bay felt cold.

We made peace, the three of us, yet can we really live in peace? How long before more exterminators arrive? How long before the scorpions themselves attack? How long before we face fire and death again?

He looked at them. At his father. At Rowan.

He had already lost so much.

I cannot love them. I cannot bear to lose them. I cannot bear to have this peace shatter.

His father met his gaze, and Bay saw the same solemnity, maybe even the same fear. And Bay knew there would be no peace for humanity, not for many years, and the fires of war would soon burn anew.

As Duncan moved through the ISS Kos, he felt his age in every damn joint.

He could cure the Purple Cough, scorpion venom, and space sickness. He could set bones, stitch wounds, amputate limbs. He could nourish the starving back to health, comfort the dying. But one thing Doctor Duncan McQueen couldn't do.

He couldn't cure damn aging.

He was in his sixties now. And Ra above, did he feel every one of those years.

The ISS Kos was a hospital ship. The only one the Heirs of Earth owned. If you could call it a hospital ship, at least. The rusty old clunker had once been a cattle transport, carrying mulers from world to world. The smell of shit still lingered. It was appropriate, Duncan supposed. An animal car had become a hospital, and a vet had become a doctor.

Only hours ago, the Heirs of Earth had sent a platoon onto a hostile world, had rescued forty-two humans from an alien mob. The wounded now filled the ISS Kos.

Another day. Another battle. And again Duncan did his work.

Instead of proper hospital rooms, they had curtains. Instead of beds, they had military cots. Instead of modern medical equipment, they had old farm tools. And yet the ISS Kos had saved hundreds of lives. And had comforted hundreds of dying warriors.

"Doc, I need you!" said Nurse Cindy, sticking her head around a curtain. She was a tall woman in her forties, her hair black and her blue eyes fiery. "It's Ramses. The damn man got a claw stuck halfway up his chest."

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" rose a deep voice behind the nurse. "Just got the wind knocked out of me. Give me some good coffee and cardamom, and I'll be back up and fighting."

Duncan stepped around the curtain. He found Nurse Cindy struggling to hold down her patient.

"Lie down, you scoundrel!" the nurse said.

"Unhand me, woman, I'm fine!" Ramses tried to rise again. "I'm descended of the pharaohs of ancient Egypt. No claw will hold me back."

Duncan stifled a smile.

Captain Ramses "Pharaoh" al Masri was among their best soldiers. He was a tall, slender man with brown skin, arched eyebrows, and a pointy black beard. He looked and moved like a stalking cat. He currently commanded the ISS Rosetta, one of the fleet's fastest, deadliest warships, and was also a capable Firebird pilot, fighting in many sorties. Many believed that Ramses would soon rise to commodore, perhaps even lead the Heirs of Earth someday.

And like the ancient pharaohs, Ramses had the unfortunate tendency to believe he was immortal.

"I got this," Ramses said. He wrapped his hands around the claw embedded into his chest, just along the ribs. "It's only a flesh wound. I—"

He began to pull, then grimaced.

"Need help there, laddie?" Duncan said, stepping closer.

Ramses looked queasy. "I'm not myself without coffee. That's all this is." He glared at Cindy. "But the ghastly woman won't bring me any."

Cindy bristled. "I brought you a cup!"

Ramses snorted. "You call that coffee? That came from a machine! Served in a foam cup! True coffee is lovingly brewed in a silver dallah, seasoned with cardamom, and served in porcelain. If you let me return to the Rosetta, I will fetch my percolator, and—"

"You're not going anywhere with that thing stuck in your chest!" Cindy said. She tugged her hair in frustration, turning toward Duncan. "I give up, Doc. He's all yours. I've got more sensible troops to heal."

The nurse stalked off.

Ramses smiled. He looked at Duncan, one eyebrow raised. "She's crazy about me, you know. Madly in love."

Duncan sighed. "You know, laddie, you certainly have a way with women. For some reason, they all want to kill ya." He stepped forward, grabbed the claw, and yanked.

It came free with a spurt of blood.

Ramses yowled.

"What the devil, man? You could have warned me!"

Duncan snorted. "That was for how you treated Nurse Cindy. Now lie down! This wee wound will need some stitching. Be a good lad, and I'll numb it first. Keep talking, and I'll make it hurt like a honey badger clawing at your crotch for hidden nuts."

Ramses fell silent.

Duncan patched the lad up. He needed these young soldiers alive and well, damn it. Not getting killed on their damn adventures. It was soldiers like Ramses, like Leona, like his own daughter—the younger generation—who would one day replace Emet and him. That would one day keep fighting for humanity.

I might not live to see Earth, Duncan thought. These lads and lasses must.

He bandaged the wound and slapped Ramses on the shoulder. "Take a few days off, lad. Drink whatever brew calms your nerves."

"I'll be back fighting by this evening," Ramses said.

Duncan snorted. "Ya do that, lad, and next time you come to my ship with a wound, I'll make sure Cindy patches you up—with a staple gun."

He moved to the next room.

He treated the next patient.

For long hours, Duncan labored, healing the wounded. And preparing the fallen for burial in space. So many burns, wounds, trauma. So much pain.

But that's why I'm here, Duncan thought. To fix. To heal. To make things right.

He worked for twenty-six hours straight. He saved lives. He saw lives end. Finally he returned to his shuttle, flew off the Kos, and returned to the Jerusalem, the ship where he made his home. He walked through the cavernous hold, a chamber full of soldiers ready to fight the next battle.

May I never see them in my hospital, he thought.

He passed the Firebird hangar, walked down a corridor, up a staircase, and finally reached his cabin. Duncan paused outside the doorway, breathing heavily, and placed a hand on his chest.

It hurt.

That damn pain again. Just under the left ribs.

A pain in his old heart.

I'm overworked, he thought. I'm overstressed. And yes, dammit, I'm overweight. A deep thought bubbled up. I'm dying.

Duncan snorted. Nonsense. He had decades ahead of him! It was the wee ones who were in danger. Not him. And the wee one needed him, dammit. He would be strong for them.

Yet it took him extra long to catch his breath.

He needed a shower. He needed a long sleep. And more than anything, he needed a stiff drink of good Scotch.

Finally he opened the door and entered his cabin.

Duncan's eyes widened.

"What the—?" he blurted out.

A group of pilots filled his home! They were grogging his booze, sitting at his dinner table, and playing poker with his cards!

Duncan stormed into the cabin.

"What is the meaning of this, ya no-good rascals?" he roared.

Mairead turned toward him, laughing. "Hi there, Da! Care to join us?"

Mairead "Firebug" McQueen was a young woman, only twenty-three years old, barely more than a girl. Yet she already commanded the Firebird Fleet. She was loud, rude, and drunk half the time. She was also the best damn pilot they had.

She looked so much like her late mother. Mairead had the same mane of red hair, untamed like wildfire. Her eyes were green and fierce. Freckles covered her pale face. She wore a jumpsuit, carried a pistol on her hip, and was chomping on a cigar.

Duncan scowled at the girl.

"I told ya, lass, no playing poker in my home." He turned toward a player across the table, and his eyes widened. "And you, Ramses! I told ya to stay in bed, dammit! Now I find ya playing cards at my own dinner table!"

Ramses had the grace to look ashamed. "I'm sorry, Doc. The Firebug insisted that I play. Dared me, in fact. Called me a chicken."

Mairead snorted. She pointed her cigar at him. "I called you a yellowbelly, not a chicken."

Ramses stiffened. "I faced scorpion fleets in battle, you know."

Mairead scoffed. "And yet you're scared of playing poker with a girl."

Ramses leaped to his feet, scattering cards. "I'm not scared of you, Firebug. You're nothing but a card cheat."

Mairead roared, shoved the table aside, and it slammed down, scattering chips and drinks and cards. The other players leaped back, laughing. Mairead lunged at Ramses, pounding him with her fists.

"I'll show you a card cheat!"

Ramses winced, struggling to hold her off. "There are aces falling out your sleeves even now!"

Mairead stepped back and quickly shoved the aces back into her sleeves. "Those are just my backup cards." She glared at Ramses. "Yellowbelly."

When they began to argue again, Duncan roared.

"Out! Out, all of you!" He began shoving pilots out the door. "Ya damn scoundrels! Get yer backside back to bed, Pharaoh. As for the rest of ya, play yer games somewhere else, ya louses. Out, out!"

They began shuffling out of the room, laughing. They knew Duncan would be calm tomorrow. He knew it too.

They know I love them, Duncan thought. They know they're all like my children.

As Mairead made to leave, Duncan held her arm. "Not you, lass."

She reeled toward him, her red hair flouncing. "But I want to play cards with them!"

Duncan growled. "You can later. First you're going to clean up this mess." He gestured at the fallen table, spilled drinks, and scattered chips and cards.

"But—" Mairead floundered, lost for words. Finally she stiffened. "I'm a captain in the Heirs of Earth, Da. I command the Firebird Fleet!"

"Aye, ya do, lass," Duncan said. "And you're also my daughter, and a rotten one at that. Get ye to cleaning! Then we'll eat some supper."

"I already ate," she said.

Duncan snorted. "Pork rinds aren't a meal."

"They're a glorious meal."

Duncan growled. "We'll have some proper food. Like a family."

Mairead seemed ready to argue, and then her eyes softened. She nodded. "Aye, Da. Like a family."

They were both silent for a moment. Thinking of those they had lost. Of Mairead's mother. Of her brothers. Of those Duncan had not been able to heal. Those he had comforted as they lay dying.

She cleaned up. Duncan even helped her. They ate a quiet meal.

They remembered.

"Hey, Da," Mairead said. "Remember that time the twins pretended to be each other for a whole week?" She laughed. "You believed them!"

"I did not!" Duncan said. "I was pretending to keep them happy."

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Mairead said. "You never could tell those two crazy buggers apart."

"Well it's not my fault you all look like bloody red toothpicks!" Duncan said. "Too skinny, the lot of you."

Mairead glanced down at Duncan's ample belly. "You could learn a thing or two from us."

"Nonsense." Duncan sucked in his gut and puffed out his chest. "This is all muscle, lass. That's what you need more of."

She snorted. "I have a Firebird starfighter. That's my muscle." Mairead smiled softly and looked at their old family photo on the wall. "I wish they could have seen me. Ma and the boys. Seen me become a pilot."

Duncan reached across the table and patted her hand. "Maybe they do, lass. Maybe they do."

He didn't really believe that. An afterlife? No, Duncan had seen too many boys and girls die in agony, their bodies torn apart, their minds going mad at the end. Too much pain to believe the soul could carry on. To believe humans were anything but meat. But he also knew something about comforting the grieving.

Yet as he lay in bed that night, Duncan wondered: Who would comfort him?

And he knew the answer.

His daughter comforted him. His friend Emet. All the Heirs of Earth did. Every one of them, every warrior who fought, every refugee who cowered, every human calling out for aid—they were all his children.

May I heal you all, he thought. May I guide you all home.

His eyes closed, and Duncan slept.

For the first time in her life, Leona Ben-Ari was leading the Inheritor fleet to battle.

Her father was not here. He had gone to rescue Bay.

Many of her warriors were still wounded, recovering from their last battle.

Leona herself was bandaged, burnt, still weary after fighting at Hacksaw Cove only yesterday.

But she flew onward. Toward Hierarchy space. Toward the scorpions. Perhaps toward her death and the fall of the Inheritors.

But I will fly onward, she thought. I will face my enemies. I will fight with all my strength and courage. Because ahead of me, in the darkness, there are humans in danger. And wherever humans are in danger, the Heirs of Earth will be there.

She stood on the bridge of the ISS Jerusalem, flagship of the fleet. Her officers stood around her. Like her, they wore brown trousers and blue jackets, uniforms of the Heirs of Earth. No two uniforms were alike. They had no textile factory, no tailors or seamstresses. They had collected scraps of clothes across the galaxy, had sewn some, had stitched and dyed cotton and wool. Their weapons too were varied. Many carried rifles and pistols. Some bore electrical prods, and a few warriors just carried swords and clubs. They looked more like a ragged group of mercenaries than an army. But for Leona's money, they were the best damn warriors in the galaxy.

The rest of the fleet followed the Jerusalem. Sixteen other warships, all smaller than Jerusalem, all freighters in their previous lives, but fierce and ready for battle.

Several starfighters circled them in constant vigil, small vessels only large enough for a single pilot. Emet had designed them himself, had named them Firebirds. A holy name. A name from antiquity. The name of old Earth's starfighters, which the Golden Lioness had commanded two thousand years ago. Like the ancient firebird from legend, a magical bird that rose from the ashes, so too did humanity's fleet rise again.

It was a small fleet. Barely more than a flotilla. Compared to the fleets of powerful civilizations, the Inheritor fleet was laughable.

"Aye, we're not much of a fleet, lass." A deep voice rumbled behind her. "Some would say we belong in a museum. Most would say the scrap yard."

Leona turned to see Duncan walking toward her. The doctor wore cargo pants with jangling pockets, a blue overcoat with many buttons and patches, and a pair of goggles that rested on his great bald head. On one hip, he carried a medical kit. On the other, a pistol the size of his forearm. The doctor was sixty, old for a human these days, and his white beard hung down to his belt. But the squat man was still powerful, his shoulders wide, his back strong. Leona was only twenty-seven, but she doubted she could take him in a fight.

"This is all we have," Leona said. "These few old clunkers. This motley crew of warriors in shabby clothes. But I'm proud of this army. This is the best army in the galaxy. Because this is Earth's army." She wrapped her right hand around her left fist, the Inheritor Salute. "For Earth!"

Across the bridge, the other warriors returned the salute. "For Earth!"

Leona turned to stare through the front viewport. The darkness spread before them. The stars streamed at their sides. They were near now. Near the border. Near Hierarchy space. Near the greatest battle of her life.

I wish you were here, Dad, she thought.

She had wanted Emet to come. But once, long ago, he had flown to battle and left his son behind. He would not abandon Bay again.

You're ready, Leona, the admiral had told her. Command the fleet. You can do this.

She activated the communicator pinned to her lapel, and she transmitted her voice to the entire fleet.

"Warriors of Earth. This is Commodore Leona Ben-Ari, acting commander of the fleet. Yesterday, we received intelligence that the Skra-Shen, those we call scorpions, have ramped up their hostility toward humanity. Across Hierarchy space, which they fully control, they have implemented a genocidal program they call The Human Solution. Their forces sweep from world to world, capturing humans wherever they hide. With trickery and false promises of safety, they lure humans into their ships, only to transport them to gulocks. In these camps, on barren worlds, the scorpions exterminate their prisoners—our brothers and sisters, our fellow humans. We've learned that over the past year, the scorpions have slain millions of humans. Let us observe a moment of silence in their memory."

She stood, silent, head lowered. Across the Jerusalem, the others stood silently too.

Leona spoke again.

"Today, a scorpion convoy will be hauling a fresh batch of human prisoners to a gulock. The enemy will be transporting the humans in cargo starships we've called deathcars. Their flight path will take them close to the border between Concord and Hierarchy space. If the convoy arrives at the gulock, the human prisoners—there are likely to be hundreds—will be slain. It's our mission to invade Hierarchy space, to attack the deathcar convoy, rescue the human prisoners, and transport them back to the Concord. We can be in and out of Hierarchy space within an hour. The scorpions will dare not chase us back into Concord space; they still observe the treaty of nonaggression between the Concord and Hierarchy civilizations. But we are the Heirs of Earth. We are not bound by such treaties. We will complete our mission. We will save our people. We cannot save the millions of humans who cry out in anguish across Hierarchy worlds. But we can save the prisoners in this convoy! And every life we save is a world entire."

Leona paused. She knew her soldiers were afraid. But she knew they would fight for her. For humanity. She knew that to save even a single life, they would charge into battle.

"If we save only one life," she said, "that will be enough. Every human life is precious. Every human life is a world. The battle today will be harsh. The scorpions will fight well. They will be vicious and terrible in their fury. We will be afraid. Some of us will die. But we will not run. We will face them with courage and strength, and we will win! For Earth!"

"For Earth!" her warriors cried.

Leona took a step closer to the viewport. She clutched her pistol and narrowed her eyes. A holographic display was counting down the kilometers to the Hierarchy. They would be there in seconds.

She touched the seashell she wore around her neck.

I love to sail forbidden seas, Leona thought.

They crossed the border.

They flew through Hierarchy space.

There was no sound, no flashing lights, no assault of a thousand enemy ships. There was just more space. If not for their navigational charts, they would not have known the difference.

Yet here, everything was different.

Here space felt a whole lot darker.

Long ago, Leona knew, the Galactic Alliance had ruled the Milky Way. Once Earth itself, under the leadership of Einav Ben-Ari, had even been a member. But centuries ago, the Galactic War had torn the galaxy apart. Entire civilizations burned. Worlds crashed. The war ended, leaving the Milky Way in ruin. The Galactic Alliance was dead.

For a long time, chaos reigned. Finally a few thousand civilizations formed the Concord, an alliance that spanned millions of stars. The Peacekeepers were founded—a police force to hold the Concord together. Species who joined the Concord tended to respect science, art, culture, and trade. They dreamed of law, order, and peace. After years of desolation, they birthed a galactic renaissance.

Of course, the Concord wasn't perfect. Especially not for humans. But despite the problems, the Concord attempted to restore civilization to the Milky Way, to rise from the ashes of the horrible Galactic War. To bring peace to the galaxy. Today, at the height of its power, the Concord stretched across half the Milky Way.

The Hierarchy was different.

In the aftermath of the Galactic War, the galaxy's brutal, warlike species formed their own alliance. They were apex predators, hunters, barbarians, warlords. They loathed peace. They detested civilization. They lived for conquest and bloodshed. They formed the Hierarchy and soon controlled the galaxy's second half. They became as mighty as the Concord. Perhaps mightier.

At first, thousands of species competed within Hierarchy space, but bitter struggles soon established a pecking order. The Skra-Shen were on top. The scorpions now dominated all aspects of Hierarchy society. The scorpions allowed a handful of other species, the particularly vicious ones, to fight for them. Most species they chose to enslave. Others to exterminate.

Humans were in that last bucket.

But some among us still fight, Leona thought. You will not find us so easy to kill.

"We should be seeing the deathcars by now." Leona narrowed her eyes. "Where are you, scorpions?"

Had she misread the data on the scorpion's memory chip? Had they changed their plans? She was traveling the right way, set to intercept the enemy. Yet she saw only empty space.

"They should be here," she said. "Damn it."

"They might be running late," Duncan said.

She shook her head. "No. I saw their data. They planned this genocide down to the second. Where—"

Boots thudded. An officer raced toward her. "Commodore! Incoming vessels off our starboard bow!"

Leona inhaled sharply. She leaped into her seat, grabbed the helm, and spun the Jerusalem around.

There.

She saw them.

She bared her teeth.

Muck.

Twenty vessels were flying their way. But these were no deathcars. No cargo vessels with trapped humans inside.

These were strikers—scorpion warships.

"They knew we were coming," Leona said. "They knew we had their memory chip." She hit her comm. "All Inheritor ships, assume defensive positions! Prepare for battle!"

They all spun toward the enemy, spreading out. The Firebirds formed the vanguard. The heavier warships flew behind them, cannons thrusting forward like pikes.

From the darkness they came. The strikers. Angels of death.

The ships were shaped like arrowheads, dark and glimmering, nearly invisible in space. Their red portholes shone like wrathful eyes. These were ships built for one purpose: to kill.

The Hierarchy border stretched for parsecs. No civilization could patrol it all.

These ships were waiting for us, Leona knew.

The fleets stormed toward each other. The enemy's cannons began to glow.

"Artillery, fire!" Leona cried.

She grabbed the controls and pulled the triggers. The Jerusalem jolted as the massive cannons fired. Torpedoes roared forward, streaming through space, leaving trails of fire. Around her, the rest of her fleet unleashed its fury. Missiles stormed forth.

The shells slammed into the strikers.

Explosions filled space.

Shards of metal flew. Smoke blasted outward. And the strikers kept charging—dented, cracked, but still very operational.

Leona stared, teeth bared, breath fast.

Those shells should have torn them apart.

"Fire ag—" she began.

The enemy returned fire.

Plasma bolts streamed forward and crashed into the Inheritor fleet.

The Jerusalem's bridge jolted, knocking Leona to the floor. Fire blazed. Smoke blasted from the controls. Alarms blared and people ran everywhere. Through the viewports, Leona saw plasma slam into her other ships, cracking hulls. Warships floundered.

"Fire!" she cried, struggling to rise. "Take them down! Fire everything!"

She limped toward the controls and fired the cannons.

Torpedoes flew from the Jerusalem. Three missed, but the fourth slammed into a striker, and the enemy ship cracked open. The other Inheritor ships were firing a barrage of shells, torpedoes, and photon beams, but the enemy kept charging. The strikers were cracked, a few were burning, but the damn ships still charged.

More of their plasma flew. An inferno of fire blasted toward the human fleet.

Leona screamed, gripped the helm, and yanked with all her strength. She turned the port shields toward the enemy.

"Brace for impact!" she cried.

The plasma bolts slammed against them.

The Jerusalem rocked.

The ship flipped over in space and spun.

"Port cannons!" she cried. "Starboard cannons! Fire!"

The shells rang out, but the strikers kept flying.

With blazing light and raining fire, the enemy ships reached them.

A striker rammed the Jerusalem, and the hull dented. If not for the thick graphene shields reinforced with magnetic fields, the Jerusalem would have shattered. Leona fired the side cannons, shoving the striker back. The ship rammed them again, and the Jerusalem—this mighty frigate—spun through space like a discarded toy.

The enemy ships swarmed around them. The Jerusalem fired from all sides. Above her, Leona saw the ISS Bangkok take heavy fire and crack open. The ISS Jaipur was burning, listing, its cannons dead. Starfighters were streaming back and forth.

"We have to fall back!" Duncan was shouting, singed and bleeding. "Lass, we have to retreat!"

"No!" Leona cried.

She tugged on the helm, teeth gnashing, desperate to halt the Jerusalem's spin. The strikers stormed all around them. The battle streamed with lines of fire. The bridge rattled.

There above, Leona saw it. She frowned.

A striker was charging toward another Inheritor warship. Its exhaust pipes flared on full afterburner, white and blue.

Leona reached up, grabbed a control panel, and pulled herself to her feet. She fired.

Her heat-seeking missiles flew toward the pulsing afterburner of the striker above.

The missiles flew into the striker's exhaust.

The enemy ship exploded.

A million metal shards flew everywhere, interspersed with scorpion claws.

Leona roared with triumph.

"We can destroy them!" she cried and hit her comm, broadcasting her words to the fleet. "Hit their exhaust pipes! Hit them when they're on afterburner! That's their Achilles' heel. Firebirds, hit them in the exhaust!"

"Missiles up their asses!" cried Captain Mairead "Firebug" McQueen, voice emerging from Leona's comm.

Duncan's daughter was a fiery young woman. She was rash, rude, and reckless. But she was also the best damn pilot in the fleet, commander of the Firebirds.

Mairead flew her starfighter right by the Jerusalem. The young pilot looped around the frigate, a showy display. As she swung by, Mairead waved at Leona.

"Firebug, enough playing!" Leona said. "Get to it."

Mairead nodded, her red hair flouncing. "Got it, boss."

Her Firebird flew onward. The other starfighters followed.

The remaining Inheritor warships—at least three were disabled—were still firing, but they were slower than the enemy. And the strikers were loath to expose their exhaust pipes. The Firebirds were fast, but they were taking heavy fire. The strikers seemed to realize that the smaller starfighters were their main threat, and they began to focus on dogfighting.

"Why haven't we launched all our Firebirds?" Leona shouted. "I'm still seeing three in our hangar."

"Our pilots are down!" Duncan shouted back. The bridge was still burning around them. "The hull is cracked! The enemy hit us right at our launch pad."

Leona cursed. "Take the bridge, Duncan."

"Commodore?"

"You have the bridge!" she cried.

She ran off the bridge. She raced across the Jerusalem's hold, the vast chamber where the tanker had once shipped gasoline and water. A hundred Inheritor marines were here, but they would be of little use now. She raced between them and toward the hangar.

She froze.

Damn it.

The strikers had scored a direct hit. The door to the hangar was locked. Through the window, Leona could see the devastation. The hangar was cracked open, exposed to space. She would need to—

A blast hit the Jerusalem.

They spun.

The hull dented, and warriors cried out.

Leona cursed. She swung her rifle, shattered a glass cabinet, and pulled out a spacesuit. She dressed hurriedly, cursing every second that passed. Finally she leaped into the cracked hangar, then slammed the door behind her.

Bloody hand prints covered the floor and walls. A hole gaped open in the airlock; the vacuum must have sucked the wounded crew and pilots into space. There were three Firebirds here. Two were damaged and smoldering, but the third was unscathed.

Leona climbed into the starfighter.

The small, agile ship—no larger than a fighter jet from ancient Earth—roared to life.

Leona fired the Firebird's guns, ripping open what remained of the airlock, and roared out into space.

She soared.

The battle spun around her with light and fire and shattering steel.

The damage was terrifying from here. Two Inheritor ships were gone—just ruined husks filled with death. Two others were listing, taking heavy fire, cracking open. The rest were overwhelmed, and the strikers were swarming everywhere. The Jerusalem's shields were pockmarked, falling apart, covered with ash.

Leona gripped her joystick. She had clocked many hours flying in these small starfighters, far more than flying the Jerusalem. In this humble round cockpit, she felt at home. A striker charged toward her, plasma firing. Leona soared high, dodging the assault, then streamed forward and around the enemy. For a split second, the striker revealed the chink in its armor. Leona fired a hailstorm of bullets toward the blazing afterburner.

The striker shattered. Shards of metal and scorpion shells spread across space, peppering warships.

"Firebirds, rally here!" Leona said. "Warships, give us cover. Let's show these bugs human pride."

"Ooh, look at the fancy commodore, flying with us peasants," said Mairead. But as the redhead flew by in her starfighter, she gave Leona a wink.

The others joined her, twenty birds in all. As they rallied, the strikers turned toward them. Plasma hit a Firebird, tearing it apart. The pilot fell from the shattered cockpit, burnt and screaming. Another striker plowed through their formation, taking out two more Firebirds.

Leona chased the striker, firing her machine guns. Her bullets grazed its side before finally entering the exhaust.

The striker shattered.

"Kill them all!" Leona cried.

And the Firebirds charged.

They were small ships, far smaller than the strikers. They were weaker. They barely had any armor. They fired mere bullets and slender missiles, not roaring plasma.

But they were fast.

They were damn fast.

Years ago, Emet had bought a hundred space-racers from a bankrupt drag race operation. He had lovingly restored the machines, working long hours in the hangar. Today they could zip through space with the speed and grace of hornets.

They swarmed around the strikers, rallying behind Leona. The afterburners glowed. The bullets slammed into the turbines. Striker after striker shattered. As the Firebirds fought, the Inheritor warships kept firing their shells, pounding the strikers. The enemy ships could not regroup. Whenever they tried to charge at the Firebirds, missiles from the warships knocked them aside, exposing their weak spots. Bullets flew. More strikers burned.

Leona and three other birds chase the last two strikers around the Jerusalem, unleashed a barrage of bullets, and the enemy ships collapsed. Dead scorpions floated through space, ejected from the wreckage.

Leona slumped back in her seat.

The battle was over.

"We won," she whispered, finally allowing her hands to tremble, her breath to shake. "The Heirs of Earth are victorious."

She spent a moment surveying the aftermath. Her heart sank.

Three Inheritor warships were ruined. Many Firebirds had fallen.

I knew those soldiers, she thought. Sons and daughters of Earth. Proud warriors. Friends. Gone.

And they hadn't even found the convoy of deathcars yet.

Leona would need to gather damage reports. To collect the dead. To tend to the wounded. To repair the ships. To clean the blood. To continue her mission. To—

Her hands trembled around the joystick. Her Firebird rattled.

Fire rained upon her wedding day, and the albino scorpion laughed, raising Jake's severed legs.

She knelt, blood dripping between her thighs, painting her wedding dress.

Around her, the dead danced.

She breathed.

"One," she whispered.

She breathed again.

"Two."

She took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Three."

And she was back. She tightened her lips.

She returned to the Jerusalem. She walked through the battered hold, moving between her warriors, and onto the burnt bridge. She had just sat down at the helm when she saw them. There—in the distance ahead.

There they were.

She inhaled sharply.

The deathcars.

The deathcars flew across the darkness, a convoy of despair.

Leona counted ten of them. The deathcars were surprisingly small. They were black, bulky rectangles, barely more than crates with engines attached. The symbol of the Skra-Shen, a red stinger, was painted on their hulls. The ten deathcars flew in single file, so close they almost looked like a train moving through space.

Leona flew the ISS Jerusalem closer. The flagship rattled and shook as it flew. The battle on the border had damaged it, but the Jerusalem was a tough old bird. It would take more to bring her down. What remained of the Inheritor fleet—eleven warships and a ragged group of starfighters—flew behind her. They were fifty AUs into Hierarchy space now—billions of kilometers deep. Earth had never seemed so far.

But ahead was humanity.

If their intelligence was correct, those deathcars were filled with human captives.

The enemy saw them. Two strikers were guarding the convoy. The scorpion warships charged toward the Heirs of Earth, but Leona knew how to defeat them now. The battle did not last long. The strikers shattered, and their scorpions flailed through space.

Leona spoke into her comm, broadcasting her words to her fleet. "Those two strikers we destroyed? They'll have raised the alarm. We can expect more company any moment now. All marines, prepare for boarding."

The fleet charged closer. There would be human prisoners aboard the deathcars—but scorpions too.

"Warships, form a ring around the convoy," Leona said, struggling to keep her voice calm. "Firebirds, form an outer ring and watch our backs. Move fast. Let's stop this train."

The fleet obeyed. The Jerusalem, the largest and heaviest of the ships, moved to block the lead deathcar. The other warships lined the sides of the convoy. The Firebirds spun in rings around them, forming a whirring cage.

Leona watched from the bridge, chest tight.

She hit her comm and hailed the enemy.

"Attention Skra-Shen vessels!" she said. "This is Commodore Leona Ben-Ari, representing the Heirs of Earth. Prepare to be boarded, and put up no resistance. Comply and your lives will be spared. Resist and die."

A clicking, sneering sound rose from the other end. Scorpion laughter. Screams followed—human screams.

"Muck!" Leona said. "They're killing the prisoners. Marines, board them! Now! Now!"

She pulled on her helmet, left the bridge, and ran into the hold. The boardhogs were ready in the hangar. There were three of them—heavy mining vessels purchased from a quarry on a rocky world. Originally, these bulky machines had been used to bore through solid stone, but they worked on starship hulls too. Leona leaped into one of the boardhogs.

"Three marines, join me!" she cried.

Three warriors leaped into the boardhog with her, as many as the small vessel would fit. All three wore spacesuits and held assault rifles. Beside her, other warriors were leaping into their own boardhogs.

Leona shoved down the throttle, and they launched from the Jerusalem's hangar. A second later, the two other boardhogs followed. From the other warships, more boardhogs were launching.

Leona flew toward one deathcar, hit the hull with a thud, and latched on. She pulled a lever, activating the drill. Sparks flew and metal screamed as the deathcar hull tore open. With the boardhog latched into place, it sealed the opening, leaving the deathcar pressurized.

Leona drew her pistol, leaving her rifle behind. She would need the shorter barrel in the confined space.

"For Earth!" she cried, leaping out of the boardhog and into the deathcar.

A scorpion leaped toward her, claws lashing.

Leona screamed and fired her pistol, putting a bullet through its eye.

She took another step, spun, and fired at another scorpion. This one blocked her bullet with its pincer. The beast slammed into her, knocked her down, and buried her under its weight.

Leona screamed, kicked, but couldn't free herself. The claws lashed in a fury. But other Inheritors were leaping in, and their bullets pounded the giant arachnid, finally cracking the exoskeleton. The hot, gooey insides leaked out. Leona grimaced, shoved the creature off, and rose to her feet.

She looked around her, seeing the interior of the deathcar for the first time.

Her heart tore.

Her eyes dampened.

We are cattle to them. Just cattle for the slaughter.

The deathcar was crammed full of prisoners. Hundreds of them.

"What did they do to you?" Leona whispered. She clenched her fist. Her face flushed, and her lips peeled back. "My Ra, what did they do?"

But she knew the answer.

They deprived them of humanity, she thought. They turned them into animals.

The human prisoners had been stripped naked. Many were bruised, whipped, bloodied. A few were missing limbs. Others were dead already, lying on the floor. The scorpions had sheared or ripped off their hair; many prisoners had bleeding scalps. The scorpions had spared no one. They had even gathered elders, children, babies, and pregnant women. The prisoners were crammed in so tightly they couldn't move. Their skeletal, bleeding bodies pressed together.

We were once noble, Leona thought, fury filling her. We had once raised great cities, composed symphonies, painted masterpieces, explored the galaxy. This is what the scorpions reduced us to. Dying wretches.

Her comm buzzed. Duncan's grainy voice emerged into her earpiece.

"Commodore, we've seized the other deathcars. The scorpion bastards are all dead. My Ra, lass, the people here . . ."

"Begin evacuations at once," Leona said. "More strikers might arrive any second."

"There are some people who cannot safely be moved," Duncan said. "I have a patient with a broken spine. Another patient is going into labor. One is suffering seizures. May I suggest we commandeer these ships, take them back with us? We can fly them ourselves, lass. It'll be faster and—"

"Evacuate everyone now!" Leona said. "I need these deathcars empty. That is an order, dammit!"

She cursed herself for those words. She sounded panicky. Her father would be cool, collected, in control. Why had he trusted her to lead this mission? Leona couldn't handle this. The room swayed around her. The prisoners were reaching out to her, weeping, tugging at her clothes, whispering prayers, praising her name. But they all spun around her, ghosts in a dream, undead souls with sunken eyes.

One.

She breathed.

Two.

She squared her shoulders.

Three.

"Hear me!" she said to the prisoners. "I am Leona Ben-Ari, an officer in the Heirs of Earth. We're here to help. We're going to move you into our own starships, where you'll receive food, water, and medical attention. I know you're hurt. But you must move quickly."

One of her warriors approached her. It was Coral Amber, the weaver Leona had recruited in the desert planet of Til Shiran. Instead of her white robes from the desert, Coral now wore brown leggings, tall boots, and a blue overcoat—an Inheritor uniform. The insignia of a private proudly shone on her sleeves—a golden chevron.

Despite the uniform, Coral still looked nothing like a typical Inheritor. She had embroidered silver runes onto the coat, ancient symbols of power. Instead of a gun, a silvery dagger hung from her belt, its blade engraved with ancient symbols. Her platinum tattoos coiled across her dark skin like filigree, coating her hands and right cheek, and her shimmering hair flowed like strands of starlight.

There's a strange power to her, Leona thought, remembering how Coral had cast back the Peacekeepers with pulsing funnels of energy. A power I don't understand. I wonder who she's more loyal to—the Heirs of Earth or the Weavers Guild.

"Commodore?" Coral said. "Shouldn't we listen to Doctor Duncan's orders and commandeer these vessels? We can fly them ourselves, take them back home, and convert them into warships."

Leona looked at the weaver. "Oh, we're going to commandeer them. We're going to fly them. But we're not flying them home." She placed her hand on Coral's shoulder. "Private, I'm going to need your help."

Rowan stood inside the ISS Cagayan de Oro, not knowing if to laugh, cry, or dance. Or maybe all three.

"We're inside an actual Inheritor starship," she said to Fillister. "A starship Admiral Emet Ben-Ari himself flew here."

A tear streamed down her cheek, she laughed, and she twirled around. Yes. All three.

Her dragonfly spun through the air, doing his own little dance. "It's beautiful."

The Cagayan de Oro was still docking at Paradise Lost, parked in the hangar. Rowan stood alone in the ship's storeroom. Emet was in the cockpit, calibrating his instruments. Bay was across the hangar, fixing Brooklyn, his own starship. For now, Rowan was still stuck in Paradise Lost, this space station where she had spent nearly all her life.

And yet here, inside Emet's starship, was a different world.

A human world.

There was a rack with human weapons. Pistols with triggers. Blades with hilts. Weapons for human hands—not for tentacles, trotters, or claws. There was a closet with clothes—real clothes, not just an old blanket like the one Rowan now wore. There were chairs built for human bodies, not piles of straw, aquariums, pits of mud, or any other alien lounging place.

And on the wall hung a framed photograph of Earth.

Rowan recognized the photograph. She approached and gingerly touched the glass.

"The Blue Marble," she whispered. "I've seen this photo in the Earthstone. Astronauts took it in 1972, over two thousand years ago. It's one of the first times humans have seen Earth from space." A new tear flowed. "I pray that someday we see the blue marble again."

Fillister flew toward the closet, grabbed the handle, and pulled the door open. "First you should dress in human clothes, Row. Emet himself said you should. You can't show up on Earth wearing a blanket."

She felt her cheeks flush. "All right, all right! Jeez, you're worse than a nagging mother."

She approached the closet and began rummaging through the clothes. They were all in Inheritor colors. The Inheritors had no official uniform, but they stuck to brown trousers and blue tops. These came in a variety of shades and styles, anything the Inheritors had picked up or sewn on their travels.

Rowan's eyes widened with delight. Clothes! Real clothes! Trousers and vests and jackets and shirts! Socks and underclothes and hats! Belts and buckles and boots! Actual clothes!

Rowan hopped around in excitement, pulling out clothes, and trying them on.

Her smile soon faded.

She turned toward Fillister, wearing trousers that draped across her feet, a shirt that went down to her knees, and a jacket whose sleeves sloped well past her hands.

"I look like a Ra damn kid wearing his dad's clothes," she said.

"Or like a bunch of raccoons trying to pass as a human," Fillister said.

"Haha, very funny." She rolled her eyes and pulled the clothes off.

She found a measuring tape in the closet. She measured herself and winced. She didn't even stand five feet tall. There was a scale too. When she stepped on it she bit her lip. She would have to choose some heavy clothes if she wanted to weigh a hundred pounds. And maybe soak the clothes first. And add some rocks to her pockets.

"All those years in the ducts, feeding on scraps, left me as small as a child," she said.

Fillister nuzzled her. "We'll never have to sleep in no duct again. You'll grow."

She bit her lip. "I'm turning seventeen next week. I think I'm done growing."

Fillister flew toward a smaller closet and tugged the door open. "Look, Row! Here are the kids' clothes."

She rolled her eyes. "Wonderful. Maybe afterward we can stop by McDonald's for a Happy Meal." She walked toward the children's closet, muttering. "Just peachy."

These clothes fit better. She found a pair of brown trousers with many pockets and buttons, and they fit perfectly. She slipped on a white buttoned shirt with a collar. She needed something blue. There were a handful of jackets and blazers, but they seemed too clunky for battle, easy for an enemy to grab. Instead Rowan chose a navy-blue vest with brass buttons. It fit snugly and felt comfortable enough to fight in.

She turned toward the mirror and examined herself. Her short brown hair was messy, and she passed a hand through it, but that only messed it up further. She couldn't find a hat that fit, so she grabbed goggles from a shelf. She placed them on her head, using them as a headband. It helped a little.

"You look like a true Inheritor," Fillister said.

"I look like a steampunk hobbit," Rowan said.

Fillister nodded. "Must be the big hairy feet."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Aren't you on a roll today?" She found boots that fit and slipped them on. "Great. Now I look like a steampunk hobbit in boots."

Fillister buzzed across her chest, buttoning her vest. "You like hobbits, don't you?"

She sighed. "Yes, and I'm sure the sight of a hobbit will strike terror into the hearts of my enemies."

"That's what a weapon will do," said Fillister. "Come choose one."

She approached the weapons rack. She hefted a few rifles. They were heavy machines, built for large men like Emet. Instead, she chose a pistol. It too was large. For her, it was almost like a rifle. It was shaped like a flintlock from ancient Earth, the kind buccaneers might fire. Brass gears and pipes covered it, and its stock was carved of actual wood, polished and stained. Rowan had always loved gears. The wood was probably alien, not a tree from Earth, but its touch soothed her. The pistol was heavy, almost too heavy for one hand. Good. It would pack a punch.

It came with a belt and holster. When she hung the pistol on her hip, the weight was comforting. She patted the wooden stock.

"This one is ours," she said. "Our gun."

"What will you name it?" Fillister said. "Every weapon needs a name."

"Sting," she said. "Like Frodo's sword." She thought for a moment. "No. Not Sting. Sounds too much like a scorpion. I'll name my gun Lullaby."

Fillister frowned. "Lullaby?"

She nodded. "Because it puts my enemies to sleep." She drew Lullaby, aimed at her reflection in the mirror, and pulled the trigger. The gun was unloaded. Brass gears turned, and it clicked. She nodded and holstered the weapon. "Good old Lullaby."

"Maybe name it Gunny McGunface," Fillister said.

Rowan rolled her eyes. "Her name is Lullaby! Now be quiet."

She looked at herself again in the mirror.

Brown trousers, heavy with buckles and pockets. A blue vest with brass buttons. Goggles on her head. A heavy gun of brass and wood. Around her neck—the Earthstone, a shining crystal, hanging on a chain.

A tiny girl, yes. But not the same Rowan she had been. No more did she wear a blanket as a dress; she wore an Inheritor uniform. No more did she crawl through ducts; she stood in a mighty warship. No more she did hide in shadows; she wore a gun at her side, ready for war.

Her tears flowed.

"It's over, Fillister," she whispered. "Our old life. Who we were. We're strong now. We're strong and we have friends. We'll fly away from here. And we'll never come back."

Fillister nestled against her. "I wish I could hug you, squire."

"You are! With your tiny wings." She grinned, then sighed. "I always thought that if we made it out of the ducts, I'd become a filmmaker. Not a warrior. But there are still wars to fight. Still enemies, ones even worse than crabs." She nodded. "So I'll fight. Someday I'll lift a camera. Until then, a gun."

She stepped out of the storeroom onto the starship's bridge. Emet was waiting for her there. He too wore Inheritor colors, but instead of a vest, he wore a long blue overcoat. His black cowboy hat made him look even larger. With his powerful frame, double-barreled rifle, and mane of shaggy hair, he looked far more intimidating than Rowan. He looked nothing like a hobbit, more like an old lion still proud and strong.

He looks like a cross between Ned Stark and Robert Plant, she thought. I look more like Frodo's baby sister.

"I'm ready," she said.

Emet nodded. "Then we'll begin."

She looked around at the bridge. They were the only ones here. Through the portholes, she could see the hangar of Paradise Lost.

"Will Bay not come?" she said.

Emet's eyes darkened. "He's still busy repairing Brooklyn, he says."

She felt deflated. "Oh. I thought he'd want to come. To be here for me. But I suppose it's all still difficult for him. After what happened." She raised her chin. "But I'm ready, sir. I'm ready for my vows."

Emet nodded, his eyes warm. "In the old days, new Inheritors used to swear on the Earthstone. We would bring out the stone in a holy ceremony, place it on a table, and have our new member place their hand upon it. Since you already wear the Earthstone around your neck . . ." His eyes glittered—amusement, perhaps? "If you held the Earthstone, that will be enough."

Rowan nodded and wrapped her fingers around the crystal.

Emet looked into her eyes. "Normally, I demand rigorous training before admitting a new Inheritor. I demand that all my warriors know how to fight, uphold an ethical code, and know Earth's lore. But you've proved yourself a warrior, proved yourself ethical, and your knowledge of ancient Earth culture is vast. You're ready to take the Inheritor's Vow, to join our ranks. Please repeat after me."

He spoke the words of his order. And Rowan repeated them, her hand around the Earthstone.

"Earth calls me home. I vow to forever heed her call. I vow to cherish Earth, to sing her songs, to preserve her heritage. With all my heart, I believe that Earth is the homeworld of humanity, and that someday I will see Earth again. All of Earth's children are my brothers and sisters. They are lost, but I will guide them home. Wherever a human is in danger, I will be there. I am Earth's child. I am ready to fight, even sacrifice my life, for my homeworld. Someday Earth's lost children will return home. I will not rest until that day."

By the time she uttered the last words, tears were flowing down her cheeks. She had meant every word.

I will always fight for Earth. Always.

"Let us seal your vows with the Inheritor's salute," Emet said. He held one fist in front of his chest, then wrapped his second hand around it. Rowan repeated the gesture.

Emet pinned insignia to her sleeves—a single chevron per arm.

He smiled thinly. "You are now Private Rowan Emery, an Inheritor."

She raised her chin. She had never felt more proud.

She began to sing. It was the song her parents used to sing her. A song Rowan had almost forgotten. A song not on the Earthstone. She only remembered a few lines.

"We shouldn't be here, lass," Duncan grumbled. "Your old man forbade us from flying this far into Hierarchy space."

Leona smiled grimly. "Wrong. He forbade us from flying the Inheritor fleet so far into Hierarchy space. We're not flying the Inheritor fleet."

She clutched the controls, struggling to fly the deathcar. The scorpions used levers, not buttons, on their control panels. Leona needed all her strength to tug them. The deathcar clattered along, jolting, swaying, but still obeying her. Behind her the nine other deathcars followed, Inheritors piloting each one.

"Lass, you know what your father meant." Duncan stared ahead, eyes dark, his hand clutching his pistol. "He ordered us to attack the convoy. To rescue the prisoners. We did that. Now we must fly home."

Leona whipped her head toward him and glared. "I will not! I will not fly home while humans here need us. This deathcar convoy was heading toward a gulock only a light-year away. Thousands of humans might be there. Dying. Needing us. I will not abandon them. Wherever a human is in danger, we will be there."

Duncan grumbled. "I know our words. But we must choose our battles."

"Then I choose this one!" Leona said. "Duncan, I know this isn't what my dad commanded. But if he were here, if he saw what we saw . . . the prisoners naked, tortured, dying . . ." Her eyes burned, and her voice caught in her throat.

Duncan's eyes softened. "Lass, your father knows the cost of war. He knows the pain, the terror. I know his heart. I've been fighting at his side for thirty years."

Longer than I've been alive, Leona thought.

"And will you fight with me now, Duncan?" she whispered.

The old doctor looked at her for a long moment, then finally nodded. "Aye, lass. Now and always. Let's go teach those scorpion bastards a thing or two about human pride."

She nodded, smiled tightly, and clasped his shoulder. "I'm proud to fight with you, Doc."

She turned around, facing the deathcar's hold. Only an hour ago, hundreds of human prisoners, naked and beaten and starving, had filled this deathcar. Now dozens of Inheritor warriors stood here. They had served her aboard the Jerusalem. Now the freed captives were on the Jerusalem, heading back to the safety of the Concord, and Leona's warriors were here. Heading deeper into the darkness. They wore the brown and blue of their order. They held rifles, pistols, electric clubs, and laserblades. They all looked back at Leona, eyes somber. Ready for battle.

"I am proud to fight with you!" Leona said.

"For Earth!" they cried.

"For Earth," she repeated, eyes damp.

For a dream of our home. For humanity. For rising again from desolation.

The convoy flew onward. They were heading deeper and deeper into Hierarchy space, leaving the Concord far behind. Heading toward the gulock. Heading to hell.

The Inheritor fleet was waiting back in Concord space, seventeen warships and their Firebirds. Leona had left Duncan's daughter, Captain Mairead, in charge of the idling fleet. The redhead had raised hell—cursing, spitting, and refusing to remain behind while others flew to war.

But Leona had insisted. Mairead was perhaps the best pilot in the fleet. But she was as wild and fiery as her hair. The Firebug was terrifying in a dogfight, but this mission required finesse. In these deathcars, Leona had taken only her most prudent, responsible officers. Duncan was here, serving as her adviser and confidant. Captain Ramses al Masri, an Inheritor who had fought many battles, stood in this deathcar too, serving as her second-in-command. Three hundred enlisted marines filled the deathcars as well—the bulk of the Inheritor infantry.

Mairead is pissed off that she's missing this battle, Leona thought. But we fly toward horror. Only a madwoman would envy us.

Space stretched on before them.

Leona's hands trembled around the controls.

She sucked in air.

Be strong. Be brave. Like Dad. You can do this.

The faces of the dead danced before her. Corpses floating through space. Emaciated bodies on the floor. Her wedding ablaze.

For Earth. For humanity. For my family. I will do this.

They kept flying through the darkness.

An hour passed, and signals blinked on their radar. Strikers were flying nearby, a hundred in formation. Far too many to fight, even if the entire Inheritor fleet were here. Yet the scorpion starships didn't acknowledge them. The strikers flew by, heading toward the border.

Leona exhaled in relief.

They see only deathcars leading humans to slaughter, she knew. A common sight for them.

She kept flying deeper, leading the other deathcars, plunging deeper into the empire. There was no up or down in space, but Leona imagined them descending into a pit, plunging down and down into darkness.

Another hour passed, and they saw more enemy ships. These strikers were larger—massive dreadnoughts that could dwarf even the Jerusalem. The largest were the size of skyscrapers, could hold thousands of scorpions, and their cannons were so large Leona could have flown her deathcar into the barrels. She counted five dreadnoughts and hundreds of smaller strikers. They too passed by the deathcars, rumbling on toward the border.

"They're mobilizing for war," Leona said. "Are they planning to invade the Concord?"

"Hard to say, lass," said Duncan. "But they're not moving this many warships for our sake. This is a force to conquer worlds."

Leona cringed. "Damn it."

Again, she wished her father were here. She desperately wanted to speak to him, to hear his wisdom. But she needed her own strength now. Her warriors depended on her. She must be as strong and wise as Emet, a leader they could rally around.

As they kept flying, they saw more and more scorpion ships, all emblazoned with the red stinger of the Skra-Shen empire. Some were warships, others starfighters. Some massive, square ships looked like troop carriers. As Leona flew, she took photographs of the enemy fleets. She had lost her data chip on The Human Solution, but here was new valuable intelligence. If the scorpions were truly planning an invasion, the Concord had to know.

Leona was no friend of the Concord. Both Concord and Hierarchy hated humans. Her loyalty was only to her people. Yet if a war between these two mighty alliances was truly brewing, Leona would choose sides. She would choose the Concord.

Both are evil, she thought. But the Hierarchy is worse. In Concord space, I'm an annoying pest, a mouse to be shooed away. But in the Hierarchy, we're all animals to be slaughtered. I cannot allow the Hierarchy to win.

Soon the ships of other species were flying by them. While the scorpions were the dominant race in the Hierarchy, sitting atop the pyramid, lesser civilizations thrived here too. Some ships were rusty and spiky, carrying the Bazurians—alien mosquitoes the size of wolves. Other ships were fleshy pods like giant wombs, carrying the Scolopendra Titaniae, giant centipedes that had attacked Earth two thousand years ago, that were now rising again. There were rocky ships, red spiral ships, ships that were long and flailing like metal snakes. The Hierarchy was mobilizing, and Leona shuddered.

In the game of civilizations, ours is but a small part, she thought. A great fire will soon burn. I pray that we can survive it.

They had flown for several hours when Leona saw it ahead.

A black, rocky world.

The gulock.

Leona wasn't sure who had invented the word gulock, a portmanteau of gulag and rock, but it fit. The world ahead looked like a frozen lump of stone, orbiting far from its small star. She saw no vegetation, only rocky plains, deep canyons, and black ice. There was no color here, only black and gray. No life had emerged here. No civilization would colonize such a world. But if you wanted to send somebody to hell, here was the place.

Hell is not hot, she thought. It must be frozen like this place.

"Our sensors are picking up a settlement near the equator," Duncan said.

"Not a settlement, Doc." She stared ahead, eyes narrowed, jaw tight. "A slaughterhouse."

The convoy of deathcars flew closer. Leona drew her telescope from her belt. She gazed at the slaughterhouse below.

A brick wall surrounded the complex, topped with spikes shaped like scorpion stingers. Round concrete huts spread in rows like soldiers. There were four guard towers, crude structures built of stone and soil like giant termite mounds. Larger domed buildings rose in the camp too, perhaps barracks or abattoirs.

And there were humans.

Leona inhaled sharply.

She saw them in a courtyard, a hundred or more. Naked. Some were walking, others crawling. They were holding pickaxes, chiseling at stones. A few scorpions stood guard.

The deathcar's control panel—a sphere embedded into the dashboard like an eye—shone and crackled.

"The gulock is hailing us," Duncan said.

Clicks and hisses emerged from a hidden speaker—scorpion language. Leona tossed her jacket over the translucent sphere, hiding her from view, and pulled out her translator. She held the electronic device to her ear. It picked up the clicks and hisses, translating them.

"Late as usual!" a scorpion was saying, speaking from the planet. "What the abyss happened to you? Your ships are dented and full of holes like the hive of a rotting drone queen!"

Leona spoke through the translator. Her voice emerged as clatters and clicks. "Rawdigger scum attacked us on the way. We destroyed them. Our video feed is broken, but the humans are still ripe for the harvest."

The gulock answered. "Bloody Rawdiggers! The traitors cannot be trusted. Land the humans in the port. Hurry up! We've got quotas to fill, damn it. Bring them down now or we'll blast you out of the sky."

Leona looked down. She could now see cannons extending from the guard towers, nasty surface-to-air guns. There were also several strikers parked at a spaceport.

I was definitely wise not to fly here with the Inheritor fleet, she thought.

"I'm bringing them down to harvest," Leona said.

The transmission died.

She looked at Duncan. "The scorpions are nasty buggers, but thankfully, they're not particularly bright."

"They make up for that with meanness," the doc replied. "Let's be careful down there."

"If I were careful, I'd have stayed home." Leona allowed herself a shaky smile. "The time for caution is over. It's time for bloodshed."

"You sound like your father," Duncan said. "At least when he was young and full of piss and poison."

Her smile widened. "I'm his girl."

As they entered the thin atmosphere, the deathcars rattled, and fire blazed around them. Soon they were flying through the dark sky, heading toward the camp. As Leona descended toward the port, she glimpsed a pile of skinned human bodies, red and dripping. The pile twitched, and she realized that some of the flayed humans were still alive, left to perish in the night.

She struggled not to gag.

No terror now. Right now focus on your mission.

"Sick bastards," Duncan said, clenching his massive fists.

"They'll pay, Doc," she said. "Get ready."

She flew toward the spaceport, a rocky field that lay within the camp's walls. Her deathcar thumped down by several strikers. A guard tower rose nearby, topped with cannons the size of oak trees. Scorpions stood atop the tower, and more scorpions crawled across the ground. The other deathcars landed behind Leona, raising clouds of dust.

A scorpion clattered across the field toward Leona's deathcar. Red spirals were drawn onto his shell, denoting him an overseer.

"Come on, come on, you lazy scum!" the alien said. "Unload the vermin. We've got skins to harvest!"

The scorpion grabbed the deathcar's hatch and yanked it open.

The alien froze, staring at Leona and a hundred Inheritor warriors inside.

"Hum—" it began before Leona put a bullet through its brain.

"For Earth!" she cried, leaping out from the deathcar.

"For Earth!" cried her warriors.

Hundreds of Inheritors stormed out from the ten deathcars—the entire marine force of humanity. Their bullets flew, and their cries shook the gulock.

"For Earth! For Earth!"

Leona shouted with them, firing Arondight, screaming as she tore through scorpions.

"For Earth!"

A planet she had never seen.

"For Earth!"

A planet lost in the darkness, its coordinates unknown.

"For Earth!"

A world some thought only a myth.

"For Earth!"

Her homeworld. The beacon of her heart.

The scorpions raced toward them. Dozens of them. Maybe a hundred. The Inheritors stood with their backs to the deathcars, firing their railguns, and bullets slammed into the aliens. A few scorpions braved the barrage, reached the troops, and lashed their pincers. Inheritors fell, shouting, firing their guns even as they died. Hot shards of exoskeleton flew. Blood splattered the field.

"Release the motorcycles!" Leona shouted. "Charge through them!"

Three deathcars opened their hatches, and the motorcycles emerged.

The metal beasts roared forth, fire spurting from their exhausts. Cannons were mounted onto their handlebars, blasting out bullets. Blades were attached to their wheels, spinning madly. Inheritors in black armor rode the machines, howling for war. The scorpions rose to meet them, but the motorcycles tore through the beasts, their scythed wheels ripping off claws.

A scorpion raced over the corpses and vaulted toward Leona. She raised her rifle and fired. Her bullets slammed into the beast's head, but it kept flying toward her.

Leona leaped aside, and a claw scraped her side, cracking her body armor. She cried out, swung Arondight, and slammed the barrel against the alien. The scorpion crouched and thrust its stinger.

Leona howled and swung Arondight again, parrying the lashing stinger. It hit the ground beside her, sputtering venom. Pinning the stinger down with her rifle, Leona drew her sidearm and fired a bullet into the beast's leering jaws. Blood and brain and shell splattered.

She looked around her. Many Inheritors lay dead already. Doc was fighting at her side, bellowing, swinging a club with one hand and firing a pistol with the other. The motorcycles were still roaring, charging through the lines of scorpions. But as Leona watched, a scorpion leaped onto a motorcycle, tore the rider apart, then tossed the machine into the air. The motorcycle slammed down onto two Inheritors, crushing them.

Sudden wails rose, deafening, a sound like howling ghosts.

Leona looked up at the guard towers. Klaxons were blaring.

"They're calling for reinforcements!" Leona shouted. "Hurry, free the captives! Get them into the ships!"

She had only moments, perhaps, before more scorpions arrived. She ran, fired Arondight, and tore off a scorpion's legs. She reached a fallen motorcycle, its rider dead. Ignoring the terror, Leona pulled the dead man off, then mounted the motorcycle and roared forth.

She charged across the spaceport. The whirring blades on her wheels tore through lines of scorpions. She fired the machine guns mounted onto the handlebars, ripping a path through the enemy. When she rode too close to a guard tower, a scorpion swooped from above. She swerved, fired her rifle, and knocked it aside. She kept roaring forth.

Another scorpion jumped down from a guard tower. Leona swerved, and the scorpion hit the ground and scuttled after her. She spun around, burning rubber, and fired blast after blast. The creature fell, torn apart.

Leona raised her eyes toward the guard tower. The cannons rose there, monuments of metal. They were made to fire on invading ships; they could not point downward. But the klaxons were still blaring, and scorpions were still emerging from domes and holes, charging toward the spaceport.

Leona narrowed her eyes, aimed the motorcycle's machine gun, and fired a barrage at the guard tower's top. Machinery burned, and the alarm died. But she knew it was too late. If there were any more scorpions on this planet, they would soon swarm. If there were more strikers in this star system, they would soon attack.

Duncan ran toward her, bleeding from a gash on his forehead. "Lass, there are too many scorpions! More than we expected. They knew we were coming. This is a trap!"

Leona growled. "Then we'll break the trap! Roll out the flamethrowers."

Duncan turned toward the deathcars. "Flamethrowers!"

Inheritors emerged from within, wearing heavy black armor. They wielded massive flamethrowers and spurted forth an inferno. Scorpions shrieked, falling back. They were apex predators, intelligent and vicious, but they still had animal instincts, and they still feared fire.

Leona kicked her motorcycle back into gear. She rode across the scorpion lines, firing bullets.

"Riders, with me!" she cried. "Shove these bastards into the fire!"

The other motorcycles joined her. They roared back and forth, guns firing, herding the scorpions toward the flamethrowers. The arachnids shrieked, burning. Their exoskeletons withstood the flames, but their inner flesh was melting, dripping from cracks in their armor. A few scorpions tried to flee past the motorcycles, only for the machine guns to mow them down.

"Good," Leona said. "You're trapped between machine guns and fire. Now die, you mucking bastards."

Tears of fury burned as she fired her machine gun, as she drove more and more of the beasts into the flame. The scorpions fought hard. Many emerged from the gauntlet, claws lashing, and tore down Inheritors. Even from the flames, they thrust their stingers, spraying venom that melted through armor, skin, and bone. And still more emerged from holes, never ending.

Leona clenched her jaw.

Can we not defeat them? Are we not mighty enough?

She grabbed a grenade from her belt. She hurled it, and three scorpions tore apart, their shards flying. At her side, Duncan swung his electric club, knocking a beast down. Around her, a few Inheritors were running out of bullets. A few flamethrowers were sputtering.

Icy fear gripped Leona's chest, and she stared at the scorpions that still lived. They were crawling over their own dead, licking their jaws.

"More humans to harvest," one hissed.

"More skin pelts!"

The beasts laughed, shrieked, and lunged into battle.

Leona fired her last magazine, taking down a scorpion, and then drew her knife.

We cannot win. Her breath shook. I was wrong to come here. She raised her blade high and bared her teeth. But I will die fighting.

Suddenly a distant cry rose beyond the smoke.

"The Heirs of Earth!"

A second voice rose.

"The Heirs of Earth are here! The Heirs of Earth rise!"

Hundreds of voices cried out together. A gust of wind blew the smoke away, and Leona's eyes dampened.

"The prisoners," she whispered, tears in her eyes. "The prisoners are rising up."

Naked, starving, tortured, the gulock prisoners charged to battle.

These humans were not Inheritors. They were barely strong enough to walk. They were whipped and bleeding. Many were so thin they looked like skeletons draped with skin. They were bald, ashen, dying.

But they cried out for Earth. And they fought.

One woman, skeletal and bald and withered, knelt by a dead Inheritor, lifted the soldier's rifle, and howled as she fired bullets. One man—he was so thin Leona could not determine his age—grabbed a fallen flamethrower and unleashed its fury. Two other survivors, mere children, lifted grenades off dead Inheritors and tossed them. Other survivors, madness in their eyes, leaped into the fray with no weapons. They grabbed fallen claws and swung them as swords.

"Vengeance!" they cried. "Vengeance!"

Hundreds of other prisoners joined them, flowing into the space port. Thousands. Most were near death, but still they rose up, desperate and weeping and crying out. For vengeance. For the Heirs of Earth. For their lost home.

And the scorpions fell back before them.

They drove the beasts against the brick wall of the camp. They fired their last bullets, blew their last fire, tossed their last grenades. And they slew the scorpions until no more moved.

Leona stood, bleeding, trembling, cuts on her arms and legs. Her curly hair had torn free from its band, and it flew like a mane in the wind. She stared across the space port. Carnage was everywhere. Scores of dead scorpions. Hundreds of dead humans.

"Doc," she said, voice hoarse. "Begin loading survivors into our ships." She turned toward a group of ragged Inheritors, their rifles smoking. "Lift more ammo off the dead. Then come with me. We move into the camp."

The Inheritors followed her. They left the spaceport, passed under an iron archway, and stepped onto a dirt road. Leona walked at the lead, and the others followed her. They moved warily, rifles raised, staring from side to side. The round concrete huts lined the roadside, and Leona saw more human prisoners inside, these ones too weak to move.

A scorpion leaped from around a hut. Leona fired a burst of bullets, tearing it down. They kept advancing.

As they walked, more prisoners limped or crawled out of their huts. These ones were too weak to fight. There were elderly men and women. Amputees. Prisoners coughing blood, feverish, covered with boils. Skeletal children crawled through the dirt, ribs visible, begging for food. An old woman fell to her knees in front of Leona, weeping, reaching out to her.

"Thank you. Thank you." She hugged Leona's legs. "Thank you, Leona Ben-Ari, the young lioness."

"How do you know my name?" Leona asked.

"All know you here," whispered an old man, limping toward her. Tears flowed down his cheeks. "You are descended from Queen Einav. You are our savior."

Leona turned toward Ramses. The tall, dark captain was among her most loyal and confident warriors.

"Pharaoh," Leona said. "Accompany these prisoners back to Doc and get them into the ships. Then prepare to launch our surprise weapon. Pharaoh! You with me?"

Ramses looked at her, snapping out of a dream. The captain normally loved smiling, joking, playing pranks. Often he could be found playing poker with his fellow pilots, spending most of the game telling bad jokes. Today his eyes were haunted. But he nodded, face hardening.

"I'm with you, Commodore," Ramses said. "I'm on it."

The Pharaoh turned to leave, taking the prisoners with him.

Leona turned toward other Inheritors. "You continue with me. Through the camp."

The marines kept walking, firing at the odd scorpion that still scuttled. Soon they reached the center of the camp, and nausea rose in Leona.

Here, in the dirt, rose the pile of flayed corpses she had seen from the air. There were hundreds. Flies bustled over the skinned bodies, feeding on the flesh. Behind the pile rose a large concrete dome. Through the doorway, she saw human skins hanging on ropes to dry. A tannery.

And Leona couldn't help it. She doubled over and vomited.

"My Ra," one of her Inheritors whispered. "Some of them are alive. There are live people in there!"

Leona straightened and stared. Her eyes burned. Some of the flayed bodies were moving. They were reaching out. Whispering. Begging.

Tears streamed down Leona's cheeks.

"Burn them," she whispered.

"Commodore, we—"

"Burn them," she said again. "Now!"

She raised Arondight. Weeping, she fired at the flayed bodies. The other Inheritors joined her. Those with rifles fired bullets. Those with flamethrowers unleashed torrents of fire. The pile of bodies burned, and humans screamed. Screams of agony. Of relief. Of gratitude. And Leona knew that she would never stop hearing them.

They ceased fire. The corpses burned.

And through the smoke, a figure emerged.

She walked toward the Inheritors, wreathed in ashes, and the flames did not touch her. She wore a cloak of human skin, its edges charred. She paused before the Inheritors, the corpses behind her, and doffed her ghastly cloak. A smile stretched across her face, and her blue hair billowed in the wind.

Leona's heart nearly stopped.

"Jade," she whispered. "You're alive."

The woman nodded. Like at Hacksaw Cove, she wore an outfit of black wires and heavy boots tipped with steel. She held out her arms, and claws extended from her fingertips.

"Hello, Leona!" Jade said. "Did you truly think I died at Hacksaw Cove? No, pest. I left that world before you destroyed it. And I knew how to find you. I knew you would come here. I've been waiting for you."

Around Leona, her fellow Inheritors aimed their rifles and fired.

Bullets slammed into Jade. The woman only smiled, brushed off the flattened bullets, and took a few steps closer.

"You cannot hurt me," Jade said. "I cannot die. I am the daughter of Emperor Sin Kra himself, lord of the Skra-Shen."

Leona shook her head. "You're my friend!" she cried. "You're the daughter of David Emery! You are human!"

Jade's smile vanished. Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes blazed. "You will not call me a pest."

Leona stared in disbelief. "What did they do to you, Jade? What did they turn you into? You're not one of them! You're not a scorpion! I knew you as a child. You're one of us. Look at yourself, Jade! You are human."

"Lies!" Jade shrieked. She leaped up, soared through the air, and landed before Leona. Her boots cracked the ground. "I am Skra-Shen! You cannot deceive me with your trickery, pest."

Blue hair billowing, her eyes mad, Jade swung her arm. The blow hit Leona, tossing her into the air. It felt like a starship plowing into her. Leona hit the ground hard, ears ringing, seeing stars.

Jade walked toward her, eyes ablaze.

"Die now," Jade said, claws raised.

Leona screamed and fired Arondight. Bullets slammed into Jade, doing her no harm. Other Inheritors were firing too, and Jade screamed. The bullets were hurting her, bruising her, but could not penetrate her alabaster skin.

She doesn't have human skin, Leona thought. She has hard skin like a scorpion's exoskeleton.

Jade leaped up, soared the height of a guard tower, then slammed down by Leona. Cracks spread across the ground. When Leona tried to rise, Jade grabbed her and tossed her back down. Her claws pierced Leona's thigh.

Leona screamed.

"Yes, old friend," Jade hissed and cackled. "I'm going to take you to my master. We'll skin you together. I will wear you as a coat. Did you truly think you could trick me, defeat me with a handful of pests and peashooters? A hundred strikers are on their way here as we speak! Your species will die! But you will not die today, Leona Ben-Ari. Not for a long while. I'm not done hurting you. You will be the last human, and then you will join the rest in hell!"

Leona trembled, bleeding, the pain blinding. She managed to speak through a clenched jaw. "There's only one thing you don't know, Jade."

The creature—perhaps she was no longer human—grinned madly. "What is that, pest?"

Leona struggled to cling to consciousness.

"Inside the deathcars . . . I . . . brought . . . Firebirds." She smiled shakily and hit her comm. "Firebirds—launch!"

Her head rolled back. Down the road, she saw the distant deathcars. Their hangars opened. The Firebirds burst out, wings unfolding, and soared.

Leona let her head hit the ground, and she smiled.

The Firebirds stormed overhead, firing their machine guns. Bullets tore into guard towers, knocking them down. Jade looked up at starfighters, screeching. Leona mustered all her strength and kicked her with both legs.

Jade flew back into the barrage of Firebird bullets.

Leona leaped up, grimaced in pain, and ran at a limp. She raced back toward the deathcars. Her marines ran with her. The huts were already emptied of prisoners; the survivors had made it into the deathcars.

Behind her, Leona heard Jade screaming. She looked over her shoulder to see her old friend standing on the road, trying to run, only for the Firebirds' barrage to keep hitting her, to knock her down again and again.

"Die now, traitor!" Ramses shouted from his Firebird. His starfighter soared, then swooped, pounding Jade with more bullets.

"We got strikers incoming!" Duncan shouted, waving at the marines from the deathcars. "Get your wee backsides over here!"

The sky rumbled.

Shrieks tore the air.

Leona looked up and saw them plunge through the dark clouds.

Strikers. The scorpions' reinforcements had arrived. The triangular ships swooped and unleashed their plasma.

The Inheritors ran.

Plasma slammed down behind them. Huts shattered and melted. A few of the slower Inheritors screamed, burning, falling. Leona ran as fast as she could, leg bleeding, fire clutching her coat. When she turned around, she could no longer see Jade, just the wall of fire.

"Come on, soldiers, come on!" Duncan reached out to them.

Leona leaped into the deathcar. A handful of other Inheritors followed. Most of the Inheritors were already inside, along with hundreds of gulock survivors. The other deathcars were rising into the sky, joining the Firebirds. Leona limped toward the helm, grabbed the controls, and blasted skyward.

They rose through smoke and clouds. Below them, the gulock was blazing, the towers falling, the wall crumbling. Above her, strikers filled the sky. There was too much smoke to see clearly, but Leona thought there were dozens of the enemy ships.

She hit a button, firing the deathcar's crude cannons. Bolts of plasma flew out and slammed into a striker. Around her, Firebirds and other deathcars were firing too. Flames and bullets sliced the clouds. A striker charged ahead, plasma bolts pumping out, and a deathcar shattered, burned, and spilled survivors. Leona cried out in horror, watching a hundred captives—rescued only moments ago—fall to the burning camp. They thumped against the courtyard and huts.

Roaring, Leona fired her deathcar's cannons, hitting the striker. Ramses's Firebird added its bullets, and the striker fell, crashed into the camp, and an explosion blasted upward. The sky shook. Another deathcar shattered, and prisoners burned, and Leona thought the world was ending.

But she kept soaring.

Around her, seven other deathcars rose with her.

Through fire and smoke and shards of metal, they breached the atmosphere and flew through open space.

Leona's hands were shaking. She was still bleeding. She forced herself to remain conscious, to keep flying. They were still too near the planet to use their warp engines. She tried to fly outward, to put distance between her and the gulock, but she saw them above.

Her heart sank.

More strikers, charging their way.

Too many to fight.

All this—just to die in the darkness. Leona stared at the incoming death, eyes wet. To die in space. Cold. Alone. Far from home. I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry, Earth. I failed you.

The strikers charged from every direction, trapping the handful of deathcars and their three Firebirds. Leona prepared to fire her guns, to die fighting for Earth. The system's small star shone ahead, cold and distant, and she thought of Earth's sun, and how she would never see its light glimmer upon the ocean.

The strikers fired, and the plasma rolled toward them.

And from the starlight, like eagles rising from dawn, they emerged.

Leona wept.

Around her, her fellow warriors cheered.

"The Inheritor fleet," she whispered.

The ISS Jerusalem led the charge, cannons blasting. The other battleships roared forth, all guns blazing.

The strikers spun toward fleet, and the barrage hit them, and the scorpion ships shattered.

A signal from the Jerusalem reached Leona. A voice spoke. "Hello, bitches! Need some help?"

Leona's eyes widened. She recognized that voice. It was Mairead! Mairead McQueen, that damn, crazy, redheaded madwoman!

"I told you to wait at the border, Firebug!" Leona cried.

"And I told you—I ain't missing the battle," said Mairead, laughing. "Had to come save your ass."

The strikers abandoned the deathcars, flying toward the Inheritor fleet, only to shatter under the storming artillery. The convoy of survivors flew forward and joined the fleet.

"Now let's get the hell out of here!" Leona shouted.

The fleet flew into the depths. Once they had reached a safe distance from the planet, Leona gave the order.

The Inheritor ships activated their azoth drives. Spacetime bent around them. The stars stretched into lines.

They shot into the distance, moving faster than light.

They flew back toward the Concord. Back toward safety. They flew away from hell.

But as they flew, Leona knew that she could never escape that gulock. That its terrors would forever haunt her nightmares. The cadaverous prisoners. The pile of flayed bodies. Her bullets delivering mercy to the dying. And finally—Jade, her old friend, laughing and burning in the fire.

Jade stood in the fire, laughing, arms raised as she burned.

Above her, the Inheritor fleet flew away, leaving the gulock a roaring, collapsing inferno. The flames raged around Jade. Her clothes melted. Her hair burned away. But the inferno could not hurt her.

She was Jade of the Skra-Shen, daughter of an emperor. She was holy.

She was a girl in a glittering cave.

She laughed, walking through the fire, claws extended, screaming. Always screaming.

She hugged her mother and father.

She howled at the sky, watching her enemies fly away, vowing vengeance.

She huddled in the shadows, waving a crystal sword as the monsters loomed.

I was a girl, she thought, tears steaming in the fire. I was a human child. I was in a glittering cave, and my mother sang me a song. A song of Earth.

No.

Lies.

Lies!

She roared. She wept as she walked through the flames. She fell, and the fire roared across her, and she crawled over bones and bullet cartridges.

I love you, Jade, her mother whispered.

I love you, Jade, said her younger sister, a toddler with huge brown eyes.

She crawled through the ashes, and she emerged from the blaze, shivering, naked, hairless, crying out to the sky.

Jade rose to her feet. Before her, the last surviving scorpions knelt.

"The goddess lives!" they whispered.

"Hail Jade the Deceiver, tamer of fire!" they cried.

She walked between them, her bare feet scattering ashes. The implants thrummed on her bald head, crackling, singed, barely glowing at all.

The memories flooded her.

Running with her parents.

Flying away from a secret base.

Calling out to Leona, her friend, wanting to stay with her but running, always running.

Mommy! she cried. Daddy! Rowan!

Jade took a few steps through the ashes, and smoke swirled above. She fell to her knees.

She gazed up at the sky, and she could no longer see them. Only ghosts. Only echoes. The Inheritor fleet was leaving, and Leona was leaving with them.

My friend. My friend . . .

Jade screamed.

"They infected me!" she cried, arms held above her head, claws extending. "They planted memories in my brain! They lie, they lie! Filthy humans. Lying humans!" Her voice was hoarse, torn, and she tasted blood. She shouted as loudly as she could. "I am a scorpion!"

She approached a striker that lay fallen on the ground, cracked and smoldering. She stepped inside, stumbled past dying scorpions, and pulled power cables out from the engines. They sparked in her hands.

Be strong. Be brave.

She plugged the cables into her implants.

She screamed.

The power bolted through her, searing her on the inside, and Jade laughed.

She unplugged the cables, purified, her memories burnt away like this gulock. Like all the humans would soon be.

A whimpering sounded outside.

Jade stepped out of the starship. She saw it there. A human. A young man, lying on the ground, forgotten. He must have fled the camp walls during the battle.

Jade knelt by him.

"Help me," the man whispered, bleeding from deep gashes to his legs.

Jade stroked his cheek. She leaned down, kissed his lips, then nibbled his earlobe.

She whispered to him, "You will all die . . ."

She bit off his ear and spat it out. He screamed, and she grabbed his head and twisted until it cracked. He fell silent. Jade lapped at his blood greedily. It flowed down her throat, hot, coppery, giving her strength.

She rose to her feet, blood on her lips and naked body. Scorpions gathered around her.

"The humans invaded our lands!" she cried. "We will no longer hold back. We will chase them everywhere, even into Concord space. The Inheritors will scream!"

The scorpions roared for triumph.

Their strikers rose, leaving the burnt gulock. Heading into space. Heading to war, victory, and purification.

Rowan walked across the hangar, nervously glancing around. It was only a journey of several steps between the Cagayan de Oro to the Brooklyn, but it felt like a light-year. She had spent nearly all her life hiding in the ductwork, sneaking down only rarely, usually just before dawn, to use the toilet, shower hurriedly, and pilfer food. To walk like this in the open, in a busy hangar no less? Rowan's heart pounded against her ribs, and her breath quickened.

She gulped nervously and glanced around her. Many aliens were here, entering and exiting their starships. Several square, two-dimensional aliens were floating forward like sails. A few feline aliens, their fur mottled, were skulking around a silvery starship, eyes glowing. Living crystals detached from a glowing starship and hovered forward, while a handful of hoggers—furry aliens that looked like warthogs—snorted at Rowan.

"Filthy pest," one of the hoggers muttered.

A few other aliens, giant slugs, turned their eyestalks toward Rowan and spat.

They're all looking at me, Rowan realized. Every alien in this hangar. But they're not attacking.

She realized that her hand was resting on her pistol. That behind her, Emet stood in the open airlock of the Cagayan de Oro.

They all heard how we defeated the bonecrawlers, Rowan thought. They're scared.

She slowly turned toward the hoggers. She found the one who had called her a pest. She made eye contact.

The portly alien grunted, his fur bristled, and he raised his tusks. Rowan expected him to charge, but she maintained eye contact. Finally the alien rolled onto his back and exposed his belly, a sign of submission.

Rowan gasped.

He's scared of me! An alien is scared of me!

She had spent her life hunted, the lowest in the food chain. What a change!

Rowan puffed out her chest and strutted a few steps. But when a slug glared at her, she lost her nerve and ran the rest of the way.

The Cagayan de Oro was the size of a semitrailer, but the Brooklyn was even smaller. Rowan stepped inside and found Bay there, still fixing the controls.

"How's it going?" she said.

Bay was hunched over, his back to her, sliding a control panel back into place. "Man, those bonecrawlers made an awful mess. They tore up Brooklyn good. But I'm almost done patching her up. Her injuries are mostly skin-deep."

"Tis but a scratch," Rowan said.

Bay reached out for a wrench. "Huh?"

"More Monty Python. I really got to educate you." Rowan looked around at the interior of the starship. "Brooklyn looks so much better now. Last time I was here, her cables were spilling all over the place. She looks as good as new. You did well considering—"

Rowan almost said, Considering you have only one working hand. She bit down on those words.

"Considering how badly she was hurt," she said instead.

Bay laughed, tightening a bolt. "You were going to say considering I have only one hand. It's all right."

Rowan placed her hands on her hips. "I was going to say considering you have only one working hand. You do still have two."

Bay placed down his wrench and finally turned to face her. For a moment, he stared in silence at her uniform.

"So you're an Inheritor now," he finally said.

Rowan nodded. "Your powers of deduction are astounding. What gave it away? My uniform or my insignia?"

"Haha, smartass." He reached for a welding tool. "Besides, with that vest and your short messy hair, you look more like a hobbit."

"Oh for crying out—" She groaned. "I knew it!"

Bay returned to a panel, struggling to slide some wires into place. "Hey, Frodo, make yourself useful. I need your hands for something. Just one more piece to plug in, and Brooklyn will be back online."

Rowan nodded. "All right." She pulled Fillister out of her pocket, tapped his button, and his wings sprouted out. "Fill can help too. He's good with machines."

They knelt by the control panel, and Rowan helped Bay with the task. It took his good hand, both of hers, and Fillister to string the wires through. Finally they got everything plugged in and reattached the panel. Bay hit a couple of buttons and—

Lights turned on across the cockpit, flashing and beeping.

Brooklyn's voice emerged from the speakers.

"—in my cockpit! Bonecrawlers inside me! All over! Bay!" The ship rocked back and forth. "Bay, bonecrawlers! Help!"

"Brooklyn! Brook!" Bay patted her. "It's all right, girl! It's over. They're dead. Rowan and I killed them."

The ship was still rocking, lights flashing, but slowly she calmed. "What?" Her lights blinked. "What happened? Hey! Was I unconscious? How long was I out? Did you make sure there are no ants inside me? Robot mechanics have ants, you know." The ship fell silent, and a camera swiveled toward Rowan. "Hey, who's the hobbit?"

"Oh for muck's sake!" Rowan raised her hands, eyes rolling. "I give up."

Fillister took flight. The dragonfly buzzed toward the camera. "Mornin', squire! Nice to meet another artificial intelligence."

"Ah!" Brooklyn cried. "An ant!"

It was Bay's turn to roll his eyes. "Brook, you just survived an attack by bonecrawlers, and you're worried about ants?"

Rowan took Fillister in her hands and closed him. She reattached the robot to a chain, and once more he looked like a humble pocket watch. Rowan placed him into her vest's pocket.

"Your ship seems a bit overwhelmed, Bay," she said.

He nodded. "Brook, I gotta disconnect you for a while, all right? I want to back up your system, run a diagnostics scan, and calibrate your emotional algorithms. They're all out of whack after the battle. All right? It'll help you calm down."

Brooklyn's camera nodded on its stalk. "All right. Check me for ants while I'm out."

Bay flicked some switches, turning Brooklyn off, and began running diagnostics on her.

For a moment, Rowan stood in silence, watching the system run its scans. It seemed like it would take a while.

Rowan looked back toward the ship's hold. Bay had built a cozy living area there, complete with a bed, a kitchenette, and a desk. It was smaller than the cabins on the Cagayan de Oro, but it was palatial compared to the ducts.

Rowan noticed a stack of papers on his desk. "Hey, are those your drawings?"

She left the cockpit and walked toward them. She lifted the papers, and her eyes widened.

"Hey, yo!" Bay stumbled toward her, spilling bolts and cables. "Don't look at those, all right?"

"Why?" Rowan held them away when he tried to grab them. "They're good! Real good." She began leafing through them. "Bay, you're a great artist."

Some of the papers featured fearsome aliens the size of starships. Other drawings were of space warriors wielding mighty swords of fire. Many featured beautiful princesses, their skin green and their spacesuits skin tight, firing ray-guns at tentacled space monsters.

"Hey, there's even one that looks like a hobbit!" she said, pointing at a drawing.

Bay looked abashed. "Yeah, well, I was much younger when I drew that one. It's meant to be a self-portrait." He winced. "Some of the others are better."

Rowan kept leafing through the drawings. She sighed wistfully. "You draw women so beautifully. They're very curvy." She looked down at her own body. "I wish I had even a single curve. Not much of anything down there. I'm more pencil than hourglass."

"A pencil would be tall," Bay said.

Rowan made a fist. "Watch it! Fine, I'm a goddamn crayon. Maybe I'd grow taller if somebody fed me some frickin' pancakes." She returned the papers to him. "But really, you're a good artist. I'd be honored if you drew me someday." She blushed. "I mean, if you wanted to." Her cheeks burned. "To draw a hobbit, I guess."

"I'd love to draw you. I think you're just as pretty as the women in my drawings. I mean, for a hobbit. I mean, you're not a hobbit. I mean . . ." Now his cheeks flushed. "I mean yes."

"Smooth." She patted his cheek.

He rolled his eyes. "Look who's talking."

She looked at her feet. At her new shoes—the first pair she had ever owned.

She spoke softly. "Bay, you should have been there. To see me sworn in. I missed you."

He turned away and began stuffing his drawings into a drawer. "Sorry, Inheritor stuff is not really my scene."

"Why?" She frowned, hands on her hips. "Don't you care about Earth?"

Bay turned back toward her. "Of course I care. But we can't all wear the brown and blue. We can't all be warriors."

"Bay." She touched his arm. "You are a great warrior. The way you fought those bonecrawlers . . . I could never have faced so many alone. You even slew their king. You're as much a warrior as your father, as any Inheritor. Why don't you put on the uniform, say the vows, and rejoin us? Become an Inheritor again."

For a moment, Rowan thought Bay would yell. But then his anger melted. He closed his drawer and knelt before her.

"Rowan, I'm proud of you. Really. I think it's great that you joined the Heirs of Earth. But after my girlfriend died, I lost the stomach for it. Once Brooklyn is fixed, I'm going to head out. Find my own way. No more grog or drugs, I promise. I'll find a good world, a good life. A life of peace. I'm not ready to fight again. Do you understand?"

"No!" Rowan said. "I don't! I don't understand at all. You shouldn't be alone out there in the galaxy. You should be with your dad, your sister, with me. With other humans!"

Bay rose to his feet. "I don't want humans near me. Do you understand? I don't want to get close to anyone again. Because it hurts too much to lose them. You get attached, and you love someone, and . . ." His eyes were red. "Look, Rowan, I wish we still had Earth. I wish we could live in peace. But I can't share that dream. Dreams tend to come crashing down."

"So you think I'm just dreaming?" Rowan said. "That we can never find Earth?"

"I think it's great that you want to fight for this cause," he said. "I admire you for that. But it's not my cause. Not my dream."

"But you're human!" She grabbed him. "Earth is our homeworld! It's a homeworld to every human. Earth is our heritage, Bay. Yours too. All of Earth's children are my brothers and sisters. They are lost, but I will guide them home. Wherever a human is in danger, I—"

"Yes, I know the vows," Bay said. "I grew up hearing the Inheritor words. But I have to leave." He stared away, blinking rapidly, then back at her. "Rowan, you can come with me. We can find a peaceful world. A world with grass and blue sky. I promise I can find you such a world. You can still come with me. Like we originally planned."

She was crying now. Her body shook. "I can't," she whispered. "I spoke the vow. I swore to fight for Earth. I can't come with you. Please, Bay. Please come with me, with your dad, please join the rest of us. We need you with us. I need you."

"I can't," he said, voice choked.

Rowan could barely see through her tears. "Then to hell with you, Bay Ben-Ari."

She spun on her heel and marched off his starship.

She ran back toward the Cagayan de Oro, curled up in the corner, and clutched the Earthstone.

"Someday we will see her," she whispered. "The pale blue marble, rising from night beyond the moon. I hope you find your way home, Bay Ben-Ari. May all of Earth's children come home."

For the first time in years, Belowgen returned home.

He flew the shuttle out from Paradise Lost, the space station he had been running for years. He sailed past Terminus Wormhole, the last wormhole in Concord territory, marking the border with the Hierarchy. He turned his shuttle, heading down toward the swampy planet below. His homeworld. Planet of the marshcrabs. Akraba.

He shuddered, legs clattering.

Belowgen had been born on that marshy world, the runt of his brood. His legs were too short, his mandibles too small, and the females scorned him, refused to let him fertilize their eggs. He had left Akraba in shame, found work on Paradise Lost. For long years, he had toiled as a janitor, mopping toilets and laundering brothel sheets, finally working his way up to Head Administrator.

I always thought I would return home wealthy and powerful, he thought. Not like this. Not with humans infesting my space station.

Akraba hovered before him, growing to fill his field of vision. Swamps covered the planet. Here was a world of twisting trees, blankets of fog, grassy tussocks, pits of mud, and buzzing insects. A world of rich aromas: moss, fungi, and rotting carcasses. A world of heat, dampness, and eggs. A world of old pain.

Belowgen landed on a muddy hill, lowered the hatch, and emerged from his starship.

The air washed across him, as hot and thick as chowder. Mist caressed his shell. Belowgen paused and inhaled, savoring it. So many smells! The moss. The mud. The water, rich with leeches. The insects that fluttered, bellies full of blood. The dead animals rotting in the mud. Somewhere in the distance—a female gravid with eggs, ready to lay them into the rot. A symphony of smells!

Trees rose across the swamplands, their roots not buried underground but rising high above the mud, tall and thin like Belowgen's legs. Indeed, marshcrabs legs had evolved to blend among these roots. Coated with mud and leaves, a marshcrab looked like yet another swamp tree. This was Belowgen's home. The place where a marshcrab belonged.

For a moment, Belowgen could only stand still, overwhelmed, letting this world heal all his stress.

He reached into the mud and pulled out a rotting dead fish. Not a mere water nymph like he bought in Paradise Lost. An actual carcass, muddy and filled with worms. He feasted. The juices flowed down his throat, and he shuddered with delight.

I missed this place, he thought. I fit here.

But he had not come here to reminisce. He had come here on a mission. To save his space station. To save this planet. Indeed, to save the galaxy.

Belowgen walked through the swamp. His claws sank into the mud. The fog rolled and insects chirped. An oily black bird cawed, circling above.

He looked around him. Several females stood between the roots of trees, their legs like more roots, their shells caked with mud and leaves. They were so well camouflaged Belowgen would normally not see them, but today they were in heat, releasing an intoxicating miasma, summoning worthy males. Even through the rich swampy aroma, Belowgen could smell the eggs lying in the mud beneath them, waiting for a male to fertilize them. Yet when they saw Belowgen walk by, the females huddled lower over their eggs and glared at him.

You are not worthy! their eyes said. They expelled a stench, a signal to usher him along.

Belowgen walked away in a huff.

You will beg me to fertilize your eggs once I'm heralded as the slayer of humans!

He walked onward, leaving the haughty females behind. Finally he reached the Great Henge.

A ring of iron shards rose on a hilltop like a jagged crown. Centuries ago, the shards had fallen from the sky, but they had never rusted, not even in the swamp. The ancient marshcrabs had believed them the blades of gods. They had dug the relics from the mud and arranged them into a henge, forming a holy place for the elders to gather.

Today marshcrabs had seen space, understood technology, and even built starships of their own from parts they purchased from other species. Today marshcrabs recognized these fallen shards as debris from an ancient space battle. And yet the Great Henge was still holy, and the elders of the swamps still gathered here.

Belowgen walked between two of the towering iron shards, pieces of an ancient hull. Within the henge, he saw the elders.

They stood in a ring, each marshcrab with his back to a relic shard. They were towering crabs, wise and powerful, mighty breeders who had fertilized many eggs. Their shells were not rusty-red like Belowgen's. As elders, they had shed their red exoskeletons, and their new shells were deep brown mottled with black warts. To this day, every female offered them her eggs, and their offspring crawled across the swamps.

"Walk forth, young Belowgen," said an elder, his white barbels fluttering over his mouth. "Your news has concerned the council. Come tell us more."

Belowgen stiffened his joints, steeling himself. He had never stepped into the Great Henge before. This was an honor! He only wished he could come with better tidings.

He walked into the center of the henge. The mud was soft and rich here, deeply aromatic, filled with oozing rot. The finest animals were brought to decay here, to fill the henge with their nutrients. The elders stood around Belowgen, staring from every side. He wanted to cringe under their stare, to drown in the mud, but forced himself to stay standing.

Someday I vow to become an elder myself, he thought. To stand in this henge and feed from this mud. To fertilize any eggs I desire.

"Tell us your tidings," said an elder. "Tell us of . . . the humans."

The other elders hissed and clacked their mandibles.

"Pests!" they said. "Vermin! Crawling evil!"

Belowgen nodded. "They are indeed pests, wise elders. And they are evil. And they have infested Paradise Lost."

He spent a while telling the tale. How the human named Rowan had crawled into the ducts, evading every exterminator. How she had been breeding in the walls. How he had hired the bonecrawlers, the most expensive exterminators in the galaxy, yet even they had failed. How the humans were breeding again, had multiplied to three, would soon become three hundred, then three millions.

"They will overwhelm Paradise Lost!" Belowgen said. "And they will reach even Akraba and spread. They will dry up our swamps, and disperse our fog, and cut down our trees. They will ruin this world. They are an ancient evil, one we cannot defeat alone."

The elders looked at one another, huffing. For a long while, they muttered amongst themselves, voices too low for Belowgen to hear. Insects buzzed around them, and slugs sloshed through the mud. The sun reached its zenith, a splotch behind the fog and clouds, heating the rancid air into a thick stew.

Finally one of the marshcrabs, the eldest with the thickest shell, clattered forward. He cleared his throat and spoke with a raspy voice, barbells fluttering.

"Our path is clear. The humans are too much of a danger. We cannot let them spread." The elder huffed. "The only race that can exterminate the humans is the Skra-Shen, the great scorpions, masters of the Hierarchy. Their claws are sharp. Their shells are thick. They are arachnids like we are, yet even mightier. We will call the scorpions. We will join them. We will summon their armies here. Akraba will withdraw from the Concord, this weak alliance that cannot protect us shelled creatures, and join the Hierarchy!"

"Hail the Hierarchy!" cried the other elders. "Hail the Hierarchy!"

"Hail the Hierarchy!" Belowgen called with them.

His barbels fluttered with excitement, and he huffed and grunted with joy. Yet as Belowgen was flying back to Paradise Lost, leaving his homeworld below, he gazed across the border into the darkness, and his legs clattered with fear.

Emet entered the bridge of the ISS Cagayan de Oro, sat at the helm, and turned to look at Rowan.

"Ready, Private Emery?" he said.

Rowan hesitated at the doorway, wearing her new Inheritor uniform, her pistol at her side. She nodded, lips tight, and saluted.

"Ready, sir."

She took her seat beside him, and Emet nodded.

"Then let's go," he said, smiling at her.

Rowan wiped tears from her eyes. "Let's go," she whispered.

Emet started the engines and began taxiing the starship across the hangar, heading toward the exit. Beyond the force field, the stars shone. Emet knew what this moment meant for Rowan.

For fourteen years, she hid in this wretched space station, he thought. Nearly all her life. For the first time, she'll have freedom. She'll fly among the stars.

He looked at the girl. She was staring ahead, eyes shining. There was goodness to the child. There was courage and strength and honor.

She looks so much like her father, he thought.

His heart twisted.

You broke my heart, David, he thought. But I still love you. And I promise you, I will do whatever I can to keep your daughter safe.

He looked out to space and his heart felt heavy.

Of course, Rowan had a sister too. A sister named Jade. And that one was, perhaps, beyond his help.

Jade. The girl who—

Pain stabbed Emet's chest like an ice pick.

Not now. He would not let that old memory surface.

He tightened his lips, pushed down on the throttle, and the Cagayan de Oro flew out into space.

The space station grew smaller behind. Soon it was just a sparkling cylinder in space, glowing with a neon halo.

All around the Cagayan de Oro, this small corvette-class warship, spread space. Akraba, a greenish-brown planet, hovered in the distance. Terminus Wormhole shimmered above. A spiral arm of the Milky Way spread like a path before them. The stars shone.

Rowan rose from her seat, walked toward the viewport, and gaped.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Emet said.

Tears filled the girl's eyes. "I've never seen so many stars. There must be hundreds of them!"

Emet smiled. "A bit more than hundreds."

The starlight filled her eyes, and she smiled sadly. "Back in Paradise Lost, you could never see anything through the windows. Too many neon lights. But sometimes I would climb the ducts to the very top of the space station, near the antennas, and peer through a little porthole the size of my hand. I could see two or three stars sometimes. That's the most I ever saw. I used to imagine that one of them was Sol. Earth's star. Our star." She spun toward Emet, eyes wide. "Can we see Sol from here?"

"I'm afraid not, Rowan," he said. "We don't know exactly where Sol is. But we've come up with good estimates. We think it's all the way across the galaxy, too far to see from here. Everything that you see here—all this splendor outside the viewport—is just a tiny, tiny fraction of the stars in the Milky Way. The galaxy is vast, filled with billions of stars and thousands of alien civilizations."

Rowan slumped into her seat. "Thousands of alien civilizations who want us humans dead." She looked at him. "Why, sir? Why do so many hate us? What have we ever done to them?"

Emet leaned back in his seat, piloting the ship at a leisurely speed. "It's because we have no planet of our own."

She cocked an eyebrow. "They hate us because we're homeless?"

His voice was soft. "They don't truly hate humans, Rowan."

She scoffed. "I beg to differ, sir. For aliens who don't hate us, they sure seem hell-bent on killing us."

"They hate problems in their own lives, their own societies," Emet said. "To aliens, we humans are scapegoats. Are the marshcrabs having trouble managing Paradise Lost, dealing with dwindling guests, lackluster profits? Rather than take responsibility, they can blame the human in the ducts. Are the scorpions frustrated at the strength of the Concord, at the cost of running an empire? Rather than blame their own ambition, they blame the humans. Every planet has a problem. Drought. Disease. War. Corruption. Nobody likes blaming themselves, so they blame us. And what can we do? We're powerless. We have no homeworld. We're not members of the Concord or the Hierarchy. If they seek to strike us, we cower, we die, and we cannot resist."

Rowan's eyes narrowed, and she sneered. "But now we have an army. We have the Heirs of Earth."

Emet nodded. "That's why your father and I argued. Why we parted ways. Your father was a pacifist. He believed that humanity should find a distant world, far from other civilizations, and live there in hiding. I believe that we need an army, that we need to find Earth, our homeland, and fight for it. I believe that without Earth, without weapons and warships, we will forever be hunted."

That is not the entire truth, Emet thought. But he dared not say more. Dared not remember. Not now.

Rowan looked at her lap. "Did my father really defect? Really betray you? Really steal the Earthstone?" Her hand strayed to touch the crystal hanging from her neck.

Emet thought for a long moment. Finally he spoke carefully. "No. He did not betray me. He did not steal from me. He simply believed in a different path." He looked Rowan in the eyes. "Someday, Rowan, when you're old enough, you too will have to choose a path. You will be faced with two roads. You will have to choose if, like my son and your father, you wish to vanish into the shadows. Or if you wish to charge into the fire."

"Charge into the fire," she said. "In a heartbeat."

"It's easy to say such things on a day of peace. Once the fire burns, we learn our true character."

"I haven't been very brave in my life," Rowan said. "I've spent my life hiding. A few times, I wanted to escape. To stowaway on some alien ship, maybe hitchhike across the galaxy. But I remained in the ducts. With my movies and books and dreams. I'm done hiding, sir. I've hid enough for a lifetime. I won't run from battle. I won't be like my father. I fought the bonecrawlers in Paradise Lost, and I will always fight for Earth." She chewed her lip. "I hope that when the fire burns, I'm still as brave."

She shivered and looked out the starboard porthole toward Hierarchy space.

Emet nodded. He spoke with a low voice. "Yes, there it is. The Hierarchy. You've spent the past fourteen years in its shadow. No place is more dangerous for humans."

"Is that where Earth is?" she whispered.

"Thankfully, no," Emet said. "We believe the Earth lies across the Concord, on the other side of this great alliance. But millions of humans still live in the Hierarchy, the descendants of Earth's exiles. The scorpions have been butchering them." He clenched his fists. "They've slain millions already."

Rowan gasped. "What?" She leaped to her feet. "Millions of humans still live? Millions killed? Then we have to go there! We have to attack! We have to save them!"

Emet's eyes were dark. "It's beyond our power to defeat the Hierarchy. The Heirs of Earth pilot only a handful of ships. Even the Concord, an alliance of ten thousand mighty civilizations, cannot defeat the Hierarchy. But we've been doing what we can. My daughter, Leona, is leading an attack behind enemy lines, even as we speak, seeking to save a few hundred humans. We cannot save the millions. But we will save whoever we can—and bring them home to Earth."

Rowan sang softly.

"What's going on?" Rowan shouted, clinging to her seat.

Emet was tugging the helm, spinning the Cagayan de Oro around, retreating from the border.

"The scorpions are invading," he said, voice taut. "The Hierarchy is invading the Concord. This is war!"

Hierarchy ships were popping into existence everywhere, emerging from warped space. Battalion after battalion. Thousands of warships. Tens of thousands.

Most were strikers, the triangular starships of the Skra-Shen empire. But there were other Hierarchy ships too: sticky ships formed of white membranes, hosts to nefarious slugs; modified asteroids with engines attached, the vessels of the rocky Meduzian civilization; the organic pods of the Blorins, blobby creatures who wrapped around their victims and digested them alive; and ships from many other worlds. This was a united Hierarchy invasion. This was a new galactic war.

"We have to escape!" Rowan cried.

"Wait," Emet said, staring, heart pounding. "We have to see."

The Hierarchy ships were flying toward Paradise Lost. Toward Akraba. And most importantly, toward Terminus—a wormhole that could lead them deep into Concord territory.

And nobody was resisting them.

Emet frowned. "Why isn't Akraba defending its territory? The marshcrabs should be launching a thousand ships at the enemy."

Yet no marshcrab starships were rising. In fact, the few that had been guarding the border joined the Hierarchy formations.

Emet felt the blood drain from his face.

"The marshcrabs betrayed the Concord," he said. "They bow before the scorpions. Cowards."

"Sir, we have to leave!" Rowan said, trembling. "Look!"

She screamed.

Finally—the marshcrab ships were rising from their planet.

Hundreds of them—bulky iron ships, thrusting forth curving blades like claws. The marshcrabs were not an industrial society, but they were excellent scavengers, slapping together bits of stolen machines into starships of their own. Their fleet used to display the Concord symbol, a galactic spiral. Now their hulls were painted with the Hierarchy sigil—a coiling red stinger.

"We're trapped!" Rowan said.

Emet shoved down the throttle. "We're getting out of here."

He began to soar. But more Hierarchy ships were emerging from deep space. A battalion of enemy dreadnoughts, each the size of a skyscraper, popped into reality above them. Emet cursed, yanked on the helm, and spun around. Marshcrab ships rose below.

"Can't we use warp drive?" Rowan said.

"Not with so much interference around us," Emet said. "Too many enemy ships will disturb our spacetime bubble. Not to mention planet Akraba and Terminus Wormhole so close. Even if we can form a bubble without crushing our hull, we're likely to blast forward and into an enemy warship, destroying ourselves."

"What do we do?" Rowan's voice shook.

"Remain calm, Private," Emet said. "We just need to find a clear swath of space, and we can fly out at warp speed. The Cagayan de Oro is damn fast once she gets going. They won't catch us."

He kept his voice calm. But his insides were pounding.

This is bad, he knew. This is damn bad.

For centuries, the Hierarchy and Concord had respected the border, had split the Milky Way between them. The great Galactic War centuries ago had killed trillions, had destroyed thousands of worlds. Was violence about to flare again?

Emet glided downward, seeking a route between the enemy forces. But another battalion of strikers emerged from warp, blocking his path. He rose, turned, and began flying deeper toward Concord space. But marshcrab vessels rose ahead, blocking him. Everywhere he turned, he saw the enemy forces.

He flew one ship, a small corvette, within the cloud of enemies.

We're a single barracuda in a sea of sharks, he thought.

Rowan pointed. "There." She was clearly struggling to keep her voice steady. "I see a path through."

Emet directed the Cagayan de Oro toward the opening. He began to increase speed. They might just be able to sneak between two brigades of strikers, glide into open space, then blast away at warp speed.

He moved closer. Closer. Faster.

He began to prime the warp engine.

Rowan screamed.

Emet cursed and shoved down the brakes.

Their ship rattled, desperate to slow down.

A massive dreadnought emerged ahead from warped space. It was a striker—a scorpion warship—but so large it dwarfed its brethren. From prow to stern, the dreadnought was probably as long as Paradise Lost, an entire space station.

Emet grunted, flooring the brakes, finally halting only a heartbeat away from the enemy hull. The dreadnought loomed above the corvette, blocking the starlight. A red spiraling stinger, larger than the entire Cagayan de Oro, coiled across the enemy hull. Skra-Shen glyphs were engraved beneath it, burning with real flame, spelling out the ship's name.

"The Venom," Rowan whispered. "That's what the word means in human." She glanced at Emet. "I once found a scorpion dictionary. You have a lot of free time when you live in ducts."

"And she's hailing us," Emet said.

He looked around him. Every path was blocked. Thousands of warships surrounded them. Even if Emet tried to navigate between them, they could easily block his passage—or destroy him in a volley of plasma.

He accepted the Venom's call.

His monitor crackled to life, displaying an image from inside the scorpion dreadnought.

"You," Emet said, glowering.

Jade sat there upon a throne draped with human skins. Scorpions clattered all around her. Last time Emet had seen her, long blue hair had grown from her head. She had only stubble on her head now, and burns marred her alabaster skin.

"Hello again, old friend!" Jade said. "I knew we would meet again. I promised that I would come kill you." She licked her lips. "Who is that beside you, that wretched little pest? Your daughter?" She laughed. "I will skin her first so you can hear her scream."

Rowan stared, eyes wide. The girl rose from her seat, walked toward the monitor, and placed her hand against it. She tilted her head.

"I know you," Rowan whispered, frowning. "I don't know how. I don't know from where. But . . . I know you."

Jade laughed. "You know your death then! I am the huntress. I am the queen of pain. I am your nemesis. Come now, humans. Come scream for me!"

Jade grabbed a lever and tugged it.

A tractor beam blasted out from the Venom. It grabbed the Cagayan de Oro with a shimmering blue fist.

Emet pushed the thruster engines to full power, trying to reverse. The ship rattled, shaking madly. The tractor beam kept pulling them forward. Emet diverted power from all other systems, reversing at full thrust. The engines belched out smoke. But still the tractor beam was pulling them in.

A hatch opened on the enemy ship.

Rowan drew her pistol, but Emet knew it could not save them.

He fired the Cagayan de Oro's cannons. Shell after shell flew, slamming into the Venom. But he could not penetrate the dreadnought's thick shields. He fired again, launching torpedoes, and explosions rocked the Venom, but its shields stood.

A bolt flew from the enemy ship.

It slammed into the Cagayan de Oro, shattering its front cannons.

The corvette jolted. Monitors cracked. Smoke filled the bridge. Rowan screamed.

Emet shoved down the throttle, attempting to charge forward, then soar, but the tractor beam held them in place. His engines roared. Fire blasted from the exhaust. The Cagayan de Oro was overheating. The engines would soon blow.

The dreadnought kept pulling them.

On the monitor, Jade was laughing, tugging on her lever, reeling them in.

They were only meters away from the Venom's hatch now.

Emet drew his own pistol.

"Rowan," he said softly.

"Sir?" Her voice shook.

"I cannot let them take us alive, Rowan." He looked at her. "I'm sorry."

She stared back at him with huge eyes. A tear rolled down her cheek.

She pointed her own pistol at her temple.

"I understand," she whispered. Then she let out a sob. "I wish I could have seen Earth. I wish I could have seen my sister again. I—"

Rowan gasped.

She turned toward the monitor.

She peered at the image of Jade, who was still operating the beam.

"Jade?" Rowan whispered. "Is that you? Jade Emery?"

Jade stared back, and her smirk vanished.

"Who . . .?" Jade began.

Her hand slipped from the lever.

The tractor beam loosened its grip.

Emet gunned it.

Within a second, he diverted all power—even life support—to the engines and charged forward.

They roared toward the Venom, then soared, breaking free from the tractor beam.

As he rose higher, he launched a torpedo from his stern. The missile flew to the Venom's open hatch.

As they soared, the explosion flared below.

On the monitor, Jade screamed, and the transmission died.

Emet flew in a fury, skimming the surface of the Venom. The dreadnought was firing its cannons now. Emet swerved left and right, dodging the blows, then emerged over the prow of the massive striker. He raced into space.

But an entire brigade of strikers awaited him, blocking his passage. Thousands of other ships were converging behind him.

"I know her," Rowan whispered. "But it can't be. It can't be . . ."

Emet ignored her, focusing on flying. He charged forth, whipping between the ships, as plasma blasted around him. A bolt hit their stern, and the Cagayan de Oro tilted, nearly cracking open. Emet flew onward, limping, desperate to break free but knowing he could not.

Then we die flying, he thought. Not tortured but in battle.

He charged toward the enemy battalion, knowing he would not break through. He fired his last functioning cannon.

We go down in a blaze of glory.

Rowan pointed above. "Sir! The starlight is bending again!"

He held his breath, wincing.

And from above, more ships emerged from warp space.

A mere handful, no more than twenty, their hulls emblazoned with symbols of winged blue planets.

Human ships.

The Heirs of Earth had arrived.

"Leona!" Emet whispered.

She came charging forth in the ISS Jerusalem, all her cannons blasting. Her warships flew around her, pounding the strikers with a barrage of torpedoes and shells. The enemy ships shattered. A hole broke open in their formation.

"You've got a path out, Dad!" Leona cried over the comm. "Let's get the hell out of here!"

Emet stormed forth, barreling between the burning strikers. The rest of the Inheritor fleet flew with him, all their guns firing, blasting their way through.

They broke out into open space.

"Into the wormhole!" Emet shouted. "Everyone, into Terminus Wormhole!"

He raced toward the shimmering portal.

The other starships joined him.

They dived into the sphere of light, this passageway built by an ancient, lost civilization.

Luminescence flowed around them, and they streamed forward down a tunnel of starlight.

Within moments, they had traveled many light-years, a journey that would normally take weeks, even with their warp drives.

The Jerusalem fell through another portal back into open space. The other starships followed. They floated in silence, deep in Concord space. A place where the enemy dared not follow.

The border. The invasion. The countless Hierarchy warships. They were all left far behind.

Emet allowed himself a brief moment of silence—just to sit, to breathe. He had come close to death countless times since founding the Heirs of Earth thirty years ago. He had seen hundreds of his people die.

But this was new.

This was genocide, and this was galactic war.

And Emet had never been more terrified.

"Dad?" Leona's voice came over the comm, calling from the Jerusalem that flew nearby. "I have a thousand gulock survivors with me. It's bad." Her voice was haunted. "It's really bad."

For the first time, Emet noticed that deathcars, once used to transport human prisoners to gulocks, now flew as part of the Inheritor fleet, their hulls crudely painted with Earth's symbol. They would be filled with survivors. Hungry. Sick. Needing Emet to be strong, to lead them, to bring them home. Yet home had never seemed so far away.

Emet turned toward Rowan. The girl sat beside him, still clutching her pistol, her knuckles white around the hilt. Her brown eyes stared ahead, filled with ghosts.

Yes, I faced death countless times, Emet thought. She has not. His heart gave a twist. She stared death in the face today. And not for the last time.

"Rowan," he said.

She turned toward him. "Sir."

He placed a hand on her slender shoulder. "You said that you knew her. The woman in the scorpion ship."

Rowan nodded, and a tear streamed down her cheek. Her voice was barely even a whisper. "She's my sister."

The giant skeleton lay in the desert, the size of a dreadnought, bleached and smoothed by eras of sand and sunlight. Bay flew Brooklyn down toward it, seeking forgetfulness within its bones.

"Bay, you promised me," Brooklyn said. "A nice planet with grass and sunlight. Not another sin hive."

"There's sunlight here," he said.

"Because it's a mucking desert!" the starship said. "Bay! Is this why we left the Heirs of Earth? To land in another Paradise Lost, and—"

"Brooklyn, enough," Bay said. "We just need to recoup our costs. Your wing wasn't cheap to fix, you know. I'll play some Five Card Bluff, win some scryls, and then find a better place. All right?

The starship sighed. Her camera drooped. She said nothing more.

Bay glided her down toward the skeleton. He landed on a sandy field by the skull. The eye sockets peered down, large enough for a starship to fly through. The jaws gaped open, as large as a temple, teeth like columns.

A few dozen starships parked around Brooklyn, hulls sandy. Most were the spiky, graffiti-covered ships of smugglers, thieves, and mercenaries. A handful of reptilian bounty hunters leaned against a boulder, smoking living serpents like cigars. Aliens in black robes and hoods, this world's natives, rode giant millipedes.

"Bay, don't leave me here," Brooklyn said. "I—"

"Brook!" he said. "Damn it! I told you, I need to do this, all right?"

"No you don't, Bay!" She rocked in the sand. "You can go back to your dad. To your sister. To Rowan. You can—"

"I won't go back!" Bay said. "I won't fight in a war. I won't see Rowan die like Seohyun, like—"

He bit down on his words.

"Oh, Bay," Brooklyn whispered.

"Just . . . go into sleep mode or something." Bay exited the starship without another word.

He stepped through the jaws of the giant skeleton. Many aliens moved around him, riding, hovering, slithering, clattering. As always, Bay slouched, his hood pulled low over his head, his long sleeves hiding his hands, trying to vanish into the crowd.

The skeleton was half buried in the sand. The ribs rose like columns alongside a central promenade, supporting the spine high above. Stalls filled the spaces between the ribs, shaded by awnings and curtains and strings of jingling beads. There were scaly soothsayers with long white mustaches, vowing to tell Bay's fortune for a handful of scryls; drug dens where aliens lay on tasseled rugs, smoking from hookahs; fighting pits where crowds cheered, watching naked felines hiss and scratch and claw each other apart; shops selling rusty guns, spiky grenades, and swords with horn hilts; apothecaries where hooded aliens sold vials of medicine and poison; gambling tents where aliens hunched over stone boards, moving pieces of brass and glass and bone; and a thousand other nooks for every sin imaginable.

Bay wanted to stop and gamble. But he was too shaky. His bad hand ached. He wandered through the crowd until he found what he sought. Every sin hive had one. The stall was at the back, draped with curtains. A sign formed of blue and gold tiles displayed the words Electric Dreams.

Bay stepped inside. An embroidered rug covered the floor, and tasseled cushions lay strewn across the room. There was a hookah filled with bubbling green hintan, a bowl of water with some towels, and a virtual reality helmet. No body suit—just a few sensors to strap onto his body. But beggars couldn't be choosers.

The helmet was made for aliens with larger heads. But again, it would have to do. When Bay placed it on, it wobbled.

A robotic voice spoke through speakers embedded inside the helmet. "Insert payment to embark upon your romantic adventure."

Bay felt around the side of the helmet, found a slot, and dropped in a few scryls. The interface came to life.

A voice spoke again, this time feminine and seductive. "Please choose a species, then begin to customize your erotic companion."

A menu allowed him to scroll through a library of several thousand species. He scrolled down until he found human, then began to customize his creation. He made the human female, then began building her body, choosing height, weight, hair, eyes, and every other feature from a menu. Bay normally preferred tall, curvy blondes or redheads. Today he created a slender, short woman—only five feet tall. He gave his companion short brown hair and dark eyes.

"Companion completed," intoned the voice.

The virtual reality girl nestled against him. "Hello, darling. May I keep you company tonight?"

He wrapped his arms around her. "Just let me hold you."

She nuzzled him. "Of course, sir. Shall I pleasure you?"

He shook his head. "No. Do you have any movies?"

The hologram stroked his chin. "Does not compute, sir. Movies?"

"Yeah, movies," Bay said. "With swords and wizards and . . ."

He heaved a sigh.

This is wrong.

The girl kissed him and stroked his body. "Allow me to pleasure you, sir."

He grabbed her wrist. "No. You don't have to. Not tonight. I just want to hold you. Okay, Rowan?"

She smiled at him. "Would you like my name to be Rowan?"

He blinked at her.

"What am I doing?" he whispered.

The avatar touched his cheek. "You are embarking on the erotic adventure of a lifetime, courtesy of Electric Drea—"

Bay pulled off his helmet.

He ripped off his sensors.

A robotic voice emerged from the helmet at his feet. "No refunds. Please visit Doctor Tingle at booth 17 for all your sexual dysfunction needs."

Bay kicked the helmet across the room.

He knelt on the carpet, head lowered.

From across the hive rose the sounds of sin. Aliens cheered as one gladiator slew another. Bay closed his eyes and clenched his fists until both hands hurt.

The scorpions had only inched into Concord space.

They had only annexed a single planet—and without shedding a drop of blood.

And within hours, a massive Concord armada was flying their way, determined to crush the invaders.

Caught between both armies, the Heirs of Earth flew through space, heading toward the advancing Concord fleet.

"Are you sure about this, lad?" said Duncan, standing on the bridge of the Jerusalem. "This isn't our fight."

"It is our fight," Emet said, staring at the thousands of Concord warships. "Millions of humans cry out in agony, suffering in Hierarchy space. The scorpions will slay them all. Our people. We must fight them."

Duncan gave his beard a nervous tug. "Emet, the Concord is more than capable of handling the threat. Look at them." He gestured with one of his broad hands. "They have thousands of warships. What help can we possibly offer? We're like a wee hornet volunteering to fight alongside falcons."

"Hornets too can be deadly," Emet said. "We'll do our part in this war."

Duncan was silent for a long moment. Finally he stepped closer and placed a hand on Emet's shoulder. "Laddie, I'm afraid. I don't like to admit it. But I am. I'm afraid we'll lose our fleet. Our warriors. That the Heirs of Earth will perish in this battle. We can leave the Concord and Hierarchy to fight each other. We can sail away. We can seek Earth. That's our mission."

Emet turned to look at his friend. Duncan stood a foot shorter but even broader, and despite his age, he was still strong, his arms so powerful they could topple worlds.

"Duncan, we have only two thousand humans in our ships. It's not enough. Our mission is not only to find Earth, but also to bring Earth's children home. And right now, Earth's children need us here. On the front line. In this war." He clasped his friend's shoulder. "You've fought at my side for thirty years, Dunc. Fight with me now too."

Duncan's eyes warmed, and he tightened his lips.

"Aye, laddie. I'll fight with ya. Even if ya lead us into hell."

Emet gazed ahead. The Concord armada was close now. Their thousands of warships glimmered across space like a field of stars. Several species had come to fight. There were oval, scaled ships that looked like dragon eggs—the ships of the Tarmarins, desert dwellers from Til Shiran. There were fleshy podships, deep purple and gray, built of fungus—the vessels of the Esporians, a race of sentient mushrooms. A few ships were glimmering crystals, most larger than the Jerusalem; they transported the Silicades, a race of intelligent aliens formed of silicon crystals. A handful of ships were formed of cylinders filled with water; inside swam the Gouramis, a race of intelligent fish.

But these strange ships only formed the flanks. The Aelonians, the most powerful race in the Concord, formed the vanguard.

Aelonian starships were leaf-shaped and silvery, beautiful and deadly like ancient daggers. Emet had rarely met Aelonians. They were a mighty race, the central pillar of the Concord, but loath to leave their home system. Their homeworld hosted many famous institutions: Concord Hall, a shimmering glass tower that hosted ambassadors from ten thousand civilizations; the Citadel of Peace, a mighty fortress, headquarters of the Peacekeepers Corp that unified the Concord; the Temple of Memory, a vast library containing the wisdom and cultural heritage of many worlds; the Cosmic Museum, where the secrets of nature and history were preserved; the Botanical Terrarium, containing plants from countless worlds; and many other grand buildings.

The Aelonians were scientists and scholars—but also warriors. Their fleet was vast, their power terrifying.

If any one race can rival the scorpions, it's the Aelonians, Emet thought.

As he flew toward the Concord fleet, Emet worried that they'd open fire on the Heirs of Earth. After all, humans were not a Concord member. They operated outside the law. Emet prepared to reverse and flee.

Several Concord ships turned toward the human fleet, guns extending. Yet they did not attack. Not yet.

The Aelonian flagship flew closer. Letters on its hull named it The Iliria. It was a massive ship, as large as Central Park on old Earth. It hailed the Jerusalem.

Emet looked at the gargantuan alien starship. The Iliria made the Jerusalem seem small and ugly. The Aelonian flagship was shaped like a broad dagger, tapering to a point. It shone like mother of pearl, and its engines emitted white light. It floated like a shard of moonlight.

Emet accepted the call. An Aelonian appeared on his monitor.

"Greetings, Emet Ben-Ari, lord of humans. I am Admiral Melitar, high commander of the Aelonian fleet. In our databases, you are designated as a terrorist linchpin, wanted on many Concord worlds. Why do you approach our armada?"

Some called the Aelonians beautiful, but Emet had always found them unsettling. Their shape was humanoid—relatively rare in a galaxy swarming with giant insects, technologically savvy fish, sentient plants, and living crystals. The Aelonians had two legs, two arms, one head. But there the resemblance to humans ended.

Their skin was transparent, revealing luminous organs and glowing blood. Some animals on Earth, Emet had read, were bioluminescent. Angler fish, for example, attracted prey with a glowing bulb on their heads. The Aelonians had evolved on a dark planet that orbited a red dwarf, a world of perpetual shadows. To compensate, they had evolved to glow. Gazing at this Aelonian, Emet could see its heart beat, its entrails coil, its lungs pump, its blood flow through the veins, all glowing blue, red, and yellow.

"Greetings, Admiral Melitar," Emet said. "I am Admiral Emet Ben-Ari, commander of the Heirs of Earth. We come to offer aid. We wish to join you, to help fight the Hierarchy. I see many civilizations flying with you to war. Let humanity fight too."

The Aelonian considered for a moment. He spoke to his officers, then looked back at Emet. "I will send a shuttle for you. Come board the Iliria. Come alone with no weapons. We will talk."

The transmission died.

A hatch opened on the silvery ship, and a teardrop shuttle emerged. It came flying toward the Jerusalem. Emet placed Thunder and Lightning aside.

Duncan placed a hand on Emet's shoulder. "Are you sure about this, laddie? May I remind you that you're still a wanted terrorist mastermind. At least, according to those walking lava lamps."

Emet smiled thinly. "If they wanted to kill me, Duncan, they could blast us out of space. I'll talk to him."

"Aye, you do that, laddie," Duncan muttered. "Go talk to the shiny buggers. Might want to take sunglasses with ya."

The Aelonian shuttle connected with the Jerusalem's airlock, and Emet boarded the small, silvery vessel.

The shuttle's pilot, a female Aelonian, greeted him.

"Greetings, human! I am Nelitana, pilot of this shuttle." She handed him a glowing glass flower. "I will accompany you to my mothership."

Emet accepted the gift. "Thank you, Nelitana."

Nelitana was taller than him, but slender and graceful. She was also naked. Very naked. The Aelonians believed that nothing should be hidden—not the mind nor the body. Emet could not only see her body. He could see into her body. Her skin was transparent, revealing the glowing organs, her circulatory and nervous system, even her last meal. She seemed made of glass, same as her flower, filled with glowing orbs and liquid light.

"You seem joyous, Admiral Ben-Ari," Nelitana said, flying the shuttle back toward her mothership.

Emet struggled to stifle his smile, cursing Duncan for making him think of walking lava lamps.

"I'm pleased to be welcomed aboard your ship," he said.

Nelitana returned his smile, teeth shining. They reached the Iliria, the Aelonian flagship. The shuttle flew into a hangar, and they stepped out. The air was cool, the gravity light, the shadows deep.

Nelitana accompanied Emet along a dark corridor. The ship had no artificial lights; the Aelonians relied on their own glow. As they walked, Emet saw doorways leading to caverns filled with other Aelonians, but also glowing plants and luminous fish in aquariums. Perhaps they were pets. Perhaps food sources.

They finally reached the bridge, a circular chamber like a planetarium. Monitors covered every surface—the walls, the domed ceiling, even the floor, displaying an image of space all around. Emet could see the stars, the rest of the armada, and his own fleet nearby. It felt like floating through space.

Admiral Melitar, the Aelonian who had hailed the Jerusalem, greeted Emet.

"Welcome aboard the Iliria, Emet! Thank you for joining me on my ship."

Emet bowed his head. "Thank you, Admiral. It's an honor to be your guest."

The admiral was even taller than Nelitana, standing a good eight or nine feet tall. Admirals from other species were here too. A mushroom the size of a tree, deep purple trimmed with white, stood on the bridge. He was an Esporian; his species flew the fleshy pods that hovered outside. There was a white crystal with a thousand shimmering panels. This was a Silicade—a species that communicated by refracting light into meticulous wave lengths and patterns. There was a Gourami that floated in an aquarium, its indigo tendrils swaying. A Tarmarin was rolled up into a scaly ball in the corner, perhaps uninterested in the conversation. Two magnetic balls spun around each other near the back, crackling with electricity; Emet didn't recognize that species.

The giant mushroom puffed out a cloud of spores—its way of speaking. As Emet suppressed a cough, a computer translated the message.

"He is a wanted terrorist!" The Esporian blew another cloud of spores. "With great shivering pleasure, my pods shall decompose his ships of rusting metal."

The living crystal shimmered, refracting light into blue and yellow patterns. A translation computer picked up this language too.

"I agree with the fungus. We Silicades are beings of order, and humans are creatures of chaos, wanderers with no home of their own. An abomination. Let us sear them away, then return their energy and atoms to the cosmos, before we continue on to sear the Skra-Shen."

Emet faced the crystal. He raised his chin.

"How many scorpions have you killed before?" he said, and the crystal was silent. Emet turned toward the fungus next. "And you? How many of their ships have your pods destroyed?" The mushroom too remained silent, and Emet nodded. "I thought so. But I have fought the scorpions many times. My people have been fighting them for years. We have destroyed their ships, slain them in battle. We have video footage to prove it. The footage does not merely prove the worth of humanity in battle. It also shows Skra-Shen battle formations, tactics, weapons, intelligence you should study before the battle. You need us. More than we need you. We've not flown here to be insulted but to fight. To fight at your side. To—"

Admiral Melitar raised his hand. "Admiral Ben-Ari."

Emet turned toward the Aelonian and bowed his head. "If I misspeak, Admiral, it's out of passion, not pride."

The glowing alien knelt, bringing himself to eye level with Emet. "I know what many in the Concord say of humans. I know they mock humanity for lacking a homeworld. I know that your people have suffered oppression and hardship. I am not unsympathetic to the cause of humanity. While many scorn your people, I have found humans to be intriguingly earnest, capable even of nobility." The others on the bridge scoffed, but the Aelonian continued. "Do you truly wish to fight? It is likely that many of your ships will not return."

Emet nodded. "We humans have never shied away from sacrifice. Millions of my people suffer in Hierarchy lands. The scorpions have been slaughtering them. Harvesting their skin. This is a war all humans will fight."

"See how the humans are bloodthirsty!" said the Tarmarin, finally unfurling. "How they crave war and bloodshed!"

Melitar raised a hand. "He is concerned for his people, General! He is no different from you or me."

The scaly alien sputtered. "A pest? No different from us?"

"Does he not care for his young?" said Melitar. "Does he not yearn for his homeworld?"

"Homeworld?" The other aliens laughed. "The humans have no homeworld."

"We do!" said Emet. "We come from a world called Earth. A world across the galaxy, on the edge of Concord space. A world we were exiled from. We've been lost for thousands of years, but we yearn to return home." He looked at the Aelonian admiral. "We will prove humanity's worth in this war. In return, grant us safe passage to Earth. Acknowledge Earth as the homeworld of humanity, and accept us again into the alliance of nations. Name us a Concord species. You will find us valuable and noble partners."

The aliens all looked at one another.

Finally the Silicade spoke. "We could use their intelligence."

The mushroom scoffed. "I suppose they are valuable fodder."

At that moment, Emet was glad Duncan wasn't there. The doc would threaten to chop up the Esporian and serve him on a pizza. And if Duncan's daughter were here—the wild Mairead McQueen—she would likely already be aiming her pistol.

Melitar nodded to Emet. "Fight with us, humans, and if we win this war, I will convey your request to my superiors. The request of an admiral is not easily dismissed. I will do my best to grant you a stage at Concord Hall, where you may speak of your people's hardships and dreams, of your yearning for Earth. The greatest leaders in the galaxy will hear your plea."

"That's all I can ask for," Emet said.

"But know, Emet Ben-Ari, that this war will be long and hard, and perhaps we will not survive. Even should we win this battle, it is likely the first of many. The Hierarchy is mighty, and for years, it has been arming for war. It is possible that the entire Concord, this great gathering of civilizations, will not withstand the fire. Perhaps Concord Hall will no longer stand when you're ready to speak there. All peaceful, wise civilizations are now in peril."

"Then truly we must all fight together," said Emet. "I'll return to my ship now. We'll reach Terminus within an hour. I'll prepare for battle."

Melitar held out his hand, palm raised, and Emet placed his own hand upon it.

"Fight for Earth," said the Aelonian, "but also for all civilization. A shadow falls across the galaxy. May we cast it back with light."

Jade stood on the bridge of the Venom, her personal dreadnought, overseeing her conquest.

She nodded.

"Good. Very good. Without a drop of blood spilled, we've claimed our first Concord world."

Around her, the scorpions hissed and clattered.

"We want blood!" one demanded.

"We want to feast on enemy bones!"

"We want human skins!"

They rustled across the bridge, scuttling over boulders, stone pillars, and sand pits. They rutted in canyons. They clung to the ceiling. The Venom's innards mimicked their environment—a hot, sandy pit.

Sitting on her throne, Jade raised her hand. "Fear not, my fellow scorpions! You'll have blood and bones and skin. The foul Concord swarm will soon come. The arrogant Aelonians and their allies fly here as we speak. We will feast upon them!"

"And humans!" cried the scorpions. "We want human flesh!"

"You will have it," Jade said. "The Heirs of Earth fly with the enemy." She laughed. "Humans who think themselves warriors. Who think they can fly with other nations. We will flay them as they scream, and their blood will soak our sand. They will be ours to torment. Their leader, Emet Ben-Ari. His daughter, the foul Leona. The wretched pest, Rowan Em—"

Jade's head suddenly spun. Her implants whirred. She clutched her head.

A face flashed before her—a young woman with short brown hair, with large brown eyes, peering at her from the bridge of the Jerusalem.

Pain flared, and another image rose. A girl with the same brown hair, the same brown eyes, a toddler in a glittering cave.

Lies. Lies! Human treachery! They had infected her mind, were haunting her, hacking her implants.

Jade screamed. She pounded her fist against her head. Electricity sparked. She grabbed a rod, plugged it into an implant, and released a bolt of power. The pain overwhelmed her. The memories faded.

"Huntress?" a scorpion said, eyes narrowed. "Are you weak?"

Jade took a shuddering breath. She leaped off her throne, grabbed the scorpion, and clawed its head open. As the scorpion howled, she peeled him, pulling the shell back, revealing the brains. She stabbed again until the creature lay still.

"Never doubt my strength!" Jade tossed the peeled shell aside. "The Concord will learn that. The humans will learn that."

She left her bridge. She marched through her flagship, a vessel mightier than any Concord dreadnought, a terror that could dwarf the puny warships the humans flew. Scorpions clattered across the tunnels and lurked in chambers, sharpening pincers, devouring raw meat, and preparing for war. Jade entered the hangar, a cavernous hall where stood a hundred starfighters. She entered one of the triangular vessels, pulled a lever, and blasted out into space.

Terminus Wormhole shone nearly, a gateway leading deep into Concord space. Thousands of her warships hovered by the Wormhole, guarding it. Nearby hovered Akraba, a swampy planet where lived the marshcrabs, the latest addition to the Hierarchy.

Between them hovered Paradise Lost, the space station.

The station that had called for exterminators.

That had complained of a human girl hiding in the ducts.

Jade flew toward this glittering, garish installation, this eyesore in space, a cluster of neon lights and graffiti.

She flew into the station's hangar. A hundred scorpions were already here. The slot machines, decaying alien gamblers, hookah pipes, graffiti, and filth had been cleaned from the hangar. Hierarchy banners now hung from the walls, depicting a red stinger on a black field. Scorpions stood on the floor, taking formation as Jade emerged from her striker. They bowed, heads pressed to the floor, tails held high, as Jade walked between them.

Jade shook her head in disgust. She had heard tales of this place. Gambling? Grogging? Drugs and prostitutes? The Skra-Shen had no such vices. Truly, the Concord was a place of sin. She would purify it.

A towering alien clattered toward her across the hangar. He was a marshcrab, a beast with ten long, thin legs like stilts. He had an exoskeleton, much like scorpions, but so much frailer, covered with bumps and fissures. His red body perched atop his legs, higher than Jade's head.

"Are you Belowgen?" she said. "Are you the creature that runs this place?"

The alien reached her. His black eyes, mounted on stalks, narrowed. His voice was gruff. "I am! Who are you?"

"Impudent fool!" hissed a scorpion guard, raising his stinger, but Jade held him back.

"I am Jade, Blue Huntress, Admiral of the Skra-Shen, daughter of Emperor Sin Kra," she said. "I've heard you have a human problem. I've come to fix it. Show me your humans!"

I need them alive, she thought. I need to interrogate them. To peel their skin. To ask them about a girl with short brown hair from a glittering cave.

Belowgen tilted his head. "But . . ." The marshcrab sputtered. His eyestalks moved down and up, taking her in. "But you are human!" He reared, claws rising. "You are a filthy pest!"

Scorpions hissed.

Jade howled.

She leaped into the air, rebounded off the ceiling, and plunged toward the crab. She sliced off his eyestalks, then grabbed his legs and snapped them off, one by one, screaming as his innards spilled.

She marched back toward her striker, trembling with fury.

"Commander, what—" a scorpion began.

She roared, lifted the scorpion, and tossed it out into space.

She climbed into her striker and flew. Her hands shook around the controls. She flew back toward her flagship, the mighty Venom. Once she was back aboard, she turned the dreadnought toward Paradise Lost.

She leaned forward, sneering, and fired her cannons.

She screamed as she fired.

Blast after blast of plasma pounded into the space station, tearing it apart. Neon signs shattered and spiraled through space. Metal pods, which clung to the central stalk like barnacles, tore free and tumbled, burning, spilling out aliens. Jade roared in fury, still firing, ripping off more and more of the pods—brothels, bars, drug dens, casinos. With every blast, she tore off another establishment, sending it hurtling into the darkness. She didn't even care that a hundred scorpions were aboard Paradise Lost. She kept firing, finally revealing the central stalk, the original space station the depravity had grown around.

She increased her rate of fire, and holes blazed across the cylinder, and the entire space station tore in two. Engines and furnaces exploded. Shards of metal blasted out, and a shock wave pulsed through space. The Hierarchy fleet rocked like boats on a stormy sea, peppered with debris.

When Jade finally stopped firing, Paradise Lost was gone. Only a cloud of shrapnel and smoke remained.

The other scorpions on the Venom's bridge were staring at her. Silent.

Jade clenched her fists.

"I am Skra-Shen!" she shouted. "I am a scorpion! I am not a human!"

She turned toward the wormhole, waiting.

"Come to me, humans." She laughed, eager for their blood. "Come and die. I will destroy the galaxy if I must. But I will kill you all!"

The Concord fleet flew through space, heading to war.

And for the first time, humanity flew with it.

Two thousand years ago, Emet knew, humanity had become a galactic power to reckon with, her fleets striking enemies even on distant worlds. A hundred thousand starships had flown under Earth's banners, and humanity had stood proudly among the mightiest civilizations of the Milky Way. The Golden Lioness had reigned over Earth's Golden Age.

But then we lost Earth, Emet thought. We died. Our few survivors scattered. We became weak. Hunted. Hated.

Now, for the first time in two thousand years, humanity flew to war. Not as rebels. Not as partisans working in shadows. They flew among other civilizations, proud of their humanity, no longer hiding.

And they flew to their greatest battle.

This might be the end of the Heirs of Earth, Emet thought. This might be the end of all hope. But if the scorpions win this war, we all die. Civilization itself will perish, and evil will overrun the galaxy. Today we'll fight not only for Earth—but for the galaxy.

He stood on the bridge of the ISS Jerusalem, gazing out at the rest of the fleet. Tens of thousands of starships flew here. The silvery ships of the Aelonians. Fleshy podships. Glittering crystal ships. Scaly ships like dragon eggs. Ships filled with water. Ships of iron and stone. Ships of many alien civilizations, come together under the Concord banner.

And us. The Heirs of Earth.

Humanity contributed only fifteen warships to the effort. Fifteen used freighters and tankers, refitted with shields and cannons. Fifteen ships that represented a species, a hope, a dream.

Emet turned away from the bridge and entered the Jerusalem's hold.

He had never divided the Jerusalem into corridors and chambers. Here was still the great, cavernous space where the tanker had once shipped fluids and gasses. Today his best warriors stood here, brave men and women, a mix of marines and pilots. They all wore the brown and blue. They all bore rifles, pistols, blades, each warrior choosing their favorite weapons. They looked at him, eyes somber, ready for war.

Emet had left most of his people, including the survivors of the gulock, on a Concord base a light-year back, a safe place to wait out the battle. Only the warriors flew to battle. Emet had handpicked the platoon that now served aboard the Jerusalem. Here were the strongest and bravest of his warriors.

Mairead was here. The fiery redhead would fly a Firebird, commanding the starfighter wings. Her fellow pilots stood behind her, wearing jumpsuits, wings pinned to their chests. Mairead's father, Duncan, served as combat medic. Fifty marines stood farther back, men and women ready to fight, even give their lives to the cause. Here were heroes. The salt of the earth. All these Inheritors had fought the scorpions before. Some, like Duncan, had been fighting with Emet for decades.

The youngest among them was Private Rowan Emery.

She was also the shortest. She made even the squat Duncan seem tall. She had raided the children's clothes for her uniform, and her pistol—a beautiful weapon of polished brass and sanded wood—seemed as large as a rifle in her hands. But she too stared at Emet with courage and determination. Her shoulders were squared, her back straight.

Did I make a mistake bringing her here? Emet thought. But then he looked into her brown eyes. No. You deserve to be here, Rowan. To fight for your people. You've been fighting all your life. I trust you as much as any of my warriors.

Emet took a step closer. Monitors on the walls displayed the interiors of his fourteen other warships. He could see all his officers, waiting for him to speak. Captain Ramses al Masri sat aboard the ISS Rosetta, a fast and deadly corvette. Leona was commanding the Nantucket, another corvette, flying nearby. The other starship commanders were here too, all ready aboard their warships. They looked at Emet through their viewports, solemn.

Emet spoke, his voice carrying across his small fleet.

"Heirs of Earth, warriors of humanity! Long ago, we lived on our homeworld, on a blue planet called Earth. Long ago, an enemy stole our home, banished us to the stars. For eighty generations we suffered, lost, hunted everywhere. We scattered across a thousand worlds. We survived in isolated communities—on distant planets, on hidden moons, in asteroids and space stations. Hiding, desperate to survive. For the first time, in our generation, we joined together. We dared to dream of Earth, to seek our way home. We began to collect our species from across the galaxy, to unite, to gather Earth's lost children. Yet as we pursue this noble task, a cruel enemy has arisen. As we seek to save humans everywhere, they seek to slay us. Within the past few years, the scorpions have slain millions of humans. Every one of those losses grieves me. Every one is a world entire lost to the fire. Let us remember them in a moment of silence."

They all lowered their heads, silent for a long moment.

Emet spoke again.

"Today we fly to war. Yet not a war to reclaim Earth. That battle still awaits us. We fly to face the scorpions in battle. The cries of our fallen brothers and sisters compel us. We will fight for their memory, in their honor. We do not fight to avenge them, for we care not for vengeance. We fight to save those humans who might still live, who still cry out for salvation. We do not forget our holy words: Wherever a human is in danger, we will be there."

"We will be there!" his warriors cried out.

"The hour draws near," Emet said. "Very soon, we will reach the wormhole, and we will fly to the front line, and we will face the Hierarchy battalions. As we go into battle, we are accompanied by the spirits of our fallen, the millions of our lost heroes—those who fell defending Earth long ago, and those who fell to the scorpion claws in our generation. The blood of our martyrs, of our butchered children, of our brothers and sisters burned and flayed, forever commands courage in our hearts."

Rowan met his eyes. "Courage," she whispered.

"We face a mighty enemy," Emet said. "The scorpions are strong and ruthless and will fight viciously. In this battle, we will know fear and pain. Yet we will face the enemy nonetheless! We will face them with courage and pride! Our weapons are few. Our starships are fewer. Yet today we will fight with a greater weapon: our unflinching endurance. For thousands of years, we have survived in the darkness. We will survive today too. We will emerge victorious. We will live to see Earth!"

"For Earth!" Leona cried, raising her fist.

The others echoed her call. "For Earth! For Earth!"

"For Earth!" Emet said. "We will fight today with the spirits of our ancestors, the mighty warriors who came before us. Blood will spill today. Starships will burn. Warriors will fall. Yet from the fire, we will emerge stronger. We will break the enemy and bring salvation to humanity. Onward—to victory!"

"To victory! To victory!"

Their voices echoed as Emet returned to the bridge.

Duncan and Rowan joined him. As Emet sat at the helm, they took position at the ship's cannons.

"Are you sure you want me here on the bridge, laddie?" Duncan said. "I'm the oldest one in the fleet."

"And I'm the youngest," Rowan said, taking hold of the cannon controls.

"I'm sure," Emet said. "I chose you both because I trust you for this task."

Rowan bit her lip. "I've only trained for a few hours at the cannons."

"You're ready," Emet said. "I believe in you."

Duncan smiled grimly. He turned to Rowan. "I think, lass, that he's saving the other warriors for hand-to-hand combat. For boarding an enemy ship, or for defending the Jerusalem from scorpion invaders. Perhaps it's best that we stick to the bridge."

Rowan paled. She nodded. "Yes, that might be best." She cringed. "Well, I might have trained at these cannons for only a few hours, but I've spent years playing Space Invaders on the Earthstone. That's gotta count for something, right?" She looked faint.

Emet stifled a smile. "My friends, you've fought nasty enemies before. You're as brave as any other warrior. I'm proud to have you on my bridge."

Duncan pointed. He spoke softly. "Look. Aura Wormhole."

Emet looked ahead through the viewport. He saw it too. Aura Wormhole. The portal to Terminus. To the front line.

A chill gripped him, but he tightened his lips. He narrowed his eyes and eased the throttle forward, increasing their speed.

Courage.

The first of the Aelonian warships reached the wormhole, this shimmering portal in space. The silvery ships flew through, stretched out, and vanished. Ship after ship entered, flashing across spacetime toward the battle.

Honor.

Emet took a deep breath, grabbed the controls, and piloted the Jerusalem toward Aura Wormhole. The portal rose before him. From a distance, the wormhole looked circular, but it was actually a sphere, a glowing ball of light. Inside, Emet could make out the tiny forms of the Aelonian ships.

The other Inheritor ships came to fly behind him.

Earth.

Emet flew forward, and the Jerusalem plunged into the glowing sphere.

The ship blasted forward through a tunnel of swirling, coiling lights. Ahead flew the Aelonian ships. Behind him, the other Inheritor warships were entering the wormhole too. They charged down the luminous tunnel.

Every starship worth its salt had an azoth engine, able to bend spacetime. With a good azoth engine, a starship could fly between nearby star systems within weeks, could cross the entire galaxy within a few years. But a wormhole was different. A regular engine was a pair of worn sneakers. An azoth engine was a bicycle and energy drink. A wormhole was an expressway across the galaxy.

Nobody knew who had built the wormholes. They had existed back when humanity was still swinging from trees. Their ancient builders were long gone; some said they had risen to a higher plane of awareness, abandoning their physical bodies. For a million years, spacefarers had used this network, traveling the wormhole roads between the stars, crossing entire light-years within moments.

At this moment, Emet wished the ancients had built slower wormholes.

Ahead, he saw the end—a circle of darkness. Terminus Wormhole. There the war awaited.

The Aelonian ships ahead flew out from the tunnel.

Emet braced himself.

For Earth. For humanity. For my family.

Humanity's ships burst out from the wormhole into cold space, hot fire, and furious war.

"I love to sail forbidden seas," Leona whispered, piloting the Nantucket through the wormhole.

With one hand, she gripped the starship's yoke, her knuckles white. With her other hand, she touched the seashell that hung around her neck. A shell from old Earth.

The end of the wormhole gaped ahead, leading to battle.

"For you, Jake," Leona whispered.

The Nantucket burst out from the wormhole into a sea of scorpion ships.

Leona screamed and fired her cannons.

The Nantucket jolted as the cannons shelled the enemy.

Leona didn't even have to aim.

The strikers were everywhere. Leona had never seen so many starships in one place. She had thought her last battle mighty, but here was an inferno. This battle was so massive her mind could not comprehend it. Countless starships flew and whizzed and fired around her.

There must be tens of thousands of ships, she thought, and awe filled her at the beauty and terror of it. The galaxy is burning.

Leona had never seen such a sight. Not since becoming a soldier at seventeen, a grieving widow, her wedding dress stained with blood. Not in all the past decade of war, fighting for Earth across the galaxy. The strikers flew in battalions and brigades, organized into units and subunits, machines of terror and fury. They formed a wall in space, blocking the exit from Terminus Wormhole, pounding the emerging Concord fleet with plasma.

Blasts slammed into the Nantucket, knocking the ship back toward the wormhole. The marine squad in her hold jostled and cried out, rifles clattering. Leona screamed, floored the throttle, and roared into the fire. The enemy plasma tore at her shields, cracking them, nearly breaching the hull. An Aelonian ship ahead took heavy fire, jolted backward, and nearly hit the Nantucket. Leona tried to rise higher, but more plasma hit her. She diverted power to the engines, but the barrage intensified, and her front shields blazed with fire.

An Aelonian ship ahead tried to break through, but plasma washed over it, a blaze that lit space, and the silver vessel tumbled backward. Leona tried to dodge, but could not.

She braced herself.

The Aelonian warship slammed into the Nantucket.

Leona screamed as her corvette lurched backward and fell back into Terminus Wormhole.

At once, she was falling through the luminous tunnel, slamming into other starships, plunging away at a light-year per second.

"Hang on!" she shouted to the warriors who stood in the hold behind her, strapped into harnesses.

She roared, shoved the throttle again, and raced back toward Terminus. She glanced off the roof of another warship, skidded forward, and burst back into the battle.

This time Leona charged forth at full speed, not pausing to glance around. She shouted wordlessly as she fired her cannons. She hit several blasts of plasma in mid-space, swooped, and swerved under the belly of an Aelonian warship. She stormed toward the strikers, all guns blazing.

"Break through!" Leona cried into her comm. "Corvettes, break through!"

Her father had placed her in command of the Corvettes Company. The corvettes were the Heirs of Earth's smaller class of warships. Eleven served in their fleet, each the size of a yacht from old Earth. Each was named after a small city or town from Earth. They were faster than the bulky city-class frigates like the Jerusalem, more destructive than the small Firebird starfighters. In this battle, the corvettes formed the Inheritor vanguard.

At her left, the Aelonian ships were pounding the strikers, struggling to break through. At her right flew the Jerusalem, her father at the helm; the bulky frigate was unleashing hell upon the enemy. Yet the strikers pushed back, tearing down ship after ship.

An Inheritor corvette—the ISS Leeuwarden—shattered, spilling fire and corpses.

An Aelonian warship, thrice the size of the Jerusalem, tore open nearby. The blazing frigate tilted, then slammed into several other ships. As its hull ripped open, Leona saw the glowing aliens inside, heating up, bloating, then shattering like glass.

Above her, a Firebird exploded. The pilot screamed into her comm before falling silent. And the enemy kept attacking.

A wall of fire rose before the Concord fleet. Behind them, more ships were trying to exit the Wormhole, but they were trapped inside. There was no room to emerge. Another Inheritor ship, one of her corvettes, lost its shields and ripped open. Corpses flew and thudded against the Nantucket's hull.

Death, Leona thought. Death everywhere. We cannot defeat them. We should have run.

"Leona!" her husband cried in her memory. "I love you. I—"

She wept, her bridal gown splashed with his blood.

She lifted a rifle.

She fought.

She rose from the ashes of her wedding, a warrior, broken but stronger. Instead of white, she wore brown and blue.

She was an Inheritor.

And I will always fight for Earth.

"Corvettes Company!" she said into her comm. "Fear no death! Fear no evil! We are the Heirs of Earth, and Earth is eternal. Fight with me—with courage, with light. Do not fall back! Do not give them an inch! Onward, with me! Onward to victory! For Earth!"

"For Earth!" the corvette captains cried.

They were lower ranking than her—captains while she was a commodore. Corvettes were smaller warships, not as large or heavy as frigates like the Jerusalem. Within their holds, they carried privates and corporals, young fighters, many mere youths, some only fifteen or sixteen. In Leona's own corvette served Coral Amber the weaver, a young private new to war. But each Inheritor, from green private to grizzled admiral, was a hero of humanity.

As the Aelonian ships fell all around them, as the rest of the Concord fleet languished in the wormhole, the Corvettes of Earth stormed forth.

They were nine corvettes. Then eight. Then only seven. Their fallen lit space and crashed down like comets.

The survivors charged onward. To death and glory. To victory and fire. For Earth. For Earth!

Leona zipped from side to side, dodging plasma bolts. The other corvettes flew around her, cannons blasting, engines roaring. They stormed under a listing Aelonian warship, shielded from the plasma barrage, then soared to the vanguard. Their shells flew. Another corvette shattered, and the six survivors flew onward. Their afterburners roared. Their missiles lit space with streaks of fire.

In this great Concord fleet, this armada of ten thousand ships, the corvettes took the charge.

If we survive, Leona thought, may history remember the corvettes of Earth. May history remember this as our finest hour.

She kept flying. Small strikers, no larger than her ship, flew toward her. The corvettes scattered, flanked the enemy, and fired their guns, tearing the strikers down. Scorpion dreadnoughts flew ahead, great machines of war, each the size of a town.

"Fly behind them!" Leona said. "First platoon, go under them. Second platoon, I'll lead you above them. We got to hit their exhaust pipes!"

"We're right with you, commodore!" said the captain of the Cagayan de Oro.

"Let's show those bastards human pride," said the captain of the Bridgetown.

"For Earth," said Ramses, commanding the Rosetta.

The corvettes stormed forward, dodging assaults from every direction. Behind the corvettes, the larger Concord warships were giving them some cover. But most of the fleet remained trapped in the Wormhole.

We have to take down those dreadnoughts, Leona thought. We have to make room, or our friends are stuck in the hole.

Her father's voice emerged from her comm. "Leona, what are you doing? You're flying too deep! I can't follow you."

"You will soon," Leona said, storming forth. "I'm carving us a path."

She shoved her thruster lever, the G-force shoved her against her seat, and she stormed over the enemy dreadnoughts.

Plasma bolts flew her way. One hit her stern, and she screamed. Her hull was breached. Alarms blared. She pulled down her helmet's visor and flew onward. Another blast grazed her side, but she kept charging. The remaining corvettes flew with her. They skimmed over the roof of a warship the size of a small world. More fire blasted their way, and one corvette shattered. Its pilot screamed, and then the vessel fell, hit the enemy warship, and exploded. Fire raged and shrapnel pattered Leona's hull.

More plasma rose everywhere, a citadel of light.

She flew onward.

Remember us, Earth. Remember us.

She rose higher, barrel-rolled through blasts of plasma, and shot over the prow of the enemy dreadnought.

Below her, she saw them. The dreadnought's exhaust pipes.

She stormed forth, yanked the yoke with all her might, and flew a tight U-turn.

She charged toward the dreadnought's stern.

She took a deep breath and released her last two missiles.

The missiles flew and entered the enemy's exhaust pipes.

Four more corvettes made it around the dreadnought, two from below, two from above. They turned and fired their missiles too, sliding them into the exhausts.

The great metal cylinders began to crack.

"Back, back!" Leona cried. "Pull ba—"

Fire roared across space.

A supernova explosion filled her vision with searing white light.

Shrapnel flew everywhere, pounding her ship, pounding hundreds of ships all around.

Her crew screamed.

Leona flew through the inferno, soaring, spinning, trying to flee the roaring devastation beneath her.

The massive scorpion dreadnought, a warship the size of Central Park, burst into millions of pieces that burned and rained across the battle.

The last corvettes hovered, and for a moment, Leona could only sit and breathe. The battle lulled. The thousands of starships, it seemed, paused to behold the terrible aftermath, the gaping hole in the battle where the mighty dreadnought had been.

The path from the wormhole was clear.

And then, with roaring engines and blasting fire, the rest of the Concord fleet spilled forth.

The last few Inheritor starships. Thousands of Aelonian ships. Ships of many other species. They all emerged. They all fired upon the scorpions.

The Concord rises, Leona thought. And I'm alive. Humanity is alive!

"Dad, I'm flying back to join you," she said. The Jerusalem was charging, taking heavy fire now. "I'll give you cover. I—"

Ten strikers emerged from warped space right before her, rippling spacetime, and their plasma slammed into the Nantucket.

The control panel shattered.

Leona screamed.

The yoke rattled in her hand. Smoke blasted out from her engines. Somebody was shouting through her comm, but the voice drowned under static.

She tried to rise higher, to fly toward her father, and—

Another blast hit her, slamming into her hull.

Leona spun.

Blackness spread across her.

She lost consciousness.

She woke up, spinning madly. The battle whirled around her, and she was falling fast. Plasma bolts and shells flew all around her, and smoke filled the cabin. A green planet rolled ahead, spinning around her.

Akraba, she thought. I'm falling toward Akraba.

She tried to touch the controls, then pulled her hand back in pain. Electricity sparked across the cabin. She rose from her seat and kicked at her yoke, desperate to stop spinning, but one engine was out. The Nantucket kept plunging toward the planet. The view spun. The planet was above her, then beneath her, rolling around the viewport. Its gravity had caught her.

Starships were roaring up around her. Dark, craggy crabships, extending their claws. The ships of the marshcrabs. They were rising fight, to help their scorpion masters. They paid her no heed. To them, she was just wreckage.

"Commander, what's going on?" Coral burst into her cockpit, panting. Several warriors stood behind her.

"We're going down!" Leona shouted. "Strap in!"

"Damn!" Coral cried, and her tattoos began to glow. She raced back into the hold and strapped into her seat.

Leona knew it was too late to avoid the planet. Instead, she kicked the helm with both feet, and the rudder adjusted, moving the Nantucket to face the planet head on.

The cracked starship plunged headfirst into the atmosphere.

Fire raged around the corvette. A cracked shield tore off. An engine broke free and spun madly, spurting flame. The blaze engulfed them, and they were falling, spinning, shrieking, roaring down through the sky. In the hold, Leona's soldiers were screaming. Another shield tore off and soared, caught in the wind.

The Nantucket plunged like a comet, leaving a trail of hellfire.

A carpet of clouds spread below them, and they dived through, emerging into Akraba's damp gray sky. Birds fled. The marshlands spread below, a desolation of mud, grassy tussocks, and trees with tall roots.

Leona tried to straighten the ship, tried to fly, but the yoke rattled madly, ripping free from her hands. Birds splattered against them. Their shields were gone. The windshield shattered, and shards and feathers spread across the cockpit. The Nantucket kept screaming down, spinning, leaving a corkscrew of fire through the sky. The G-forces pounded Leona's skull and twisted her belly like a wet cloth.

Everything went black.

"Ma'am, we have to pull up, we—"

Lights flashed.

Coral was tugging on the yoke, cursing.

Mist rolled around them, and tree branches shattered against their hull.

Leona's eyes fluttered.

I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry, Earth.

"Commodore!"

She reached out a shaky hand.

Her husband smiled.

Her baby laughed in her arms.

I wanted to sail forbidden seas . . .

They slammed into mud. They stormed between the trees, engines sputtering, until all the world was soil and water and wood and raging fire.

Emet watched the Nantucket fall toward the planet.

He heard his daughter's scream, then her comm die.

"Leona!" he cried. Instinctively, Emet began piloting the Jerusalem toward where she had fallen.

"Hang on there, laddie." Duncan grabbed his shoulder. "We can't be bringing the Jerusalem so close to that planet. We're a full-sized frigate, no wee corvette. The gravity would rip us apart."

The battle raged around them. Thousands of warships fought. Space burned as the Hierarchy and Concord clashed.

"Then I'm boarding a shuttle," Emet said. "I'm flying down there. To find Leona. To—"

"Admiral Emet Ben-Ari!" Duncan grabbed him, and suddenly the kindly old man had fire in his eyes. "You will not abandon your post. The Heirs of Earth depend on you, now more than ever. Humanity depends on you. If Leona survived that crash, she can fend for herself. If she fell in battle, it's too late to save her." His cheeks were red, his eyes blazing. "Your post is here."

Leona . . . fallen in battle?

The terror gripped Emet, more powerful than Duncan's large hands.

I already lost a wife. I cannot lose a daughter too.

But Duncan, his dear old friend, was right. Emet knew this. He nodded and placed his hand on Duncan's shoulder.

"Thank you, Doc."

Duncan nodded, clasping Emet's shoulder in return. "Now let's win this damn war and go home."

Now that Leona had blown a hole through the Hierarchy defenses, the Concord armada was pouring forth. Warship after warship emerged from Terminus Wormhole, many even larger than the Jerusalem. Their firepower was terrible and beautiful to behold. They kept pounding the strikers, ripping up scorpion formations, making room for more vessels. Soon thousands of Concord ships were fighting, ranging from dreadnoughts the size of skyscrapers to starfighters no larger than cars. Space was alight with battle.

"Sir, another striker brigade incoming!" Rowan shouted, sitting at the gunnery station.

"Keep them busy!" Emet said. "I'll divert more power to your cannons."

Rowan nodded, turned back toward her viewport, and clutched a joystick with each hand. She leaned forward, eyes narrowed, and pulled the triggers. A barrage of shells thudded out from the Jerusalem, flying toward the advancing strikers. One of the enemy ships exploded. Its shrapnel tore down two of its neighbors.

"Got one!" Rowan said, leaping from her seat.

"Keep firing, Private, and don't get cocky." Emet turned to Duncan. "Doc, return to your own gunner's station. We have work to do."

They fought on.

They lost ships.

They lost warriors.

They fought far from Earth, but as Emet flew through the battle, leading his fleet, he knew that every shell fired, every warrior lost, was for their homeworld. For Earth. And for the millions of humans beyond the border, dying, calling out for aid, needing him.

You're in danger. I'm here. I'm here.

The Jerusalem charged into battle, and the other Inheritor ships flew behind them. Their cannons pounded the enemy, tearing down strikers.

For the first time in thousands of years, aliens saw a new sight: humans fighting back.

Eighty generations ago, we lost our home, Emet thought. But we never lost our honor. This is human pride.

He increased speed. The Jerusalem barreled forth. They rammed into strikers, knocking them back. Their Firebirds streamed above and around them, firing missiles and bullets. Even the Aelonian ships did not move as fast, as courageously. It was not those ancient, luminous aliens who formed the vanguard but the Heirs of Earth. This small band of humans, fighting for their survival. For a memory.

A striker charged toward them, twice their size. Emet pulled on the yoke, putting the Jerusalem into a spin. Duncan and Rowan fired their cannons, blasting the enemy from starboard, port, then starboard again, shattering the striker's hull. Scorpions spilled out into space, flailing, only for the Firebirds to swoop and take them out. The Heirs of Earth plowed onward.

They were few. They were only fifteen ships. Then ten. Then a handful. They faced thousands. But they charged through the enemy lines like a spear.

Hope began to grow in Emet.

More Concord warships were emerging from the Wormhole, and soon the entire fleet was attacking the enemy.

We can beat them, Emet thought. We can drive the bastards back into the Hierarchy. We can—

A shadow fell.

Rowan screamed.

A colossal warship rose before them, triangular and black. Before it, the Jerusalem was like a hornet facing a dragon.

A red spiral blazed on the enemy hull, an emblem as large as the Jerusalem. Emet recognized the words etched beneath it in living flame.

The Venom.

Jade's dreadnought.

The massive striker began firing its cannons, taking out Concord warships. Aelonian vessels shattered into countless silver shards.

Emet began flying toward the Venom.

"We take her on!" he cried. "Rowan, fire your cannons!"

Rowan looked at him. Her eyes were huge and haunted. "Is . . . my sister aboard that ship?"

Yes, Rowan had spoken to him of her suspicions. Emet had no time for such delusions.

"We've been over this. She's not your sister, Rowan, she's a scorpion in human form." He kept charging toward the Venom. "Now fire your canons! That's an order."

Rowan winced. Reluctantly, she opened fire. Her blasts hit the Venom's hull but left not a dent. Duncan was firing his own cannons, and other Inheritor warships were firing too, but nothing so much as scratched Venom's shields.

A signal came in, so powerful it pierced their firewalls. Across their monitors, stats of the battle vanished, and Jade's visage replaced them.

"Hello, humans!" Jade cried, speaking from inside the Venom. She sat on her throne, stroking a scorpion's head. "I've destroyed half your fleet already. The rest of you I will take alive. I will skin you in the hall of my emperor. Prepare to be boarded!"

The transmission died.

Hatches on the Venom opened, and a hundred drill-tipped vessels emerged.

The swarm charged toward the Inheritor fleet.

"Shoot them down!" Emet shouted.

They fired everything, concentrating on the boarding vessels. They took out dozens. But the rest kept swarming, and soon the small ships were buzzing around the Jerusalem.

A boarder slammed into the Jerusalem's roof. Two more thudded against their belly. Cannons from the port and starboard kept the others at bay, but more and more were attaching to their top and bottom, hooking on like leeches.

"Duncan, you have the bridge," Emet said. "Rowan, keep those cannons firing!"

He raced into the hold.

His platoon was waiting there, fifty Inheritor marines, guns ready. The starboard and port bulkheads thrummed as the cannons kept firing. Above and below them, the hull shook as the enemy boarding vessels began to drill.

Emet took a deep breath. He raised Thunder in one hand, Lightning in the other. Around him, his fellow warriors aimed their weapons.

With shrieking metal and showering sparks, drills tore through the hull.

The gates of hell opened, and the scorpions leaped in.

The ISS Nantucket lay in the marsh of Akraba, cracked and smoldering, filled with mud and death.

Buzzzz.

Leona blinked, struggling to bring the world into focus. She waved at the sound, winced in pain.

Hummmmm.

She floated. She sank. All the world—cracked metal and pain in her leg.

Her thigh ached.

Her wound throbbed.

The scorpion was clawing at her leg, chortling, as her husband lay dying.

"Jake," she whispered. "Jake, I'm sorry."

Buzzzz.

Hummmm.

The insects were feeding on his corpse. The engines of afterlife were rumbling.

"Commodore!" A voice from the haze. "Commodore, can you hear me? Leona!"

She blinked. It was Coral speaking. She knew her. Coral Amber, a girl with lavender eyes, platinum hair, and a secret power. A girl she had met on a desert world.

"What are you doing here?" Leona whispered. "It's my wedding day." She wept. "There's blood on my dress."

She doubled over.

A shotgun wedding, yes. Two seventeen-year-olds, so young, so scared.

Sartak, an albino scorpion with two tails, laughed. Blood splattered the beach. Her husband lay dying and she knelt on the sand, clutching her belly, as the blood poured between her thighs.

"I have to move you, Leona." The voice spoke again, fading away, growing weaker. "Come on. Out into the open. You must gaze into the sky."

Hands grabbed her under the arms and pulled.

Leona screamed.

The pain in her belly!

"I'm sorry," she whispered, tears on her cheeks. "I buried him. I buried him in the water. My child. And the waves washed him away into the sea." She wept. "I love to sail forbidden seas . . . Someday I will sail there again. My child is waiting for me."

The waves carried her. They brought her to soft soil, and she lay, gazing up at clouds, and the rain fell upon her, and Leona smiled.

"Let the aether in, Leona. Breathe. Let it flow. Let it heal."

Strands of starlight shone.

Liquid luminosity flowed into Leona.

She cried out. It burned.

"Breathe, Leona, daughter of Earth," whispered a luminous figure. "Let the aether heal you. Be one with the Cosmos. Be one with the light."

Leona took a deep, shuddering breath, letting the light flow through her, and her pain faded. Her vision cleared. She was lying in mud. Coral knelt above her, her lavender eyes filled with light. Her tattoos were glowing, coiling across her dark skin. The light flowed from Coral's hands into Leona, easing the pain. Healing her. Lighting her path.

Slowly the light faded, and Coral took a shaky breath. The weaver fell back into the mud, ashen, her fingers shaky.

"It takes a lot out of a weaver," she whispered. "Thank the ancients. You are healed."

Leona blinked, the fog lifting from her mind, and looked around her.

The fog of her mind had perhaps parted, but there was certainly enough real mist around her. She sat on a tussock that rose from a swamp. The marshlands spread around her in every direction, shadowy and rank. Rain drizzled, insects chirped everywhere, and the smells of mud and moss filled her nostrils. The air was thick as soup. Trees with long, coiling roots rose around her. They reminded her of mangroves, trees she had seen in the Earthstone, but these trees were far taller, rising like the pillars.

The buzzing and humming sounded behind her. Leona turned and winced.

The Nantucket, her beloved starship, lay smashed on the planet surface. Her hull had cracked open. Her bridge was shattered. She was half-sunken in the mud. A few of her cables still sparked, producing the sound. Several other Inheritors from her crew stood by the ship, nursing their wounds. Through the cracked hull, Leona glimpsed the rest of her crew, dead eyes staring.

She raised her eyes. The clouds hid the sky. If the battle continued, it was hidden.

"Thank you, Coral," she said, looking back at the weaver. "Your magic saved my life."

Coral smiled wanly. She looked thinner than before, as after a long illness. "I told you, ma'am, I don't deal with magic. I'm not a soothsayer but a weaver of the holy light. I am one with the cosmos."

"Well, whatever the hell you are, you saved my ass," Leona said. "I owe you my life."

"And you saved my life on Til Shiran," Coral said, eyes shimmering. "I was slowly dying in the desert. You showed me the luminous path. We are forever in each other's debt. We are forever cosmic sisters."

Leona nodded. "Cosmic sisters. I like that. Of course, I'd like it better if we weren't stuck on the ass end of the cosmos."

Leona rose to her feet—too fast. She swayed, and Coral had to rush forward and catch her. Even after the healing, Leona's body was bruised and cut. When she tested a few steps, she could walk. No bones were broken. Her head spun, but slowly it was clearing.

Cursing, she stumbled toward the Nantucket's cockpit, but the controls were smashed beyond use. The engines were dead. She flipped open her minicom, trying to connect to her fleet. But it was no use. With these thick clouds, she wasn't signaling anyone.

She turned toward Coral and the three other Inheritors—the last survivors of her crew.

"Grab whatever weapons you can from the Nantucket," she said. "Water and food too. Anything that's too heavy to carry, you leave behind."

Coral frowned. "Where are we going, ma'am?"

"To find higher ground. See that smudge on the horizon? That looks like a mountain. We might get a signal from there."

"And . . . the dead?" Coral said.

Coral's voice shook the slightest. Fear filled her eyes. Yes, Coral was a weaver, a wielder of a secret power Leona didn't understand. Yet she was still only a private, new to war. The other surviving Inheritors looked at Leona too, older and gruffer, but also scared. She saw the fear in their eyes.

"I want a volunteer to remain with the fallen," Leona said. "We'll not bury them in this swamp. We'll get aid. We'll find a starship to rescue us. We'll give our fallen heroes a proper funeral in space and send their bodies to rest among the stars." She looked at the smashed starship, at the dead inside. "They gave their lives for Earth. They fell with honor. They are—"

She fell silent and tilted her head.

A clattering sounded among the trees.

She spun around, aiming Arondight, but saw nothing.

The others raised their rifles too. They stared around, eyes narrowed.

"Comma—" Coral began.

Leona raised a finger to her lips.

There! She heard it again. More clattering. Creaking. Mud swishing.

The creature rose from behind the starship, dripping mud and moss.

"A marshcrab," Leona muttered. "I mucking hate those things."

She had seen a few marshcrabs in space before. Despite the sad state of their homeworld, they were a sentient, technological species—mostly using stolen tech. In space, the giant crabs were bright red. But here, in their own soupy environment, their exoskeleton was a rusty brown. With their long, thin legs, they looked a lot like mangrove roots, blending into their environment.

"Hey, buddy!" Leona said to the crab. "Do you happen to have a working communicator on ya?"

The marshcrab climbed over the Nantucket. Its eyestalks tilted toward her. Its legs were taller than Leona. Its body was small and covered with a warty shell; most of the creature was just legs.

"Hey, I'm talking to you, bub!" Leona said.

"Commodore!" Coral grabbed her arm. "Look!"

Leona turned and cursed. More marshcrabs were creeping from the trees. They had been there all along, Leona realized, hiding among the roots. Leona winced.

"Hear me, marshcrabs!" she said. "I am Commodore Leona Ben-Ari of the Concord forces. I wish you no harm! If you return me to my people, I will—"

"Concord scum!" one of the marshcrabs said.

"Filthy humans!" rasped another.

"Invaders!" cried a third marshcrab. "Invaders!"

"Slay them! Slay them!"

The creatures scuttled toward the humans, sneering.

Leona rolled her eyes. Oh bloody hell.

"Inheritors, fire!" she cried.

Their bullets rang out, slamming into the marshcrabs. Leona tore a leg off one beast, but it kept running.

A claw thrust toward her. Leona swung Arondight, parrying the blow, then fired again, hitting the marshcrab's underbelly. Its shell cracked, and its innards leaked. Leona leaped back, barely dodging the falling alien.

More marshcrabs were advancing. Leona kept firing, tearing them down. They were easy kills compared to scorpions, but by Ra, there were a lot of them. More kept emerging from the trees, rising from the mud, and appearing from the fog.

The other Inheritors were firing too. Bullets tore off the marshcrab legs, shattered their shells, and sent the beasts clattering down.

Coral fought with a different weapon. Her tattoos shone, and light flowed down her arm and into her silvery dagger. When she aimed the blade, pulses of light blasted out and slammed into marshcrabs, searing holes into their shells.

Dead aliens quickly sank into the mud, but new marshcrabs rose to replace them. Dozens, soon hundreds of the creatures surrounded the handful of Inheritors. An individual marshcrab wasn't much of a threat to a trained Inheritor. An army of marshcrabs was a different matter.

"They're too many!" Coral said.

Leona grimaced. Firing with one hand, she pulled out her minicom again. Damn it! Still no signal.

Had anyone seen the Nantucket crashing? Would her father arrive to save them?

A marshcrab lunged toward her, and she fired, knocking it back. But another rose behind her, and its leg knocked her down. Another leg kicked Arondight away. Lying on her back in the mud, Leona drew her pistol and fired, again, again, punching bullets through the crab until it fell dead. Another rose behind it.

I want to die on Earth, Leona thought. Not become crab food. Come on, Dad, where the hell are you?

As she loaded another magazine, she scanned the clouds, seeking some sign of rescue, of an Inheritor vessel plunging down after her.

A corporal fell beside her, firing his last bullets, a claw in his leg. Another Inheritor cried out and fell, a marshcrab claw impaling his chest. The aliens clattered and laughed and covered the swamp.

A distant sound rose—rumbling engines.

Leona looked up at the clouds, praying.

And there.

There above!

A starship was flying down, still wreathed in cloud.

Thank Ra, Leona thought. Dad!

Across the swamp, the crabs looked up and shrieked. Their cries rose louder—cries of terror. With a great clatter, they began to flee. They raced through the mud, over the fallen Nantucket, and back into the trees.

Coral laughed. "Flee before the light, creatures of darkness!"

Leona looked up again at the descending starship.

Her heart sank.

Oh hell.

It wasn't an Inheritor starship after all.

It was a striker.

The scorpion vessel descended until it hovered above the mud. Its engines rumbled, and heat bathed Leona. Slowly the striker lowered itself and thumped onto a patch of grass and reeds.

"Stay near me," Leona said to the other Inheritors, not removing her eyes from the striker. "Ready your guns. Coral, keep your dagger shining. When they emerge from inside, we fire. We fire everything and we will kill them."

A hatch on the striker rattled, then creaked open, and the scorpions emerged.

By Ra.

Leona gazed in shock.

Coral screamed and blasted a beam of light from her dagger.

An instant later, Leona fired her rifle, and soon the others were firing too—just a handful of Inheritors, shouting and firing together.

The scorpions raced toward them. But these were no usual Skra-Shen. These ones wore mech suits, shells of steel plates and luminous cables. Machine guns were mounted on their backs, and the beasts opened fire. Bullets shrieked.

"Fall back!" Leona cried. "Take cover behind the Nantucket!"

The humans ran.

Bullets tore into one Inheritor, and the man fell.

Two more humans cried out, torn apart by the bullets.

Only Leona and Coral made it behind the Nantucket, panting. One bullet had grazed Coral's leg, and another had pierced her arm. The weaver panted, bleeding, eyes wide in her muddy face. Her tattoos were dimming as her blood flowed.

More bullets flew, pounding into the Nantucket, rattling the starship.

"Ma'am, what do we do?" Coral said. "Is this the end?"

"Not today!" Leona said. "We do not die here. Not in this swamp. Into the Nantucket!"

She leaped toward a crack in the hull and wriggled inside. Coral followed. The scorpions made their way around the ship, still firing the machine guns on their backs. Bullets blazed through the cracks in the hull. Leona ran to the stern, wading through mud and corpses. Some of these dead were her friends. She forced herself not to look, not to mourn. Not now. She reached the stern, saw the cabinet there—

"Ma'am!" Coral cried. "Scorpion in the ship!"

"Hold it back! Cover me!"

Coral's tattoos were dim now, but she lifted a rifle from a dead Inheritor and opened fire. Leona grabbed the cabinet. The door was half buried in mud. She grimaced, shouting, tugging with all her strength. Finally the cabinet door budged, opening a crack. More scorpions were crawling into the hold. Bullets whizzed and nearly deafened Leona. She pulled out the flamethrower. She spun back toward the battle.

"Coral, down!" she shouted.

The weaver hit the floor, and Leona activated her flamethrower.

A torrent of fire gushed forth, roared over Coral's back, and slammed into the scorpions.

The beasts squealed.

Their armor heated, turned red, then melted, searing the aliens' exoskeletons. The scorpions screamed, tried to leap toward Leona, but she flipped the flamethrower to a higher setting. The fire slammed into the aliens, knocking them back, roaring through the hold. Coral crawled back and rose beside Leona, singed and sweaty and panting.

Finally the fuel ran out. The fire died, and Leona tossed the flamethrower aside.

The scorpions slumped to the floor, twitching. Their exoskeletons had melted like plastic left in a hot car, sticking to their gooey innards. They raised their melted heads, tried to move forward, to still fight, but could not. They were melting onto the floor.

Coral cringed and lifted her rifle, ready to put them out of their misery.

"No." Leona pulled the rifle down, her eyes hard. "Let them suffer."

Coral looked at her, shock in her eyes. But Leona refused to budge.

Let them suffer like I suffered.

"Are they all gone?" Coral whispered. The weaver's eyes were haunted, her cheeks smeared with mud. Her fingers trembled around her rifle. Weavers were skilled healers, but Coral had not yet healed her wounds, perhaps too weary. "Are—"

Creaking sounded outside.

A deep laugh rolled like thunder.

A clawed leg reached into the crashed starship.

Leona and Coral opened fire at once, but the bullets glanced off the hard shell.

Leona frowned. That was no ordinary scorpion shell.

"An albino," she whispered.

The scorpion entered the burnt hull, hissing between fangs like daggers. A white scorpion with two tails. A scorpion with one blazing white eye.

No, Leona thought, trembling. It can't be.

But it was.

It was him.

Before her stood the scorpion who had killed her husband.

The albino scorpion stood in the charred hold of the Nantucket, his two tails flicking. He stared at Leona with a single white eye and grinned.

"Hello again, Leona." His voice was like shattering glass, and he licked his chops with a dripping red tongue. "I always knew we'd meet again."

She stared, rifle raised, barely able to breathe.

"Sartak," she hissed through a clenched jaw.

The scorpion laughed, a sound like snapping bones. "So you remember. I knew you would remember my name. And I remember you, Leona. I remember you well. How you screamed!" He raised his pincer. "I still remember plunging this claw into your thigh. Tell me, sweetness, do you still bear the scar?"

Leona could not believe this. She stared, shock pulsing through her. It was another flashback. Had to be. It could not be real, he could not be here, not after all this time.

"You died," she whispered. "We saw your corpse."

The creature tossed back his head, laughed, and cracked open.

Leona grimaced. Coral stared with wide, terrified eyes.

The scorpion's white exoskeleton tore off, falling in pieces like an eggshell. A new creature slithered out, bearing a glimmering new shell, wet and pinkish. He stared at Leona, hissing, dripping.

"You saw my old shell that day," Sartak said. "I grow quickly. It is the blessing of my deformity. With every shell I shed, I emerge stronger, harder than before. And hungrier. I shed my first shell on your wedding day. Devouring your husband gave me that strength." He reached into the shards of his old shell, then pulled out a human skull. He tossed it at Leona. "Here, Leona! A belated gift for you. I saved it all these years. The head of your beloved Jake."

The skull rolled and stopped at Leona's feet.

She stared down at it.

A dental filling on a molar. A line across the temple where a bullet had once grazed him. It was him. Her husband. Her Jake.

Leona screamed and fired Arondight at the scorpion. Her bullets ricocheted off the alien's new shell. One scraped across her arm. Coral was shouting at her side, blasting funnels of air at Sartak, but the scorpion withstood the assault.

"You cannot hurt me, humans!" Sartak said. "As I have shed my shell, I will peel off your skin, and I will laugh as you beg for death. Come, Leona! Come join your husband."

He leaped toward her.

Leona activated her time-bending implant.

Pain blazed through her skull. She was so weak and wounded she nearly passed out.

The scorpion was soaring through the air toward her, moving so slowly. Leona stepped aside. The scorpion slammed into the weapons cabinet behind her, denting the metal door. Its tails lashed, spraying venom. One of the stingers whipped, and Leona ducked, dodging it.

Another stinger lashed toward Coral. The weaver tried to dodge but was wounded, slow, weak, her tattoos barely visible now. Leona kicked, sweeping Coral's legs out from under her. The weaver crashed down, and the tail whipped over her head, slicing strands of her white hair.

Leona's head was pounding. She would have to deactivate her time-twister soon. But Ra, the scorpion was fast. Already he was leaping back toward her. Coral was moving in slow motion. So were the flying bullets. But Sartak was fighting as fast as ever. Leona's implant had no effect on him.

Leona fired her rifle. The bullets flew, rippling the air. They shattered against the scorpion, and Leona aimed for the beast's single eye.

She fired the shot.

And Sartak dodged it.

He dodged it!

He dodged a bullet moving faster than sound!

And she realized with dread: He has a time-twister too.

For the first time, Leona noticed that a silver rune shone on Sartak's shell. A rune similar to the ones tattooed onto Coral.

The scorpion's rune was shaped like an hourglass.

"He's a weaver!" Coral shouted, her voice deep and slow and distorted. "That's why his shell is white!"

Before Leona could react, the albino scorpion barreled into her, knocking her down.

Leona hit the ground, screaming, landing on the discarded shell. A claw tore into her leg, and she bellowed in pain. Her time-twister shut down.

"Yes, scream for me, Leona," Sartak hissed, drooling onto her. "I love the sound of your screaming. For the past ten years, I've been dreaming of it. I will make you scream so much . . ."

His claw hooked a piece of her skin and began to peel it.

Leona yowled.

"Beg me!" he hissed.

Leona stared into his one eye. "Muck. You."

But he pulled his claw. And she screamed for him. And he laughed.

"We are only beginning. We—"

Coral leaped onto Sartak's back, lashing her silver dagger. Her tattoos were dim, but light still flowed down her arms, through the dagger's blade, and into the scorpion.

The creature cried out in pain.

Aether, Leona thought. Aether hurts them, we—

The light flowed through the alien into her, and Leona arched her back, screaming. She kicked wildly, managed to toss off the scorpion, then knelt, panting, coughing. She tasted blood. The world spun.

Apparently aether hurts humans too, Leona thought.

Coral's cries of pain brought Leona back to her senses. She turned to see Sartak attacking the weaver, tails lashing.

Coral was pointing her dagger, but she was finally out of aether. Evidently, one could run out of aether like bullets.

Coral's eyes were sunken, her tattoos nearly invisible against her dark skin. The scorpion squirted venom. The spray flew toward Coral, and the weaver screamed. The venom sizzled through her coat, burning her skin. Coral lashed her dagger, but a claw slammed into her, tearing her arm. She fell.

"Hear your pest friend scream, Leona!" Sartak said. "Watch me slay her like I slew your husband. Your turn will come."

He raised both stingers high, prepared to impale Coral.

Leona took a deep breath.

She closed her eyes.

She diverted her full attention to her time-twister.

She activated it at full force.

She had never given the implant so much strength. It rattled in her skull. She thought her brain would tear, her skull shatter. She was beyond pain, beyond terror.

The world slowed more than ever before. Every heartbeat was an era.

The stingers were moving downward.

Leona moved forward, tears in her eyes. A strip of skin hung loose from her leg, but she barely felt it. There was a supernova in her head.

Hands shaking, barely existing, she grabbed Coral and pulled her back.

With all her strength, Leona dragged the weaver, then shoved her out of the cracked hull into the mud.

The stingers slammed down into the deck, embedding themselves in the metal.

Leona stared at Jake's killer.

"You killed him," she whispered. "But you cannot kill humanity. Earth is eternal."

The weapons cabinet was ajar. Leona raised her gun. She fired.

As the bullet pulsed forward, rippling the air, Sartak shrieked. He tried to stop the bullet, but his stingers were still embedded in the floor. He could not reach it.

Leona grabbed Jake's skull, grabbed Sartak's discarded shell, and ran.

Her time-twister shattered in her head, and time resumed its normal flow.

Leona leaped out of the starship as her bullet entered the weapons cabinet.

She landed atop Coral, shielding the girl with her body, driving her into the mud. Leona pulled the discarded scorpion shell over her back, then covered her ears.

The Nantucket exploded behind her.

Even with her ears covered, the sound was deafening.

The shock wave pounded against the two Inheritors, shoving them deeper into the mud. Shrapnel hailed down, slamming into the scorpion shell above them. Fire blazed. Burning shards of metal landed around them, sizzling in the marshlands, boiling the mud. Trees caught fire. Birds, insects, and marshcrabs fled.

Silence.

Ringing.

Coral shifted in the mud and looked up at Leona. "Is—"

Another explosion sounded.

Then another.

Then the world itself seemed to shatter, and burst after burst of explosions popped.

"Run!" Leona shouted.

They ran, the shell held above them. Behind them, the bombs and torpedoes aboard the Nantucket—not just the personal weapons in the cabinet—were exploding.

The inferno raged behind them. They raced through the mud, ran between burning trees, leaped over a hill, and flattened themselves in a valley. When Leona glanced over her shoulder, she saw a mushroom cloud. Bits of metal and scorpion shell pattered down around them.

"The first explosion was the grenades in the cabinet," Leona said, barely hearing herself over the ringing in her ears. "Those were the torpedoes meant for enemy ships."

Coral touched her ears and winced. "Are you sure they weren't meant to destroy planets?"

"Just be thankful I wasn't flying the Jerusalem," Leona said. "That ship has nuclear weapons."

"You must never fly it," Coral said.

Leona nodded. "All right. I never . . ."

She could not complete her sentence. Suddenly Leona was weeping and trembling. She lifted her husband's skull from the mud and cradled it.

Coral wrapped her arms around Leona. They were both burnt, bleeding, but for a moment they just embraced.

"I avenged you, Jake," Leona whispered, holding his skull. "I killed him. I killed the monster that took you from me. I will give you a burial in space. You will rest among the stars."

Coral placed her hand atop Leona's. The girl stared into her eyes.

"No," Coral said. "You will bury him on Earth." She nodded. "Now come on! We gotta climb that mountain to get a signal, right? Let's go!"

"You're wounded," Leona said. "You should rest."

Coral shook her head. "Too murky down here. Up the mountain, I'll be closer to the stars. I will heal. We both will. Come."

The weaver started to march toward the mountain.

Leona followed through the marshlands. She was lost in the wilderness, abandoned on an enemy planet across the galaxy. But today she was one step closer to Earth. One step closer to healing.

Emet stood in the Jerusalem's hold, Thunder in hand, as the scorpions swarmed into the starship.

"Fire!" Emet shouted and pulled his trigger.

Across the hold, his fifty warriors fired their own weapons.

The drills had left gaping holes in the floor and ceiling, revealing the enemy's boarding vessels. The scorpions leaped through the holes into the oncoming bullets.

Blood filled the Jerusalem.

Humans and scorpions died.

Railguns pounded the enemy. Claws tore through flesh.

Here were the best warriors in the Heirs of Earth. They fired railguns, powerful weapons that knocked the scorpions back. One man lost a leg but still fought, roaring for Earth as he fired two pistols. A woman lost an arm to a pincer, but still she swung an electric blade, slicing through scorpions. Several men raised flamethrowers and filled the enemy's boarding vessels with flame, roasting the scorpions still inside.

Emet stood with his back to the bulkhead, firing his rifle, knocking back scorpions with his mighty two-barreled assault. The creatures pounced toward him. He stood, firing again and again, tearing them down. When Thunder ran out of bullets, he fired his pistol. When his pistol too ran out, he knelt, grabbed a magazine from a dead Inheritor, and kept fighting. Scorpion corpses piled up at his feet.

"This is the flagship of the Heirs of Earth!" he said. "You will not take it."

Another scorpion bounded toward him. Emet fired his rifle, blowing off the beast's head.

As he fought in the hold, the Jerusalem was still battling the enemy's warships. Duncan was still on the bridge, piloting the ship. Rowan was still firing the cannons, pounding the enemy forces. The Jerusalem kept swerving, jostling as the cannons boomed. Emet couldn't see the battle from here, but he could imagine thousands of starships still careening over Akraba, battling for dominance.

The last scorpion in the hold scuttled toward him, and Emet slew the beast with a single bullet.

He spat.

He looked across the hold. Thirty Inheritors had survived the battle and stood over dead scorpions. The enemy's boarding vessels were still attached to the hull like leeches.

"Get more flamethrowers," Emet said. "Fill their vessels with fire. There might be more scorpions inside."

His men nodded, grabbed flamethrowers, and aimed into the holes in the hull.

They filled the boarding vessels with liquid death.

Inside, scorpions—perhaps the pilots of the vessels—screamed and fell through the fire, burning.

Inside one vessel, laughter rose.

Emet frowned.

He stared at a hole on the ceiling, which a boarding vessel had drilled. The laughter came from inside. An Inheritor stood below, pumping the enemy vessel full of flame, but the laughter continued.

Blue and white flashed.

A creature leaped down through the hole, passed through the fire, and landed atop the Inheritor with the flamethrower. Claws lashed. The Inheritor's severed limbs slapped onto the floor.

Emet fired his railgun.

His bullets hit a fiery demon, but the creature still laughed. The demon advanced toward him, ablaze, arms outstretched. Emet fired bullet after bullet. The other Inheritors were firing on the flaming beast too, doing no harm.

"Hello, Emet!" she cried, emerging from the fire.

A woman with glimmering alabaster skin—skin like a scorpion's exoskeleton. With implants on her head. The fire had burned her clothes and hair away, but Emet recognized her.

"Jade," he said.

The Inheritors charged toward her with blades and clubs.

Jade laughed and leaped into the air.

She moved like lightning. She rebounded off the ceiling, off the walls, her claws lashing. She dodged every blade, every electric prod. Her claws tore through Inheritors, severing limbs and heads, ripping torsos open.

Warriors screamed.

Some tried to flee into the burnt-out boarding vessels, others onto the bridge.

Jade reached them all, ripping them apart, laughing as their blood splattered.

"For Earth!" they cried as they died.

Jade bit out a man's throat, then spat out flesh. She looked up at Emet, licked the blood off her lips, and smiled.

There is nowhere to hide, Emet knew. If I die, I die fighting.

He roared and lunged toward her.

He swung Thunder into her head. The blow knocked Jade's head back; it should have cracked her skull. But Jade merely straightened her neck with a creak and smiled.

Emet swung the rifle again, slamming the wooden stock into her temple. The wood shattered. Jade laughed.

Emet sneered, aimed the muzzle at her face, and pulled the trigger.

She yanked the barrel aside and the bullet flew and slammed into the bulkhead.

"Naughty human," she hissed, then slammed her palm into his chest.

Emet flew through the hull, hit into a bulkhead, and slumped to the floor. He lay, gasping for breath, finding no air. Corpses spread around him.

Jade walked toward him, smiling crookedly. She placed a foot on his chest, pinning him down.

Emet looked up into her green eyes.

"Who are you?" he whispered.

"Your nemesis," she said. "Your death. The death of humanity."

Jade knelt, grabbed his throat, and began to squeeze.

As Emet lay on the floor, slowly dying, he realized that the ship's cannons had stopped firing. The hull was eerily quiet.

A voice, high and timid, pierced the silence.

"Jade?"

Jade looked up, then released Emet's throat and took a step back. Eyes fluttering, barely clinging to consciousness, Emet tilted his head back and saw Rowan step into the hold.

Her breath trembled. Leaving the cockpit, Rowan stepped into the Jerusalem's hold.

Before her spread the devastation.

Fifty dead Inheritors, their corpses torn apart, limbs and heads and entrails scattered. A pool of blood. Smoking dead scorpions. And in the center of the slaughter—Emet lying on the floor, wounded, maybe dying, and Jade kneeling above him, drenched in the blood of her enemies.

"Jade?" Rowan whispered. Her voice shook. "Is that really you?"

Jade whipped her head toward her, hissing, blood on her teeth. She seemed less than human. A demon. A creature half flesh, half machine. Her skin shone, unnaturally white and hard. The fire had burned away her blue hair, but her implants still whirred and shone on the side of her head. Claws extended from her fingertips. The creature grinned, eyes mad.

Rowan took another step closer. Every instinct in her body screamed to run. But she advanced toward the demon.

Because I see something in her green eyes, Rowan thought. Something buried under the madness.

"Sister," Rowan whispered, reaching out a shaking hand.

Jade screamed. The sound was deafening, echoing in the ship, nearly knocking Rowan back.

"What did you call me?" Jade shouted, voice like a thousand shrieking demons of hell.

Beneath her, Emet was trying to move, to crawl away. But he was badly wounded. Maybe dying. And Jade was still gripping him with one hand, her claws in his flesh. Without anyone manning the cannons, the Jerusalem was taking a pounding. The ship kept jolting as blasts slammed into their shields. Outside, the battle was still raging across space.

"Rowan!" Duncan cried from the cockpit. "Rowan, I need you back here, lass!"

Rowan blinked tears out of her eyes. She stepped closer to Jade, her boots sloshing through blood.

"Do you remember?" Rowan whispered. "Do you remember me?"

Jade sneered. "You are vermin."

Rowan took a step closer. "I'm your sister."

Jade howled. Beneath her, Emet stretched out a shaky arm, trying to reach a control panel on the bulkhead. But he was too far. He tried to crawl, but Jade kept him pinned down, her claws bleeding him.

"You are a liar!" Jade howled. "A filthy pest! I will not let you back into my skull. I will not! I am a scorpion!"

Rowan shook her head. "You are human."

"Liar!" Jade laughed maniacally. "I will no longer let you deceive me. I will take you back to my master, girl. He himself will skin you. And I will watch and laugh!"

Rowan wept. She stood before her sister, trembling. "What did he do to you?" she whispered. "How did the scorpion emperor hurt you? I'm so sorry, Jade. I'm so sorry we let you go. Come back to me. Come back now. He can no longer hurt you."

But Jade only laughed, head tossed back. "Sin Kra, the great emperor of Skra-Shen, hurts me to make me stronger. And I am strong. You will never know true strength, humans. But you will witness it before you die. You will see our empire rise before your wretched race falls."

Rowan lowered her head, tears falling.

"They broke you," Rowan whispered. "But you can come back. Come back to us."

Heavy footsteps sounded behind her. Duncan came racing off the bridge. He must have left the Jerusalem on autopilot.

"Rowan, lass, step away from her!" Duncan said. "Come to me, lass. Come back into the cockpit. We'll lock the door; it's reinforced steel. Come, Rowan. Come back to me, and stay away from that she-demon."

Jade leaned down, fished a fallen bullet out of the gore, then screamed and hurled it.

The bullet whizzed through the air and slammed into Duncan's forehead.

The bullet drove clean through his head. It clattered into the cockpit behind him.

Duncan stared for a moment, blood gushing from the hole in his forehead, then crashed down dead.

"Duncan!" Emet cried, still pinned to the floor. "No! Duncan!"

Jade laughed, eyes mad. "How frail the flesh of men. This old fool piloted your flagship? This starship will be mine. I will command it myself, firing its cannons to slay your own people. But you will live longer, Emet and Rowan. You will suffer in the hall of the emperor."

The horror wrapped around Rowan like claws. She had not known Duncan for long, but he had become dear to her. She forced a deep breath.

Do not panic. Do not abandon her. She's still your sister. She's broken and needs healing.

Rowan took another step closer. She stood so close now she could have reached out and touched Jade.

"Jade." Rowan's voice was barely a whisper. "Do you remember the glittering cave?"

"Lies!" Jade was shaking now, eyes mad, lips peeled back in a rabid snarl.

"Do you remember Mom and Dad?" Rowan blinked tears out of her eyes. "They loved you so much. And I love you."

And now tears were flowing from Jade's eyes too, falling onto Emet who lay wounded beneath her.

"You are a liar!" Jade cried, but now her voice was torn with grief. Her body shook with sobs. "The emperor told me. That you can do this. That you can hack into my mind. That you can plant these memories." Her voice rose to a torn howl. "Get out of my head!"

"They are true memories," Rowan said. Hesitantly, she reached out and touched Jade's arm. "We are sisters."

Snarling, Jade grabbed her.

Rowan yelped.

Jade knocked her onto the bloody floor, then drove her knee into Rowan's chest. Rowan gasped for air.

"You vermin," Jade hissed, leaning down, drooling above her. "You will not call me sister!" Her claws tightened around Rowan's arm, drawing blood.

Nearby, Emet was crawling across the floor, trying to reach the control panel. With a growl, Jade grabbed him, pulled him back.

"I can see the doubt in your eyes, Jade," Rowan whispered. "You would have killed me already, or taken me captive, but you hesitate."

Jade cackled. "I enjoy seeing you suffer. Pain is so beautiful when it's drawn out."

Rowan closed her eyes. Voice weak and trembling, she began to sing. A nearly-forgotten song of childhood. A song from a glittering cave. The song their parents used to sing them. A song of Earth, and a song of family.

They pulled her into a striker.

For a long time, Jade didn't breathe.

Claws jabbed her. Electrical wires shocked her.

When she finally gasped for air again, her fists clenched.

She tricked me. She betrayed me.

Jade rose to her feet, shaking with weakness and rage.

"Liars!" she howled, fists raised.

Scorpions surrounded her, gazing at her. Her true siblings.

"I am one of you!" she said. "Do you hear me? I am one of you!"

The scorpions nodded, but she saw the doubt in their eyes.

Jade fell to her knees, lowered her head, and remembered a glittering cave, an old song, and the eyes of a sister.

For a long time, the Heirs of Earth flew, beaten, bruised, nearly broken.

The remnants of their fleet limped across the galaxy, leaving behind the fire, the devastation of their hope.

Rowan sat inside the Brooklyn, wrapped in a thermal blanket. According to Fillister, she had spent only nineteen seconds in the vacuum of space before Bay had rescued her. Strange. It had felt much longer. Another second or two, and it would have killed her. Her eyes were still bloodshot, her face bruised, her skin raw. Medics had injected her with life-saving fluids, treated her for ebullism and hypoxia, and prevented the worst of the space sickness. Even so, Rowan felt like she had been turned inside out, run through a blender, dunked into a frozen ocean, burned in an oven, and finally run over by a steamroller.

And it felt amazing.

She was alive.

She tightened her blanket around her, then gazed through Brooklyn's porthole at the remains of humanity's fleet.

"We failed to beat them," Rowan said. "I thought that we could defeat the scorpions. That we could save the millions who cry out in the gulocks. That I could get my sister back." She turned away from the porthole. "But they won. They won, Bay. What will become of us now?"

Brooklyn's cabin was cluttered and small, barely larger than a modest bedroom. A few of Bay's drawings hung on the wall, and his clothes lay on the floor. He rose from his chair, then sat beside her on the bed.

"We're still here," Bay said. "A few of us survived. There's still hope."

"I'm afraid, Bay. I'm so afraid. This isn't like the movies at all. When you came into my life, when you promised to save me from Paradise Lost, I thought . . . I thought I was going on an adventure. Like in the old stories. Like Frodo or Luke or the rest of them. But they always defeated their enemies. They always won, Bay." She lowered her head, shaking. "I thought I would find a galaxy of wonder. But I found darkness and loss."

Bay embraced her, and she wept against his chest.

"Rowan, there is always hope." He stroked her hair and gazed into her eyes. "Those heroes, the ones from your stories—they had to go through much darkness before finding the light. They had to travel through lands of despair before finding realms of plenty. I believe that there's hope for us. That we can still pass through this darkness. That at the end, we can find . . ."

"Find what, Bay?" she whispered, gazing into his eyes. "Find what?"

"Earth," he said.

She smiled, tasting her tears. "So are you with us, Bay Ben-Ari? On our quest to Earth?"

For a long moment, he was silent, but then he spoke softly. "Ten years ago, Rowan, I fell in love. I fell in love with a sunny planet where my father was recruiting warriors. I fell in love with a local girl. I fell in love with a life away from war. I thought my heaven would be there. So I ran away. I was fourteen, and I stole Brooklyn, and I ran from my father and hid in the forest and vowed to remain on that sunny paradise." He looked into her eyes. "Then the scorpions came. I was the only survivor."

She touched his cheek. "I'm sorry."

"For a long time, I blamed my father." His voice choked. "I was angry. I thought he didn't fight for that world the way he fought for Earth. But I understand now. That Earth is our home. The home that was stolen from us. The world we evolved on, fled from—and to which we must return. So yes." He too smiled. "I'm with you, Rowan Emery. I'm with all of you. I'm with the Heirs of Earth."

She pulled him into a crushing embrace. They sat together for a long time, holding each other, silently weeping and laughing.

"Hey, Bay?" Rowan finally said, wiping her eyes.

"Yeah?"

Rowan grinned and pulled out the Earthstone. "We should watch the second Lord of the Rings movie now."

"Oh God no." Bay paled.

Rowan's grin widened. "You have no choice. I'm making you. Making you! Even if I must sit on you, and squish you, and force you to stay in place, you're watching this movie with me."

He sighed. "No use arguing with a hobbit, is there?"

She grinned. "Nope!"

"On one condition." Bay opened his little freezer and pulled out a plastic package. "We also eat these. Pancakes! They're only the frozen kind, not real ones, but—"

"Frickin' pancakes!" Rowan pulled him into a crushing embrace. "A dream come true!"

They ate, and they were delicious.

Rowan then streamed the movie onto his monitor, and they lay together on the bed. Back in the ducts, when watching the first movie, they had been cramped, forced to lie holding each other. There was more room here, but Rowan still snuggled against him. He wrapped his arms around her, and she kissed his hand. He stroked her hair throughout the movie, and she smiled softly. Though the galaxy burned, and her heart was filled with loss and fear, for the next three hours, Rowan felt safe in his arms.

The Heirs of Earth flew for long days. Finally, Emet led them to a snowy planet orbiting a small cold star, a world far from civilization.

Yet not a world far from war, Emet knew. Not a safe world. A new Galactic War has begun. Soon there will be no safe world in the galaxy.

He stood on the bridge of the Jerusalem, this battered tanker, this old warship. This place where he had lost so many friends. He gazed down at the frozen world. A sanctuary. A world far from home.

They had only a handful of starships. Most could not fly in atmosphere, and they remained in orbit. The survivors descended to the surface in shuttles. Three hundred Inheritors had flown to battle the scorpions. Half never made it back. Emet led the survivors through the snow. Flurries billowed their blue coats and stung their faces. Many were wounded. They carried some of the wounded on stretchers. The sky was dim, even at noon. The sun was small and blue and cold.

Finally they reached the caves in the mountainside. They climbed inside to find the rest of their people. Over a thousand humans sat inside, wrapped in blankets. A few engines, taken from shuttles and mounted on metal frames, provided heat.

These people escaped the horrors of the gulocks, Emet thought. They deserve better than a frozen cave. Yet they are far more fortunate than the millions who still cry out. Who still die in agony. Whom I still must save.

The people gathered around him. They whispered prayers. Some reached out to touch him, to thank him.

"Bless you, Emet Ben-Ari," said an old woman.

"Bless you, lion of Earth!" said an old man.

"Blessed be the heir of Queen Einav, the Golden Lioness," said a young woman, eyes shining. "Blessed be the prophet who will lead us home."

Emet looked at them all. Ragged, hungry survivors. They believed in him. They saw him as a hero.

But I'm no hero, he thought.

He noticed that Rowan kept her distance. That she sometimes glanced at him with fear. Even with hatred.

I had to do it, Rowan, Emet thought. To open the airlock. To blast Jade out. Even if it meant sacrificing my life—and yours. She is more dangerous than you know. She has killed millions. And she will kill again.

He tried to meet Rowan's eyes, but she looked away. Emet knew that it would be a long while before Rowan forgave him. Maybe she never would.

Emet looked over the crowd in the icy cave. Bay stood nearby, wearing his old hood and baggy sweatshirt whose sleeves hid his hands. Rowan stood by him, wearing her uniform, still carrying Lullaby, her pistol. Leona stood there too, wearing her blue blazer with the brass buttons, and her mane of brown curls flowed across her shoulders. There was a new strength in her eyes, but a new peace too. Hundreds of warriors and a thousand survivors stood farther back. All of them were the Heirs of Earth.

Emet spoke to them.

"Today we mourn our fallen. Today we grieve for the loved ones we lost. Let us stand in silence. Let us remember our martyrs."

They stood in silence, heads lowered. Emet thought of Duncan, his dear friend. Of all the warriors he had led to battle. Of all those he had failed to save.

He raised his head and spoke again.

"A war for the fate of the galaxy has begun. And we lost our first battle. The blood of our fallen still haunts us. The cries of those still trapped in the gulocks echoes in our ears. Today it's hard to find hope, to find light in the darkness. But there is hope! Along with our grief, there is new light!"

"What hope is there now!" cried a wounded warrior, his left arm gone. "My wife—she's gone. My children—burned in the fire. The Hierarchy spreads everywhere. What hope is there for humanity?"

Voices muttered in agreement. Across the cave, many were afraid, whispering of death.

Emet pulled a minicom from his pocket. He hit a button, and a hologram emerged and floated before him, ten feet tall. It displayed a starmap.

"Here is hope!" Emet said. "Here is a gift from the Aelonians. We lost the Battle of Terminus. But the Heirs of Earth showed great courage and sacrifice. Leona led the Corvette Company, breaking a way through the enemy lines. Every human warrior showed the courage of ten Aelonians. We proved to the aliens that humans are no pests, but that we are brave, we are strong, we are a blessing to the galaxy! In gratitude, Admiral Melitar of the Aelonians gave us this map."

The people gathered closer, peering at the hologram of a million stars.

"What does it show?" asked a man.

"This," Emet said, "is a map to Earth."

The people gasped. Voices cried out in the crowd.

"But Earth is lost!" shouted a woman.

"Nobody's known Earth's location for years!"

"Earth is just a myth!"

Emet raised his hands, hushing them. "Maybe you're right! Maybe Earth is a myth. Maybe this map is false hope, leading to nothing but a barren world, not our homeworld. But I believe! I have hope. For the first time in centuries, we have a sign of Earth. We have coordinates. We know where to go."

He hit a button on his minicom. The hologram changed, the image zooming in on one constellation. Then on one star. Then zooming in still, finally focusing on one planet. A blue world. A pale marble, orbiting in the darkness.

Earth.

"Earth!" the people cried. "It's Earth! Our home!"

Tears flowed. They prayed. They sang old songs. A few refugees scoffed, insisted this was forgery, but soon their voices fell silent, and perhaps they too believed.

"Earth still lies very far away," Emet finally said. "It lies on the other side of the Concord, past much danger and hardship. A cruel alien empire, one that rose after our banishment, now rules this sector. They are a warlike race, strong and eager to fight. They swear only loose fealty to the Concord, and have spoken of joining the Hierarchy. We will have to fight for Earth. The battle will be long and hard. But we will fight! We will go home!"

As the crowd cheered, one Inheritor stepped forward.

Rowan.

Her fists were clenched, and she glared up at Emet.

"How can we abandon our people!" she said. "Millions of humans might still be alive in Hierarchy space. Millions might still be scattered across Concord worlds. They need us! How can we fly across the galaxy when our people cry out to us? How can we abandon our oaths?"

Voices muttered agreements.

"We will not abandon our oaths!" said Emet, raising his voice. "Every Inheritor makes a sacred vow. Wherever a human is in danger, we will be there. We face two wars! One war to reach Earth, to reclaim our home, even if we must win Earth with blood. A second war to stop the Hierarchy, to save all humans in exile from the scorpion claws. We will fight both wars! We will split our forces. One team of brave explorers will travel to Earth, though the journey will take many months, maybe even a year. They will fight to establish a colony on our sacred ancestral ground. The rest of our fleet will remain in exile, fighting the Hierarchy, saving every human we can. It will take blood and sacrifice. It will take years. Maybe decades. Maybe even generations. But I vow this: We will bring every human home to Earth!"

"To Earth!" they cried. "To Earth!"

Emet looked at Rowan. She looked away.

Yes, it will be a while before you forgive me, Rowan, he thought. Before you understand.

One of the warriors stepped closer. A young woman with long platinum hair, dark skin, and white tattoos. A weaver—a priestess of the mystical light of the cosmos.

Her name is Coral, Emet remembered.

"But sir," Coral said, "do we have enough starships? Enough warriors? Can we truly split up? We lost so many . . ." The weaver hung her head low. "So many gone."

Mumbles passed through the crowd.

The weaver was speaking sense, Emet knew. The Heirs of Earth had suffered heavy losses. They had not been this small in years. They had only a handful of starships, a handful of warriors left. Yet what choice did Emet have?

"You fight with the army you have," Emet said. "And we will fight on. We—"

Engines.

Engines rumbled outside.

People cried out in fear.

"The scorpions!"

"The enemy is here!"

"They found us!"

Emet frowned. Had the scorpions already made it so far into Concord space?

He stepped out of the cave, rifle in his hands. Rowan and Leona followed, pistols drawn. They stared into the snowy sky. Several shuttles were descending through the flurries. Unable to land on the mountainside, they touched down in the valley.

Emet furrowed his brow. He looked at the others.

Those weren't scorpion ships.

The Inheritors began racing down the mountainside.

In the valley, they saw the shuttles humming on the ground, melting the snow. Several more shuttles were already descending. Emet could not determine their origin. They were clearly alien shuttles, but heavily modified, cobbled together from various components.

A hatch opened on one shuttle, and a man emerged.

A human.

He had a shaggy brown beard, wore an overcoat that was even shaggier, and an alien-looking rifle hung across his back. A woman and children peered from the shuttle behind him. The man trudged through the snow and flurries, finally coming to stand before Emet.

"Emet Ben-Ari?" the man said, having to shout over the wind. A toothy grin split his face. "Lovely planet you chose! Can't wait to see the beaches." He reached out his hand to shake. "Name's Jon. Jon Harris. I lead a small community of two hundred humans. We heard about your exploits on the border. Impressive! You got balls, Emet Ben-Ari. We've got some muscle ourselves, some good warriors, some bullets, even a clunky old mothership in orbit with some half-decent cannons on her. We've come to help! If you'll have us, that is."

Emet looked at the other shuttles. More people were emerging. Children. Elders. But also young men and women of fighting age. With weapons. With determination in their eyes.

Humans.

Children of Earth.

Emet had to tighten his lips, worried that after all this bloodshed, this agony, this fear, he would finally break down in tears.

He clasped Jon's outreached hand in both his own, then said to hell with it—and embraced the man.

"You are most welcome here, Jon Harris."

A day later, another human community arrived. There were a hundred of them, exiles who had been hiding on a distant moon. They too had a starship, an alien vessel outfitted with shields and weapons. They too vowed to fight.

On the third day, no fewer than four starships arrived, each from a different human community. Some had been hiding on an asteroid, working in deep mines. Others had survived beneath an alien city, living in the sewers. A handful of humans, like Rowan, had spent their exile surviving in space stations like mice. One starship even carried survivors from Hierarchy territory; the Rawdiggers had smuggled them out in exchange for diamonds.

They all brought the same message.

"We heard of Leona Ben-Ari, the descendant of Einav, freeing the survivors of the gulock. We heard of the Corvette Company leading the charge against the strikers. We heard of the Old Lion ejecting the Blue Witch from his airlock. We heard of the Heirs of Earth and their courage. We will join you. We will fight. We will see Earth again."

For days, they kept arriving from across the galaxy. Starship after starship. More survivors from across space. More humans. For the first time in thousands of years, these dispersed, exiled people, hunted like vermin and living in shadows, joined together.

Within weeks, the Heirs of Earth swelled to their largest size ever. Forty-two warships flew for Earth, ranging from massive freighters to humble corvettes. Cargo ships, shuttles, and starfighters completed their fleet. Three thousand humans gathered here at this snowy world so far from home. Warriors. Survivors. All were the Heirs of Earth.

Rowan sat in the mountain cave, wrapped in a fur cloak. Only a handful of other survivors were still down here. Almost everyone was up with the fleet now, prepared to fly away from the frozen planet. Some would fly out to seek more human communities. Others would return to battle the Hierarchy. A handful of intrepid humans would seek Earth. All three were noble pursuits.

But right now, Rowan just sat in the cave. An emptiness filled her, and the weight of the mountain seemed to press down upon her.

She pulled her old photograph from her pocket. The one from another cave on a distant world. She smoothed the wrinkly plastic casing. A photo of herself as a toddler. With her family. With Jade.

Rowan gazed at her sister for a long time. A seven-year-old girl with blond hair. With kind eyes.

Finally Rowan placed her photo back in her pocket, and she pulled out her old companion. When closed, Fillister looked like a humble pocket watch, cold and smooth in her hand. Her father had given her the robot fourteen years ago. A toy. A gadget. But Fillister had become so much more.

She removed the chain, clicked a button, and his wings and head sprouted out. The robotic dragonfly yawned and hovered before her, wings buzzing.

"Mornin', squire! Is it time to leave?" He shivered. "Blimey, it's cold on this world." The tiny robot frowned. "You all right, Row?"

She spoke softly. "Fill, am I a bad person?"

"What's that now?" Fillister buzzed from side to side, agitated. "You're bloody brilliant, you are. You know that."

"Fill, I . . . I saw my sister. Up there. In the battle. I saw Jade."

Fillister froze. His wings stopped flapping and he clanked onto the floor. He looked up at her.

"You . . . saw Jade? Our Jade?"

"I tried to save her," Rowan whispered. Her voice cracked. "I tried, Fill. I tried so hard, but the scorpions still have her. They did something to her. Changed her. Hacked into her brain using those implants. All those evil things she did? The scorpions made her do them. My sister is not to blame, not evil. I know this. And I'm scared I'll never get her back. That I didn't love her enough. That she doesn't love me, or . . ."

"Now, now." Fillister flew up and nuzzled her. "You love Jade very much. I know that. She will too someday. Chin up! I promise you, Row, if there's a way to get her back, we'll do it." He nodded emphatically. "We ain't giving up on the girl yet. She's family, after all."

Rowan hugged the dragonfly to her chest, careful not to bend his wings.

"Fill, do you remember all those nights in the ducts? Nights reading books. Writing our Dinosaur Island movie scripts. Watching fantasy movies. Listening to music. Dreaming. Hiding. Fleeing exterminators. Sneaking down to steal food and water. Being so scared all the time."

"It was a hard life," Fillister said. "But we had each other."

"We used to dream of seeing the stars. We'd climb to the top of Paradise Lost, gaze through the tiny porthole, see one star, maybe two, three on a good night. We'd dream of flying among those stars. Meeting other people." She lowered her head, tears falling. "I never thought it would be like this. So painful."

"Chin up!" Gently, Fillister nudged her head back up and hovered before her eyes. "We'll get through this, Row. We'll beat them scorpions, same as we beat them exterminators. There's still beauty out there. Among the stars. There are still wonders to behold. Not all is darkness and pain." He turned toward the mouth of the cave, and they gazed out at the stars. "See there? See those lights? That's hope. Up there, among the stars, a human fleet awaits us. Humans, Row! Real humans. Real friends. Your people. Might be they even got a cute robot or two." He waggled his tiny metal eyebrows. "I've had me eyes on that Brooklyn bird!"

Rowan couldn't help but laugh. "She thought you're an ant."

"Ah, she's only playing hard to get, she is! Wait till she sees me put on the old Fillister charm." The robot tugged at Rowan's sleeve. "Now come on, Row. Let's get up there. Fly among the stars, alright?"

She nodded, rose to her feet, and patted her pistol. Lullaby was heavy and comforting on her hip.

"Let's go up there," she said. "Let's fight. Let's love. Let's see some wonders." She grinned. "And let's watch some movies."

Song of Dragons

Blood of Requiem

Tears of Requiem

Light of Requiem

The Complete Trilogy