The Heirs of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 1)

CHAPTER EIGHT

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.