The Heirs of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 1)

CHAPTER ONE

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.

Someday we will see her

The pale blue marble

Rising from the night beyond the moon

Cloaked in white, her forests green

Calling us home

Sarai joined the song, her voice shaky but clear, singing the second verse.

For long we wandered

For eras we were lost

For generations we sang and dreamed

To see her rise again

Blue beyond the moon

Calling us home

And now David sang with them, voice soft.

Into darkness we fled

In the shadows we prayed

In exile we always knew

That we will see her again

Our Earth rising from loss

Calling us home

Calling us home

Their song ended. The scorpions crept in from all sides, surrounding the family, crushing corpses beneath their claws. They covered the ceiling, the floor, the walls, slowly advancing, black and demonic, a shell of death. Between them, so small, the two girls began to sing again, voices nearly drowning under the shrieking cries of alien hunger.

Sin Kra looked at the girls and snorted. He turned his massive, serrated head toward the scorpions behind him.

"Take the children alive," he said. "We'll bring them home. Our hatchlings can torture them for sport. Kill the adults."

The scorpions roared and stormed forth.

David fired his railgun.

His shell slammed into Sin Kra's head. It was a blast that could have torn through a tank, but it did nothing more than knock the emperor's head aside, leaving the smallest of dents.

The creature laughed.

The scorpions lashed their claws.

Sarai shouted, firing her own railgun. At such short range, her rounds did real damage. One bullet slammed into a claw, tearing it off. Another bullet cracked a scorpion's exoskeleton, and gooey flesh oozed out, gray and quivering. David fired too, round after round, wounding but not killing the beasts. Even little Jade was fighting, swinging her crystal sword.

"Into the Whitehorse!" David cried.

He backed toward the starship, firing rapidly. A scorpion leaped from the ship's roof, but a blast from David's gun knocked it aside. Claws tore into David's thigh. He fell to his knees. He rose, Rowan weeping in his arms. He fired more rounds, inching toward the starship door. If they could only fly, break through . . .

He reached the airlock.

He swung the door open.

"Sarai, into the ship!" he cried.

His wife nodded. She ran, holding Jade in her arms.

An instant before she could enter the starship, Sin Kra reached her.

The massive beast lashed his claws, severing Sarai's arms.

Sarai screamed.

The crimson scorpion lifted Jade in his pincers, careful not to harm the girl. Sarai's hands still held the child.

"Mommy!" Jade screamed.

Sin Kra laughed—a sound like shattering stones—and tossed the girl toward the scorpions behind him.

Then his stinger thrust, impaling Sarai, tearing through her chest and ripping out her heart.

As she fell, Sarai looked at David. Tears filled her eyes. And then those eyes went dark.

David stood by the starship's open airlock, holding Rowan in his arms. The toddler stared around in shock.

"What happened to Mommy?" she said.

"Daddy!" Jade screamed, the scorpions clutching her, carrying her off. She was swinging her crystal sword, unable to harm the pincers.

David stood, torn. To one side—an open starship, a chance to maybe save Rowan, precious and pure. To his other side—his sweet Jade, his firstborn, carried away to torture and death.

Smirking, Sin Kra tossed down Sarai's severed arms. The scorpion met David's gaze.

"Choose," the emperor said.

David unslung the Earthstone amulet from around his neck. The gem gleamed, hanging from a chain, more precious than any crystal in this cave. Here was a crystal from home. It was no larger than his thumb, yet it contained the cultural heritage of Earth. He placed the amulet around Rowan's neck. She looked at him with huge, teary eyes.

"Keep this stone safe, Rowan," he said. "Keep yourself safe. I love you. Always."

"What happened to Mommy?" she said, lips trembling.

Tears in his eyes, David shoved Rowan into the airlock, then fired his rifle, knocking scorpions back.

"Fillister!" he shouted. "Fly her out! Fly high!"

The tiny dragonfly extended wings and rose from Rowan's arms, buzzing. He nodded. "Happy to comply!"

"Daddy!" Rowan screamed, and David wept as he slammed the airlock door shut, sealing her inside.

David knelt and lifted his wife's fallen rifle. He rose, a railgun in each hand. Before him spread the swarm. Dozens of scorpions. Maybe hundreds. Filling the chamber. David stood before them alone. In the distance, Jade was still screaming, but her voice was growing dimmer. He could no longer see her.

But I can still give Rowan a chance.

He screamed and pulled the triggers, firing both railguns.

Scorpions shrieked as bullets peppered them. Behind David, the starship's engines were rumbling, belching out smoke. Fillister would be hovering over the controls, operating the starship. Scorpions leaped onto the Whitehorse, tearing at the hull. David fired on them, knocking them down.

The starship began to rise.

"Daddy!" Jade screamed somewhere deep in the caves. "Help me, Daddy!"

The ISS Whitehorse blazed out fire, soaring toward the opening in the ceiling. Scorpions leaped from above, but the Whitehorse extended her cannons and fired, cutting through them. The ship blasted out into the smoke and clouds. David heard the cannons still booming as the Whitehorse engaged the enemy starships above.

The fire burned David. His hair smoldered. His legs were lacerated. He no longer cared. The only thing that mattered now was saving his daughters. He didn't know if the Whitehorse could make it into space, if it could dodge the scorpion ships that filled the sky. He didn't know if he could fight his way toward Jade.

I failed. My people are gone. My wife is gone. My daughters are gone. Our world is gone.

He stared up at the sky, and he saw the Whitehorse high above, carrying his youngest away.

If you survive, Rowan, do not forget Earth. Remember always. Remember our home.

He took a step, still hoping to reach Jade.

A pincer snapped shut, severing his leg.

David fell.

"Daddy!" Jade cried in the distance, deep in the caverns that coiled through this cursed world.

David crawled.

Inching forward. Still trying to reach her. His precious Jade.

Her voice in the distance faded, and David wept.

A clawed leg slammed down before him, its shell crimson. David saw himself reflected in that exoskeleton—his hair burnt, his face a bloodied mask, his eyes haunted.

He looked up. Sin Kra was staring at him, grinning toothily. Sarai's blood still stained the scorpion's jaws. Above the beast's serrated head, his stinger curled, dripping venom, ready to strike.

David fired his last round.

The bullet slammed into Sin Kra, shattered, and ricocheted. Shrapnel tore into David, sizzling hot, digging into him.

The gargantuan scorpion leaned close. Claws slammed into David's hands, nailing him to the floor. He bellowed.

Sin Kra brought his jaws near David's ear.

"I will not kill Jade," the scorpion hissed, his breath rancid. "I will hurt her. I will twist her. I will make her one of us. She will hunt pests. Die knowing that will be her fate."

David stared into his tormentor's eyes. Small, golden, alien eyes.

"You cannot defeat us," David said, voice growing stronger with every word. "We have not forgotten our home. We are not all cowards. The Heirs of Earth will fight you, beast! Humanity will rise again!"

As the stinger tore through his chest, David closed his eyes.

The pain was fading now. The sounds melted into a murmur like waves. He had never seen the waves of Earth, but he imagined that he floated upon those distant seas.

We came from Earth's oceans, he thought. Someday, Rowan, may you walk upon golden shores.

He thought of his fallen wife. He thought of Jade. He wept. There was no more pain now, only the waves rolling over him, pulling him under, then an endless field of stars until their lights went out one by one, leaving only darkness.