The Heirs of Earth

CHAPTER FORTY

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.