At the back of the tunnel, a tentacled alien sat in a stone nook, a cigar in his mouth.
On most planets, Earth included, only one intelligent species had evolved, rising from an ecosystem filled with humbler animals. But some planets, such as Til Shiran, had produced two sentient species. Tarmarins were the scaly aliens who lived aboveground. Here in the nook lurked a Tiller, a member of Til Shiran's second sentient species.
Tillers had originally evolved in holes and crannies, lurking in shadows, ready to reach out tentacles to snatch passersby. These days Tillers were often found in caves and tunnels, working underground to keep the planet running. The scaled Tarmarins lived on the planet surface, warriors and merchants. The Tillers remained underground, hidden from the sun, bean counters and pencil pushers.
This Tiller hadn't noticed Leona yet. Each of his tentacles was busy with another task. One tentacle was writing in a ledger, another was rummaging through a chest, a few were polishing weapons, and one was busy slapping a groveling, toad-like slave.
Leona slammed her bloody sword onto the counter, nearly slicing a tentacle.
"All right, bub, pay up." She wiped sweat off her brow. "Thirty thousand scryls. Told ya I'd beat the bugger."
The Tiller turned toward her. His single eye widened.
"You!" His jaw hung open, and his cigar nearly fell. "You won the battle? A pest beat a gladiator?"
Leona rolled her eyes. "This pest is gonna turn you into calamari unless you pay up."
The tentacled alien snorted. "Get lost. I ain't paying no pest. I—"
Leona swung her blade, severing a tentacle.
The Tiller screamed.
Leona lifted the severed tentacle. Head tilted, she examined the twitching appendage. It wriggled in her grip, suction cups opening and closing.
"Interesting. How long do they live when sliced off?" Leona looked at the Tiller, who was still howling. "Oh, stop your whining. It'll grow back. And don't you reach for that pistol or I'll slice off another."
The Tiller drew in his remaining tentacles, leaving his gun on the counter. He cradled his stump and gave her a sullen look. "Give it back."
"Once you pay me."
A few of the other gladiators were laughing in their cells. The Tiller flushed, rummaged through a chest, and pulled out a chinking bag. He tossed it at Leona. She caught it and looked inside.
She smiled and nodded. Scryls filled the bag. Thousands of tiny crystal skulls.
These are enough to buy a few rifles, she thought. Enough to arm a few Inheritors. Enough to maybe kill a scorpion.
Her heart lurched.
The darkness spread.
The scorpions reared in her memory. Her wedding burned. Leona knelt in a pool of her own blood, reached between her legs, trying to stop it, to save him, to—
She took a deep, shaky breath. She let fury flow over her fear.
You did this to me, she thought, closing the bag of scryls. You hurt me, scorpions. You left me a widow. A grieving mother. And I will never stop fighting you. With every breath, with every beat of my heart, I will fight to destroy you.
She had taken a step toward that goal today. She had inspired a human in the crowd. She had earned enough money to buy weapons for the Heirs of Earth. These were drops in the bucket. But drop by drop, she would fill an ocean.
She spoke softly.
"I am Leona Ben-Ari. I am the daughter of Admiral Emet. I am descended of the Golden Lioness. I am an Inheritor. I am human." She leaned forward, lips peeling back. "Never betray a human again."
She tossed the severed tentacle at the Tiller.
She reached over the counter and retrieved her rifle, which she had deposited here before the fight. The weapon was heavy with brass gears, and the stock was carved from real wood, lovingly polished. Leona had named the rifle Arondight after Lancelot's fabled sword, and it had saved her life many times. She slung it across her shoulder, then reached across the counter again.
She grabbed her dark cowboy hat, similar to the one her father wore. She placed it atop her mound of dark curls, tipped it at the Tiller, and nodded.
Then Leona turned and marched away. With every step, she moved closer to Earth.
CHAPTER NINE
Down in the canyon, new gladiators were fighting. One was an armored python, the other a snarling apelike beast. Their shrieks echoed, and their blood sprayed the cliffs.
Leona watched for a moment from atop the canyon. The sandy wind ruffled her curly hair, nearly blew off her cowboy hat, and billowed her blue coat. A ring system surrounded Til Shiran, larger than the rings of Saturn. The sun passed behind the faded white rings, and for a blessed moment, the light dimmed and the temperature dropped. Leona allowed herself a deep breath, savoring the brief respite from the sun's blinding rays.
Screams rose from the canyon below. The ape had cracked the python's neck; it was now feeding on the corpse. Only moments ago, Leona herself had battled in that arena, had earned a purse of crystal skulls, money to purchase weapons for the Heirs of Earth. Now she turned away from the canyon and the blood within. She faced the city that sprawled across the desert.
Turmaresh was a vast city, home to millions. There were more aliens in this one city than humans across the entire galaxy. The city spread under the yellow sky, coating the desert, stopping only at the tan mountains on the horizon. Countless buildings rose here—minarets, temples, fortresses, workshops, homes—all built from the same beige sandstone. Not a single plant grew here—not a tree, bush, or even blade of grass. Here was a city of sand, stone, and sweat.
The scaly Tarmarins, masters of this planet, were clumsy with technology. They mistrusted and misused machines, more likely to eat a keyboard than type on one. Yet aliens from across Concord worlds visited here. They filled the taverns and brothels and amphitheaters. Their starships hovered above, filling the sky with smog. Their vehicles rumbled down the roads, startling the local beasts of burden.
Leona gazed upon the city, fists clenched.
Aliens of every kind were welcome on Til Shiran. Hundreds of civilizations gathered here to trade, refuel, make and spend money, to grog and gamble and gossip. A city of sin but civilization too, a city where statues soared, where music halls echoed with song, where slaves and gladiators died in the dust, where the sky rumbled with engines as a thousand starships soared toward the stars.
A city where we are vermin, Leona thought. A city of wonder where I'm a cockroach.
An alien rode by on a muler, a humped beast of burden. He tossed a rotten peel at her.
"Out of the way, pest!"
The alien rode off in a cloud of dust. Leona plucked the peel out of her curly brown hair.
Even the mice that scurry underfoot do not envy us humans.
Leona walked through the city. Before she headed back to the Heirs of Earth, she needed to walk here, to see if she could find more humans. To see if they needed her.
"Whenever humans are in danger," she whispered, "we will be there."
The words of the Heirs of Earth. The holy vow of every Inheritor. Wherever humans cowered, the Heirs of Earth were a beacon of hope. Brown trousers and a blue coat. A head held high instead of lowered in fear. A hand curled into a fist instead of reaching out for mercy. Pride instead of shame.
She explored the city of Turmaresh, walking in the open, refusing to hide even when aliens cursed her, hurled rotten fruit, mud, and stones at her. Though filth filled her hair and coated her skin, Leona walked with her back straight, chin held high.