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."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Rowan stood inside the ISS Cagayan de Oro, not knowing if to laugh, cry, or dance. Or maybe all three.