Rowan slumped into her seat. "Thousands of alien civilizations who want us humans dead." She looked at him. "Why, sir? Why do so many hate us? What have we ever done to them?"
Emet leaned back in his seat, piloting the ship at a leisurely speed. "It's because we have no planet of our own."
She cocked an eyebrow. "They hate us because we're homeless?"
His voice was soft. "They don't truly hate humans, Rowan."
She scoffed. "I beg to differ, sir. For aliens who don't hate us, they sure seem hell-bent on killing us."
"They hate problems in their own lives, their own societies," Emet said. "To aliens, we humans are scapegoats. Are the marshcrabs having trouble managing Paradise Lost, dealing with dwindling guests, lackluster profits? Rather than take responsibility, they can blame the human in the ducts. Are the scorpions frustrated at the strength of the Concord, at the cost of running an empire? Rather than blame their own ambition, they blame the humans. Every planet has a problem. Drought. Disease. War. Corruption. Nobody likes blaming themselves, so they blame us. And what can we do? We're powerless. We have no homeworld. We're not members of the Concord or the Hierarchy. If they seek to strike us, we cower, we die, and we cannot resist."
Rowan's eyes narrowed, and she sneered. "But now we have an army. We have the Heirs of Earth."
Emet nodded. "That's why your father and I argued. Why we parted ways. Your father was a pacifist. He believed that humanity should find a distant world, far from other civilizations, and live there in hiding. I believe that we need an army, that we need to find Earth, our homeland, and fight for it. I believe that without Earth, without weapons and warships, we will forever be hunted."
That is not the entire truth, Emet thought. But he dared not say more. Dared not remember. Not now.
Rowan looked at her lap. "Did my father really defect? Really betray you? Really steal the Earthstone?" Her hand strayed to touch the crystal hanging from her neck.
Emet thought for a long moment. Finally he spoke carefully. "No. He did not betray me. He did not steal from me. He simply believed in a different path." He looked Rowan in the eyes. "Someday, Rowan, when you're old enough, you too will have to choose a path. You will be faced with two roads. You will have to choose if, like my son and your father, you wish to vanish into the shadows. Or if you wish to charge into the fire."
"Charge into the fire," she said. "In a heartbeat."
"It's easy to say such things on a day of peace. Once the fire burns, we learn our true character."
"I haven't been very brave in my life," Rowan said. "I've spent my life hiding. A few times, I wanted to escape. To stowaway on some alien ship, maybe hitchhike across the galaxy. But I remained in the ducts. With my movies and books and dreams. I'm done hiding, sir. I've hid enough for a lifetime. I won't run from battle. I won't be like my father. I fought the bonecrawlers in Paradise Lost, and I will always fight for Earth." She chewed her lip. "I hope that when the fire burns, I'm still as brave."
She shivered and looked out the starboard porthole toward Hierarchy space.
Emet nodded. He spoke with a low voice. "Yes, there it is. The Hierarchy. You've spent the past fourteen years in its shadow. No place is more dangerous for humans."
"Is that where Earth is?" she whispered.
"Thankfully, no," Emet said. "We believe the Earth lies across the Concord, on the other side of this great alliance. But millions of humans still live in the Hierarchy, the descendants of Earth's exiles. The scorpions have been butchering them." He clenched his fists. "They've slain millions already."
Rowan gasped. "What?" She leaped to her feet. "Millions of humans still live? Millions killed? Then we have to go there! We have to attack! We have to save them!"
Emet's eyes were dark. "It's beyond our power to defeat the Hierarchy. The Heirs of Earth pilot only a handful of ships. Even the Concord, an alliance of ten thousand mighty civilizations, cannot defeat the Hierarchy. But we've been doing what we can. My daughter, Leona, is leading an attack behind enemy lines, even as we speak, seeking to save a few hundred humans. We cannot save the millions. But we will save whoever we can—and bring them home to Earth."
Rowan sang softly.
Someday we will see her
The pale blue marble
Rising from the night beyond the moon
Calling us home
Calling us home
Her voice faded, and she narrowed her eyes, peering across the border into Hierarchy space.
"Sir," she said, "the starlight is doing something funny. Curving strangely."
Emet stared.
He inhaled sharply.
Again that pain in his chest—a stabbing blade of ice.
He shoved a lever, diverting all available power to his ship's shields.
And from the darkness, they appeared.
Strikers.
Thousands of strikers, emerging from warped space.
"Scorpions!" Rowan cried.
The enemy ships charged, emerging from the Hierarchy . . . and into Concord space.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
"What's going on?" Rowan shouted, clinging to her seat.
Emet was tugging the helm, spinning the Cagayan de Oro around, retreating from the border.
"The scorpions are invading," he said, voice taut. "The Hierarchy is invading the Concord. This is war!"
Hierarchy ships were popping into existence everywhere, emerging from warped space. Battalion after battalion. Thousands of warships. Tens of thousands.
Most were strikers, the triangular starships of the Skra-Shen empire. But there were other Hierarchy ships too: sticky ships formed of white membranes, hosts to nefarious slugs; modified asteroids with engines attached, the vessels of the rocky Meduzian civilization; the organic pods of the Blorins, blobby creatures who wrapped around their victims and digested them alive; and ships from many other worlds. This was a united Hierarchy invasion. This was a new galactic war.
"We have to escape!" Rowan cried.
"Wait," Emet said, staring, heart pounding. "We have to see."
The Hierarchy ships were flying toward Paradise Lost. Toward Akraba. And most importantly, toward Terminus—a wormhole that could lead them deep into Concord territory.
And nobody was resisting them.
Emet frowned. "Why isn't Akraba defending its territory? The marshcrabs should be launching a thousand ships at the enemy."
Yet no marshcrab starships were rising. In fact, the few that had been guarding the border joined the Hierarchy formations.
Emet felt the blood drain from his face.
"The marshcrabs betrayed the Concord," he said. "They bow before the scorpions. Cowards."
"Sir, we have to leave!" Rowan said, trembling. "Look!"
She screamed.
Finally—the marshcrab ships were rising from their planet.
Hundreds of them—bulky iron ships, thrusting forth curving blades like claws. The marshcrabs were not an industrial society, but they were excellent scavengers, slapping together bits of stolen machines into starships of their own. Their fleet used to display the Concord symbol, a galactic spiral. Now their hulls were painted with the Hierarchy sigil—a coiling red stinger.
"We're trapped!" Rowan said.
Emet shoved down the throttle. "We're getting out of here."
He began to soar. But more Hierarchy ships were emerging from deep space. A battalion of enemy dreadnoughts, each the size of a skyscraper, popped into reality above them. Emet cursed, yanked on the helm, and spun around. Marshcrab ships rose below.