She nodded. "Exactly. Earth is growing. And we need buildings."
"Buildings, sure," Bay said. "Homes. Hell, it doesn't have to be anything fancy. I'm not talking Macaulay Culkin's house from Home Alone. Just simple apartment buildings is fine. And we need thousands of them, Row. Entire cities full of apartment blocks. Can we really spare construction workers to build . . . this?"
He gestured at the Terranon.
Rowan understood. Three million souls on Earth might be small compared to the population during the Golden Age. Back then, billions of humans had lived here. But following years of genocide, three million survivors was miraculous. It was Earth's largest human population in two thousand years. Most had come here as starving refugees, clad in rags or blankets, survivors of scorpion gulocks and basilisk raids. Most were still living in tents, even in this cold winter.
"Bay, the Terranon is hardly a palace, you know," she said. "It's smaller than the White House, the Forbidden City, the Reichstag, Parliament Hill, or any other historical government building I can think of. Hell, the Terranon would barely be noticed next to them. But we still need something, Bay. We need … a symbol."
"People can't eat symbols," Bay said. "Symbols can't shelter them from the snow or rain."
"But they can provide some comfort," Rowan said. "And they can send a message to our enemies. A message that Earth is rising again. That we're strong. That we're not to mess with. Our leaders can't keep hiding underground. Both humans and aliens must see that Earth is strong, that it will fight to defend itself."
Bay smiled wryly. "Sometimes that feels like a bit of a bluff."
Rowan raised her eyebrows. "Oh? We defeated the scorpion empire. We dealt Xerka a mighty blow, banishing her forces from Earth. We're no longer those scared refugees, Bay. We're no longer the pests hiding in ducts and asteroids. We're strong. Not as strong as in the Golden Age. We're not an empire like the one Einav Ben-Ari led two thousand years ago. But a bluff? No. We're strong enough to hold our own. Earth does not bluff."
Bay raised his fist. "Earth takes names and kicks asses! I dig it." He mussed her hair. "Great pep talk, hobbit."
She sighed. "You make me sound less badass when you call me a hobbit, pancake."
He kissed her cheek. "You're the baddest hobbit in the Shire, sweetie."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, yes, the sweetie certainly helps." She grabbed his hand. "Now come on, our meeting is starting soon. Let's not be late for the first assembly in the Terranon."
They walked past construction workers, heading toward the building. Both wore their old Heirs of Earth uniforms: brown trousers, white buttoned shirt, a blue vest for Rowan and a blue jacket for Bay, both inlaid with brass buttons. These old uniforms, once used in space, had become service uniforms for the Heirs of Earth, worn on more formal occasion. Earth's fledgling textile industry had been producing simpler army uniforms—efficient, affordable olive drab. Rowan wore those battle fatigues day to day, and she hated them. It was a treat to wear her old Heirs of Earth uniform on these special occasions. She even had her goggles back on her head, holding up her hair. It was easy to feel like a girl again, wide-eyed and naive, ready for adventure.
The thought reminded her of her clone.
Another Rowan. One who was like a girl. Indeed, like a newborn baby.
That clone was back at home, the humble trailer Rowan shared with Bay. Which both Rowans shared with Bay. Physically, the clone seemed to be about twenty. Mentally—only a few days old.
Rowan placed those thoughts aside for now. She and Bay stepped into the Terranon, home of Earth's government.
On the inside, the dome was large but simple. There were no frescoes covering the ceiling, no precious metals shining on the columns, no fine marble tiles on the floor. It would be years, maybe generations, before Earth had the wealth to adorn itself with such fineries. The dome was simple concrete, cavernous and cold. But Rowan found the echoing chamber imposing in its austerity. Not a hall of glittering wealth. A hall of power. Of humanity.
Rowan gazed up at the raw concrete ceiling.
"Someday, when there's peace, you should paint murals here," she told Bay. "The story of human evolution. From strands of DNA, to single cell organisms, to aquatic life, all the way to apes and finally humans. Imagine it! Covering the ceiling of Terranon! It will be beautiful."
Bay smiled wryly. "It'll only take me a few decades, but sure, anything for my hobbit."
She leaned against him. "Hey, I'd paint it myself, but I'm not a very good drawer. Once there's peace—you paint the dome, and I'll film Dinosaur Island. Deal?" Suddenly her eyes stung. "Promise me, Bay."
He kissed her cheek and mussed her hair. "I promise. Something to look forward to."
"Art and peace." She wiped her eyes. "It's for them that we fight. We must never forget. We don't fight for vengeance, nor for glory, nor for conquest. We fight for art. And for peace."
The others were entering the hall now, also dressed in brown and blue.
Tom Shepherd was first to enter. During the wars, Tom had survived a gulock, led prisoners in rebellion, and rose to become a great general, a war hero. Today he was Earth's ambassador, representing humanity to the stars. Bay remembered meeting a cadaverous man, years ago—almost starving, hunger and fear in his eyes, the leader of a scraggy group of gulock survivors. Today Tom walked straight and tall, shoulders broad. He was not yet fifty, but his hair was completely silver, and white stubble covered his bronze face, doing little to hide the ridged scar that ran from mouth to ear.
Next entered Leona Ben-Ari. Daughter of the president. Bay's older sister. Here walked the Iron Lioness, a living legend, descended of the Golden Lioness herself. Leona's tall black boots rose to her knees, her rifle hung across her back, and her black curls cascaded. She had been high ranking among the Heirs of Earth. A great leader of humanity in exile. Today Leona served as Earth's Minister of Defense, commanding the entire Human Defense Force. She was only in her thirties, but her eyes contained wisdom and strength beyond her years. Leona had been fighting this war for two decades, had led troops in humanity's greatest battles.
Rowan did not miss the look that passed between Tom and Leona. A look of a shared understanding. Of deep love forged in blood and fire.
Both are broken souls, Rowan thought, looking at the couple, these two heroes. Both have lost so much, sacrificed their all. May they find healing together.
And Rowan realized that, as cliche as it sounded, she was not just fighting for art and peace—but also for love.
Behind Tom and Leona walked other leaders. Dr. Cindy Torres was here, the new Minister of Health. Mary Sage entered the hall too, once commander of the HDFS Porter, today the Minister of Immigration. Others entered with them, ministers and generals alike. Some had risen through the ranks of the Heirs of Earth. Others had come from other, smaller paramilitary groups. All had been fighting for years, now formed a united government for humanity. They were all heroes. To humanity—and to Rowan personally.
Yet there were notable absences. Echoes that ached.
Ramses. Mairead. Coral. Luther.
Four great heroes and leaders. Four who had saved countless lives.
Four who had fallen in battle.
Rowan missed them every day. She knew that she always would. Same as she missed her parents and sister. For she had lost not only dear friends but also her family.
I wish you could be here with us, Rowan thought. But we will fight on. We will honor your memory and sacrifice.
The ministers and generals took their seats at an enormous metal table. The tabletop had been formed from the hull of the legendary HDFS Jerusalem, the great flagship that had led humanity home. After decades of service, the starship had fallen in battle against the basilisks, helping win Earth's independence. The Jerusalem was gone, but a piece of her lived on here within the Terranon.
When they were all seated, the doors opened, and Emet entered the room.
The president, like many of th
em, still wore his old Inheritor uniform. His coat was still shabby, his boots cracked, and his black cowboy hat had seen better days. But Emet had refused to let anyone sew him a newer uniform. He had ordered every seamstress to prepare uniforms for the swelling army. Hundreds of thousands were joining the ranks. The Human Defense Force was integrating both old rebel groups—like the Heirs of Earth and Earth's Light—but also refugees who had arrived wearing nothing but rags.
All industry was dedicated toward a single purpose now. To feed, clothe, and shelter the incoming refugees—and then turn them into soldiers. Even the construction of the Terranon served the war—a hub of leadership.
Everyone in the room rose from their seats and saluted Emet, placing their left fists into their right palms.
Emet returned the salute and took his place at the head of the table.
"New York is ours!" he said. "The final bastion of basilisk power on our homeworld. For the first time in two thousand years—Earth belongs to humans!"
A few people in the room cheered. Rowan did not. She lowered her head, remembering the battle.
The hundreds who had died.
Her hybrid clones—screaming in the fire.
The nightmares underground, and the broken soul of a little girl.
It was not a battle she would ever celebrate. It was a nightmare that would forever linger.
As the others applauded, Rowan looked at Bay. He returned her look, his eyes sad. He slipped his hand into hers. He understood. She smiled at him sadly, not needing words. She knew they would never speak of New York again. And that they would never have to. They would always understand.
Emet continued speaking.
"We won a great war. But it was only one round in an ongoing conflict. Our brave spies send reports from Sskarsses, homeworld of the basilisks. Xerka has returned, and she is rebuilding her fleet. Her armada is mighty, comprised of thousands of warships, faster and deadlier than any we've fought before. Her fleet has one purpose: to destroy Earth. This time, she will not implement a blockade. She will not seek the auspices of the Galactic Council. Her pride is wounded, her mind gone mad. This time, there are no basilisk civilians on Earth to curb her wrath. She will fly here with her fleet and unleash thousands of nuclear weapons. She will destroy our world."
Silence fell across the hall. Everyone stared with dark eyes. The words lingered.
"Way to sour the mood, Dad," Bay finally said, breaking the silence.
Emet did not even crack a smile.
"Rest assured, we will not allow Xerka to succeed," Emet said. "She's been preparing for the next round. But we've not been idle either. For the past six months, ever since banishing her from Earth, we've been rebuilding our fleet. We still have over two hundred geode-ships, piloted by state-of-the-art artificial intelligence. We still have a few good ships from the Exodus Fleet and the starling fleet. And we've been secretly purchasing more starships from arms dealers across the Orion Arm. Our fleet is still small. Fewer than a thousand starships. It's a pale echo of the great fleets the Golden Lioness commanded in our glorious past. But it must be enough! We will not wait here on Earth while Xerka plots our destruction. We will fly to her world. We will fly with every ship we have. We will strike her planet with all our fury. And we will kill Xerka."
A few approving cries rose in the hall.
But Rowan lowered her head.
She took a deep breath, then looked back up at Emet.
"It's my fault," she said softly. "During the war. I fired the talaria cannon at Xerka. I knocked her halfway across the galaxy, but I kept her alive. I should have fired other weapons. Torpedoes or nukes, or—"
"You did what you had to do." Leona spoke for the first time. The tall officer rose from her seat, fixing her gaze on Rowan. "Xerka was seconds away from killing me. She had crippled my ship. She was aiming her cannons for the killing blow. And after killing me, she would have nuked Port Addison. Her flagship's shields were still strong; it would have taken many missiles to carve them open. But with a single blow from your talaria cannon, you neutralized her. You demoralized her troops. You saved my life—and the lives of millions. Never doubt that you made the right choice, Rowan."
"Even if we must now mount an invasion of another world?" Rowan said. "We could have ended the war then! Here on Earth! Now we must fight another war."
Thousands will die, she added silently. Maybe millions. Because of me.
"Rowan, Xerka surviving is the best thing that could have happened to Earth," Emet said.
Rowan turned toward her leader. "Sir?"
Emet nodded. "If we had won the war six months ago, if you had killed Xerka instead of banishing her, do you know what would have happened? Not peace. Other alien civilizations would have flown here to avenge Xerka. The Galactic Council would have rallied them. Earth would face invasion after invasion—until we were all dead. But now—now we have a chance to prove ourselves to the galaxy. We will show them that humans can do more than cower on a small planet, desperately struggling to defend it. We will show them that Earth can strike distant worlds, can bring ruin to her enemies. We will make a lesson of Xerka! We will strike the basilisks so hard that for a thousand years, all other alien civilizations will dare not attack us."
Rowan shuddered. "Sir, that sounds an awful lot like vengeance."
"Not vengeance," Emet said. "Deterrence. Throughout history, deterrence has saved countless lives, prevented countless wars. Nothing maintains peace so much as deterrence. When you're a child on your first day at school, and a bully picks on you—you smash his nose so hard no other bully will ever strike you. When you're a felon entering prison, and another inmate attacks you—you destroy him as all other inmates watch. That schoolboy, that inmate—they are safe from that day onward. With one act of violence, they prevent years of bloodshed. If they do not make a lesson of their enemy? They are tormented eternally. This has been the case throughout human history. And galactic history. Humanity must show the cosmos that we're no longer refugees. That we will no longer be butchered for sport. That we're no longer prey—but hunters! For thousands of years, aliens hated us. We will make them fear us!"
Cheers rose in the room. But Rowan did not join them. She stared at Emet, eyes narrowed.
Who are you? she thought. Where is the wise leader I knew?
And she realized something. She was afraid of him.
But maybe that's nothing new, Rowan thought. I feared him after he blasted me out of an airlock six years ago, willing to sacrifice my life to kill Jade. I feared him throughout the war, watching his ruthlessness, his horrible ability to sacrifice thousands to save millions. And I fear him now. Because he is not like Tom. He is not a shepherd. Emet Ben-Ari is a lion, and he is still fierce and untamed.
A shudder ran through her.
Through years of war, humanity had needed a lion to lead them, to roar for them. To kill for them. And perhaps they needed a lion now more than ever.
But someday we'll have peace, Rowan thought. And I don't know how we can live at peace with a wild lion on our throne, a beast still haunted and scarred and hungry for blood.
And Rowan regretted something she had told Bay earlier that day. Perhaps it was too early to build the Terranon. Perhaps it should never have been Emet Ben-Ari, the Old Lion, who built this hall. Perhaps they should have waited. For a leader without blood on his hands. For an era of peace. They were building the Terranon to stand for thousands of years, but now Rowan feared that blood stained its foundation.
"Do you disagree with my philosophy?" Emet said, staring at her. He stood, fists on the tabletop, leaning forward. His mane of silvery-blond hair cascaded around his craggy face.
"No," Rowan said after a slight hesitation. "I've followed you for six years, sir. And I will keep following you. I'm afraid. But I believe in you. And I trust you. And I will follow you into fire or darkness."
She meant those words. Despite her fear, despite her reservations—she meant them. With every beat of her heart.
"We all will," said Bay.
"Every last one," said Leona. "We in this hall, and every human on Earth."
Emet nodded. "We still have ships to buy and build. Pilots to train. Weapons to stock. But we won't wait long. Two months from today, our fleet will be ready. And we will fly to what is, I hope, our final war."
Those last words sounded ominous to Rowan—perhaps not in a way Emet had intended. It took all her willpower to suppress another shudder.
Two months, she thought. And we fly to another planet. To a final war.
Emet seemed certain of victory. But Rowan had seen most of her troops perish in New York City. And she could hardly imagine the horrors that lay on Sskarsses.
That night, she and Bay returned to their home. It was only a trailer, one among thousands that dotted the snowy landscape. Emet had offered them room in the Terranon, but Rowan had refused. Millions of human refugees were living in trailers and warehouses, still waiting for proper homes. Rowan would not live in a palace while a single refugee was still shivering in a trailer.
She opened the door, kicked snow off her boots, and stepped inside. Bay followed. The trailer was cramped, but they made the most of the space. Bay had hung his artwork on the wall—paintings of elven warriors, fire-breathing dragons, and several portraits of Rowan. One depicted her as a hobbit of the Shire, walking stick in hand. There was a small desk where Rowan enjoyed writing, a kitchenette where she cooked her pancakes, and a bed that covered most of the floorspace.
It was a humble home. But Rowan had allowed herself one indulgence. The trailer had a damn good entertainment system. A fifty-inch screen dominated one wall, surrounded by speakers. The Earthstone was plugged in.
"Goddamn, it's cold in here." Bay stepped inside after her and kicked off his boots. "Are you sure you don't want to live in the Terranon?"
The Legacy of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 6) Page 7
