"Considering how badly she was hurt," she said instead.
Bay laughed, tightening a bolt. "You were going to say considering I have only one hand. It's all right."
Rowan placed her hands on her hips. "I was going to say considering you have only one working hand. You do still have two."
Bay placed down his wrench and finally turned to face her. For a moment, he stared in silence at her uniform.
"So you're an Inheritor now," he finally said.
Rowan nodded. "Your powers of deduction are astounding. What gave it away? My uniform or my insignia?"
"Haha, smartass." He reached for a welding tool. "Besides, with that vest and your short messy hair, you look more like a hobbit."
"Oh for crying out—" She groaned. "I knew it!"
Bay returned to a panel, struggling to slide some wires into place. "Hey, Frodo, make yourself useful. I need your hands for something. Just one more piece to plug in, and Brooklyn will be back online."
Rowan nodded. "All right." She pulled Fillister out of her pocket, tapped his button, and his wings sprouted out. "Fill can help too. He's good with machines."
They knelt by the control panel, and Rowan helped Bay with the task. It took his good hand, both of hers, and Fillister to string the wires through. Finally they got everything plugged in and reattached the panel. Bay hit a couple of buttons and—
Lights turned on across the cockpit, flashing and beeping.
Brooklyn's voice emerged from the speakers.
"—in my cockpit! Bonecrawlers inside me! All over! Bay!" The ship rocked back and forth. "Bay, bonecrawlers! Help!"
"Brooklyn! Brook!" Bay patted her. "It's all right, girl! It's over. They're dead. Rowan and I killed them."
The ship was still rocking, lights flashing, but slowly she calmed. "What?" Her lights blinked. "What happened? Hey! Was I unconscious? How long was I out? Did you make sure there are no ants inside me? Robot mechanics have ants, you know." The ship fell silent, and a camera swiveled toward Rowan. "Hey, who's the hobbit?"
"Oh for muck's sake!" Rowan raised her hands, eyes rolling. "I give up."
Fillister took flight. The dragonfly buzzed toward the camera. "Mornin', squire! Nice to meet another artificial intelligence."
"Ah!" Brooklyn cried. "An ant!"
It was Bay's turn to roll his eyes. "Brook, you just survived an attack by bonecrawlers, and you're worried about ants?"
Rowan took Fillister in her hands and closed him. She reattached the robot to a chain, and once more he looked like a humble pocket watch. Rowan placed him into her vest's pocket.
"Your ship seems a bit overwhelmed, Bay," she said.
He nodded. "Brook, I gotta disconnect you for a while, all right? I want to back up your system, run a diagnostics scan, and calibrate your emotional algorithms. They're all out of whack after the battle. All right? It'll help you calm down."
Brooklyn's camera nodded on its stalk. "All right. Check me for ants while I'm out."
Bay flicked some switches, turning Brooklyn off, and began running diagnostics on her.
For a moment, Rowan stood in silence, watching the system run its scans. It seemed like it would take a while.
Rowan looked back toward the ship's hold. Bay had built a cozy living area there, complete with a bed, a kitchenette, and a desk. It was smaller than the cabins on the Cagayan de Oro, but it was palatial compared to the ducts.
Rowan noticed a stack of papers on his desk. "Hey, are those your drawings?"
She left the cockpit and walked toward them. She lifted the papers, and her eyes widened.
"Hey, yo!" Bay stumbled toward her, spilling bolts and cables. "Don't look at those, all right?"
"Why?" Rowan held them away when he tried to grab them. "They're good! Real good." She began leafing through them. "Bay, you're a great artist."
Some of the papers featured fearsome aliens the size of starships. Other drawings were of space warriors wielding mighty swords of fire. Many featured beautiful princesses, their skin green and their spacesuits skin tight, firing ray-guns at tentacled space monsters.
"Hey, there's even one that looks like a hobbit!" she said, pointing at a drawing.
Bay looked abashed. "Yeah, well, I was much younger when I drew that one. It's meant to be a self-portrait." He winced. "Some of the others are better."
Rowan kept leafing through the drawings. She sighed wistfully. "You draw women so beautifully. They're very curvy." She looked down at her own body. "I wish I had even a single curve. Not much of anything down there. I'm more pencil than hourglass."
"A pencil would be tall," Bay said.
Rowan made a fist. "Watch it! Fine, I'm a goddamn crayon. Maybe I'd grow taller if somebody fed me some frickin' pancakes." She returned the papers to him. "But really, you're a good artist. I'd be honored if you drew me someday." She blushed. "I mean, if you wanted to." Her cheeks burned. "To draw a hobbit, I guess."
"I'd love to draw you. I think you're just as pretty as the women in my drawings. I mean, for a hobbit. I mean, you're not a hobbit. I mean . . ." Now his cheeks flushed. "I mean yes."
"Smooth." She patted his cheek.
He rolled his eyes. "Look who's talking."
She looked at her feet. At her new shoes—the first pair she had ever owned.
She spoke softly. "Bay, you should have been there. To see me sworn in. I missed you."
He turned away and began stuffing his drawings into a drawer. "Sorry, Inheritor stuff is not really my scene."
"Why?" She frowned, hands on her hips. "Don't you care about Earth?"
Bay turned back toward her. "Of course I care. But we can't all wear the brown and blue. We can't all be warriors."
"Bay." She touched his arm. "You are a great warrior. The way you fought those bonecrawlers . . . I could never have faced so many alone. You even slew their king. You're as much a warrior as your father, as any Inheritor. Why don't you put on the uniform, say the vows, and rejoin us? Become an Inheritor again."
For a moment, Rowan thought Bay would yell. But then his anger melted. He closed his drawer and knelt before her.
"Rowan, I'm proud of you. Really. I think it's great that you joined the Heirs of Earth. But after my girlfriend died, I lost the stomach for it. Once Brooklyn is fixed, I'm going to head out. Find my own way. No more grog or drugs, I promise. I'll find a good world, a good life. A life of peace. I'm not ready to fight again. Do you understand?"
"No!" Rowan said. "I don't! I don't understand at all. You shouldn't be alone out there in the galaxy. You should be with your dad, your sister, with me. With other humans!"
Bay rose to his feet. "I don't want humans near me. Do you understand? I don't want to get close to anyone again. Because it hurts too much to lose them. You get attached, and you love someone, and . . ." His eyes were red. "Look, Rowan, I wish we still had Earth. I wish we could live in peace. But I can't share that dream. Dreams tend to come crashing down."
"So you think I'm just dreaming?" Rowan said. "That we can never find Earth?"
"I think it's great that you want to fight for this cause," he said. "I admire you for that. But it's not my cause. Not my dream."
"But you're human!" She grabbed him. "Earth is our homeworld! It's a homeworld to every human. Earth is our heritage, Bay. Yours too. All of Earth's children are my brothers and sisters. They are lost, but I will guide them home. Wherever a human is in danger, I—"
"Yes, I know the vows," Bay said. "I grew up hearing the Inheritor words. But I have to leave." He stared away, blinking rapidly, then back at her. "Rowan, you can come with me. We can find a peaceful world. A world with grass and blue sky. I promise I can find you such a world. You can still come with me. Like we originally planned."
She was crying now. Her body shook. "I can't," she whispered. "I spoke the vow. I swore to fight for Earth. I can't come with you. Please, Bay. Please come with me, with your dad, please join the rest of us. We need you with us. I need you."
; "I can't," he said, voice choked.
Rowan could barely see through her tears. "Then to hell with you, Bay Ben-Ari."
She spun on her heel and marched off his starship.
She ran back toward the Cagayan de Oro, curled up in the corner, and clutched the Earthstone.
"Someday we will see her," she whispered. "The pale blue marble, rising from night beyond the moon. I hope you find your way home, Bay Ben-Ari. May all of Earth's children come home."
* * * * *
Bay stood for a moment at the hatch, watching Rowan storm toward the Cagayan de Oro and vanish inside.
He wanted to chase her. To convince her to fly with him. Maybe even to join her.
He didn't want to let her go.
Finally Bay turned away.
We have different paths.
He thought of how Rowan had begun to smile freely around him, not hurrying to hide her teeth. How she never stared at his bad hand. How they had lain together in the ducts, watching movies, and how her eyes had shone.
But he also thought of Seohyun. Of days walking with her under the sun, holding her hand. How her hands had reached out to him from the fire.
I can't love anyone else. I can't bear to lose anyone again.
He settled down at the helm and switched Brooklyn back on. "Come on, Brook. Let's fly out."
Her voice was soft. "Have you said goodbye to your dad?"
Bay felt a lump in his throat. "We've never been good at goodbyes. But we've made peace."
He started her engine. It purred, and he spun Brooklyn toward the hangar's force field. Space spread out before them.
He paused, gazing at those stars, hesitating.
Brooklyn was quiet for a long moment. "Rowan is right, you know. About you. You shouldn't be alone."
Bay frowned. "Hey, you were in sleep mode when she said those things."
The starship gave a little jolt as if shrugging her wings. "I can hear you when I'm in sleep mode, you know."
"What?" Bay frowned. "Since when?"
"Since always! By the way, you sing beautifully when you're in the shower."
He gasped. "You could hear that?"
The starship bobbed her camera. "Sadly. Really, dude? The song from Frozen?"
He slapped his forehead. "I can't believe what I'm hearing."
"That's what I say! Every time you sing."
"I'm never having a shower again," he said.
"Thank Ra I don't have nostrils," Brooklyn said. Then her voice softened. "Would you like me to fly us out, Bay?"
"I'll do it." He grabbed the joystick and began directing them toward the exit.
I have a different path.
He tightened his lips.
This is not my war.
He shut his eyes.
Fly.
They exited the hangar. They flew out into space. They left Paradise Lost behind.
Bay looked back only once. The space station hung there, hovering between Terminus Wormhole and planet Akraba. Its thousands of neon signs shone, inviting travelers to grog, gamble, get high, and grab gynoids. A place of sin. Of forgetfulness.
A place where he had met Rowan.
Where they had lain in the ducts, watching The Lord of the Rings.
Where he had made peace with his father.
He looked away. He tightened his lips and flew onward, chest tight and eyes stinging.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
For the first time in years, Belowgen returned home.
He flew the shuttle out from Paradise Lost, the space station he had been running for years. He sailed past Terminus Wormhole, the last wormhole in Concord territory, marking the border with the Hierarchy. He turned his shuttle, heading down toward the swampy planet below. His homeworld. Planet of the marshcrabs. Akraba.
He shuddered, legs clattering.
Belowgen had been born on that marshy world, the runt of his brood. His legs were too short, his mandibles too small, and the females scorned him, refused to let him fertilize their eggs. He had left Akraba in shame, found work on Paradise Lost. For long years, he had toiled as a janitor, mopping toilets and laundering brothel sheets, finally working his way up to Head Administrator.
I always thought I would return home wealthy and powerful, he thought. Not like this. Not with humans infesting my space station.
Akraba hovered before him, growing to fill his field of vision. Swamps covered the planet. Here was a world of twisting trees, blankets of fog, grassy tussocks, pits of mud, and buzzing insects. A world of rich aromas: moss, fungi, and rotting carcasses. A world of heat, dampness, and eggs. A world of old pain.
Belowgen landed on a muddy hill, lowered the hatch, and emerged from his starship.
The air washed across him, as hot and thick as chowder. Mist caressed his shell. Belowgen paused and inhaled, savoring it. So many smells! The moss. The mud. The water, rich with leeches. The insects that fluttered, bellies full of blood. The dead animals rotting in the mud. Somewhere in the distance—a female gravid with eggs, ready to lay them into the rot. A symphony of smells!
Trees rose across the swamplands, their roots not buried underground but rising high above the mud, tall and thin like Belowgen's legs. Indeed, marshcrabs legs had evolved to blend among these roots. Coated with mud and leaves, a marshcrab looked like yet another swamp tree. This was Belowgen's home. The place where a marshcrab belonged.
For a moment, Belowgen could only stand still, overwhelmed, letting this world heal all his stress.
He reached into the mud and pulled out a rotting dead fish. Not a mere water nymph like he bought in Paradise Lost. An actual carcass, muddy and filled with worms. He feasted. The juices flowed down his throat, and he shuddered with delight.
I missed this place, he thought. I fit here.
But he had not come here to reminisce. He had come here on a mission. To save his space station. To save this planet. Indeed, to save the galaxy.
Belowgen walked through the swamp. His claws sank into the mud. The fog rolled and insects chirped. An oily black bird cawed, circling above.
He looked around him. Several females stood between the roots of trees, their legs like more roots, their shells caked with mud and leaves. They were so well camouflaged Belowgen would normally not see them, but today they were in heat, releasing an intoxicating miasma, summoning worthy males. Even through the rich swampy aroma, Belowgen could smell the eggs lying in the mud beneath them, waiting for a male to fertilize them. Yet when they saw Belowgen walk by, the females huddled lower over their eggs and glared at him.
You are not worthy! their eyes said. They expelled a stench, a signal to usher him along.
Belowgen walked away in a huff.
You will beg me to fertilize your eggs once I'm heralded as the slayer of humans!
He walked onward, leaving the haughty females behind. Finally he reached the Great Henge.
A ring of iron shards rose on a hilltop like a jagged crown. Centuries ago, the shards had fallen from the sky, but they had never rusted, not even in the swamp. The ancient marshcrabs had believed them the blades of gods. They had dug the relics from the mud and arranged them into a henge, forming a holy place for the elders to gather.
Today marshcrabs had seen space, understood technology, and even built starships of their own from parts they purchased from other species. Today marshcrabs recognized these fallen shards as debris from an ancient space battle. And yet the Great Henge was still holy, and the elders of the swamps still gathered here.
Belowgen walked between two of the towering iron shards, pieces of an ancient hull. Within the henge, he saw the elders.
They stood in a ring, each marshcrab with his back to a relic shard. They were towering crabs, wise and powerful, mighty breeders who had fertilized many eggs. Their shells were not rusty-red like Belowgen's. As elders, they had shed their red exoskeletons, and their new shells were deep brown mottled with black warts. To this day, every female offered them her eggs, and their offspring crawled
across the swamps.
"Walk forth, young Belowgen," said an elder, his white barbels fluttering over his mouth. "Your news has concerned the council. Come tell us more."
Belowgen stiffened his joints, steeling himself. He had never stepped into the Great Henge before. This was an honor! He only wished he could come with better tidings.
He walked into the center of the henge. The mud was soft and rich here, deeply aromatic, filled with oozing rot. The finest animals were brought to decay here, to fill the henge with their nutrients. The elders stood around Belowgen, staring from every side. He wanted to cringe under their stare, to drown in the mud, but forced himself to stay standing.
Someday I vow to become an elder myself, he thought. To stand in this henge and feed from this mud. To fertilize any eggs I desire.
"Tell us your tidings," said an elder. "Tell us of . . . the humans."
The other elders hissed and clacked their mandibles.
"Pests!" they said. "Vermin! Crawling evil!"
Belowgen nodded. "They are indeed pests, wise elders. And they are evil. And they have infested Paradise Lost."
He spent a while telling the tale. How the human named Rowan had crawled into the ducts, evading every exterminator. How she had been breeding in the walls. How he had hired the bonecrawlers, the most expensive exterminators in the galaxy, yet even they had failed. How the humans were breeding again, had multiplied to three, would soon become three hundred, then three millions.
"They will overwhelm Paradise Lost!" Belowgen said. "And they will reach even Akraba and spread. They will dry up our swamps, and disperse our fog, and cut down our trees. They will ruin this world. They are an ancient evil, one we cannot defeat alone."
The elders looked at one another, huffing. For a long while, they muttered amongst themselves, voices too low for Belowgen to hear. Insects buzzed around them, and slugs sloshed through the mud. The sun reached its zenith, a splotch behind the fog and clouds, heating the rancid air into a thick stew.
Finally one of the marshcrabs, the eldest with the thickest shell, clattered forward. He cleared his throat and spoke with a raspy voice, barbells fluttering.
The Heirs of Earth Page 27
