"I love you, hobbit," he whispered to her.
"I love you too, pancake." She nuzzled him, then hopped up in bed. "That reminds me. I'm starving. Let's make pancakes for dinner."
Brooklyn swiveled back toward them. "Can I join this one?"
Bay smiled. "Yes, Brooklyn. You can join us for pancakes."
"Good." Brooklyn grinned. "Because my favorite part of being human is eating!" She raced to the kitchenette and began stuffing flour into her mouth, then coughing and spraying it everywhere.
Bay rolled his eyes. "Eating me out of house and home, you two are."
An hour later, the three of them were in bed, stomachs full of pancakes, ready for sleep. Bay lay in the middle.
This could be worse, he thought before drifting off. This could definitely be a whole lot worse.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was a ceasefire, not peace.
Bay knew that. He knew it every day.
For twelve long hours a day, he trained. Waiting for the flames to burn again.
He flew for hour after hour in his Firebird, striving to become as deadly a pilot as Mairead and Ramses. He had a knack for it. After all, he had spent half his life flying a shuttle. He rose from humble pilot to squad leader. He commanded fifteen Firebirds he called the Wyverns. Day after day, they flew in orbit, battling buoys, waiting for the enemy Copperheads to return.
Rowan trained as a pilot too, became just as good as Bay. She too made squad leader, naming her Firebirds the Pterosaurs. Soon the Wyverns and Pterosaurs were simulating attacks on each other, and Rowan teased Bay relentlessly whenever his squad lost.
They spent other days down on Earth, training in tunnels. They ran through the darkness, firing dummy rounds, slaying cardboard basilisks. Both Bay and Rowan trained to lead infantry battalions, simulating assaults on subterranean snake nests.
It would come soon. In just a few months.
The assault on Sskarsses, the basilisk homeworld.
Humanity would be ready.
The days were hard. Bay and Rowan returned to their trailer every night, covered in bruises, bone weary. They would collapse into bed, exhausted, often too weary to even eat the meals Brooklyn enjoyed cooking them.
But Emet insisted that once a week, all soldiers took a day off.
"How can you fight if you don't know what you're fighting for?" Emet told them. "Enjoy Earth. Explore the fields and climb the mountains. Lie on the grass, and watch the blue skies and white clouds. Spend time with those you love. Deepen your love of peace, so that you are courageous when you go to war."
And so Bay and Rowan took every Sunday off.
And those days were joyous. Those days taught them why they fought.
On those Sundays, they took Brooklyn and Fillister with them, and they hiked across the wilderness. Slowly, day by day, life was returning to Earth. New grass and saplings grew from the ashes of war. Trilliums, dandelions, and bluebells sprouted from blackened soil. Butterflies, bumblebees, and grasshoppers bustled in the bushes. Robins and chickadees sang.
Most of the old maples and oaks were gone, burnt in the war. It amazed Bay how fast Mother Nature was healing, how resilient his beloved Earth was.
"Brooklyn, I have something for you," Bay said one Sunday. "A gift for your birthday."
She gasped. "I have a birthday?"
"Well, not really," Bay said. "But it's been a month since you became human. That's a birthday of sorts."
They stood outside their trailer, enjoying the cool spring morning. Rowan was still inside, making pancakes, while Fillister was digging in the garden, struggling to pull out weeds with his metal paws.
Brooklyn smiled at Bay, and he marveled at her beauty. Over the past month, the sunlight had bronzed her skin, and her hair had grown long enough to cover her ears. She still looked just like Rowan—the same round face, small nose, almond-shaped eyes. But every day, Brooklyn was changing, establishing her individuality. Something in her impish smile, her body language, her gait. She was veering away from Rowan, becoming her own woman, one just as lovely and brave.
"Dude, hand over the present!" she said, making grabby hands.
He handed her a small wooden box. Brooklyn opened it. Inside was a gear on a silver chain.
"Nom!" Brooklyn said, bringing it toward her mouth.
"Brooklyn, no!" Bay pulled the gear back. "It's not food."
She blushed. "Sorry. I still get confused about the stuff we humans eat." She frowned. "What is it?"
"It's a gear from the shuttle you used to be," Bay said. "The shuttle was destroyed in the war, yes. But I kept this gear, a last piece of you. And, well—I thought you'd want it. To hang around your neck as a keepsake."
Brooklyn examined the gear. She frowned.
"Dude, that old starship was my body. This is like asking somebody to wear a tooth that was knocked out of their mouth. Hell, it's more like asking somebody to wear a finger bone necklace after their hand was chopped off."
Bay winced. "You're right. I hadn't thought about it that way. But now that you mention it, I—"
"And it's metal!" Brooklyn said, grinning. "I mucking love it!"
She slipped the chain around her neck, then pulled Bay into a crushing embrace. She kissed his cheek, hesitated, then kissed his lips. She laughed when his eyes widened, and she mussed his hair.
"Thank you, dude," Brooklyn said. "I love my present. And I love you."
Rowan stepped out from the trailer. "I packed us lunch!" she said. "We'll picnic on our hike."
Bay raised an eyebrow. "Is it mostly pancakes?"
"No," Rowan said. "It's all pancakes!"
Bay sighed. "Row, you have to eat something else sometimes."
She stuck her tongue out at him. "No I don't."
They spent that Sunday hiking again. They planted saplings in the wilderness, and they rested in a sunny field, eating their pancakes. A perfect a day. Tomorrow morning, they would get back to training. In a few months, they would fly to war—and likely to their deaths.
But today—today was a perfect day on Earth.
That evening, they lay on a hilltop, stargazing. Rowan and Fillister went chasing fireflies, leaving Bay and Brooklyn alone on the hill. They lay close together, watching comets streak overhead.
"It's funny," Bay said. "I know there are so many horrors up there. So many monsters who want to kill us. But lying like this, watching the stars? I still think they're beautiful."
Brooklyn's hand strayed closer, and their fingertips brushed.
"Bay," she said softly. "I love you."
"I love you too, Brook," he said.
She rolled over toward him, and the stars shone in her eyes.
"I mean I really love you," Brooklyn said. "In a new way. I'm no longer a starship, Bay. I'm a woman now. And I love you as a woman."
She leaned forward and kissed his lips. And it was a deeper kiss this time. Softer. And a tear flowed down her cheek to their lips.
"Brook." Bay broke away, and his voice was soft. "You know that I love you too. Deeply. With all my heart. But you know I'm with Rowan. That we're engaged."
"I know," Brooklyn said. "And I would never do anything to tear you two apart. Rowan is my friend. But Bay—I couldn't hide it anymore. I've awakening to new feelings. Physical needs. Desires. I'm so afraid that I'll die in this war. That I'll lose this precious gift of humanity. And so I had to tell you. That I love you. And that I want to make love to you. Teach me, Bay. Teach me what it's like to be a woman. If only for a night. I want my first time to be with you."
She pulled off her dress, remaining naked in the night. The moonlight painted her graceful body, and she was beautiful. She was so beautiful.
Bay took her hands in his. He gazed into her eyes.
"Brooklyn, you're my best friend. That will never change. I love you. I'll always love you. But—"
"I spoke to Rowan already," Brooklyn said, interrupting him. "I confessed to her how I feel. And she understood. I think that at first, she was a little
jealous. But she knows that this is her body too. And she accepts how I feel. She told me to approach you. She told me to do this."
Bay blinked. His Rowan? The woman who got jealous if he even drew an attractive warrior princess in his sketchpad?
"It's true." Rowan came walking uphill, fireflies dancing around her. "Brooklyn came to me first. And I told her to seduce you. I'm proud that you remained loyal, Bay." She smiled and lay down beside him. "You're a sweetheart. And I give you this permission. Make love to her. And to me. We might all die in this war. So let's celebrate life."
Under the stars, they made love. They were the women he loved most in the world, and this was the world he loved most in the cosmos, and this was a night Bay would never forget. He might never have another spring under the stars. He might never know joy again. For this night—they celebrated life and love.
They slept on the hill until dawn rose, golden and beautiful over the fields. Then they got their guns, and they climbed into their Firebirds, and they trained to kill and die.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tom Shepherd was building a school.
For long afternoons and evenings, he toiled, leading a group of volunteers. They dug foundations. They assembled wooden frameworks, and they mixed and poured concrete. Carpenters toiled nearby, constructing chairs and desks from trees found in sub-arctic forests that had survived the war.
Tom named it Gabrielle School—after his late wife. She had been a teacher. Tom wished she could have seen it.
During the mornings, when he wasn't building, Tom taught.
While the children waited for their school building, they studied in trailers, in tents, and under the sky when the weather permitted. They were all orphans. Tom saw them all as his children.
"And who can tell me the three values of Earth?" Tom asked his class—a group of forty orphans in a pavilion.
One boy raised his hand. "Compassion. Courage. Camaraderie."
"Very true!" said Tom. "Can somebody explain what each means?"
A girl raised her hand. "Compassion means being kind. Being good to one another. Courage means facing our problems without being afraid. Camaraderie means, um …" She bit her lip.
Another boy raised his hand. "Camaraderie means every human must be friends with every other human. We stick together."
Tom nodded. "Very good. That's true. All humans are a family. You children are my family. We all look after one another."
Many of these children were scarred, both inside and out. All had lost their parents, some to the gulocks, others to the basilisk wars. They had come to Earth starving, shivering, haunted and near death. Tom was dedicated to nurturing them—and all the other children on Earth. Not only to teach them knowledge. But to tend to them. To mentor them. To rebuild them and heal them.
I must be more than a teacher, Tom thought, looking at them. But also a father.
On days with nice weather, he took them to walk in nature, to collect leaves and watch birds and butterflies. Some of these children had never seen plants or animals before arriving on Earth. They had been like Rowan, growing up in hiding—in holes, tunnels, rundown space stations and refugee camps. Some had grown up in gulocks. They learned about Earth's fauna and flora, the names of animals and plants. One child, a wispy girl with a scarred face and one eye, had never spoken a word to anyone in two years, not since being rescued from a gulock. One morning, walking beside Tom, she pointed at a monarch and said, "Butterfly!"
They learned. And they healed.
Tom could not bring back his child from the dead. He could not bring back Ayumi. But he could bring these lost orphans back. He could bring light and life back to their eyes.
Compassion. Courage. Camaraderie. The three values of Earth. And the three values on which Tom tried to base his life.
"You need to rest!" Leona told him one night. "You teach in the mornings. Build in the afternoons. Train at night."
"I'm sorry." Tom kissed her cheek. "I've been neglecting you."
Leona laughed. "I'm not needy. I want you to rest for your own sake! This ceasefire won't last long."
"I don't want to rest," Tom said. "For so many years, I saw destruction. For so many years, I killed. Now I want to build. To help. To heal the hurt."
Leona caressed his cheek. "Don't forget to heal yourself."
"This is my healing," Tom said. "A life building, teaching, helping others—that is a life of wealth."
She kissed his cheek. "You're a good man, Tom Shepherd."
He looked away. "I'm not a good man, Leona. I fought for too many years. Made too many horrible choices. There is blood on my hands. I don't just mean the blood of scorpions or basilisks. I was a Peacekeeper for ten years. I … hurt people. Good people. People on other worlds, who just wanted to live their lives, and …"
He could say no more. Tom didn't like to remember those years. His time in the Corps. Crushing rebellions on alien worlds. Enforcing the will of the Concord across the Milky Way. He had been the only human accepted into the Peacekeepers. And sometimes, when he had to enforce Concord Law in human colonies …
That shame still burned. That shame would never leave him.
He had never spoken of these things to Leona. Maybe he never would. But she knew enough. She saw it in his eyes.
She took his hands, examined them, then looked into his eyes. "The blood is washed away, Tom. I don't know what you did in the Peacekeepers. And I won't ask you. But I've known you for three years now. And I've known only a kind, compassionate man. A man I love deeply. Whoever you once were—you're no longer that man. The fires of war burned those sins away. Your hands are not bloodstained. On your hands, I see the soil of labor. Of building schools. Of plowing fields. Of fighting for life. You are a good man, Tom Shepherd. You are a man I love."
Tom lowered his head, the pain suddenly too great to bear.
"Leona, I …" He spoke in a low voice, choked, raspy. "I want to tell you."
"You don't have to." Her voice was soft.
"I do." Tom nodded. "I do."
They sat on their bed in their small home, a humble trailer in Port Addison. And he spoke to her.
"It was over twenty years ago. I was a dumb kid, twenty-three, maybe twenty-four. An officer in the Peacekeepers. The only human in the Corps. The others always mocked me. The ape, they called me. A shame upon the Corps. So I worked hard. Fought hard. Advanced in the ranks. I wanted to prove myself, to prove that humans can be strong, respected. I did horrible things, Leona. Rebellions rose on distant worlds. Just simple aliens. Farmers. Hungry, angry, fighting against the Concord for freedom. And I killed them." He had to pause, to take several deep breaths. "I told myself they were only aliens. That they hated me because I'm human. I lied to myself. I devalued their lives—same as they devalued human lives. And then one day, the Corps sent me to a new world. To crush another rebellion. A rebellion of humans."
Leona stared at him, silent, her face unreadable.
Tom was afraid. Afraid she would hate him. But he could not keep this secret from her. His child was in her belly. He would tell her the truth.
"They wanted me to kill humans, Leona." His voice cracked. "When the time came, I could not raise my gun. I would not shed human blood. But my friends, my fellow Peacekeepers—they fired their guns. And I watched. For long minutes, maybe hours, I watched. As my friends slaughtered my people. By the time I tried to stop the fellow Peacekeepers, hundreds of humans had died. At the hands of my friends! Of fighters I had led there! And I just watched! Finally, after so much death, I acted. I fired my gun. Not at humans but at Peacekeepers. I killed my comrades. I betrayed them. Then I placed the gun against my own head." Tom had to pause, to let his breathing settle. "But I was a coward. I couldn't kill myself that day. So I ran. I defected from the Peacekeepers. I took my wife with me. I flew, mad with grief, escaping the Peacekeepers who followed. I fled Concord territory. I fled into the Hierarchy. And it wasn't the Peacekeepers who caught me. It was the scorpions."
"For my sins, I suffered," Tom said. "The scorpions broke me. They took everything from me. My wife. My child. My soul. For many years—my sanity. I suffered pain in the gulock that I can never speak of. But these hands?" Tom looked at them. "I still see the blood. Of the humans I let die. Of the friends I killed."
"Did you know?" Leona whispered. "When you led the Peacekeepers to that world—did you know it would be humans?"
"No," Tom said. "I only discovered that when we arrived. I should have taken action sooner. I watched, Leona! I watched as humans died, and I had a gun, and I didn't fight. I didn't fight …"
He lowered his head, and tears flowed down his cheeks.
Leona embraced him. "Tom, I forgive you."
He blinked. He looked at her. "You don't have to. You shouldn't."
"Tom, you never killed another human," she said. "You didn't know there would be humans there. You only sin was to hesitate. And yes, your hesitation cost lives. Human lives. But you weren't in the Human Defense Force then. You weren't in The Heirs of Earth or Earth's Light or any other human uprising. You were a Peacekeeper, and you were appalled by what the Peacekeepers did. And after your hesitation, you fought them. And you left them."
"I was one of them!" Tom said.
Leona nodded. "And why did you join them?"
"I was a fool," Tom said. "I thought I could prove humanity's worth."
"And you did, Tom. You proved humanity's worth. But not in the Peacekeepers. As leader of Earth's Light. And here—in the Human Defense Force. Here—on Earth, a teacher, a builder. Have you sinned? Maybe. Who among us has never sinned? Who among us hasn't hesitated in battle? What officer in this war can say that they haven't made a mistake, even a mistake that cost lives? There is no more blood on your hands than mine. Then on any of our hands. You are a good man, Tom Shepherd. Never believe otherwise. You are the salt of the Earth. And you will make a wonderful father."
He stroked her hair. "Meeting you is the best thing that's happened to me, Leona. I work every day to heal others. You heal me."
The Legacy of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 6) Page 12