He rolled toward her. He looked at her in silence for a moment. Cindy was nearing fifty, but the wrinkles around her eyes, or the silver strands in her hair, could not mar her beauty. Her eyes were still bright, blue, and intelligent. Her face warmed Emet's heart whenever he saw it. But more than her beauty, Emet admired her heart. She was a woman who had fought with him in every battle. Had healed so many, bringing boys and girls back from the brink of death.
I am a killer, and she is a healer, he thought. But we've both always fought to save lives.
"For almost forty years, I led us," Emet said. "And I hope that if we survive, future historians will write that I led us with courage and conviction. I never turned to another for advice. But now, Cindy, yes. I turn to you. Am I doing the right thing?"
She placed her hand on his cheek. She stared into his eyes.
"Yes," she said. "Yes!"
And the doubts faded. The fear remained. But fear without doubt was a manageable thing. Fear with determination was a vicious dog on a leash. It was the dog he had taken into every battle.
"May this be the last battle," he said. "I am old. And I want to rest. May this be our final war. May we finally have peace."
Cindy cocked an eyebrow. "You're not too old and tired for me. I won't let you rest just yet."
She kissed him. He rolled atop her. And they made love. No, he was not yet too old or tired for that.
They slept, holding each other.
They rose and dressed in their uniforms.
They left the underground, entered a shuttle, and flew to their flagship.
Emet walked across the decks of the HDFS Byzantium, the fleet's largest frigate, and stepped onto the bridge. Tom was already there, along with a crew of other officers. The men stood at attention and saluted. Emet walked across the bridge toward the viewport. He stood, hands clasped behind his back, and gazed out into space.
The rest of his fleet was gathering around him. A hundred geode-ships, rocky and round. A hundred starling vessels of every shape and size. A hundred supply ships, boxy and hulking. Finally, the pride of the fleet: two hundred Earth-made warships, painted silver, blue, and gold. Firebird squads flew around the warships in defensive formations.
A small force. Barely a speck compared to the fleets Einav Ben-Ari had once flown to alien worlds.
It will have to be enough, Emet thought.
"Mr. Shepherd, are we ready?" he said.
Tom reviewed stats on his control panel. "Our infantry battalions are in our ships. They're mostly privates fresh out of boot camp. Our munitions stores are at forty percent—as much as we have. Half our warships are damaged. Our repair crews will work while we fly, but they can't fix all the damage." He looked at Emet. "So I'd have to say: No, sir, we're not ready. Not by a mile. But we'll fight nonetheless."
Emet nodded. "Good enough." He took his seat. "Take us out, Mr. Shepherd."
"Yes, sir."
Tom pushed down a lever. Deep in the engine room, the azoth crystal activated. Across the fleet, the other ships activated their own crystals, and their engines glowed with lavender light. Spacetime bent around them, forming a warped bubble.
With blasts of light, Earth's fleet shot into the distance.
Behind them, Earth shrank into a pale blue dot.
We're leaving Earth all but defenseless, Emet thought. I must be remembered as the man who led humanity home. Not who led humanity to extinction. We must win this war. He clenched his fist. Or every human will die.
The pale blue dot faded behind them into the darkness.
The sun became just another star in the vastness of space.
The small fleet flew onward, plunging into the void.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
As Earth's armada flew through space, Rowan did not drill with weapons, train in a Firebird, or review the battle plans.
She busied herself with one task.
Giving of herself to others.
"You wanted selfless sacrifice, Sandalphon," she muttered. "So you're gonna get a boatload, buddy."
Even at warp speed, traveling many times the speed of light, it was a two-week journey to Sskarsses. During that time, Rowan planned to be the saintliest damn saint in history. When she was done, she was gonna make Mother Theresa look like Lizzie Borden.
Of course, that was a little difficult aboard a military starship.
Damn it.
Back on Earth, Rowan could have performed many selfless acts. She could have sung to orphans. Hell, even adopted a few. She could have added a few stray puppies into the mix. She would have earned her weaverhood in no time.
But here aboard the Byzantium, hurtling toward war, she would have to improvise.
Because Rowan wanted many things in life. To someday become a wife and mother. To direct Dinosaur Island. To found a chain of pancake houses—mostly so she could eat in them. But most importantly, she wanted to become a weaver.
She needed to become a weaver.
And fast.
Weavers had power. Weavers had more power than Rowan had ever seen in a warrior.
And Rowan was determined to win this war.
"Be righteous," Sandalphon had told her. "Be selfless. Sacrifice of yourself for others. Prove your worth."
She nodded.
"Improvise, Row," she told herself. "Improvise, adapt, overcome."
And so, she decided to spend the first day of their journey working in the Byzantium's galley. Several soldiers were toiling here, peeling potatoes, chopping onions, boiling eggs, scrubbing pots. There were thousands of marines in the fleet, all hungry, and the cooks looked weary beyond belief.
"I'm here to help, boys!" Rowan rolled up her sleeves. "Yo, you. The ginger. Toss me a potato and peelers. Come on, come on, I'm here to help!"
The cooks gaped at her.
"You … You …" The ginger rubbed his eyes. "You're Colonel Rowan Emery! They call you the Honey Badger! You're the heroine of Aeolis!"
"She's the one who killed Sin-Kra!" whispered another cook.
The cooks dropped the potatoes, onions, and—regrettably—eggs. They saluted. The ginger even knelt.
Rowan sighed. "Oh for the love of Betty Crocker, I'm not a heroine! I'm just here to help. You know, to be selfless. To sacrifice of myself."
Tears filled the cooks' eyes.
"The war heroine is here to help!" said the ginger.
Another cook wiped tears away. "She is mighty in battle, yet righteous among the commoners."
Rowan nodded. "Yep, I'm a goddamn saint." She glanced up at the ceiling. "Hear that, Sandalphon?" She lifted a potato. "All right, boys, we've got meals to cook."
She got to work.
Within an hour, she was exhausted.
Bloody hell, she thought, sitting on a pile of potato peels. Cooking is harder than goddamn war.
But lunchtime was approaching. And the other cooks weren't taking a break. Rowan tightened her lips, pulled herself back up, and kept peeling.
Finally the meals were cooked, but Rowan kept toiling. Hungry soldiers shuffled into the mess hall. Rowan served them, scooping mashed potatoes onto trays, smiling at every diner.
"Enjoy your potatoes, Private!" She smiled. "Enjoy your potatoes, Corporal!" Another spoonful, another smile. "Enjoy your potatoes, sir!"
Bay slammed a tray down before her. "Chop chop! And these better not be lumpy, scullion."
Rowan frowned. "Watch it, pancake." She slapped a spoonful onto his tray.
He gasped. "What, no big smile for me?"
She flipped him off. "Here's your smile, dumbass."
Bay leaned closer to her. "Row, what the hell are you doing? You're a bloody colonel. Kitchen duty is below your pay grade."
She raised her chin. "I'm selfless. Self-sacrificing. Righteous."
"You're a loony."
She glowered. "Move down the line. I've got more soldiers to help." She slopped potatoes onto the next tray. "Enjoy your meal, Brooklyn!"
Her clone grinned. "Aww, thank you
, dude. That's so nice of you."
Rowan looked up at the ceiling. "See? See, ancients?"
"Hey …" Brooklyn frowned. "There aren't any ants in these potatoes, are they?"
"No ants!" Rowan shoved her aside. "Down the line!"
After everyone had eaten, Rowan was expecting a nice, long break. Maybe a shower, a romp in the sack with Bay, and a couple of Twin Peaks episodes. But that's when the real work began.
For three hours—three damn hours!—she toiled with the cooks. Clearing dishes and trays. Scrubbing them. Then scrubbing pots. Then scrubbing the kitchen. When everything was clean, her fingers were wrinkly, her muscles ached, and Rowan vowed to spend the entire Antikythera budget on developing kitchen robots.
"Ra damn!" she said, tossing down her sponge. "Finally—we're done."
"Not yet, ma'am," said the ginger. "It's time to start preparing dinner."
"Oh for the love of Julia Child!" Rowan blurted out. "Muck this." She tossed down her apron. "I'm not peeling any more ferkakte potatoes, and I'm sick of this goddamn, finger-twisting, soul-crushing—"
The soldiers gaped at her.
The ginger began to cry.
Rowan sighed. "Sorry. Sorry!" She adjusted her apron. "I'm here to help. To be selfless." She glanced upward and muttered under her breath, "This better be worth it."
Finally, late at night, she stumbled back into her bunk.
She crashed facedown onto the cot.
"Rough day at work?" Bay said. "Maybe if you work really, really hard, someday they'll put you in charge of the smoothie machine!"
Face still pressed into the mattress, she raised her hand and flipped him off.
Bay stroked her hair. "Hobbit, what's going on?"
She sat up. "I'm trying to become a weaver."
His brow furrowed. "By … becoming a cook?"
"By being selfless! I've been meditating. And I finally made contact with Sandalphon, the same ancient who gave Coral her runes. He rejected me. He told me I need to prove my worth. To be selfless. Righteous. Self-sacrificing."
Bay sighed. "Well, there goes your chance."
"Hey, you dumbass!" She punched him. "I'm the most damn selfless person in the universe!"
"Rowan, this morning, you fried up eight pancakes, served me half on a plate, then ate both servings before I could even sit down."
"I was hungry! But hey …" She waggled her eyebrows. "I'm selfless in bed."
Bay shrugged. "Eh."
"What do you mean eh!" She placed her hands on her hips. "I pleased you well enough last night!"
"Well … you know how I've always wanted you to wear that Slave Leia outfit?"
Rowan groaned. "Oh for the love of Jar Jar Binks! Fine! I'll wear your damn outfit. But only if you dress up as Sean Connery in Zardoz."
He frowned. "What did Sean Connery wear in Zardoz?"
She whipped out her minicom and showed him a picture.
Bay paled.
"Dear lord." He winced. "Never mind, Row. Forget the Slave Leia outfit. I kinda lost my mood." He shoved her minicom away. "Never show me that picture again. In fact, delete it. Then burn your minicom."
Rowan flopped back down. "I need to become a weaver, Bay. I need battle runes. Remember how badass Coral was in a fight? We need a weaver. And fast."
Bay lay down beside her. "Hey, how about tonight, we pretend to be Aragorn and Arwen? Faramir and Eowyn? Frodo and Sam?" He waggled his eyebrows, then suddenly winced. "Just … nothing involving Zardoz please."
But before Rowan could reply, she was snoring.
The next morning, she could not face the galley again. She decided to diversify her charitable selflessness.
She spent time in the laundry room, scrubbing, folding, ironing.
It was even worse than the kitchens.
"Eww, eww!" She wrinkled her nose, holding out a pair of underwear at arm's length. "Skid marks!"
She moved to laundering the sheets, then grimaced.
"Eww!"
Some of the sheets had weevils. Actual wiggling little weevils.
"Gross!" She gagged. "Don't people change their sheets every week?"
The regular staff was thankful for her presence. One even took a nap, leaving an extra crate of smelly socks for Rowan to wash.
"Ugh, disgusting!" she said that night, stumbling back into her cabin.
Bay covered his nose. "Hobbit, you stink."
"No shit." She pulled off her clothes, tossed them into the rubbish bin, and stepped into the shower.
"Actually it smells like a lot of shit!" Bay called after her.
She crashed into bed past midnight, watched two minutes of Twin Peaks, then was snoring.
She kept trying new things. She entertained the troops by screening them Big Trouble in Little China, one of her favorite movies. But they had not grown up obsessed with twentieth century culture like her. They barely understood a thing. Another day, Rowan spent her time in a spacesuit, hovering outside the hull, repairing broken components on the ship's exterior. But she only annoyed the mechanics with her constant comments and suggestions. On the fifth day, she donated blood, signed an organ donor's card, visited the medical bay, and practiced her Patch Adams impression.
"Rowan!" Bay said that night. "When will this end?"
"Once I'm a weaver," she said. "Now shut up! I need to meditate."
"Fine." Bay plugged in his headphones. "I'm watching another Twin Peaks episode."
She gasped. "Without me? You promised to wait for me! How will I know who the killer is?"
He rolled his eyes. "Row, you've watched this show several times already. Go meditate."
He lay on his cot, holding his minicom, watching the show. Rowan sat on the floor, took a deep breath, and began to breathe deeply.
Wax on. Wax off. Wax on. Wax off.
She was so stressed that it took a particularly long time to enter deep relaxation. Finally, the light shone around her. She was accessing the Empyrean Firmament. The higher plane shone around her. Rowan could barely see her cabin, barely see Bay. She hovered in this realm of luminosity.
The ancients shone around her, wispy figures of light, floating to and fro on their business.
"Sandalphon!" Rowan cried out. "Sandalphon, you here?"
One of the luminous blobs approached. He sat down beside her.
"Hello, Rowan. How have you been?"
She groaned. "Everything hurts. I'm exhausted. Being selfless is hard work."
Sandalphon was woven of light, and he had no true face, but Rowan could swear he was smiling. "The path of the righteous is long and weary, strewn with thorns and cloaked in shadows, and it has no destination. Its laborious journey is its own reward, and the light of good deeds illuminates it."
"Yeah, yeah," Rowan said. "Very wise, Miyagi. So I've been a righteous girl. I cooked. I did laundry. I fixed the hull of the ship."
Sandalphon tilted his glowing head. "Did you practice selflessness? Or simply do your chores?"
"Hey, man!" Rowan stood up and placed her hands on her hips. "If you haven't noticed, I'm on a goddamn warship, flying to battle. It ain't exactly a walk in the park being righteous up here. Not like there are orphan baby whales around, looking for me to shove them back into the water. Well, Bay in the morning might qualify, but … I did the best I could with the material available. Don't I earn brownie points? Nothing?" When the ancient remained silent, she tugged her hair. "Come on, man! I screened Big Trouble in Little China for the troops! It's a classic. Kurt Russell's gotta be worth something!"
Sandalphon rose too. "Rowan, you're still not taking this seriously."
"I am! Honestly. I'm just …" She sighed. "I'm just frustrated, I guess. And scared. I'm really scared. We're flying to war, Sandalphon. A new kind of war. We're invading an alien planet. Not just a refugee camp or gulock, but the homeworld of the Basiliska Empire. It's likely that I'll die. Or that my loved ones will die." Tears stung her eyes. "So many of my friends have died already. Like Coral. I just want t
o follow in her path. To be a weaver like her. To use aether to help people. So yes, the things I tried were stupid. I get that. But I don't know what else to do. And I'm trying, Sandalphon. I'm trying real hard to impress you. And I guess I blew it."
"Rowan." He placed a translucent hand on her shoulder. "This isn't about impressing me. You have to prove your worth. Not just to me but to the cosmos. To the light of the aether. Me? I'm just one soul. Just a wisp in the light. You must find your own light, Rowan. Connect the light of your selfless soul to the cosmos. Become one with the goodness that permeates the universe."
Tears flowed down her cheeks. "The universe seems like a pretty dark, violent, evil place, Sandalphon. It's hard for me to believe there's goodness in the universe. Not after what I've seen. Millions murdered, Sandalphon. Millions of them—skinned alive, burned in the gulocks. Annihilated in nuclear assaults. Children. Over a million human children have died in the past few years." She was trembling now. "What kind of goodness is there in the cosmos?"
"If there is no goodness, then why do you fight?" he said.
"For Earth! For my people! For Bay. For Big Trouble in Little China, and Twin Peaks, and K-pop. For pancakes. For my friends. For the people I love." Her voice was hoarse. "I would give anything to protect these things."
Sandalphon smiled. "So you fight for goodness. Because you know what all good soldiers know. What they fight for."
She wiped her tears away. "Does that mean I've earned my runes?"
"Rowan, your deeds aboard this ship? Peeling potatoes, washing sheets, repairing hulls? You did those to impress me. To gain something in return. To gain a rune. Even now, that is what you ask for. If you perform a deed and expect a reward, that is not a selfless deed. It is self-serving. Only when you perform an act of true selflessness, of true sacrifice, will I grant you a rune, and you will become a weaver."
"But I did these things for Earth!" she said. "For all those good things I want to protect!"
But Sandalphon was fading away.
The light of the Empyrean Firmament scattered like dust in the wind.
Rowan was back in her chamber, sitting on the floor below the cot.
"So that's who the killer is!" Bay said, still watching his show. "Damn. And I was sure it was Mr. Tojamura all along. Who could have guessed the real killer would end up being an evil spirit from another dimension?" He lowered the minicom and turned toward her. "Rowan? Rowan, what's wrong?"
The Legacy of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 6) Page 16