Bay rolled his eyes. "Brook, the marshcrab who runs this place has been giving me the hairy eyeball. I'll bet you a silver scryl he put out a call to exterminators. The last thing you have to worry about is ants."
She huffed. "Exterminators don't get between your gears."
They stood in the hangar of Paradise Lost. Well, Bay was standing. The HSS Brooklyn rested on the oily floor. Brooklyn was small. But she was home. And she was Bay's best friend. Bay placed his hand on her hull, trying to soothe her.
Hundreds of other starships and shuttles docked around them. Some, like Brooklyn, were made of metal. Others were constructed of crystal or stone. Several shuttles were filled with water, for many aliens in the galaxy still relied on gills. Service bots rushed back and forth, creaky little things, offering to wash, wax, or repair the vessels. Slot machines stood along one wall, and several wrinkly aliens sat there, shoving scryls into the contraptions. A hot dog vendor stood by a gas pump, and a marshcrab stood inside an office behind a glass pane.
Compared to the rest of Paradise Lost, a hive of brothels and drug dens, the hangar was subdued. Brooklyn was fixed, and it was time to leave. Bay would not miss this space station. He had found a few days of forgetfulness here, a haze of vemales and whatever grog he could afford. He had gotten into a handful of bar brawls, bruising his knuckles and cheek, physical pain to shove back the memories.
And I met her. Rowan. The girl in the ducts.
Bay could not forget her large brown eyes. Her short ash-filled hair. The bruise on her cheek. The fear he saw in her, but also the light that shone through.
His heart twisted.
She's David Emery's daughter. And I called him a traitor to her face. Is it any wonder she ran?
"Bay! Bay, are you listening to me?" Brooklyn tilted herself toward him, banging him with her hull. "I asked you to check me for rust! You can catch rust from robots, you know."
Bay shook his head, banishing the thought of Rowan. There was not much he could do for her. There was not much Bay could do for any human who still lived in hiding. He had flown with the Inheritors once, vowing to fight for humanity. He had been only a child. That life was far behind him.
He patted Brooklyn's prow. "Brook, I need to update your software. You're a bit racist."
The starship rumbled and puffed out smoke. "Dude, robots are not a race. They're just machines."
"So are you!" Bay said.
She snorted. "I'm a starship."
"Actually, you're just a shuttle craft I put a warp engine on."
"That means I'm a starship now! And I deserve proper mechanics."
Bay rolled his eyes. "How does your new wing feel?"
She moved its flaps up and down. "Good," she muttered.
"I'm glad, because it cost every last scryl I had. Ready to fly outta here?"
"Ra yes," Brooklyn said. "This space station reeks of bad oil and rusty robo—"
"Brook!"
"Fine! No more being rocist. Let's amscray."
Bay entered Brooklyn and sat at the helm. The inside was still grubby. There was mud on the floor, dust on the controls, crumbs on the seats, and grog stains in the cup holder. Perhaps Bay should have paid the robots for detailing, but if Brooklyn had freaked out over a wing, he couldn't imagine how she'd react with robots running around inside her, vacuuming and dusting.
He brushed dust off the control panel. My sweet, paranoid starship.
He grabbed the joystick, turned Brooklyn around, and they faced the shimmering force field that led out into open space. Past the glare of neon lights, Bay could make out a few stars. There was danger out there. There were Peacekeepers, mercenaries, exterminators, and scorpions. There was loneliness. There was guilt. There was memory.
He was out of money. He had enough food for only a couple of weeks. He would have to move on. To keep searching. To someday find a virgin world, peaceful and green, far from everyone.
Bay lowered his head.
A pipe dream, he knew. For years, he had searched. There were many habitable worlds in the galaxy—all already colonized. All owned by aliens who hated humans more than Brooklyn hated robots.
We have only one world. Earth.
A lump filled Bay's throat. No. That struggle was over. His war for Earth had ended. If he could find no new world, then he would continue this life. He would bounce from casino to casino, find escape in the bottom of mugs and the beds of whores. So what if Earth was gone? He didn't need Earth! He didn't need the Inheritors, or his father, or anyone.
Not since she had died.
I miss you so much, Seohyun.
Brooklyn spoke softly. "Bay? Maybe . . . maybe this time you can take me home. To my mother. To your father."
Bay shook his head. "No. The ISS Jerusalem is a warship, serving the Heirs of Earth, not your mother. You are no longer a shuttle forced to dock in its hangar. You're a free ship. And I'm no longer my father's son."
But his throat was tight, his voice hoarse.
"Bay." Brooklyn's voice was gentle. "We shouldn't be alone. Nobody should be alone."
"We're not alone!" He laughed mirthlessly. "The galaxy is our home. Ours to explore. We're free, Brook. We're free."
"I guess," she whispered, and her control panel dimmed.
He looked over his shoulder into Brooklyn's hold. He saw a bed, unmade. The fold-out desk where he drew and painted. A handful of drawings on the bulkheads, depicting noble space warriors, seductive alien princesses, and roaring dragons flying over alien planets. Empty bottles of grog. Dirty clothes. Ashtrays. Misery.
Bay shut down the engine.
He opened a drawer, pulled out his pistol, and shoved it into his belt. He opened the hatch.
"Bay?" Brooklyn said. "Bay, where are you going? I thought we were flying out."
"We are," he said. "Soon. I forgot something."
He hopped out the ship and began walking across the hangar.
"Bay, wait, don't leave me with these robots!" Brooklyn called after him. "Bay! What about the exterminators?"
"I'll be quick!" he called over his shoulder. "Just play some video games until I'm back."
"But you only gave me Angry Birds and Q*bert, and I finished them both!"
Bay ignored her. He ran back into the space station, this glittering hive of sin.
He ran past aliens at slot machines, past sex shops and adult movie theaters, past gladiator pits where bones snapped and teeth flew. He ignored the marshcrab security guards who cried for him to stop. He barged back into Drunken Truckers, the pub where he had met her. The stick insect bartender was polishing a mug. Giant alien seashells sat at the bar, licking piles of salt. Ignoring them, Bay knelt under a table, pulled open the HVAC vent, and placed his head and arms into the duct.
"Rowan!" he cried.
His voice echoed down the duct.
No answer came—aside from a gruff voice behind him.
"Hey, pest, no crawling into the walls."
It was the bartender. Bay ignored him and crawled deeper. Soon his entire body was inside the duct.
Damn these ducts were narrow! How the hell did Rowan manage to move so swiftly? Granted, she was smaller than him, and she had two working hands, but Bay still shuddered to imagine spending a life here in the ductwork.
He crawled until he reached a bend, wriggled around the corner, and saw another duct stretch ahead. He crawled onward.
"Rowan!" he cried again. "Rowan, it's me! Bay. Can you hear me? I'm sorry, all right?"
His voice echoed. A gust of hot wind from a furnace ruffled his hair, and he coughed. He kept crawling, reached another bend, and faced a fork. He chose one path, crawled deeper, reached another fork, and chose a path at random. Surely this labyrinth spread through the entire space station. Could he get lost in here, crawl through the ducts for days until he died of thirst?
Finally Bay reached a vertical shaft. He began to wriggle his way up, pushing against the shaft walls. It was slow work. He had climbed half the shaft before
he slipped, fell several meters, and managed to reach out and halt his fall. His bad hand hit a protruding screw, and he grunted with pain. His pistol banged into another wall, and the muzzle dug into his thigh.
For a moment, Bay hung in the shaft like Santa trapped in a chimney.
He sighed.
"What the hell am I doing here?" Bay said to himself. "I could be halfway to the next star system by now."
He felt trapped—trapped in this duct, trapped in this life.
What happened to me, Seohyun?
A voice spoke above him.
"You're not very good at climbing, are you?"
He looked up. She lay above him in another duct, sticking her head into the shaft, looking down at him. A girl with short brown hair and dark eyes. Rowan.
"I don't suppose you have a rope?" he said.
She rolled her eyes. "Would you trust me if I tossed you one?"
"No," he confessed. "But my choices are limited."
She groaned. "I don't have a rope anyway. But wait." She pulled her head back from the shaft, and he heard her scurrying away. A few moments later, she returned and lowered a cable. "Here, use this."
He grabbed the cable, pressed his feet against the duct wall, and resumed climbing. Rowan grunted above, tugging the cable.
"God, you weigh a ton," she said.
"I'm average sized!" he said.
She snorted. "For what, an elephant?"
She knows what elephants are, Bay thought.
But of course she did. She had the Earthstone.
Bay still remembered that day—when David Emery had stolen the artifact.
Dad was furious, Bay remembered. I thought the old man would tear the galaxy apart.
Bay couldn't remember Rowan, though. He remembered the traitor having a daughter, a blond girl named Jade. Leona had been good friends with Jade. But Rowan? He could remember nothing of a girl with large brown eyes. The traitor had defected sixteen years ago. Rowan must have been born in exile.
She has no idea who I am, Bay realized. No idea that I knew Jade, her older sister. Ra, how long has she spent here in the ducts?
"Yo, elephant boy!" Rowan called down to him. "Stop daydreaming and climb. I can't just pull you up. You gotta help! Grab the cable with both hands."
Bay stuffed his bad hand into his coat. "I'm fine with one hand!"
He finally reached the top. Rowan moved back, and Bay collapsed onto the horizontal duct.
"You're out of shape," Rowan observed. "Have you considered aerobics?"
Bay tried to sit up but banged his head. He grimaced. "I'm in perfect shape."
Rowan nodded. "Uh huh. I'm sure all the grogging and drugging you do helps with that."
He glared at her, this waif of a girl. She was half his size, and she wore nothing but a blanket, but there was fire in her eyes. One of her eyes, he noticed, was bruised and puffy. Somebody had struck her. Normally, Bay would be furious that somebody should hurt a young girl. But this young girl kept insulting him. She was definitely a troublemaker.
"Hey, what's your problem anyway?" Bay said. "Why are you so rude?"
"I'm rude?" Rowan said. "Last time we met, you insulted my father. You're lucky I didn't let you drop to your death."
Bay nodded. "Rowan, I'm sorry. I didn't know you're David Emery's daughter. See, our dads . . . they had a falling out. Long ago. But it was their feud, not ours. I was only a kid, and you weren't even born. Whatever happened between them, it doesn't need to affect us. I came here to apologize. I'm sorry."
Rowan stared at him, eyes narrowed, as if trying to read his mind. Finally she nodded. "Apology accepted. And I'm sorry I called you an elephant."
He couldn't help but laugh. "Hey, I've been called worse. Already forgotten."
She tilted her head. "I thought elephants never forget."
"Hey now, don't you get clever!"
Rowan grinned. "Can't help it, buddy." Suddenly her cheeks flushed, and she hurriedly closed her mouth.
"You all right?" Bay said.
She looked away. "I . . . Yeah! I'm great. I . . ." She heaved a sigh. "I'm a bit self-conscious about my teeth being crooked. I don't like smiling."
"Hey, at least you have teeth!" Bay said. "All I have are ivory tusks."
She cracked the tiniest of smiles, but she kept her lips closed.
"Funny," she said.
Bay bit his lip, then pulled his bad hand out from his coat. "I'm a bit self-conscious about the claw here, as I call it. I can't uncurl my fingers. It's why I couldn't grab the rope. It's also a bit smaller than my other hand."
She looked at his hand, then into his eyes. "What happened to it?"
"Was born this way," Bay said. "Cruel joke, I guess. My sister Leona was born to be a warrior. She's tall, strong, perfect. I was always the skinny kid with the bad hand, who couldn't fight, who spent his days drawing dragons and space warriors and alien princesses."
Rowan's eyes widened. "I want to see your drawings! Show me! I wish I could draw. I like to write movie scripts. I wrote a movie titled Dinosaur Island—it's about an island on Earth where dinosaurs never went extinct—and bits of other movies. My dream is to become a filmmaker someday—like Spielberg and Lucas—and actually film my movies. Oh, and I love tinkering with machines, almost as much as writing movies, and I've fixed Fillister several times. He's my robot. Belowgen smashed him once, and I had to fix him. But I'm only an average drawer. I can draw pretty good My Little Pony ponies, and one time I drew all five Dinobots, but that's about it. I bet you could draw some wicked Lord of the Rings stuff. I tried to draw all the characters once, but all the hobbits looked the same, and my Gandalf looks more like a hobo than a wizard. So? Show me your drawings!"
Bay blinked at her. "I have no idea what you just said."
She groaned. "Don't you have Lord of the Rings, and Transformers, and My Little Pony, and Ninja Turtles, and all that stuff where you're from?"
"Let me guess," Bay said. "Earthstone."
Rowan nodded, reached under her collar, and pulled out the crystal. "Yep! All here. All the good Earth stuff from two thousand years ago." She heaved a sigh. "Sadly, Belowgen shot up my monitor and keyboard. I'll have to get new ones, and build a new adapter, before I can get movies and books again." She tapped the crystal. "Don't worry, though, all the data's still in here. It's safe. I've dropped the crystal down the shafts three times already, and you can't damage it. I think it's some kind of diamond. Hard as mithril, as beautiful as the Evenstar. Those are Lord of the Rings references, by the way. Once I get a new adapter and monitor, we can watch those movies. I've seen them about a million times. I want to watch them again with you. And Star Wars of course. And Game of Thrones. Oh God, I have so much to teach you about Earth! Sorry. I'm talking too much. I haven't spoken to another person since I was a baby, just to Fillister. I get excited." She blushed. "You must think I'm mental."
Bay blinked at her. "Is Fillister from Lord of the Rings?"
She laughed. "No, silly! I told you about him already."
She pulled out a pocket watch. She unclipped the chain, then hit a button on the watch. Wings burst out from it, and a robotic dragonfly took flight.
"Nice trick," Bay said. "Is that a Transformer?"
"This is Fillister," Rowan said. "Fill, meet Bay."
The dragonfly buzzed before Bay, eyes narrowed. He looked back at Rowan. "I don't like him."
"Fill!" Rowan glowered. "Be nice."
Fillister zipped around her. "Remember what you told me? He insulted your dad! You called the boy a stinky, good-for-nothing, drunk baboon who—"
"Hush!" Rowan blushed. "He apologized. Be nice, Fill. He's our friend now. He agreed to watch all The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, and Star Wars movies with me. And he's going to draw all the characters for us."
Bay blinked. "I did? I mean, I am?"
Bloody hell, she is mental, he thought.
Rowan nodded and gripped his hand. "Of course you are. Now come on! I've set up a temporar
y shelter for now near the furnace. It's nice and warm there, and I have a spare blanket. You can live with me here in the ducts. They sometimes call exterminators, but I know how to escape them. I want to stress something important. Stay in the ducts during busy time." She stared into his eyes. "All right? Before dawn, we can go down to rummage for food, use the bathrooms, fine some scryls, and maybe—maybe, and only if the coast is clear, play some arcade games. But mostly, we stay hidden here in the ducts. Aliens hate humans, and it's safe in here. Got it?"
She began crawling away, tugging his hand.
"Actually," Bay said, "I was going to fly out of Paradise Lost. On my starship. In a few minutes."
Rowan froze.
She released his hand.
She stared at him.
"Oh," she said. "I'm sorry. When I saw you crawling in the ducts, I thought that . . ." She hid her face. "I'm so stupid."
"I told you we couldn't trust him!" Fillister said.
Bay glared at the dragonfly. If only I had a fly swatter . . .
Rowan dried her eyes. "It's all right, Fill. I just . . . I got too excited. I guess I was lonely, and . . ." She blinked rapidly. "Never mind. He has a spaceship. Why would he stay here with us? We've never needed anyone else, right?" She took the dragonfly into her hands. "Come on, Fill." She began crawling away. "Let's go find a new place to hide, and—"
"Rowan," Bay said softly. He reached out and touched her wrist.
She turned back toward him, eyes huge and damp.
"Yes?" she whispered.
I don't need anyone else! Bay had said so many times. I'm alone! I'm free!
What a bunch of hogwash.
"Come with me," Bay said. "On my ship. It's not a large ship, but it's larger than a duct. And I can't promise you an easy life—I mostly just travel from bar to bar—but sometimes there are nice, sunny planets, and—"
Rowan leaped onto him and embraced him. She wept. For a long time, she just cried, and he wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair.
"Thank you," she whispered, tears wetting his shirt. "Thank you." She looked up at him and smiled. "Do you have a monitor on your ship? And electronics? Of course you do!" Her smile grew into a grin. "I can patch in the Earthstone, and we can watch Lord of the Rings and Star Wars! Oh, and Willow! Wait till you see Willow! And you have to watch the Monty Python movies—I'll make you watch them—but I think I'll teach you Dungeons and Dragons first. You'll find tons of stuff to draw from Dungeons and Dragons! Oh, and remember, you have to read the Harry Potter books before you watch the movies, but with Game of Thrones you can—"
The Heirs of Earth Page 18