"The Earthstone," Emet whispered. "For years, I sought it. Within this crystal is stored the cultural heritage of our people. The philosophies of Aristotle, Socrates, Plato. The works of Spinoza, Kepler, Thomas Paine, Newton, Einstein, and Sagan. The holy books of our great religions and mythologies. Literature by Shakespeare, Charles Dickens, Tolstoy. The music of Mozart, Beethoven, Bach. The great works of art by Michelangelo, Donatello, Raphael. All that we have achieved as a species. Our cultural treasures. Our greatest works of art and thought and creation. Who we are, what we almost lost. All shines within this stone."
Rowan bit her lip. "You forgot Leonardo."
"Of course!" said Emet. "The great works of Da Vinci!"
Rowan blushed. "Oh, I thought you meant the Ninja Turtles, but—" She gulped. "Never mind. Yeah! I mean, cultural treasures. Lots of them. I spent the past few years admiring all the heritage! It was so . . . heritagey." She glanced at Bay and winced.
"You managed to tap into the Earthstone?" Emet said, eyes wide.
Rowan nodded. "Yeah! I built an adapter. I was able to translate the data stored inside into something alien tech could understand. I quickly figured out how to read the text files, so I could load up books. It took a bit longer to figure out how to stream videos, but I eventually got that working too. I even wrote my own audio codec. Fillister—that's my robot—helped too. I had a sweet rig set up. But a giant crab shot a few bullets through it. I can show you how to do it again, if you have the right tech. I love machines. Anything with wires, gears, or microchips. I can spend hours tinkering with it. I also spent hours with the Earthstone. It kept me sane." She lowered her head. "The loneliness was often overpowering. Without the Earthstone, I would have gone mad."
"The Earthstone will help many," Emet said. "We've been unable to make copies of the data. But we hope to achieve this in the future. When we find Earth, when we bring humanity home, we'll need to rebuild our planet. Our cities. Our farms. Our population. But just as importantly, we'll need to rebuild our culture. With the Earthstone, we can." He smiled. "I'm glad, Rowan, that you were able to access its secrets. I'm heartbroken that you spent so many years alone, but relieved that you had the works of great artists and thinkers to keep you company."
She bit her lip, blushing, then glanced up at Emet. "Okay, confession time. I hadn't even heard of all those cultural treasures." She cringed. "I spent the past few years playing old Earth video games, reading geeky fantasy novels like Dragonlance, laughing at Mystery Science Theater 3000 episodes, dancing to K-pop music, and watching Monty Python." She winced. "Does Monty Python count?"
At first, Emet gaped, but then a huge grin split his face. Bay had never seen his father smile so widely.
"Rowan, that too is culture," Emet said. "Popular culture is just as valuable, just as wonderful, as classical Renaissance art. You have experienced some of the best culture humanity has produced. Never be ashamed of enjoying popular culture. It's a treasure."
Rowan grinned too, a tight-lipped grin, hiding her teeth. "I'm glad I met you, Emet Ben-Ari. And . . ." She twisted her fingers. "Bay told me what happened. That my dad stole this stone from you. I haven't heard his side of the story. But whatever bad blood was between our families, I hope to remedy that now. To make peace between the Ben-Aris and Emerys. We're all human. The Earthstone belongs to us all." She reached out her hand. "On behalf of the Emery family, let us make peace."
Emet clasped her hand and shook it. "Peace."
Bay watched the exchange.
Peace, he thought. Yes, peace between our families. He looked at Emet. And maybe between father and son.
His heart twisted. It still hurt. It still hurt so badly.
But for ten years, I raged. For ten years, I hated. For ten years, I sank into darkness. Maybe it's time for peace.
Emet and Rowan were still holding hands, but now both were looking at him. Their eyes were soft.
Bay reached out and placed his hand atop theirs.
"Peace," he said softly.
"Peace," Emet said.
Rowan grinned. "We're like The Three Musketeers. All for one, and one for all! Like the Bryan Adams song! Though I think his song from Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves was better, and—" She gulped and blushed. "I mean—peace." She turned toward the bar tender and pounded on the counter. "Hey, can we get some frickin' pancakes here?" She glanced back at Emet and Bay. "You guys like pancakes, right? I've always wanted to try one."
Emet smiled. "I'm not sure aliens know what pancakes are, Rowan. But we'll make you some back at the fleet."
She nodded. "Good. I'll fight for pancakes."
It was a sweet moment, and Rowan and Emet were smiling, but Bay felt cold.
We made peace, the three of us, yet can we really live in peace? How long before more exterminators arrive? How long before the scorpions themselves attack? How long before we face fire and death again?
He looked at them. At his father. At Rowan.
He had already lost so much.
I cannot love them. I cannot bear to lose them. I cannot bear to have this peace shatter.
His father met his gaze, and Bay saw the same solemnity, maybe even the same fear. And Bay knew there would be no peace for humanity, not for many years, and the fires of war would soon burn anew.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
As Duncan moved through the ISS Kos, he felt his age in every damn joint.
He could cure the Purple Cough, scorpion venom, and space sickness. He could set bones, stitch wounds, amputate limbs. He could nourish the starving back to health, comfort the dying. But one thing Doctor Duncan McQueen couldn't do.
He couldn't cure damn aging.
He was in his sixties now. And Ra above, did he feel every one of those years.
The ISS Kos was a hospital ship. The only one the Heirs of Earth owned. If you could call it a hospital ship, at least. The rusty old clunker had once been a cattle transport, carrying mulers from world to world. The smell of shit still lingered. It was appropriate, Duncan supposed. An animal car had become a hospital, and a vet had become a doctor.
Only hours ago, the Heirs of Earth had sent a platoon onto a hostile world, had rescued forty-two humans from an alien mob. The wounded now filled the ISS Kos.
Another day. Another battle. And again Duncan did his work.
Instead of proper hospital rooms, they had curtains. Instead of beds, they had military cots. Instead of modern medical equipment, they had old farm tools. And yet the ISS Kos had saved hundreds of lives. And had comforted hundreds of dying warriors.
"Doc, I need you!" said Nurse Cindy, sticking her head around a curtain. She was a tall woman in her forties, her hair black and her blue eyes fiery. "It's Ramses. The damn man got a claw stuck halfway up his chest."
"I'm fine, I'm fine!" rose a deep voice behind the nurse. "Just got the wind knocked out of me. Give me some good coffee and cardamom, and I'll be back up and fighting."
Duncan stepped around the curtain. He found Nurse Cindy struggling to hold down her patient.
"Lie down, you scoundrel!" the nurse said.
"Unhand me, woman, I'm fine!" Ramses tried to rise again. "I'm descended of the pharaohs of ancient Egypt. No claw will hold me back."
Duncan stifled a smile.
Captain Ramses "Pharaoh" al Masri was among their best soldiers. He was a tall, slender man with brown skin, arched eyebrows, and a pointy black beard. He looked and moved like a stalking cat. He currently commanded the ISS Rosetta, one of the fleet's fastest, deadliest warships, and was also a capable Firebird pilot, fighting in many sorties. Many believed that Ramses would soon rise to commodore, perhaps even lead the Heirs of Earth someday.