"Will Bay not come?" she said.
Emet's eyes darkened. "He's still busy repairing Brooklyn, he says."
She felt deflated. "Oh. I thought he'd want to come. To be here for me. But I suppose it's all still difficult for him. After what happened." She raised her chin. "But I'm ready, sir. I'm ready for my vows."
Emet nodded, his eyes warm. "In the old days, new Inheritors used to swear on the Earthstone. We would bring out the stone in a holy ceremony, place it on a table, and have our new member place their hand upon it. Since you already wear the Earthstone around your neck . . ." His eyes glittered—amusement, perhaps? "If you held the Earthstone, that will be enough."
Rowan nodded and wrapped her fingers around the crystal.
Emet looked into her eyes. "Normally, I demand rigorous training before admitting a new Inheritor. I demand that all my warriors know how to fight, uphold an ethical code, and know Earth's lore. But you've proved yourself a warrior, proved yourself ethical, and your knowledge of ancient Earth culture is vast. You're ready to take the Inheritor's Vow, to join our ranks. Please repeat after me."
He spoke the words of his order. And Rowan repeated them, her hand around the Earthstone.
"Earth calls me home. I vow to forever heed her call. I vow to cherish Earth, to sing her songs, to preserve her heritage. With all my heart, I believe that Earth is the homeworld of humanity, and that someday I will see Earth again. 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 will be there. I am Earth's child. I am ready to fight, even sacrifice my life, for my homeworld. Someday Earth's lost children will return home. I will not rest until that day."
By the time she uttered the last words, tears were flowing down her cheeks. She had meant every word.
I will always fight for Earth. Always.
"Let us seal your vows with the Inheritor's salute," Emet said. He held one fist in front of his chest, then wrapped his second hand around it. Rowan repeated the gesture.
Emet pinned insignia to her sleeves—a single chevron per arm.
He smiled thinly. "You are now Private Rowan Emery, an Inheritor."
She raised her chin. She had never felt more proud.
She began to sing. It was the song her parents used to sing her. A song Rowan had almost forgotten. A song not on the Earthstone. She only remembered a few lines.
Into darkness we fled
In the shadows we prayed
In exile we always knew
That we will see her again
Our Earth rising from loss
Calling us home
Calling us home
She stopped singing and spoke softly. "My parents used to sing me this song. I forgot the rest."
"The song is called Earthrise," Emet said. "It's a song holy to all humans."
"Will you teach me the rest?"
He nodded. "I will."
He sang, voice deep and warm, and Rowan wept because she remembered now. She had been only two years old, but she remembered her parents with more clarity than ever. She sang with Emet. The song of her people. Of Earth.
Someday we will see her
The pale blue marble
Rising from the night beyond the moon
Cloaked in white, her forests green
Calling us home
For long we wandered
For eras we were lost
For generations we sang and dreamed
To see her rise again
Blue beyond the moon
Calling us home
Into darkness we fled
In the shadows we prayed
In exile we always knew
That we will see her again
Our Earth rising from loss
Calling us home
Calling us home
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
"We shouldn't be here, lass," Duncan grumbled. "Your old man forbade us from flying this far into Hierarchy space."
Leona smiled grimly. "Wrong. He forbade us from flying the Inheritor fleet so far into Hierarchy space. We're not flying the Inheritor fleet."
She clutched the controls, struggling to fly the deathcar. The scorpions used levers, not buttons, on their control panels. Leona needed all her strength to tug them. The deathcar clattered along, jolting, swaying, but still obeying her. Behind her the nine other deathcars followed, Inheritors piloting each one.
"Lass, you know what your father meant." Duncan stared ahead, eyes dark, his hand clutching his pistol. "He ordered us to attack the convoy. To rescue the prisoners. We did that. Now we must fly home."
Leona whipped her head toward him and glared. "I will not! I will not fly home while humans here need us. This deathcar convoy was heading toward a gulock only a light-year away. Thousands of humans might be there. Dying. Needing us. I will not abandon them. Wherever a human is in danger, we will be there."
Duncan grumbled. "I know our words. But we must choose our battles."
"Then I choose this one!" Leona said. "Duncan, I know this isn't what my dad commanded. But if he were here, if he saw what we saw . . . the prisoners naked, tortured, dying . . ." Her eyes burned, and her voice caught in her throat.
Duncan's eyes softened. "Lass, your father knows the cost of war. He knows the pain, the terror. I know his heart. I've been fighting at his side for thirty years."
Longer than I've been alive, Leona thought.
"And will you fight with me now, Duncan?" she whispered.
The old doctor looked at her for a long moment, then finally nodded. "Aye, lass. Now and always. Let's go teach those scorpion bastards a thing or two about human pride."
She nodded, smiled tightly, and clasped his shoulder. "I'm proud to fight with you, Doc."
She turned around, facing the deathcar's hold. Only an hour ago, hundreds of human prisoners, naked and beaten and starving, had filled this deathcar. Now dozens of Inheritor warriors stood here. They had served her aboard the Jerusalem. Now the freed captives were on the Jerusalem, heading back to the safety of the Concord, and Leona's warriors were here. Heading deeper into the darkness. They wore the brown and blue of their order. They held rifles, pistols, electric clubs, and laserblades. They all looked back at Leona, eyes somber. Ready for battle.
"I am proud to fight with you!" Leona said.
"For Earth!" they cried.
"For Earth," she repeated, eyes damp.
For a dream of our home. For humanity. For rising again from desolation.
The convoy flew onward. They were heading deeper and deeper into Hierarchy space, leaving the Concord far behind. Heading toward the gulock. Heading to hell.
The Inheritor fleet was waiting back in Concord space, seventeen warships and their Firebirds. Leona had left Duncan's daughter, Captain Mairead, in charge of the idling fleet. The redhead had raised hell—cursing, spitting, and refusing to remain behind while others flew to war.
But Leona had insisted. Mairead was perhaps the best pilot in the fleet. But she was as wild and fiery as her hair. The Firebug was terrifying in a dogfight, but this mission required finesse. In these deathcars, Leona had taken only her most prudent, responsible officers. Duncan was here, serving as her adviser and confidant. Captain Ramses al Masri, an Inheritor who had fought many battles, stood in this deathcar too, serving as her second-in-command. Three hundred enlisted marines filled the deathcars as well—the bulk of the Inheritor infantry.