Rowan gasped.
He's scared of me! An alien is scared of me!
She had spent her life hunted, the lowest in the food chain. What a change!
Rowan puffed out her chest and strutted a few steps. But when a slug glared at her, she lost her nerve and ran the rest of the way.
The Cagayan de Oro was the size of a semitrailer, but the Brooklyn was even smaller. Rowan stepped inside and found Bay there, still fixing the controls.
"How's it going?" she said.
Bay was hunched over, his back to her, sliding a control panel back into place. "Man, those bonecrawlers made an awful mess. They tore up Brooklyn good. But I'm almost done patching her up. Her injuries are mostly skin-deep."
"Tis but a scratch," Rowan said.
Bay reached out for a wrench. "Huh?"
"More Monty Python. I really got to educate you." Rowan looked around at the interior of the starship. "Brooklyn looks so much better now. Last time I was here, her cables were spilling all over the place. She looks as good as new. You did well considering—"
Rowan almost said, Considering you have only one working hand. She bit down on those words.
"Considering how badly she was hurt," she said instead.
Bay laughed, tightening a bolt. "You were going to say considering I have only one hand. It's all right."
Rowan placed her hands on her hips. "I was going to say considering you have only one working hand. You do still have two."
Bay placed down his wrench and finally turned to face her. For a moment, he stared in silence at her uniform.
"So you're an Inheritor now," he finally said.
Rowan nodded. "Your powers of deduction are astounding. What gave it away? My uniform or my insignia?"
"Haha, smartass." He reached for a welding tool. "Besides, with that vest and your short messy hair, you look more like a hobbit."
"Oh for crying out—" She groaned. "I knew it!"
Bay returned to a panel, struggling to slide some wires into place. "Hey, Frodo, make yourself useful. I need your hands for something. Just one more piece to plug in, and Brooklyn will be back online."
Rowan nodded. "All right." She pulled Fillister out of her pocket, tapped his button, and his wings sprouted out. "Fill can help too. He's good with machines."
They knelt by the control panel, and Rowan helped Bay with the task. It took his good hand, both of hers, and Fillister to string the wires through. Finally they got everything plugged in and reattached the panel. Bay hit a couple of buttons and—
Lights turned on across the cockpit, flashing and beeping.
Brooklyn's voice emerged from the speakers.
"—in my cockpit! Bonecrawlers inside me! All over! Bay!" The ship rocked back and forth. "Bay, bonecrawlers! Help!"
"Brooklyn! Brook!" Bay patted her. "It's all right, girl! It's over. They're dead. Rowan and I killed them."
The ship was still rocking, lights flashing, but slowly she calmed. "What?" Her lights blinked. "What happened? Hey! Was I unconscious? How long was I out? Did you make sure there are no ants inside me? Robot mechanics have ants, you know." The ship fell silent, and a camera swiveled toward Rowan. "Hey, who's the hobbit?"
"Oh for muck's sake!" Rowan raised her hands, eyes rolling. "I give up."
Fillister took flight. The dragonfly buzzed toward the camera. "Mornin', squire! Nice to meet another artificial intelligence."
"Ah!" Brooklyn cried. "An ant!"
It was Bay's turn to roll his eyes. "Brook, you just survived an attack by bonecrawlers, and you're worried about ants?"
Rowan took Fillister in her hands and closed him. She reattached the robot to a chain, and once more he looked like a humble pocket watch. Rowan placed him into her vest's pocket.
"Your ship seems a bit overwhelmed, Bay," she said.
He nodded. "Brook, I gotta disconnect you for a while, all right? I want to back up your system, run a diagnostics scan, and calibrate your emotional algorithms. They're all out of whack after the battle. All right? It'll help you calm down."
Brooklyn's camera nodded on its stalk. "All right. Check me for ants while I'm out."
Bay flicked some switches, turning Brooklyn off, and began running diagnostics on her.
For a moment, Rowan stood in silence, watching the system run its scans. It seemed like it would take a while.
Rowan looked back toward the ship's hold. Bay had built a cozy living area there, complete with a bed, a kitchenette, and a desk. It was smaller than the cabins on the Cagayan de Oro, but it was palatial compared to the ducts.
Rowan noticed a stack of papers on his desk. "Hey, are those your drawings?"
She left the cockpit and walked toward them. She lifted the papers, and her eyes widened.
"Hey, yo!" Bay stumbled toward her, spilling bolts and cables. "Don't look at those, all right?"
"Why?" Rowan held them away when he tried to grab them. "They're good! Real good." She began leafing through them. "Bay, you're a great artist."
Some of the papers featured fearsome aliens the size of starships. Other drawings were of space warriors wielding mighty swords of fire. Many featured beautiful princesses, their skin green and their spacesuits skin tight, firing ray-guns at tentacled space monsters.
"Hey, there's even one that looks like a hobbit!" she said, pointing at a drawing.
Bay looked abashed. "Yeah, well, I was much younger when I drew that one. It's meant to be a self-portrait." He winced. "Some of the others are better."
Rowan kept leafing through the drawings. She sighed wistfully. "You draw women so beautifully. They're very curvy." She looked down at her own body. "I wish I had even a single curve. Not much of anything down there. I'm more pencil than hourglass."
"A pencil would be tall," Bay said.
Rowan made a fist. "Watch it! Fine, I'm a goddamn crayon. Maybe I'd grow taller if somebody fed me some frickin' pancakes." She returned the papers to him. "But really, you're a good artist. I'd be honored if you drew me someday." She blushed. "I mean, if you wanted to." Her cheeks burned. "To draw a hobbit, I guess."
"I'd love to draw you. I think you're just as pretty as the women in my drawings. I mean, for a hobbit. I mean, you're not a hobbit. I mean . . ." Now his cheeks flushed. "I mean yes."
"Smooth." She patted his cheek.
He rolled his eyes. "Look who's talking."
She looked at her feet. At her new shoes—the first pair she had ever owned.
She spoke softly. "Bay, you should have been there. To see me sworn in. I missed you."
He turned away and began stuffing his drawings into a drawer. "Sorry, Inheritor stuff is not really my scene."
"Why?" She frowned, hands on her hips. "Don't you care about Earth?"
Bay turned back toward her. "Of course I care. But we can't all wear the brown and blue. We can't all be warriors."
"Bay." She touched his arm. "You are a great warrior. The way you fought those bonecrawlers . . . I could never have faced so many alone. You even slew their king. You're as much a warrior as your father, as any Inheritor. Why don't you put on the uniform, say the vows, and rejoin us? Become an Inheritor again."
For a moment, Rowan thought Bay would yell. But then his anger melted. He closed his drawer and knelt before her.
"Rowan, I'm proud of you. Really. I think it's great that you joined the Heirs of Earth. But after my girlfriend died, I lost the stomach for it. Once Brooklyn is fixed, I'm going to head out. Find my own way. No more grog or drugs, I promise. I'll find a good world, a good life. A life of peace. I'm not ready to fight again. Do you understand?"
"No!" Rowan said. "I don't! I don't understand at all. You shouldn't be alone out there in the galaxy. You should be with your dad, your sister, with me. With other humans!"
Bay rose to his feet. "I don't want humans near me. Do you understand? I don't want to get close to anyone again. Because it hurts too much to lose them. You get attached, and you love someone, and . . ." His eyes were red. "Look, Rowan, I wish we still had Earth. I wish we could live in peace. But I can't share that dream. Dreams tend to come crashing down."