Daniel Arenson: The Heirs of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 1)

They all brought the same message.

"We heard of Leona Ben-Ari, the descendant of Einav, freeing the survivors of the gulock. We heard of the Corvette Company leading the charge against the strikers. We heard of the Old Lion ejecting the Blue Witch from his airlock. We heard of the Heirs of Earth and their courage. We will join you. We will fight. We will see Earth again."

For days, they kept arriving from across the galaxy. Starship after starship. More survivors from across space. More humans. For the first time in thousands of years, these dispersed, exiled people, hunted like vermin and living in shadows, joined together.

Within weeks, the Heirs of Earth swelled to their largest size ever. Forty-two warships flew for Earth, ranging from massive freighters to humble corvettes. Cargo ships, shuttles, and starfighters completed their fleet. Three thousand humans gathered here at this snowy world so far from home. Warriors. Survivors. All were the Heirs of Earth.

* * * * *

On a cold morning, Leona stood in the snowy valley, her cloak wrapped around her, as the Heirs of Earth burned their dead.

Many of their fallen were lost to space. But many bodies had been recovered from the war, kept frozen aboard their ships. And now they burned. The fires dotted the valley, an individual fire for every fallen hero. They had anointed the dead with fuel, and they burned bright and fast and hot.

Emet was speaking of the fallen heroes. A few priests and monks were praying. Leona did not listen. She stood apart from the others. The snowy wind fluttered her cloak, billowed her curly hair, and stung her face. It smelled of ashes. Sparks rose like fields of stars.

A clear, high song rose, startling her. Leona looked up to see that Coral Amber stood on an icy outcrop, her white hair streaming. She sang an old song in the language of Til Shiran, her desert world, but Leona knew it was a song of mourning.

Bay approached, trudging through the snow. Her brother gave her a sad smile.

"Are you ready, Leona?"

"No," Leona whispered. "I'm not. But I'll do this nonetheless."

She stepped slowly toward a fire. The heat bathed her, searing her tears dry, and sparks flew onto her uniform. Leona reached into her pack and pulled out her husband's skull. She caressed it.

"Goodbye, Jake," she whispered.

She knelt and placed the skull in the fire, then added another log. She stepped back, watching as the fire roared.

Bay pulled her into his arms. Leona leaned against her brother as the fires burned.

"I love you, Bay," she said. "I'm glad you're back."

"I'm glad to be back," he whispered, voice choked.

They had no urns. They used the empty cartridges of artillery shells. They placed the ashes of their fallen into these canisters, and marked them, and sealed them. They would take the ashes along the dark road. Someday they would scatter them on Earth.

"I will scatter Jake's ashes in the Atlantic ocean." Leona smiled shakily at Bay. "Someday, I'll sail those waters. We always dreamed of sailing there together."

Rowan walked toward them. The girl had snow in her short hair, and her eyes were sad and sparkling.

"I love to sail forbidden seas," Rowan said softly.

Leona raised her eyebrows. "Have I told you that I have that line tattooed on my arm?"

Rowan's eyes widened. "You do? It's from Moby Dick , you know. One of my favorite novels."

Leona gaped at the girl for a second, then laughed. She pulled Rowan into her arms, and Bay joined the embrace. Then they walked up the mountainside, away from the cold, and into the warm shadows of their cave.

* * * * *

The next day, Emet took a shuttle back to the ISS Jerusalem , which was orbiting the frozen planet. The new communities had brought mechanics. They had patched up the Jerusalem . They had replaced the cracked shields, resealed the breaches, and painted the hull deep silver. The starboard and port displayed the symbol of the Heirs of Earth—golden wings growing from a blue sphere.

The Jerusalem was an old ship, even older than Emet's fifty-five years. She looked new.

He entered through the back airlock. The hold had always been an empty chasm, the place where the Jerusalem had carried liquids during her days as a tanker. Over the past few weeks, his people had been working here, building with wood taken from the planet below. Now a hundred and fifty cabins lined a central corridor. Each cabin contained wooden cots and fur blankets, room enough for a family. Carpenters were already setting down the foundations of a mess hall and lounge.

The Jerusalem was still a warship. She would still fight in battles. But she could also provide a temporary dwelling for refugees returning home.

Leona stepped into the hold beside him. She nodded, admiring the work. "Looks cozy."

"A thousand of our people survived the horrors of the gulocks," Emet said. "We cannot heal their scars. But we can make them comfortable. We can give them some semblance of normal life. Until they can lie on the grass of Earth and gaze upon blue skies."

Leona turned toward him. "Do you think it's possible, Dad? Even if we find our way home. If we find that green grass and blue skies. Can we ever forget? Ever heal?"

He knew Leona was not just talking about the gulock survivors.

He pulled his daughter into his arms. "Maybe not. Some scars don't heal. Some memories forever haunt us. We fight, we bleed, we suffer so that others may live in light. I don't know if I'll live to walk on Earth, or if I'll die in the darkness of space, fighting for a world I'll never see. But someday new babies will be born on Earth. Someday children will play on grass and gaze upon our sky. We cannot undo the pain. We cannot forget the horror. We cannot avenge the millions who fell. But we can fight for those who come after us. For eighty generations, we hid in darkness. May the next generation be the first born on Earth."

She slung an arm around him. They stepped onto the bridge. They gazed out upon the rest of their fleet.

"The journey will be long," Leona said. "But it's time to begin."

Emet nodded. "It's time to go home."

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Rowan sat in the mountain cave, wrapped in a fur cloak. Only a handful of other survivors were still down here. Almost everyone was up with the fleet now, prepared to fly away from the frozen planet. Some would fly out to seek more human communities. Others would return to battle the Hierarchy. A handful of intrepid humans would seek Earth. All three were noble pursuits.

But right now, Rowan just sat in the cave. An emptiness filled her, and the weight of the mountain seemed to press down upon her.

She pulled her old photograph from her pocket. The one from another cave on a distant world. She smoothed the wrinkly plastic casing. A photo of herself as a toddler. With her family. With Jade.

Rowan gazed at her sister for a long time. A seven-year-old girl with blond hair. With kind eyes.

Finally Rowan placed her photo back in her pocket, and she pulled out her old companion. When closed, Fillister looked like a humble pocket watch, cold and smooth in her hand. Her father had given her the robot fourteen years ago. A toy. A gadget. But Fillister had become so much more.

She removed the chain, clicked a button, and his wings and head sprouted out. The robotic dragonfly yawned and hovered before her, wings buzzing.

"Mornin', squire! Is it time to leave?" He shivered. "Blimey, it's cold on this world." The tiny robot frowned. "You all right, Row?"

She spoke softly. "Fill, am I a bad person?"

"What's that now?" Fillister buzzed from side to side, agitated. "You're bloody brilliant, you are. You know that."

"Fill, I . . . I saw my sister. Up there. In the battle. I saw Jade."