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

Emet smiled and saluted, wrapping his right palm around his left fist. "Welcome to the Heirs of Earth, Bay. I'm proud of you."

Bay returned the salute. He hesitated, looking at Emet, the man they called the Old Lion. The leader of the Heirs of Earth. The man who promised to return humanity home. The living legend. A father.

Then Bay stepped forward and embraced him. Emet seemed almost surprised—the gruff old soldier rarely displayed emotion. But then he returned the embrace, his arms wide and warm.

"Bay," he said. "I wanted to tell you something. I wanted to wait until you took your vow. I know that you've always wanted a new hand. A robotic prosthetic."

Bay froze. He pulled away, his heart twisting. He didn't like talking about his deformed left hand.

"Yeah," he only said, voice hoarse.

"And I know I always told you no," Emet said, "that we couldn't afford it, that we needed the money for weapons, for food, for water. Well, I think you've earned that money. I'd like to buy you that prosthetic you've always wanted. The doctors will have to remove your left hand, but the new one will look and feel realistic. It'll be even stronger than your right hand."

Bay looked at his bad hand. Growing up, it had defined him, shamed him. He had become good at hiding it—behind his back, in his pocket, under a long sleeve. He had always felt broken, incomplete. For years, he had dreamed of replacing it. To have two working hands! To be like everyone else!

He looked back at his father.

"Thanks, Dad, but I'll pass for now," Bay said. "Many of our people lost limbs. Some lost eyes, ears, faces. They need prosthetics more than I do. Spend the money on them." He raised his bad hand and wrapped his good hand around it. "Hey, I can still give the Inheritor salute, right?"

This time it was Emet who pulled him into an embrace. He held his son tightly, nearly crushing him.

"I love you, son," Emet said, voice choked.

"Love you too, Dad."

He returned to Brooklyn. He didn't have a new hand. But he had never felt more whole.

* * * * *

"Bay! Bay, help me, damn it!" Rowan stumbled down the Jerusalem 's corridor, swaying under the weight. "Bay, get your butt over here!"

The telescope she carried was five feet long—longer than her. It probably weighed as much too. Bay rushed toward her down the corridor, and he grabbed one end.

"What the hell is this thing?" Bay said. "A planet-destroying cannon?"

"A telescope." Rowan grinned. "An ultra-powerful, super-strong intergalactic telescope! It dices, it slices! As seen on TV! Amaze your friends!"

"I'm certainly amazed at how heavy it is," Bay said, wilting under the weight.

"One of the new humans—you know Greg, the guy with the red beard?—he brought it with his community. It's alien, Bay. And it can gaze super far."

"Greg must be a serious Peeping Tom," Bay said.

"Ha ha, very funny." Rowan shuffled toward the airlock, carrying her end of the telescope. "Greg said I can borrow it. I want to test it out. It comes with a stand, and we can mount it on Brooklyn's roof."

Bay nodded. "Good. Let her carry it!"

"It won't weigh anything in space," Rowan said.

"Babe, this telescope generates its own gravity."

They put on spacesuits, then floated out of the Jerusalem . They worked for a while on Brooklyn's roof, mounting the telescope. Finally they plugged video cables into the ship, streaming the view from the telescope to Brooklyn's monitor. When their work was done, they stepped back inside and removed their helmets.

"Great, you've turned me into a tank!" Brooklyn said. "Damn, this thing is heavy."

Bay looked at Rowan. "See?"

"Are you sure there are no ants on this telescope?" Brooklyn asked.

Bay rolled his eyes. "Brook, why would there be ants on telescopes?"

"Well, ants are very small," the starship said. "Maybe somebody was using the telescope to see them."

"It's a tele scope, not a micro scope!" Bay said.

"Yes, but do the ants know that?" Brooklyn was now rocking in space, jangling the telescope mounted on her roof.

Rowan patted a bulkhead. "Brook, when I lived in Paradise Lost, I became good at hunting ants. Don't worry, I'm clean. I know how to spot ants. I'll be your ant hunter. If any ever sneak in, I'll crush 'em."

That seemed to mollify the ship. Her rocking stopped. "You are so much nicer than Bay. Please stay here forever."

"Oh, I plan to," Rowan said. "This is my new home."

"Has anyone considered asking me about this?" Bay said. "The owner of this starship?"

"To remind you, you stole me," Brooklyn said.

He snorted. "Be thankful. Otherwise you'd still be a shuttle inside the Jerusalem . They have ants there, you know. Want me to bring you back?"

Brooklyn gasped. "You wicked, horrible man! Rowan, punch him for me."

She did. Hard.

"Now come on," Rowan said, "let's get this telescope online."

They entered the cockpit, switched on the computer interface, and detected the mounted telescope. With a few keystrokes, they were able to patch in. From here in the cockpit, they could now move the telescope, zoom in and out, and watch the video feed.

Using the joystick, Rowan zoomed in and gasped. "Hey, Bay! I found an alien warrior chick with huge round—"

He pulled the joystick away from her. "Give me that." He pointed at a new location in space. He gasped too. "I found where that joke is funny! Wait, false alarm, actually that place doesn't exist in the universe."

Rowan rolled her eyes so far she nearly peered back into her head. "Give me that."

She grabbed the joystick back, then leaned forward, stuck out her tongue, and got to some serious work. She kept checking the coordinates, then tweaking, adjusting, zooming in, adjusting again. As she worked, the monitor displayed what the telescope was viewing: fields of stars, nebulae, swirls of galaxies, ringed planets, and all the wonders of the cosmos. But Rowan paused on none of them. She kept working, adjusting her coordinates, seeking.

Finally—

"I think . . ." Rowan frowned and zoomed in. "I think this is it. Damn, I lost it. Everything keeps moving. Wait!"

She typed on the keyboard, setting the telescope to keep tracking the moving target.

There.

Rowan and Bay looked at the image on the monitor. A small dot of light. A star.

"That's Sol," Rowan said softly. "It's thousands of light-years away, but that's our star. Earth's star. That's the sun."

And suddenly tears were flowing, and she was trembling, and Bay wrapped her in his arms. They sat together, gazing at the star on the monitor. They could not see it with the naked eye. Even with the telescope, the image was blurry, just a handful of pixels. But it was real. It was there.

"Our home," Rowan whispered.

"Can we see Earth too?" Bay asked.

Rowan shook her head. "No. Earth is much smaller and dimmer than the sun. We can't zoom in any farther. But this is still good. This is home." She nodded, tears on her eyelashes. "This is home."

For a moment, they sat in silence.

Then Brooklyn cleared her throat. "Um, guys? I can interface with the system. I can give it some boost. Mind if I take over?"

"Go for it," Bay said.

The image of the sun became clearer, expanding to include more pixels. The image moved aside, then zoomed in again.

A single pixel appeared on the monitor.

A black monitor. In its center—one blue pixel.

Rowan gasped. "Is that . . .?" she whispered.

"Earth," Brooklyn said, her voice soft. "That's Earth."

"You've got to be shitting me," Bay said.

Rowan poked him hard in the ribs. "Way to spoil the moment, butthead."

"Who you calling butthead, scuzzbucket?" he said.

She punched him. "Takes one to know one."