The Heirs of Earth

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.

And like the ancient pharaohs, Ramses had the unfortunate tendency to believe he was immortal.

"I got this," Ramses said. He wrapped his hands around the claw embedded into his chest, just along the ribs. "It's only a flesh wound. I—"

He began to pull, then grimaced.

"Need help there, laddie?" Duncan said, stepping closer.

Ramses looked queasy. "I'm not myself without coffee. That's all this is." He glared at Cindy. "But the ghastly woman won't bring me any."

Cindy bristled. "I brought you a cup!"

Ramses snorted. "You call that coffee? That came from a machine! Served in a foam cup! True coffee is lovingly brewed in a silver dallah, seasoned with cardamom, and served in porcelain. If you let me return to the Rosetta, I will fetch my percolator, and—"

"You're not going anywhere with that thing stuck in your chest!" Cindy said. She tugged her hair in frustration, turning toward Duncan. "I give up, Doc. He's all yours. I've got more sensible troops to heal."

The nurse stalked off.

Ramses smiled. He looked at Duncan, one eyebrow raised. "She's crazy about me, you know. Madly in love."

Duncan sighed. "You know, laddie, you certainly have a way with women. For some reason, they all want to kill ya." He stepped forward, grabbed the claw, and yanked.

It came free with a spurt of blood.

Ramses yowled.

"What the devil, man? You could have warned me!"

Duncan snorted. "That was for how you treated Nurse Cindy. Now lie down! This wee wound will need some stitching. Be a good lad, and I'll numb it first. Keep talking, and I'll make it hurt like a honey badger clawing at your crotch for hidden nuts."

Ramses fell silent.

Duncan patched the lad up. He needed these young soldiers alive and well, damn it. Not getting killed on their damn adventures. It was soldiers like Ramses, like Leona, like his own daughter—the younger generation—who would one day replace Emet and him. That would one day keep fighting for humanity.

I might not live to see Earth, Duncan thought. These lads and lasses must.

He bandaged the wound and slapped Ramses on the shoulder. "Take a few days off, lad. Drink whatever brew calms your nerves."

"I'll be back fighting by this evening," Ramses said.

Duncan snorted. "Ya do that, lad, and next time you come to my ship with a wound, I'll make sure Cindy patches you up—with a staple gun."

He moved to the next room.

He treated the next patient.

For long hours, Duncan labored, healing the wounded. And preparing the fallen for burial in space. So many burns, wounds, trauma. So much pain.

But that's why I'm here, Duncan thought. To fix. To heal. To make things right.

He worked for twenty-six hours straight. He saved lives. He saw lives end. Finally he returned to his shuttle, flew off the Kos, and returned to the Jerusalem, the ship where he made his home. He walked through the cavernous hold, a chamber full of soldiers ready to fight the next battle.

May I never see them in my hospital, he thought.

He passed the Firebird hangar, walked down a corridor, up a staircase, and finally reached his cabin. Duncan paused outside the doorway, breathing heavily, and placed a hand on his chest.

It hurt.

That damn pain again. Just under the left ribs.

A pain in his old heart.

I'm overworked, he thought. I'm overstressed. And yes, dammit, I'm overweight. A deep thought bubbled up. I'm dying.

Duncan snorted. Nonsense. He had decades ahead of him! It was the wee ones who were in danger. Not him. And the wee one needed him, dammit. He would be strong for them.

Yet it took him extra long to catch his breath.

He needed a shower. He needed a long sleep. And more than anything, he needed a stiff drink of good Scotch.

Finally he opened the door and entered his cabin.

Duncan's eyes widened.

"What the—?" he blurted out.

A group of pilots filled his home! They were grogging his booze, sitting at his dinner table, and playing poker with his cards!

Duncan stormed into the cabin.

"What is the meaning of this, ya no-good rascals?" he roared.

Mairead turned toward him, laughing. "Hi there, Da! Care to join us?"

Mairead "Firebug" McQueen was a young woman, only twenty-three years old, barely more than a girl. Yet she already commanded the Firebird Fleet. She was loud, rude, and drunk half the time. She was also the best damn pilot they had.

She looked so much like her late mother. Mairead had the same mane of red hair, untamed like wildfire. Her eyes were green and fierce. Freckles covered her pale face. She wore a jumpsuit, carried a pistol on her hip, and was chomping on a cigar.

Duncan scowled at the girl.

"I told ya, lass, no playing poker in my home." He turned toward a player across the table, and his eyes widened. "And you, Ramses! I told ya to stay in bed, dammit! Now I find ya playing cards at my own dinner table!"

Ramses had the grace to look ashamed. "I'm sorry, Doc. The Firebug insisted that I play. Dared me, in fact. Called me a chicken."

Mairead snorted. She pointed her cigar at him. "I called you a yellowbelly, not a chicken."

Ramses stiffened. "I faced scorpion fleets in battle, you know."

Mairead scoffed. "And yet you're scared of playing poker with a girl."

Ramses leaped to his feet, scattering cards. "I'm not scared of you, Firebug. You're nothing but a card cheat."

Mairead roared, shoved the table aside, and it slammed down, scattering chips and drinks and cards. The other players leaped back, laughing. Mairead lunged at Ramses, pounding him with her fists.

"I'll show you a card cheat!"

Ramses winced, struggling to hold her off. "There are aces falling out your sleeves even now!"

Mairead stepped back and quickly shoved the aces back into her sleeves. "Those are just my backup cards." She glared at Ramses. "Yellowbelly."

When they began to argue again, Duncan roared.

"Out! Out, all of you!" He began shoving pilots out the door. "Ya damn scoundrels! Get yer backside back to bed, Pharaoh. As for the rest of ya, play yer games somewhere else, ya louses. Out, out!"

They began shuffling out of the room, laughing. They knew Duncan would be calm tomorrow. He knew it too.

They know I love them, Duncan thought. They know they're all like my children.

As Mairead made to leave, Duncan held her arm. "Not you, lass."

She reeled toward him, her red hair flouncing. "But I want to play cards with them!"

Duncan growled. "You can later. First you're going to clean up this mess." He gestured at the fallen table, spilled drinks, and scattered chips and cards.

"But—" Mairead floundered, lost for words. Finally she stiffened. "I'm a captain in the Heirs of Earth, Da. I command the Firebird Fleet!"

"Aye, ya do, lass," Duncan said. "And you're also my daughter, and a rotten one at that. Get ye to cleaning! Then we'll eat some supper."

"I already ate," she said.

Duncan snorted. "Pork rinds aren't a meal."

"They're a glorious meal."

Duncan growled. "We'll have some proper food. Like a family."

Mairead seemed ready to argue, and then her eyes softened. She nodded. "Aye, Da. Like a family."

They were both silent for a moment. Thinking of those they had lost. Of Mairead's mother. Of her brothers. Of those Duncan had not been able to heal. Those he had comforted as they lay dying.

She cleaned up. Duncan even helped her. They ate a quiet meal.

They remembered.

"Hey, Da," Mairead said. "Remember that time the twins pretended to be each other for a whole week?" She laughed. "You believed them!"

"I did not!" Duncan said. "I was pretending to keep them happy."

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Mairead said. "You never could tell those two crazy buggers apart."

"Well it's not my fault you all look like bloody red toothpicks!" Duncan said. "Too skinny, the lot of you."

Mairead glanced down at Duncan's ample belly. "You could learn a thing or two from us."

"Nonsense." Duncan sucked in his gut and puffed out his chest. "This is all muscle, lass. That's what you need more of."

She snorted. "I have a Firebird starfighter. That's my muscle." Mairead smiled softly and looked at their old family photo on the wall. "I wish they could have seen me. Ma and the boys. Seen me become a pilot."

Duncan reached across the table and patted her hand. "Maybe they do, lass. Maybe they do."

He didn't really believe that. An afterlife? No, Duncan had seen too many boys and girls die in agony, their bodies torn apart, their minds going mad at the end. Too much pain to believe the soul could carry on. To believe humans were anything but meat. But he also knew something about comforting the grieving.

Yet as he lay in bed that night, Duncan wondered: Who would comfort him?

And he knew the answer.

His daughter comforted him. His friend Emet. All the Heirs of Earth did. Every one of them, every warrior who fought, every refugee who cowered, every human calling out for aid—they were all his children.

May I heal you all, he thought. May I guide you all home.

His eyes closed, and Duncan slept.