by Amie Kaufman
They are so different—he the epitome of order, she the personification of chaos—that I sometimes find it hard to think of them as siblings. But looking at the pair of them, I can see how dearly the Jones twins love each other. They are united in the grief they feel at Zero’s death. The uncertainty in which we find ourselves. Bonded in blood. A true family. Inseparable and unconquerable.
My own sister and I make a shameful comparison.
“I’ve got two black belts,” Tyler sighs. “Ten years training in Systema and Krav Maga. And she bounced me like a jetball.”
“Feel no shame,” I tell him. “Saedii is a master of the Aen Suun.”
Scarlett frowns as she translates. “The…Wave Way?”
I nod. “The deadliest of the Warbreed martial arts. Before he died, my father trained us personally. Since we were children.” Sorrow fills my heart at the memory of the three of us training beneath the lias trees. I give Tyler a sad smile. “Saedii has kicked me below the belt on more than one occasion. So you have my sympathies.”
“More than once?” Tyler winces and shifts again. “Maker’s breath, how are you still alive?”
“I did warn you not to let her get close.”
“It wasn’t by choice, believe me,” he groans. “If I have anything to say about it, the young lady in question will be kept at minimum safe distance from now on. A couple of star systems away oughta do it.”
“That may not be up to us. Saedii and her adepts will still be hunting me. One does not become a Templar of the Starslayer by giving up on her prey easily.”
“All the more reason to get in and out of the Repository quickly,” Aurora says.
“Nice segue, Stowaway,” Finian smiles, turning to his schematic and drawing a deep breath. “Okay, so the plan is simple. Get in, access whatever Adams left for us in the deposit box, then get out. Our big problem is, of course, the bounty we have on our heads for galactic terrorism.”
“Alleged terrorism,” Zila points out.
“Right. Alleged. So, good news is, Emerald City has a population of over a million people, so it’s not like we’ll be easy to spot. Bad news is, the Dominion Repository has a security system that feeds into the webnodes of most major galactic governments, and their cams are equipped with top-tier facial recognition software. I’m talking the kind that can recognize you by your eyebrows.”
Scarlett tosses her flame-red bob. “Well, they are amazing.”
“Um, yeah.” Finian taps a ream of scrolling data beside the schematic. “So what I’m saying is, a jetball cap and sunglasses isn’t going to cut it in there. Those systems are gonna ping us as wanted criminals real quick.”
“We could use the GIA uniforms again?” Aurora offers.
Tyler shakes his head. “Too risky after what went down at the docks. The GIA is so rare this far from the Core, those uniforms will just attract attention now.”
“I presume you have a solution?” I ask.
“Matter of fact, we do, Pixieboy,” Finian smiles. “The Repository cams will clock us once we walk in. No helping that. But there’ll be a delay while their systems transmit to their affiliates. The speed of light only travels so fast, even through the Fold. By the time the data is on its way back, I can be running a flakscreen on the uplink. Block the incoming signal long enough for us to be in and out.”
“Impressive,” I say.
Scarlett smiles. “Impressive is Fin’s middle name.”
A suspicious stain very close to a blush spreads across Finian’s cheeks at Scarlett’s flattery, but Tyler intercedes.
“Nnnnnnot so much,” he says.
“Wow, thanks, Goldenboy,” Finian mutters. “Way to boost morale.”
“Sorry.” Our Alpha shifts himself on the couch again. “It’s the crown jewels; they’re killing me. But you know what I mean, Fin—tell them the tricky part.”
Finian concedes his not-so-impressive status with a grudging nod. “Tricky part is, I’ve gotta be inside the Repository while I run the hack.”
A small frown creases Zila’s brow. “I think it highly unlikely that Dominion security will allow you to simply sit in their foyer engaging in computer espionage.”
“Right,” Tyler says. “That’s where you and me come in, Zil.”
The girl blinks. “You and…me?”
“Yeah,” he smiles, his signature dimple creasing his cheek. “So listen, you wanna go on a date with me?”
* * *
• • • • •
I do not know how Scarlett keeps acquiring these clothes.
Her ability to summon new outfits seemingly at will is almost supernatural. She was gone for a total of eighty-seven minutes with only a handful of credits in her pocket, and she returned with a new wardrobe for each of us, suited to the mission at hand. She does not steal—she waved receipts in Zila’s and Aurora’s faces and regaled them with tales of retail prowess, using arcane words like twofer and cleav discount. Aurora expressed an inordinate amount of joy over the shoes Scarlett found for her. I was concerned her squeals might attract neighborhood security.
I make a mental note of that.
She likes shoes.
Scarlett tossed a shopping bag at my chest, and I peered suspiciously at the contents, one eyebrow rising to my hairline.
“Really?”
The oldest Jones twin only smiled. “Trust me.”
Now the mission awaits, and so we retire to various rooms in our dingy flat to change. Aurora, Scarlett, and Zila take to the bedroom; Finian heads off to the bathroom for some privacy. I note that his exosuit hisses as he walks, that he is favoring his left leg heavily. I suspect he requires assistance to change his clothes but is declining it in an attempt to assert independence. I do not know enough about his condition to be worried, but I worry all the same.
With nowhere left to use, Tyler and I get changed together in the tiny living area. It is the first time we have been alone since a certain kiss in a certain computer maintenance room on the World Ship. I haul off my maintenance uniform and struggle into the pants Scarlett gave me. Tyler slips off his coveralls, drags his undershirt off, stripping down to his shorts and the silver chain he wears around his neck, his father’s ring looped through the links. As he reaches for the pants his sister bought him, I find myself studying him from the corner of my eye.
Our Alpha looks weary. Shoulders slumped. Bruises from my sister’s beating laid in stripes across the muscles of his back, the lines of his torso. He pulls a tunic over the damage, drags his hand through his shaggy blond hair, and sighs.
I can feel his mind at work. The uncertainty he keeps hidden behind a wall of optimism. His uniglass quietly beeps upon the table—a reminder from its internal calendar. I see the words MY BIRTHDAYYYY—2 DAYS! light up the screen.
“I did not know it was your and Scarlett’s birthday soon,” I say.
Sorrow fills Tyler’s eyes, turning bright blue to steel gray.
“It’s not,” he says quietly, motioning to the uniglass. “I threw my uni at the ultrasaur on the World Ship. That one belonged to…”
I realize who he means without him having to say her name. He must have taken the device from her on Octavia III. I can see the pain in Tyler’s eyes as he looks at that message—one more reminder of all she will never have, will never be.
“I grieve for Zero,” I tell him softly. “I know what she meant to you.”
He looks up at that. I see her face reflected in his eyes—the ink on her skin, the fire in her stare. Then he looks at the ceiling, blinking rapidly.
“Yeah.”
“You are doing the right thing, Tyler Jones.”
He glances toward the muffled laughter in the bedroom. The voices of the ones we care for. There is such a fragile web between us all; he and I both know it. Perhaps better than any of them. I catch a glimps
e behind those walls of his for a moment. Just a sliver of uncertainty glinting through the cracks.
“I hope so,” he sighs.
“We have the whole galaxy arrayed against us,” I tell him. “But this is where we are meant to be. We are part of something greater now; I feel it in my bones. You will lead us through this. And I will follow you, Brother.”
Syldrathi do not touch, save in moments of intimacy or ritual. But Tyler Jones and I have brawled in the belly of Terran destroyers, butted heads across the Fold, looked into the eyes of death side by side. Human he might be. Weary and bruised and flawed as the rest of them. But in battle, everyone bleeds the same.
I offer him my hand.
“I know my friends, and they are few. But those few I have, I would die for.”
He looks into my eyes again. Muscle flexing along the line of his jaw as he slaps his hand into mine.
“Thanks, Kal. It means a lot, knowing you’ve got my back.”
“Del’nai,” I reply.
A puzzled frown creases his brow to hear me speak in my own tongue. “I think Scar explained what that means, but I don’t…”
“Always,” I say. “Ever and always.”
He looks me up and down with a wry grin.
“Quite an outfit she picked for you.”
I look down at my new clothes in dismay. The pants are made of glossy black plastic, a row of silver buckles running from my ankles to my hips. My shirt is transparent mesh, also black, stretched tight over my torso and leaving very little to the imagination. I would normally only wear boots of this kind if I were planning an extended land war on the surface of a hostile planet.
“Wow,” I hear a voice say.
I look up and see Aurora at the bedroom door. She is wearing a white dress-suit that would probably be described by others as chic. But to me she is clothed in light, radiant as the sun.
Her eyes run from my boots to my face. “You look…”
“Do I have good taste?” Scarlett asks behind her. “Or do I have good taste?”
Aurora looks at the taller girl. “You have good taste.”
Scarlett herself is dressed in fashion similar to mine. Skintight red polymer. A corset that would constitute torture under most galactic conventions. A hundred buckles that seem to serve no structural purpose. A platinum-blond hairpiece, flowing down to her waist.
I look down at myself, raise one eyebrow in question.
“I fail to see why these pants must be so tight.”
Scarlett twirls what might be a leash around her finger and smiles.
“Kal, honey, you wanna play the role, you’ve gotta dress the part.”
* * *
• • • • •
We enter through separate doors to avoid suspicion.
The foyer of the Dominion Repository is vast, the plasteel fashioned to resemble black marble, the trimmings gilt. The walls and floors are lined with scrolling reams of data from various galactic exchanges. Despite its size, the space is crowded, folk of a dozen different species behind the counters and out on the floor—Tyler has chosen the busiest hour of the cycle for our gambit.
He and Zila go first. Our Brain seems somewhat lost for words, but Tyler keeps her close, leaning in occasionally to whisper in her ear. They walk arm in arm, looking like young lovers out for a midday stroll.
Finian comes in close behind, dressed plainly, dark colors under the gleaming silver of his exosuit. He pretends to receive a call on his uniglass immediately upon entering, shuffling over to a quiet corner of the Repository with one finger to his ear as if to better hear the conversation.
Scarlett and I come last, and as was her intent, our entrance is marked by almost everyone in the foyer—I suppose it is not often they see a statuesque blonde in skintight polyvinyl chloride leading a Syldrathi on a leash. Confidence oozing from every pore, Scarlett glides up to a middle-aged Terran manager in business attire.
The man looks her over from head to foot. “May I help you?”
“Of course you can, darling,” Scarlett says, placing far too many h’s in a word that would seem to possess none. “My name is Madame Belle, thirdwife of Rielle Von Lumiere and imperatrix of the Dusk Court of Elberia IV. My husband left something for me in your deposit facilities.”
The manager glances at me. “Your…husband?”
“Oh no, not him,” Scarlett laughs brightly, touching the Terran’s arm. “No, Germaen here is my…personal trainer. You understand.” She tugs the leash around my neck and hisses, “Stand up straight, Germaen!”
I fix her with a glower hotter than a dozen dwarf stars before I remember the role I am supposed to be playing.
“Apologies, Imperatrix,” I murmur, standing taller.
Scarlett rolls her eyes at the manager. “So hard to find good pets these days.”
“I…understand.”
She gives the man a smile I can only describe as wicked and gifts his arm with another lingering touch. “I’m sure you do, darling.”
Dahhhhhhhling.
“Well,” the manager says, looking more than a little flustered at her attentions. “Please, follow me, Imperatrix. Our vaults are right this way.”
Scarlett gives the man a beautiful smile and sets off after him, dragging me behind with a tug. “Come along, Germaen, don’t dawdle!”
As we make our way across the busy floor, I see Finian working quietly in the corner on his uniglass. While most of the security personnel are busy staring at the spectacle Scarlett is making of us, I can see that one of the Repository’s more conscientious attendants is on the way over to ask if our Gearhead needs help.
Which is when the second stage of our distraction kicks in.
“You BASTARD!”
Scarlett stops short, as does everyone else in the Repository. I turn to see Aurora, red faced, standing in front of Tyler and Zila. She is pointing one accusing finger at our Alpha’s nose as she shouts at the top of her voice.
“You said you were going to your mother’s!” She glares at Zila. “This again?”
Tyler casts his eyes around the room, noting that everyone is staring at him.
“Um, hi, Honeycake…”
Aurora brings back one hand and, with a sound that makes me wince, cracks it across Tyler’s already-bruised face.
“Don’t you honeycake me!” Aurora shouts.
“Oh my.” Scarlett presses her hand to her corset and looks at the manager. “I didn’t think this was that sort of establishment.”
“Security will take care of it,” the manager assures her, snapping his fingers and pointing at the unfolding drama. “Please, come this way, Imperatrix.”
Security descends from all corners as Aurora continues to shout and swear. A guard touches her arm, explains she is “making a scene.” She stabs a finger under his chin and shouts, “Don’t you touch me; I know kung fu!” Tyler attempts an explanation, and Aurora yells over the top of him, and among it all, Zila simply looks horrified, which I suspect is not far from the truth.
But as the manager escorts us toward a heavy door in the rear of the foyer, I see Finian, still in his corner, still working away silently on his uniglass.
The heavy door opens with a scan of the manager’s retina, and after a magnetic sweep for weapons and subdermals, we are through to the deposit room, Aurora’s shouts still ringing behind us. In contrast to the extravagance of the foyer, this room is bland in design. A long plastene table sits in its center. The white walls are lined with thousands of small hatches made of case-hardened stellite.
“If I may, Imperatrix?” the manager says, holding up a tiny swab.
“Of course you may,” she smiles, jutting out her chin and forming a perfect pout. The manager touches the swab to her lips.
“Seven one eight four alpha,” she purrs.
; The manager nods, turns to the appropriate hatch. As he presses the DNA swab to the receptor, I find myself holding my breath. If this is some kind of ruse, if we are forced to fight our way out of here—
The diode on the door shifts from red to blue. I hear an electronic trill as the compartment unlocks. The manager smiles, and I open the hatch, dragging out a long metal box from inside.
“My husband is terrible with dates,” Scarlett says, tapping her lip. “Could you be a dear and tell me how long ago he made this deposit for me?”
“Of course.” The manager consults his uniglass. “This box was acquired…17/9/2372.”
“Seventy-two?” I frown. “But that was eight years ago.”
Scarlett gives a sharp snap on the leash. “Thank you, Germaen, we can count. Now hush your tongue or there’ll be no punishment for you tonight!”
I bite down on my protest as she turns to the manager, smiling sweetly.
“Some privacy, if we may?”
With a bow and a small smile, the man backs out of the room, leaving us alone. I glance up at the security lenses in each corner, praying to the Void that Finian is as good as we hope him to be. I frown at Scarlett sidelong.
“You are enjoying this far too much,” I mutter.
“You have noooo idea,” Scarlett whispers.
I open the box, checking the contents before we leave. I can see half a dozen packages, each marked with a small tag. TYLER. SCARLETT. KALIIS. FINIAN. ZILA. Another package, marked SQUAD 312.
“This box has waited here for almost a decade,” I say.
“I know,” Scarlett replies, bewilderment in her eyes. “That’s before we knew each other. Before any of us even joined the academy.”
“How?” I demand. “How could Admiral Adams possibly have had your DNA sequence before he ever met you? How could he have known our squad designation? Our names? The fact that we would even be here?”
“If you want to really set your brain to spin,” Scarlett murmurs, voice trembling, “ask yourself how he knew Cat wouldn’t be?”
