Aurora Burning

by Amie Kaufman

  “Lose our tail,” she nods. “Understood.”

  Ty raises one scarred eyebrow. “Zila?”

  “Squad,” she says calmly, “please secure your safety harnesses.”

  * * *

  • • • • •

  The airvan screeches into Gamma Promenade in a spray of sparks, the turbines screaming like Rigellian opera singers. Choking black fumes are pouring out of the engine bay, several traffic cones are embedded in our ventilation intakes, and we’re trailing a large smoking banner that reads HAPPY 50TH LIFEDAY, FRUMPLE in Chellerian. Tyler twists around to check we’re all intact, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen our fearless leader so wild around the eyes.

  “Maker’s breath, Zila,” he mutters.

  “A formidable performance,” Kal agrees, deeply respectful.

  Auri groans from her chair, lolling against her harness. “You should design roller coasters.”

  The engine gives one last desperate cough, sputters, and dies. Zila reaches for the release just as the whole door falls off with a crash. Everyone sits where they are for a long moment, savoring the sensation of being alive. Or in my case, reviewing some of the rash promises made to my Maker over the last quarter hour, in return for my survival.

  “We should proceed with all due haste,” Zila says, staring at us expectantly. “They will easily be able to follow our trail.”

  “We did leave a little debris,” Scarlett agrees.

  One by one we come to life, climbing out of our poor getaway vehicle, staggering for balance. I try not to wince at the pain as my feet hit the deck. It turns out the Gamma docks are Emerald City’s long-term berthing area—many of the ships around us are secured for an extended stay. Our own berth is farther along, but the airvan isn’t moving another meter, so we’re on foot.

  I’m nearly as unsteady on my feet as Auri, but I stumble after the others toward Berth 9, counting the ships and mentally weighing each one. That one would be okay, that one would be good, that one would be amazing….

  I see it a couple of ships out, and I involuntarily slow, my eyes locked on the…thing that’s waiting for us. I count again, just in case I’m wrong. As we come to a halt in front of it, I look down at the number stenciled on the ground at our feet.

  9[a].

  “You’ve gotta be kidding,” Tyler whispers.

  “We should have gone with the sewage hauler,” Scarlett replies quietly. “At least it didn’t look like it was made of crap.”

  The rust bucket in front of us is a little larger than our old Longbow, and it brings a new meaning to butt-ugly. It looks like someone ripped apart six or seven other vessels, trawled through the wreckage to find all the least attractive parts, then welded them together. It was once painted red, but it’s now completely covered in rust, the bulbous cockpit window almost opaque with dirt, black streaks running down its flanks from every bolt and rivet. It’s like someone who hated speed, efficiency, and style sat down to draw up their dream ship. And then had a really good day at the office.

  “Are we completely sure the admiral is on our side?” I ask.

  This can’t be the one we’re looking for—there’s no way Adams could promise to help us and then leave us something like this.

  “Maybe s-someone switched the ships?” Auri tries.

  “No…” Tyler’s voice is quiet. “This is the one.”

  He walks forward to brush away the rust and grime coating the nameplate beside the main hatch. When he draws his now-filthy hand away, we can all see the ship’s name embossed on the metal.

  ZERO

  How could the ship possibly be named after her?

  Tyler presses his palm to the sensor plate by the hatch. I’m about to break the news that this thing has less juice left in it than my fourth great-grandfather—and he died before I was born—when the door slides open soundlessly.

  Our Alpha looks back at us, and then up along the dock. He knows we won’t have lost our pursuers for long, and we don’t have time to fool around. And, terrible as it is, trying to get this thing up into orbit isn’t actually our worst choice today. I can see a SecDrone already hovering above our position, and a variety of other horrible options are no doubt closing in on our position as we speak.

  So when Goldenboy steps through the hatch and into the dark interior, the rest of us follow. I’m holding my breath, but it’s more a fear of toxic mold than suspense. With a smooth hum, the internal lighting comes to life.

  And it’s like we’re in another world.

  A spotless, gleaming, high-tech world that catches my attention in almost the same way Scarlett Jones does.

  “Wow,” Auri murmurs.

  “You said it, Stowaway,” I murmur.

  Great Maker, this is…incredible.

  Everything is beautifully designed, from the cockpit to the consoles running the length of the main cabin. A suite of displays light up as I watch, broadcasting security vision from the ship’s exterior, from Emerald City main traffic control, and from news feeds around the galaxy. If the outside of this ship was designed to be as ugly as possible, its interior was designed with the exact opposite philosophy in mind. It’s sleek, white, cutting-edge. A Gearhead’s wet dream.

  Tyler’s already sliding into the pilot’s seat, beginning his preflight check.

  “Strap in,” he says simply. “Let’s be gone before they get here.”

  There’s a long, elegant console running half the length of the main cabin behind him, lined with three chairs on either side. The back half of the cabin has consoles with more oomph and larger displays, couches, and doors that lead to storage, sleeping quarters, and the galley.

  Scarlett touches my arm and nods at a chair on the far side of the console. I realize it’s designed for me. There are ports for me to plug into, and the seat is molded to allow for my suit. As I glance around, I realize all the seats are personalized—Kal’s is larger; Auri’s and Zila’s are smaller.

  I exchange a long, baffled glance with Scarlett, and then we slide into our allotted places. Our harnesses snake over our shoulders automatically, our chairs swiveling to face forward for launch.

  “We have incoming hostiles,” Kal reports.

  His fingers dance over the console by his chair, projecting one of the external cams up into the air above us. I see he’s right—the Unbroken have arrived first, and they’re sprinting along the dock in our direction, shoving anyone in their way straight over the edge. I can see Emerald City Security behind them.

  Tyler’s still running through his preflight, working at light speed now, muttering to himself as he punches controls. With a clunk the Zero decouples from the dock, rising smoothly into the air with the soft rumble of our drive systems.

  But Saedii’s only a few steps away, and she’s accelerating.

  Black hair whips around her face in the ship’s downdraft, her expression is cold, beautiful, terrifying. I see her reach the edge of the dock two heartbeats after we’ve pulled away, and without even a downward glance at the void below, she simply launches herself at us across the gap.

  We watch on cams, riveted as she clings to our closed hatch with boot tips and fingernails, pounding at the metal, rust flaking away under her fists. I’m transfixed, staring at the door, half expecting her to tear her way through.

  Kal’s mouth is open, and though he doesn’t speak, I can tell what he’s thinking. It’s a loooong fall down to the chlorine storm raging below the city, and the pressure and temperature will both kill her quick. Despite everything, I’m sure he doesn’t want his sister to die.

  Fortunately, Tyler’s not feeling as murderous as she is. Carefully, he tilts his controls, circling back above the dock as her feet peel away. Saedii dangles by her fingertips for one long, agonizing moment, and then, with a curse that almost melts a hole straight through the hull, she’s forced to let
go, falling to the dock below and landing amid the other Syldrathi, who scatter like kazar birds.

  “Security inbound,” Zila reports.

  Without a word Tyler straightens Zero up, wheeling through the ionized dome and into the raging atmosphere beyond. Our new ship barely registers the turbulence as we hit it, flying smoother than I’d have thought possible.

  “This baby is a beast,” I sigh.

  “Bye-bye, Emerald City,” Scarlett murmurs. “You will not be missed.”

  Auri looks around with a smile. “We made it.”

  “We did.” Tyler nods. “But we still have a long way to go.”

  Our Alpha turns in his chair, his voice all business as he looks at me.

  “Legionnaire de Seel?”

  “Yessir?”

  “Bring up those coordinates. Let’s go find the Hadfield.”

  SUBJECT: GALACTIC SPECIES

  ▶ ALIGNED

  ▼ BETRASKANS

  THE PEOPLE OF TRASK ARE A RACE OF PALE-SKINNED BEINGS WITH PHYSIOLOGY REMARKABLY SIMILAR TO THAT OF HUMANS. OWING TO CATACLYSMIC ENVIRONMENTAL SADNESS ON THEIR WORLD THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGO, THE BETRASKANS CREATED A SUBTERRANEAN CIVILIZATION AND HAVE FULLY ADAPTED TO LIFE UNDERGROUND.

  THEIR SKIN HAS NO MELANIN, RESULTING IN PALLID, BLOODLESS COMPLEXIONS. THEIR EYES ARE SUITED TO LOW LIGHT, AND BETRASKANS WEAR PROTECTIVE LENSES WHEN ABOVEGROUND.

  BETRASKAN SOCIETY CONSISTS OF IMPOSSIBLY COMPLEX FAMILIAL STRUCTURES KNOWN AS CLANS, AND AN EVEN MORE INTRICATE WEB OF DEBTS CALLED FAVORS.

  NOBODY OUTSIDE TRASK EVEN PRETENDS TO UNDERSTAND THESE TIES, BUT THIS MUCH IS CLEAR: THERE’S NOTHING MORE IMPORTANT TO A BETRASKAN THAN FAMILY.

  The doors to our quarters lead off a gleaming white hallway, the auto-lights slowly glowing to life ahead of me. Some of the doors are unmarked, but the second on the left has the image of a khyshakk beetle—the indomitable symbol of my people and the oldest species still living on our planet—outlined in blue paint.

  I brush my fingers across the access panel, and as the door hums aside softly, I can see why this room is for me. Instead of the clean, light colors that adorn the rest of the Zero, the walls are dark gray to give the impression I’m underground. There’s even a flic vine growing down the wall to my right, taking me back for a moment to my cousin Dariel’s den on the World Ship, and further than that, to my parents’ home on Trask. As the door hums closed behind me, the flic vine’s leaves come to life, glowing gently enough that I could take my contact lenses out if I wanted.

  I’m so busy relaxing into the dark, breathing in the cooler air, that it takes me a moment to realize there’s no bunk. My heart thumps a quick rhythm—ohpleaseohpleaseohplease—as I turn back toward the door.

  And there it is. I hit the button, and a soft voice speaks in Terran. “GRAVITY REDUCTION IN THIRTY SECONDS. PLEASE SECURE ALL LIQUIDS.”

  I count down, breath catching in anticipation, and then the weights that have been dragging me down for weeks slowly lessen, until with the tiniest push of one foot, I can lift off the ground. It’s like wading into cool water on a scorching day. Like all the tension just bleeds out of my body, and for the first time in a long time, I’m not in pain, I don’t ache, I’m not working just to stay upright.

  I had quarters like these growing up with my grandparents and at Aurora Academy. They were meant to be fitted on our Longbow, but of course we never returned from our first mission. The low grav means I’ll be able to take off my suit to repair it, which will make everything easier. With this much weight removed, I can maneuver with almost no effort. And now I take a closer look, I see the left-hand wall is covered in tools—an array of everything I could want or need.

  I’m almost crying with relief. This is my way out. I’ve been bluffing I’m okay since the World Ship, while my body and suit have been getting progressively worse, dreading the moment my Alpha wouldn’t be able to ignore my condition any longer. But now I’ll be able to do something about it.

  The speaker in the ceiling chimes softly again, and this time the voice that issues from it is Tyler’s.

  “Once everyone’s situated, let’s meet up in the main cabin. It’s time to open Pandora’s box, squad.”

  As I make my way back down the hallway, all my aches and pains reasserting themselves, I wonder who Pandora is—and why we’ve got her box. Tyler and Zila have the Zero humming along on autopilot now, well clear of the Emerald City. We’re headed for a FoldGate, and the countdown above the main console says we’ll be through it in about an hour. Shamrock is tucked into position above the pilot’s chair, and my eyes drift to the stuffed dragon as I slide into my seat. There are six seats here, six cabins aft. Between that and the ship’s name, it’s pretty clear that whoever did all this for us knew Cat wouldn’t be here to need anything.

  One by one the others emerge. Kal and Auri have found the infirmary, because she’s looking a little less rough after her run-in with the agonizer, and Scar’s munching on a stack of cookies that suggests she found the galley.

  Zila peers at the pile in Scar’s hand. “That stack represents significantly more than your required daily calorie intake, Scarlett.”

  The redhead smacks her butt. “Just more of me to love, Zee.”

  I can’t help but smile. Zila purses her lips, mulling it over, and finally reaches out for a cookie.

  Quick enough, we’re all in our chairs, leaning forward in anticipation. Everybody wants to know what’s in the box. Tyler swivels the pilot’s chair away from the forward displays to face the rest of us around the console.

  “All right,” he says. “Scar, Kal, let’s see what you withdrew from the bank.”

  Scarlett brushes away the crumbs, rises to her feet, and pulls the lid off the box. “Okay, first up, there are a bunch of packages in here we didn’t have time to unwrap. But they have our names on them.”

  She hands a small parcel to Zila. Our Brain peels aside the blue wrapping and holds out her hand. Nestled against the cloth is a pair of gold hoop earrings like the ones she usually wears. But these charms are birds.

  “Hawks,” Auri says, looking more closely.

  “Very pretty,” Zila murmurs. “I wonder how they knew I’d like them.”

  Next is a bigger package for our fearless leader. Goldenboy pulls the wrapping aside, all business, that handsome brow creasing when he finds a pair of boots inside. They seem perfectly ordinary: black, shiny, heavy tread on the soles.

  “Something wrong with the ones you got?” his sister asks.

  “No,” he says, puzzled, looking downward. “I mean, I haven’t been able to polish them for a couple of days….”

  “Oh great Maker.” Scar reaches out and takes his hand, concern on her face. “How are you holding up?”

  “It’s been a struggle.”

  Zila studies his gift for a moment before she speaks. “I suggest wearing them, sir. As Scarlett has observed, whoever left these gifts knows me well. We should assume they also know you and believe this to be necessary. So far, our benefactors have demonstrated they have our best interests at heart.”

  Tyler considers this, shrugs, and leans down to start switching out his old boots for his new.

  Scarlett opens her own parcel next. It’s about the size of Zila’s, and nestled against the blue wrapping is a round silver medallion on a chain. On one side the words Go with Plan B are engraved in a curling script.

  “ ‘Go with Plan B’?” Tyler asks.

  “Usually a good idea where your plans are concerned, brother mine.”

  “Cold, Scar. Real cold.”

  Scarlett lets the medallion twist on its chain between her fingers, looking at it carefully. On the flip side, I can see that it’s inset with a rough chunk of diamond. The cabin lights refract on the surface, tiny rainbows dancing in her eyes.

  “Pretty,” I say.


  Scarlett shrugs. “I guess diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”

  “…They are?” Kal asks, glancing at Aurora.

  Nobody has any wisdom to offer, and after a moment Scar eases the chain over her head and tucks the medallion inside her uniform.

  Kal’s package is small as well, and when he opens it, we see a thin, silver, rectangular box. It has hinges, and it seems as though it’s meant to open, but when he tries to pry off what looks like the lid, it won’t budge.

  “What is it?” I ask, craning my neck.

  I’d assumed it was a Terran or Syldrathi device, but I’m met with a series of bewildered head shakes. Auri finally digs into her pocket, pulls out Magellan, and holds it over the little metal box in Kal’s palm. I can’t believe I’m now mentally calling this thing by its name as well, but I guess its personality program certainly does…set it apart from the standard-issue uni.

  “Magellan?” she says.

  “HI THERE! I MISSED YOUR FACE!”

  “Yeah, yours too. Can you tell me what this is?”

  “I. WOULD. LOVE TO!” The uniglass runs a line of green light down the length of the thing, and beeps. “THIS IS A TERRAN ARTIFACT, PREDATING INTERSTELLAR TRAVEL, BOSS! IT WAS DESIGNED TO HOLD BUSINESS CARDS OR CIGARILLOS!”

  Most of the faces around the table still look baffled.

  “Well, I know what a business card is,” says Auri. “It’s a piece of paper with your personal details on it. You give them to people so they can contact you.”

  I frown. “You don’t just bump uniglasses?”

  “No uniglasses in my time,” she says.

  “DARK DAYS INDEED!” Magellan beeps.

  Kal frowns. “I am not in possession of business cards,” he informs her gravely, as though this might be a problem.

  She glances down at Magellan. “Magellan, define cigarillo.”