Aurora Rising: The Aurora Cycle 1

by Amie Kaufman

  As we step out onto the bridge, the others turn to glance at me, but only for a moment. Looking at the huge screen above the central console, I can see we’re coming in to dock at what must be Sempiternity. Cat and Tyler seem occupied navigating us through a maze of ships and docking stations and loaders and shuttles, surrounding the most amazing sight I’ve ever seen in my life.

  The future is grimier than I expected. Dirtier than it was meant to be. Sempiternity kind of looks like an inside-out termite’s nest, with endless additions bulging in every possible direction. It’s huge, much bigger than any city I’ve ever seen. So many glittering lights and strange shapes and odd angles, thousands of ships molded and bolted and welded into one giant World Ship.

  “Holy cake,” I murmur.

  How did I know this place existed?

  How did I know its name?

  And how did I slow our ship, drag it to a halt and turn it toward this mashed-together world, made up of hundreds of thousands of ships that all ended their stories here?

  If I can answer even one of those questions, I’ll be closer to understanding what’s happening to me. Why my own government’s trying to erase every trace of me. I’m aching to set a course for Octavia, to see if anything’s left of the colony I know was there. But this thing that’s overtaking me has led me here, to Sempiternity.

  So I’ll follow this path, try and understand why it’s twisted in this direction. Hope it’s brought me here because this is where my answers are.

  Scar helps me to a seat at an auxiliary station, then takes her place around the central console. I know I should be watching the amazing station we’re slowly moving toward, but instead I find myself looking at the squad around me. At these six young soldiers I’ve suddenly found myself thrown together with. The strangers my life seems to depend on now.

  Squad 312.

  I wonder what makes them who they are.

  What’s driving them to even be here.

  Cat’s attention is mostly on steering, through dozens of vessels coming and going, detaching from the messy sides of this sector, or clamping on to airlocks and joining the throng. But she’s watching me out of the corner of her eye as well, her gaze flicking my way like clockwork every thirty seconds or so.

  She doesn’t trust me.

  I don’t blame her.

  Tyler looks kind of peaceful, really, all things considered. Shaggy blond hair hanging in bright blue eyes, fixed on his readouts. He’s picked his course, it seems, and for better or for worse, the decision’s made. Still, I have a long way to go to win over him and his sister, and I’m not even sure what I want them to know or believe about me.

  Next along from Tyler is Fin, white hair spiked above his white face, so hard to read behind those black contacts that cover the whole of his eyes. It’s hard to even tell where he’s looking sometimes. Between that and the equally effective shield of sarcasm, it’s hard to know who he is, either. Right now he has his head down—he’s fixing or modifying something in the forearm of his suit with a magnetic screwdriver. Zila takes her seat at the station beside him, but her dark eyes are still fixed on me, as if I’m a puzzle she can figure out with sufficient study.

  Kal’s glancing at me occasionally, but I can’t get a read past those eyes of his. He’s over six and a half feet of long, silver hair and lithe muscle, and he looks like he’s on his way to counsel Gandalf or something. He acts like he’s better than me, though, I know that. “Liability,” he called me. “Beneath concern.” I suppose just because he’s an alien, doesn’t mean he can’t be a total jerk.

  They’re all suspicious of me to one degree or another. Some of them are scared. And I’m scared of myself, but I’m trying to be brave. I don’t know what’s happening, but I want to figure it out as badly as they do. To know where I’m headed, and why. How I can do the impossible things I’ve done. But I barely even know what I’m running from, let alone to.

  Still, this station might hold all my answers. Like Scarlett said, maybe we’re going exactly where we’re meant to go.

  There’s a gentle bump as we come into berth, a series of thuds, a brief chorus of electronic noises as we lock on to the docking system. Cat’s hands dance across consoles as she powers down the main drive. Kissing her fingertips, she presses them against her monitor screen, then the stuffed dragon sitting above it. The thrum of our engines slowly dies, the computer noises fall quiet. Everyone looks at everyone else, wondering what comes next.

  “We need three things,” Tyler says, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

  Fin looks up from his home repair job, answers without missing a beat. “I’ll take a fresh pair of pants, a professional masseuse, and a shot of Larassian semptar.”

  Tyler presses on as if his mechanic didn’t speak. “Shelter, intel, and a change of clothes. So Fin got one out of three right. This place is run by interstellar pirates, so we won’t get far in these uniforms.”

  “We need four things,” Cat corrects him.

  “We need to know why Aurora brought us here,” Zila supplies.

  And of course everyone looks at me again. And my muscles ache from what I guess was my seizure before, and the echoes of my nightmare are still lingering inside my head, and I’m tired, and I still don’t know the answer.

  Scarlett comes to my rescue. “I’ll go shopping for the clothes. Place like this, it won’t be hard to find a market. And I have better taste than all of you put together.”

  Tyler looks mildly wounded. “Hey, I—”

  Scarlett aims a withering glance at her brother, and he wisely falls silent.

  “I have a cousin here,” Fin says. “I can get us a place to lay low.”

  Zila blinks at him. “That ventures into the realm of coincidence.”

  “Not really,” he says, wiggling his hand in a so-so gesture. “I mean, if you want to get technical, he’s the second cousin of my third mother once removed on my matriarch’s side, but we generally just say ‘cousin.’ ”

  “Second of third … ?” Ty tilts his head, and I can practically see some of the others counting on their fingers and toes, trying to make the connection.

  “Family reunions are tricky for Betraskans.” Fin smirks.

  “Go find your cousin,” Tyler says. “Take Cat with you.”

  Cat blinks. “I should—”

  “I’m not sending him off solo. Nobody moves alone. Scarlett, you’ll take Zila. I’ll take Kal and Auri, we’ll do some recon. Maybe Auri will see someone or something she recognizes, and we’ll get a better idea of what we’re supposed to be doing here. Using our currency accounts will give away our location, so everyone give up whatever creds you’ve got on you.”

  •••••

  There’s nobody to check our ID or ask any questions as we make our way out the airlock and into a long hallway lined with heavy doors. It’s made of a transparent material, and I can see an umbilical corridor snakes away from every hatchway. Each one connects to a ship at the other end, like we’re part of one big bunch of grapes. And beyond the ships, I can see the stars, dimmed by the station lights.

  “It’s beautiful,” I realize.

  “It’s ghastly.” Fin says beside me, dismissing the glories of the galaxy with a wave of his hand. But even though he’s grumbling, I realize he might be attempting conversation. And it’s not like anyone else is talking to me right now.

  “You don’t like stars?” I ask.

  “No,” he says quietly, for once lacking his smirk, and staring at the floor. “A lot of those stars actually died millions of years ago. It’s just they’re so far away, the light they created before they died hasn’t finished reaching us yet.” He waves at the galaxy beyond the glass. “You’re looking at a sky full of ghosts.”

  “Well, that’s depressing.”

  “My people live underground.” He shrugs. “Wide-open spaces, not so
much.”

  “And you signed up as a space soldier?” Scarlett scoffs beside us.

  “Yeah.” He winks. “Intriguing, aren’t I?”

  Scarlett rolls her eyes as we reach the end of the docks. With much flashing of globes and beams of light cutting over our bodies, another airlock runs us through some kind of scan, and then opens into a promenade bustling with life and light and noise. With the stars safely out of sight, Fin seems a little more at ease. He squares his shoulders and claps Cat on the back.

  “Let’s go find some crash space, eh?”

  “Never say the word ‘crash’ to a pilot, Finian.” Cat scowls. “And if you touch me again, I’ll feed you your fingers.”

  “I like you, Zero.” He grins, manages to make the nickname sound only a tiny bit like he’s making fun of her. “Don’t ever change, okay?”

  Cat shoots an accusing glance at Tyler, and she and Finian slip off into the crowd to scout out somewhere for us to go to ground. Scarlett and Zila head for the marketplace, the bulk of our money in their pockets (or in Scarlett’s case, down her bra) in search of disguises. I’m left with Kal and Tyler, one on either side as I gawp at the crowd around us.

  Many of them are human, and most of them are at least human shaped. There are healthy numbers of Betraskans, mostly dressed in dark colors that match their contact lenses, their skin as white as paper. I realize none of them wear the whole-body frame that Fin does—I’d wondered if they were common among his people, but I guess it’s just him.

  I spot a couple of silver-haired Syldrathi in the distance, but closer are other … aliens, I guess. I see midnight-blue skin and scaly red, I see eyes covered by yellow-lensed goggles and hidden deep in the folds of damp gray faces.

  I stare at a pair in sweeping silk robes that flow like water behind them, and a cluster of figures no higher than my waist, with the heavy build that I guess comes of living in a high-gravity environment. There must be dozens of species I haven’t seen before here, and none of them are paying me a moment’s notice.

  “So, where are we going?” I ask.

  Tyler offers me a tired grin. “The place the latest gossip always is. A bar.”

  We head off into the crush, and the crowd grows thicker as we move away from the docks. Kal moves out in front, and the look in his eyes seems to do wonders to protect our personal space. He walks tall, almost prowling, one hand close to his weapon. Most people take one look at the three crossed blades marked on his forehead and give us a wide berth.

  It doesn’t take long for us to locate what I presume is a bar, its facade clustered with glowing lights and strange neon letters. We head in through a narrow door, so low that both the boys have to duck. A faint light glimmers inside the door frame as we’re scanned, and the air tastes like cinnamon and rubber. We pause inside to let our vision adjust, and I take in the space around us.

  Holy cake, this place is unbelievable.

  It’s kind of like a cross between a sports bar and a Wild West saloon, spread over three rotating, circular levels. Bodies of all shapes and sizes are packed onto barstools and into booths, heads bowed in quiet conversation. There’s five … things? People? Both? … in the corner, playing strange, beautiful music. They have transparent skin and tentacles instead of arms.

  I clench my jaw so it doesn’t drag on the ground.

  There are tables on the edge of the room, layered in fluorescent yellow. They’re covered in brightly colored stones—round, square, jagged—laid out in intricate patterns that clearly mean something to the players jostling for position around them. I see a blue-skinned woman with a high-domed head, dressed in a tunic that almost seems to be a continuation of her blue skin—it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. She smiles, then delicately nudges a green rock forward with a long stick, pushing another stone aside. A chorus of shouts goes up from the crowd. Delighted or angry, I can’t tell.

  A large bar sits like an island in the middle of a room, wreathed in light pink smoke. A row of screens rotates around it, showing a dozen fast-moving games. I might not recognize the sports they’re playing, but I know that’s what I’m seeing.

  “Grab a table, Kal,” Tyler says. “I’ll scope out something to drink.”

  I guess I’m not part of the team in Ty’s head when it comes to decision making, which ticks me off me a little. I know I’m a newbie in all this, but I don’t like being treated like baggage, either. So instead of waiting to be led, I head off in a circuit of the room, Kal stalking along behind me.

  When I find an empty booth with a good view of the whole bar, I slide in among the empty glasses and look up at the Syldrathi boy.

  “Good enough?”

  Kal glances around, and apparently happy with my choice, sits on the opposite side without a word. He presses a button on the table, killing the display of tiny 3-D figures playing space sportsball across it. I push myself into the corner, but he stays on the edge, watching the room rotate. The aliens here are all different shapes and colors, wearing everything from grungy mechanics’ jumpsuits to iridescent robes, and every level of formality in between.

  I feel like I’m dreaming.

  I feel like maybe I’m going insane.

  My brain’s not hurting anymore at least, but my aching muscles still remind me of what happened on the Longbow’s bridge. In my head, I can still see the image of myself on the vid screen, throwing Scarlett into the wall without ever touching her. I can still hear the words I spoke with the voice that wasn’t my own. I force myself to look around the bar again. Is there some hint here I can find, something to help me guess why I—or whatever possessed me—insisted we come here?

  “He will not be long.” Kal’s voice startles me.

  “Huh?”

  He nods at Tyler. “Do not worry. He will not be long.”

  I hadn’t been worrying about that in particular. If anything, Kal looks more concerned than I do. I realize he’s not watching Tyler anyway—he’s got his eyes on a group of Syldrathi at the bar, all of them dressed in black.

  “Friends of yours?” I ask, peering at the group.

  “No.”

  The word is heavy, and lands between us like a weight.

  “… Well, who are they?” I ask.

  Kal just ignores me, his eyes never leaving the other Syldrathi. I find myself getting ticked off again. Tired of the way he speaks to me, or doesn’t speak to me at all. He might be six and a half feet of va-voom, but son of a biscuit, he’s infuriating.

  “Let me guess,” I say. “I’m beneath their concern?”

  “Almost certainly,” he replies, still not looking at me.

  “So don’t worry my pretty little head about it, basically?”

  “Correct.”

  I breathe deep, my temper finally getting the better of me. “Are all Syldrathi as full of themselves as you are?”

  He blinks, finally deigns to look in my direction.

  “I am not full of myself.”

  “If your nose were turned up any higher, it’d be in orbit,” I scoff. “What’s your problem with me? I didn’t ask to be here. I was supposed to wake up on Octavia III with my dad, and instead I’m in hiding on a pirate space station with a messed-up eye and stupid hair and a condescending jackass.”

  A slow frown creases his tattooed brow. “What is a jackass?”

  “Check a mirror, Elrond.”

  The frown grows more quizzical. “My name is Kal.”

  “You. Are. Insufferable.”

  I fold my arms and glare. He stares at me, tilting his head.

  “Are you … angry with me?” he asks.

  I just stare at him, gobsmacked.

  “Why are you angry?” he asks. “I have been protecting you.”

  “No, you’ve been treating me like a little kid,” I say. “I’m not stupid. You haven’t taken your eyes
off those other Syldrathi since we sat down, and your hand’s never left your pistol. So if you want to protect me so much, maybe help me understand why you’re on edge instead of ignoring me?”

  He stares at me for a long, silent moment. I wonder if he’ll even answer. This boy’s lukewarm one minute, ice-cold the next, and I don’t understand him at all.

  But finally, he speaks.

  “My people are divided into what we call cabals. Weavers. Workers. Watchers. The Syldrathi you met on Sagan station were Waywalkers. The most mystical of our number, devoted to the study of the Fold.” He taps the tattoo etched on his forehead. “We all wear a glyf here. The sigil of our cabal.”

  I feel my temper calm a little. He’s still talking like Lord Snooty McSnootface, but at least he’s talking. That’s a point in his favor.

  “Your glyf was different than the others on Sagan,” I say.

  “Yes.” The word is heavy once again. “I am Warbreed. We are warriors.”

  I consider him. Yes. That’s exactly what he is. Looking him over, I realize Kal was built for violence. The way he walks, the way he talks—every move he makes communicates it in subtle ways. There’s an anger in this boy, smoldering just below the cold, composed surface. He keeps a leash on it, but I could sense it when he squared off against Aedra on Sagan station. And I can sense it again now as he turns back to look at the other Syldrathi.

  “So which cabal are they?” I ask, nodding toward the group in black.

  “None,” he replies. “They are Unbroken.”

  “I thought you just said—”

  “My people and yours fought for many years,” he interrupts, erasing all his points and just annoying me again. “The war between us was bitter. I am one of only a few Syldrathi to have joined the Aurora Legion after the peace treaty. Most still mistrust me. That is why I was left to join the squad of Tyler Jones. But even after the hostilities ended, some Warbreed still refused to acknowledge the treaty between humans and Syldrathi. They called themselves the Unbroken, and they now war against those Syldrathi who supported peace with Terra.”