by Amie Kaufman
“I have come to blows with many Terrans in my time at Aurora Academy,” I say. “These operatives were not human.”
“But they’re GIA,” Cat objects. “The highest arm of the Terran Defense Force’s Intelligence Division.”
“Then your Terran Defense Force may have problems,” I reply.
I can feel Aurora sitting nearby. Her presence is like the light of the sun on my skin. I feel bathed in it, though I try to ignore it, focus on my Alpha’s face and our predicament. But the pull of her is like gravity. A bottomless pool in which I would happily throw myself to drown.
“How does a two-hundred-and-sixty-year-old Octavia settler get into the GIA?” Aurora asks. I can hear the distress in her voice. She knew this woman. Perhaps even cared for her.
“Um, slightly more pressing question,” Fin says, nodding at Auri. “As far as I know, Stowaway here is the only person to have survived a cryo period of more than a few decades. How is a two-hundred-and-sixty-year-old human even alive?”
“I do not believe they were.”
We turn to Zila, who is looking at her uniglass.
“I did not have long to conduct tests,” she continues. “But both these GIA agents showed signs of epidermal degradation consistent with early necrosis.”
“You’re saying they were dead before Kal got to them?” Tyler asks.
“I am saying they showed signs of it, yes.”
“But they were walking and talking?”
“I cannot explain it. Perhaps these growths”—she waves at the silvery leaves sprouting from the agent’s eye—“have something to do with it. Like Betraskan saski polyps or Terran nematomorphs.”
Zila looks around an ocean of blank stares.
“Nematomorphs are parasites native to Earth,” she explains. “They mature inside other organisms, then exert a chemical control over their host’s brain. Urging the creature to drown itself in bodies of water where other nematomorphs breed.”
“And you put on those uniforms anyway?” Cat asks, dumbfounded.
“I thoroughly irradiated the GIA garments first,” Zila replies, unruffled.
“She really likes that disruptor,” Finian mutters.
“I wish we could have brought one of the bodies aboard to study,” Zila sighs.
“No thanks,” Tyler replies, looking at the image on the display in horror. “The further away from those things we are, the better. Maybe it was some virus they picked up aboard the World Ship or something?”
“Doubtful,” Zila says.
“Even if they did, how’d they live long enough to catch it there?” Fin asks.
Aurora is staring, too, her eyes distant, perhaps lost in memories of this woman, this partner of her father, now become her enemy.
“Auri, do you recognize this man?” Scar pulls up the image of the second GIA operative I killed. He is like the first—those strange fronds sprouting from his eye, a cluster of bright flowers growing from his ear and through his hair, the right side of his face glazed with mossy growth. I can see a tracery of fine veins within the leaves, scrawled across the man’s cheeks. Dark as blood.
Aurora bites her lip. “Maybe? He might’ve been an engineer.”
“Another Octavia colonist,” I say.
“Who should’ve died two hundred years ago.” Scar nods.
“He looks good for his age,” Fin says. “All things considered.”
The joke perishes in silence, but a part of me admires Finian for at least trying to lighten the mood. The bridge is quiet, save for the thrum of the engines, the hum of the consoles around us. Aurora is looking at the main display screen, the lifeless skin of these people she knew, the growths sprouting from their heads. I can feel the tremors in her body, feel the fear in her soul. I wish to reach out toward her, to take some of it away. But I resist the Pull with all I have, try to keep the want from my voice as I speak to her.
“The Trigger.” I nod to the statue in her hands. “Does it tell you anything?”
She simply shakes her head.
“We all just risked our tail-sections for that little thingamajig,” Cat growls. “You’re telling me it was for nothing?”
“I don’t know. It feels … right. It’s supposed to be here with me. But I don’t know how to use it.” Aurora shakes her head, looks up at Tyler. “Look, why don’t we just go to Octavia III and check the planet out? If these colonists—”
“We can’t,” Cat interrupts. “Interdiction, remember?”
“Correct,” comes a digital voice from inside Aurora’s dress. “The planet has been off-limits by order of the Terran government for several hundred years.”
“Well, does anyone know why?” Aurora demands.
The device beeps. “According to records, exploratory probes discovered an aggressive pathogen in the atmosphere of Octavia III. Galactic Interdiction was invoked to stop the virus getting off-world.”
“But it looks like it already has!” Aurora says, pointing to the screen.
“We should definitely report this to the authorities,” Scarlett says.
I nod to the GIA corpses up on screen. “These people are your authorities.”
“Well, whatever we do,” Cat says, “we can’t just charge off to bloody Octavia. The penalties for breaching Interdiction are scary bad.”
“She means they kill you,” the device offers. “Like, really painfully.”
“Yes, thank you, Magellan,” Aurora sighs.
“Hey, no problem,” it replies. “I only mention it because you’re sometimes not the brightest spark in th—”
“Silent mode,” she says.
Aurora hangs her head, staring at the Trigger in her hands. I can see the struggle in her. She wants to know the truth about what became of her loved ones. The colony that supposedly never existed. But at the same time, she knows what this squad has already risked for her. The danger she’s brought among us. And it seems she’s unwilling to ask us to risk our lives for her again.
“Auri, do you remember the fight outside Bianchi’s office?” Tyler asks. “What you did to the ultrasaur?”
“No,” she whispers.
I feel the fear in her swell. I do not wish to accuse her of lying, but I suspect what she says is untrue. That perhaps part of her does remember. It’s just that the rest of her does not wish to.
“Maybe this … power you have has something to do with the Trigger?” Tyler offers. “Can you try to—”
A soft alert sounds through the bridge, a series of warning lights flashing on the displays. Cat turns to her controls, and Tyler jumps behind his own station, his fingers flowing swiftly over the console.
“Something just pinged us with LADAR,” Cat reports. “Got a reading. … Behind us, heading seven sixty A-12 gamma four.”
“Main display,” Tyler says.
Cat complies, pulling up visual of the craft that has tripped our proximity alarms. I feel the mood drop around the bridge as the image flickers to life.
I have lived among Terrans for two years now, but I still have difficulty processing how singularly ugly their ships are. Syldrathi vessels are moments of beauty, frozen briefly in titanium and time. They are our songs to the Void they sail inside—graceful patterns and gentle curves and smooth, shimmering skin.
The destroyer chasing us is crude by comparison, with a flat snout and all the blunt elegance of an object made purely for function. The Terran Defense Force logo is emblazoned on its dark hull. Its name painted in white.
“Bellerophon,” Tyler says.
“We knew they were en route to the World Ship.” Cat shrugs. “Looks like they finally caught up.” Her voice is casual, her bluff as good as ever, but she knows what we all know. Princeps is aboard. The first among equals who pursues Aurora with such perfect single-mindedness.
“Hey, at least we can report
to the authorities now … ,” Fin says.
Our Alpha’s voice is tense as he speaks.
“Cat, can we outrun them?”
Our Ace shakes her head. “They’ll catch us over a long enough distance. A Longbow is slower than a destroyer, and they’ve got a lot more fuel. And not to harp on it, but we don’t actually have a bloody heading. I’m just flying in a straight line here and trying to make it look fancy.”
Scarlett nods, folding her arms. “And if we stay here in the Fold too long without cryo, we’re all going to start losing it.”
“We need a course,” Cat agrees.
All eyes turn to Aurora. She’s looking at the Trigger in her hands, turning it this way and that, like a puzzle.
“I …” She shakes her head. “I don’t know—”
BAMF!
The flash from a disruptor lights the bridge up white. Aurora is slapped backward by the blast, the Trigger rolling from her fingers onto the deck. In the space of a heartbeat, I am on my feet, overcome with sudden and impossible fury. Zila is standing in front of Aurora, weapon in hand, peering at the girl with unreadable eyes.
“Yeah, she really likes that thing,” Fin says.
“Zila, are you insane?” Scarlett demands.
“I am testing a—”
Zila gets no further. I lash out with an Aen strike to her shoulder, numbing her arm and sending her weapon clattering to the floor.
Stop it.
But the Enemy Within is loose now. The sight of Aurora unconscious on the floor finally lets the beast free from his cage, howling in dark delight. The killing song fills my veins as I reach toward the fallen pistol. My pulse is screaming. My vision razor sharp. My finger closing on the trigger as I raise the weapon to Zila’s head.
Stop. It.
Something hits me from behind, knocking the disruptor loose. I roll to my feet, lashing out at my enemy, feeling my knuckles hit bone. I hear my father in my head, then. Urging me on. I feel his hand on my shoulder, guiding my strike into Tyler’s throat. I sense him laughing as my Alpha grunts, as his blood sprays and he staggers back, breathless. Cat hits me from my flank, but I twist free, blood on my knuckles, hands rising, heart hammering.
Stop.
The Enemy is all I am at that moment. The Pull setting him free. Even here in the Fold, my vision is red. I cannot breathe. Cannot think except to know that Aurora is hurt, she is unsafe, she who is my all, my everything, my—
“KAL, STOP IT!” Scarlett cries.
Stop.
It.
I close my eyes. Fighting with all I have. The Enemy is so strong. The Pull is so deep. So very loud. They would be hard enough to resist alone, but together, they are stronger than the forces that hold my cells together, that bind the universe into one. It is like nothing I have known. I cannot explain. Cannot rationalize it.
But I must master it.
There is no love in violence.
There is. No love. In violence.
And so, slowly, I open my eyes.
The bridge is in disarray. Tyler is rising from where he fell, blood on his chin. Cat is on the floor, holding her ribs. Zila is pressed back against the wall, staring at the chaos with wide eyes and sucking on one tight black curl of hair.
“It was set to Stun,” she whispers.
“And we were all getting along so well, too.” Fin smirks.
I am at Aurora’s side. Everything I have tried to hide is now bubbling to the surface. The walls of ice that guard my feelings utterly shattered. My heart is thundering against my ribs.
She has been knocked unconscious by Zila’s disruptor blast, her head lolling against the velocity couch, eyes closed as if she was sleeping.
But she is well, I realize.
All is well.
“Is everyone okay? Tyler asks, his voice rasping from my blow to his throat.
Slow nods in response.
“Kal, you told me you had a handle on this!” he says, glaring at me.
“I am sorry,” I say. I am aghast at what I have done. To have lost myself so completely. “I … I did not mean … I did not know the weapon was set to incapacitate. And seeing Aurora in danger …”
I shake my head. Trying to find the words. But how can I describe what it is to fly to those who have never even seen the sky?
“I am sorry,” I say again, looking at Zila. “De’sai. I am shamed.”
“Legionnaire Madran, explain yourself,” Tyler demands, turning on the girl.
Zila blinks, takes a moment to focus. “It occurred to me that Aurora has mostly manifested hidden gifts when asleep or unconscious. I thought—”
“You thought shooting her without warning would be a good idea?”
“It was a calculated risk, sir,” Zila says. “If I warned Aurora, the probability of a calamitous defensive reaction increased dramatically.”
The squad exchange looks, unsure who poses the greatest threat to them—Zila or myself. It may be inexcusable, but at least I have a reason for the violence of my reaction. Zila … It is as though she simply does not fit here. As if she is simply incapable of understanding what is done and what should not be.
Tyler closes his eyes, rubs at his temples.
“Zila, you’re the smartest person on this ship,” he says. “You might be one of the smartest people in the whole Legion. Do you know what your problem is?”
“I … would be happy to hear your feedback, sir,” she replies.
“Your problem is that you know how everything works except other people.”
She blinks at that.
I think I see tears gleaming in her eyes.
“I am—”
Cat curses and scrambles back as Aurora stands bolt upright. Her muscles are tense, her whole body rigid as steel. Her eyes are open, her right iris burning white. Her hair is blowing as if in a breeze, a faint nimbus of dark light traces her body. This close to her, I can feel current crackling off her skin. Taste sodium on my tongue. Feel a force thrumming in the air and in my chest.
“Well, well.” Finian raises one pale eyebrow at Zila. “You called it.”
“Aurora?” I ask.
She stretches out her arms, rising slowly off the floor.
“Nnnu-u-uuh,” she says.
“Auri, can you hear me?” Tyler asks, stepping forward.
The static pulses, I can feel the hair on my scalp rising. The Longbow is shaking, the power flickering, a faint screaming building in the air. Aurora turns those burning, mismatched eyes on Tyler, the light about her shimmering black.
Scarlett approaches slowly, apparently fearless, hands raised before her.
“Who are you?”
The ship trembles around us, the screaming grows louder and the light flares darker as Aurora struggles to speak.
“N-nnnotwho,” she replies. “Whatn-nnnotwhonotw-w-whoWHAT.”
“All right, what are you?” Scarlett asks.
“Eshvarennnnnn-n-nn,” she replies.
My pulse quickens at the word. The name of the Ancient Ones, extinguished hundreds of millennia ago. The first of us to find the Fold. The first of us to walk the stars. I look to Finian in triumph, watching the skepticism melt from his black eyes. Aurora tilts her head, and my heart lurches sideways as blood begins to spill from her nose, dribbling down her chin.
“What do you want?” Tyler demands, steadying himself as the ship shudders.
Aurora makes no reply, turning to the cabin around her. She spies the Trigger, laying where it rolled beneath the main console. She reaches toward it and the statue trembles in reply, rising up from the floor seemingly of its own accord. Her eyes narrow, she curls her fingers into a fist. Cracks appear on the Trigger’s surface, the sound of splintering metal echoes in the air.
I step forward, hand outstretched. We all risked our live
s to attain that sculpture, we all—
“No!”
The Trigger shatters, shards of metal spraying across the bridge. A splinter cuts my cheek, another whistles past my throat, the screaming in my ears rising. And there, floating in the air before Aurora, is the diamond that once sat in the sculpture’s chest. It is larger than I first thought—its bulk was mostly hidden, like an iceberg beneath an ocean’s surface. It is glowing now, and its surface is carved with a complicated tracery of spirals.
Aurora beckons and the gemstone floats toward her, coming to rest in the palm of her small hand. As it touches her skin, a projection made of pure light fills the entire bridge. A kaleidoscope of tiny bright pinpricks, billions of them, whorls and spirals and patterns that any cadet at Aurora Academy would recognize.
“That’s the Milky Way!” Cat shouts over the rising screams.
The entirety of our galaxy.
The gemstone shimmers, pulses. And out among that vast collection of glittering star systems, despite the monochrome of the Fold, dozens of suns turn to red. The only splash of color in the black and the white, crimson as human blood. The screaming in the air becomes almost deafening. I feel cold panic in my belly without quite knowing why. I can feel it among my squad mates too, the faint latticework of their minds crackling with instinctual terror. It is a primal sort of fear. The fear of the talaeni as the shadow of the drakkan’s wings fall over its back.
The fear of prey.
I look at the projection, fighting the terror in my chest. I see our galaxy laid out before us, all around us, spiraling around the tremendous black hole that lies at its storm-wracked heart.
An impossible sky, shimmering and pulsing with tiny red dots of illumination.
And I realize what it is we are looking at.
“It is a star map!” I shout over the screaming.
The galaxy begins to move. As if time were flowing forward. Swirling around that gleaming black heart, faster and faster. An endless spiral, billions of stars interacting and coalescing, flaring and dying.
The systems closer to the heart spin faster, overtaking the slower stars on the outskirts, flowing over and through them, the force of their passing sending out ripples through the starlight. A cosmic ballet. Hundreds of thousands of years in the blink of an eye. And the red begins to spread, out from those few illuminated stars, the stain flowing like blood until the whole galaxy is drenched in crimson.
