Aurora Renegades

by G. S. Jennsen

  I do the one thing I am able—I study the being, no longer convinced it’s a man at all.

  He considers me from beneath the hooded cloak, an expression on his face that would be curiosity if he were human. The air around his hands begins to sparkle in pinpoints of crimson. He cocks his head and mutters more peculiar words, though a tiny corner of my brain observes it sounds vaguely like mangled Greek.

  The pressure on my chest abruptly vanishes, and I plummet to the floor. Instantly I’m back on my feet, gasping in a breath and moving forward in the direction of the assailant while re-activating my blade.

  He glances at the blade. The crimson flecks of light coalesce into a tapered edge and spring forward.

  I lunge to the right, avoiding a direct hit, and the ethereal weapon slashes through my upper left arm. I try to lift it, but the outer deltoid has been severed, leaving the arm hanging limp at my side.

  But the blade is in my right hand. I follow through on my momentum to sweep around then into the side of the assailant. I sense the resistance as the blade penetrates the soft tissue beneath where ribs are on a human.

  My head snaps back as his fist connects beneath my chin. I’m flying back again, slamming into the hull of the Siyane and collapsing to the floor. Blinding pain scores through my skull before the neural suppressors kick in.

  Not a man. No human is that strong.

  My vision falters. Boots approach me, blurry and shifting. I raise up on an elbow and shift my grip on the blade hilt.

  The kick lands at my ear with the force of a missile. I think I’m screaming, sliding across the smooth floor until my shoulder impacts one of the docking clamps.

  Blood seeps out of my ear. Eardrum is ruptured and my upper jaw crushed.

  But the assailant lurches unevenly now, because as his boot made contact my blade had sliced across his Achilles tendon. A blood trail forms behind him, and he closes on me more slowly.

  Ringing bangs discordantly in my head and everything around me is moving, even things that shouldn’t be like the ship and the walls. I scramble backward and to my feet.

  Not fast enough. His hand closes around my throat and lifts me into the air. Flaming crimson irises stare at me. Matching crimson flecks swirl madly around his hand as his fingers slip in the blood oozing out of the busted ear to coat my neck.

  The flecks shift and begin to swirl around my head. A prickling sensation grows along the injured side of my face. A thousand needles dance on my skin.

  A warm fuzziness overcomes me. Calming through the pain, but also heady.

  The assailant drops me and staggers backward, nearly falling to the floor as his ankle fails to support him. He twists his hand in the air as he had before, but this time nothing happens. He looks down at his hand then thrusts it out in front of him; when nothing continues to happen, he looks back up at me.

  Whispers begin to murmur in my mind, drowning out the ringing. Not words, or even thoughts, but also not my own.

  Encouragement. Openness. Readiness.

  Having regained his footing, the assailant surges forward to tackle me. Hands land on my shoulders—I drive my arms up and out to break the grasp, almost too focused on the act to notice my damaged arm somehow functions again.

  The air around us explodes in crimson.

  My skin is on fire, but it doesn’t hurt. Red flecks of light swarm around me, slipping into me through my pores. They bring with them a swell of energy, of potency, but the rush is dizzying. I need to concentrate.

  The flames bleed out from the assailant’s eyes in rivulets and disperse into the air, leaving behind deep sapphire irises run through with streaks of chrome.

  I take a step back and, listening to the whispers, sweep my arm around, mimicking the motion I’d seen performed—

  —the assailant flies twelve meters to the left and falls to the floor.

  Bloody hell!

  He scrambles to his feet, drops his shoulders and lunges forward once more.

  I stretch my hand out. Stop.

  He thuds to a halt as surely as if he’d hit a wall. Words tumble forth. Greek to the ear, mixed with possibly Latin and something unfamiliar, but incomprehensible nonetheless. The agitation and confusion in the tone is clear enough, however.

  “I can’t understand you. I’m betting you can’t understand me, either, but what the hell. Why are you trying to kill us?” My voice sounds strange to my ears. Maybe because only one ear is working?

  Increasingly angry utterings follow.

  In the depths of the hangar, Alex stirs and struggles to her knees. “Caleb?”

  The assailant spins toward her.

  NO.

  I lock my arm out and twist my hand. Hard.

  His head wrenches around, and with a distinct, sharp pop his neck snaps. His body crumples to the floor.

  I breathe in for a single instant. Then I’m moving. “Alex, are you okay?”

  She limps toward me while gaping at the body and cradling her right arm against her stomach. “My arm’s broken, but you…you’re covered in blood.”

  The wisecrack is there to be made, but she doesn’t make it. Neither do I.

  “Yeah, my….” I check the gash in my arm. It’s no longer bleeding. The cut looks superficial. But it wasn’t.

  When she reaches me her good arm comes up to my neck, carefully searching for mortal wounds. I feel her fingertips probing my jaw, my cheek, behind my ear. How can I feel her touch? The whole area should’ve been numbed by now. And why doesn’t feeling it hurt?

  “I’m all right. Just a few nicks.” It should be a lie, but my eVi reports I’m rapidly approaching a state of zero injury.

  Her eyes narrow doubtfully, but after a few seconds they slide past my shoulder. “Is he dead?”

  “I need to check to confirm. Keep your distance for another minute—actually, go check on the security guard. I suspect he’s dead, too, but if not he’ll need help.”

  Focus. I work to center myself in the here and now, but my mind whirls. I feel drunk, yet my awareness is heightened to a level of acuity far beyond what combat mode can engineer.

  I kneel beside the body, blade at the ready, and push the cloak away. Inky lines wind up from beneath the assailant’s clothes to trail along his neck and over his face until they disappear beneath thick black hair. Further inspection reveals them on his hands as well.

  I try to recall what my eyes had seen while I’d been fixating on more germane details. The being’s face had glowed—subtly, irregularly, similar to glyphs but both more persistent and more severe. Now the lines lie dormant, dark and…dead. They’re also raised, like veins.

  There’s no pulse, no heartbeat, no respiration. None of those things provide confirmation of an alien’s death. But the being does seem dead.

  Not a being. An Anaden.

  The truth is patently obvious. I know it with a core, fundamental certainty that transcends logic.

  But it’s also logical. On a casual glance, the being looks human. Up close, he looks almost human. Appendages in the correct places, features aligned more or less properly. Yet in total, the picture presented is somehow off-kilter. There are also the…skills.

  I sense Alex near and smile to myself. Always so impatient.

  “He’s dead, then?”

  “Seems to be. We’ll restrain him to be sure. What about the security guard?”

  “Dead. What happened? How did you do that?”

  I place my hands on my knees and push myself up to standing with a long exhale, then meet her questioning gaze. It’s not fearful, merely inquisitive, and somewhat pained thanks to her injury.

  I bend my arm at the elbow and turn my palm up. I concentrate, narrowing my perception to the space directly in front of me…tiny crimson sparkles form in the air above my palm. With my other hand I place the hilt of my blade on my palm.

  It floats up to rotate ten centimeters in the air. I focus on it, then quickly shift my focus to the right.

  The hilt shoots throug
h the air to bang into the right wall.

  I swallow heavily and look back at Alex, eyes admittedly wide. “I think I have superpowers—and I think I stole them from him.”

  44

  SENECA

  Cavare

  * * *

  “What about Scythia?”

  Richard shook his head while flipping the steaks. “It’s Alliance. Well, unless it secedes in retaliation for the coup attempt, but with Winslow out I suspect the governor will settle for reparations and a parade of ass-kissing politicians.”

  “But it has beaches. This has got to be a consideration.”

  He laughed. “It does. But we can’t locate our operations on an Alliance or Federation world—or arguably an IDCC one. It will cast doubt on our neutrality from the start. Honestly, if we didn’t have the optics to worry about, I’d stay here on Seneca.”

  Will canted his head in surprise. “You would? Really?”

  “I would.” He lifted the steaks off the grill and onto their plates with a satisfied nod. They smelled terrific, if nothing else.

  He handed Will his plate, acknowledging the perplexed expression on his husband’s face with a shrug. “I like it here. The weather’s nice and cool. The scenery’s pleasant. The politics are simpler than on Earth. More straightforward and out in the open. Besides, you’re happy here.”

  “I’m happy wherever you are.”

  “Well…” Richard hid a smile by moving to the patio table. “…good, because we can’t base the organization here.”

  “You’ve kind of eliminated ninety-five percent of our options—ninety-nine percent if you want to be inside First or Second Wave space, which you do. I don’t care how fast space travel is in practice, you need to be where the action is centered, if only to create the desired impression with the public.”

  Graham was right; this was why he needed Will on board for this venture. He took a bite of the steak, pleased to find it delicious. “Fair point. Then a….” He trailed off as his attention diverted to an incoming pulse from Alex.

  Hey, Richard. I don’t suppose you’re on Seneca at the moment by chance?

  I am. What’s up? Do you need help with something?

  You could say that. We’ve…well, we’ve got a dead Anaden in the Siyane’s hangar bay.

  Anadens were the alien species the Metigens claimed were humanity’s ancestors—and also cruel, vicious tyrants. But in some other universe, not here.

  Richard’s expression must have grown rather animated, because Will put his fork down and sat up straighter, eyes narrowing. Then he stood. “I’ll put the steaks in the fridge.”

  ROMANE

  IDCC Headquarters

  Harper was in her office when Morgan got back to Headquarters. Unlike Morgan, she’d graciously accepted an office when it was offered.

  Morgan propped on the edge of Harper’s desk and picked up a thin film. She pretended to study it.

  “How did the meeting with Ledesme go?”

  “Oh, you know, the way most meetings with politicians go. They bluster, hem and haw, prevaricate, give with one hand while taking away with the other.”

  “God, Lekkas, what does any of that mean? Did she approve the new weapons development project or not?”

  “Oh, right, the weapons program.” She waited another beat, then grinned. “She did.”

  “Yes!” Harper kicked her chair back and smirked at the ceiling. Rather exuberant behavior for her, really. “Details?”

  “There are a few, but they can wait. First, the meeting wasn’t all sunshine and ponies. She grilled me hard about Jude Winslow’s suicide.”

  “He was in the official Romane Central Detention Facility, subject to Romane security protocols. Plus, there’s nothing anyone can do to prevent a self-directed eVi destruct.”

  “And I reminded her of those facts, in terms clear enough for even a politician to comprehend. She was all hot air. Besides, we found nothing suspicious on the security logs.”

  Morgan traced a random pattern on the desk surface with her fingertips. “Speaking of security logs and such, Annie and crew almost have an environmental sensor ready which will detect someone using a Veil. We’ve handed so many Veil generators out to Alliance people I’m sure they’re reverse engineering it by now. The tech will get out, because it always does, and we need to be able to counter it.”

  “Yep. We unquestionably do. Glad to hear we’re on track to do it.”

  Morgan gave up trying to be coy and rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “Harper, what did you do?”

  She sat perfectly still. Economy of motion. “I can’t tell you.”

  Okay, that stung. Morgan left the desk to lean against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. Her voice came out clipped. “Why not?”

  “I’m not—I didn’t mean—it’s not because of—” Harper dropped her elbows to the desk and buried her face in her hands. “Shit.”

  It took her several seconds to look up. “I can’t tell you because if I do, sooner or later Alex Solovy will find out. Not because you’ll rush to share the information, but because she just will. I’m figuring out how this Noesis sorcery works. And I will not be the one responsible for Alex finding out.”

  Did Harper not realize she’d told Morgan everything she needed? “You gave Caleb a Veil generator and helped him slip into the confinement level. Then he…” she groaned “…used a Reverb to implant a worm which forced Winslow’s eVi to self-destruct. Did he get the Reverb from you, too?”

  “Yes.” Harper threw her hands in the air. “There goes that. You are goddamn infuriating, Lekkas. Sometimes I don’t know why I lov—” She stopped, but her mouth remained open for a long second before slowly closing.

  Her lips pursed, and she eased back in the chair. “Any chance I can convince you I was going to say ‘love working here?’ ”

  Morgan shook her head mutely, as she’d been rendered speechless.

  “Didn’t think so. Dammit, you are the only person I’ve ever met who can actually fucking fluster me. Right, then.” She leapt up and headed for the door. “I need to check with Pello about the—”

  Morgan’s arm stretched out across the doorway to block Harper’s exit. “Hey.” Oh, good, her voice worked again. “Don’t go. I’ve got good news. Clear your conscience, because Alex already knows. I assume Caleb told her, sap that he is. So it’s all good. They also—” her jaw dropped “—oh boy. That’s certain to liven up the week. They also…you know what, I bet we have some time before the clusterfain explodes. I can fill you in after.”

  Harper’s expression was vacillating between annoyance and…fear? News flash, Morgan was afraid, too. “After what?”

  “After you finish telling me about the thing you were going to say. I find I’m very, very interested in it.”

  Harper stared at her. More vacillations. Finally she reached out, took Morgan’s hand and coaxed her out the door.

  “Come on. I’ll show you instead.”

  45

  ANESI ARCH

  Pandora Stellar System

  * * *

  Alex gave her mom a quick hug, though it had only been a few days since they’d seen one another. As was often the case of late, it felt as if several eternities had passed since then.

  Miriam placed a gentle hand on her elbow. “Your arm?”

  She shrugged. “It’s fine. No acrobatics for a few days, but I’m good.”

  And she was. A bone fusion followed by an injected nano-repair weave and a controlled movement medwrap later, she was…good. In other words, it hurt like the devil, mostly because she was choosing to forego all but the mildest painkillers out of an abundance of caution for addiction reasons. Which was also fine. And painful.

  “The medical consultant will be here shortly. Also Richard said—oh, here he is now.” Alex turned to see Richard enter the suite.

  She’d seen him even more recently than she’d seen her mother, but she still approached him for yet another delicate hug.

  Richard r
egarded her with a sober intensity. “And here I thought we might finally get to have a few weeks of peace.”

  She grimaced a touch. “Sorry.”

  “Not your fault, sweetie.” Richard caught her gaze drifting over to Caleb. “Or his.”

  Caleb stood to her left talking with Mia, but he, too, caught her gaze. One corner of his mouth quirked up in acknowledgment.

  Hers did the same before she shifted her attention back to Richard. “Thank you. I’m glad Mom asked you to come.”

  “More like ‘allowed.’ It’s an exclusive club, one I’m probably only in because I was at the scene. But I wouldn’t miss it.” He motioned over his shoulder. “And neither would he.”

  Graham Delavasi’s large frame briefly took up the entire doorway as he entered.

  Alex’s eyes narrowed. “Why is he here?”

  “Federation Intelligence Director? If this doesn’t fit within the ‘intelligence’ purview, nothing does.”

  She didn’t respond, instead moving protectively to Caleb’s side.

  Delavasi gestured a greeting in Miriam’s direction but made no bones about walking straight to Caleb. “Mr. Marano, I want to make it clear—”

  “You didn’t know about Colpetto. I recognize that, Director.”

  “You do? Huh.” The man frowned in puzzlement. “Then you deserve to—”

  “Just leave it there, please. It’s enough for now.”

  “And so it is.” Delavasi nodded sharply and departed to stand next to Richard.

  Alex studied the occupants of the suite in trepidation. “Well this is a motley crowd. Should be fun.”

  Mia surveyed them with equal wariness. “Devon and Morgan are going to leach off of me rather than show up in person. But reinforcements are here, and none too soon.”

  Alex was about to turn around when an all-too familiar voice whispered in her ear from behind her. “Boo.”

  She twisted around into Kennedy’s embrace, belatedly remembering to hold her arm to the side. So much hugging, and it wasn’t even a funeral. “How did you manage to finagle an invitation—or authorization, I’m told?”