Aurora Falling (Aurora Fleet Book 1)

by Finn Gray

  “You got a name?”

  “Cassidy. I’m from the city, same as him.” She inclined her head toward Sid. “Different continent, though.”

  “I’m Rory.”

  “Yeah, I heard. You two chatter like a couple of academy chicks. What brings you to the corps, Plowboy?”

  “Just wanted to get away from that life.” That was true, as far as it went. There was more to the story, but he wasn’t about to tell it to a stranger.

  “You couldn’t have picked a safer way to leave the farm?” Cassidy asked.

  “None that I could afford.”

  Cassidy nodded then turned to Sid. “Let me guess. You spent your whole life worshiping your uncle and you can’t remember a time you ever wanted to do anything except join the corps?”

  “Damn! This girl can read minds. Here, can you tell my fortune, too?” Sid held out a hand, palm up.

  Quick as a flash, Cassidy seized him by the wrist and shoved his hand back in his face. “How about you don’t call me, ‘girl’?”

  “That hurt,” Sid said, though his smile belied his words.

  Cassidy smirked. “Get yourself a straw.” Seeing Rory’s puzzled frown, she said, “It means, suck it up. Don’t they have straws on the farm?”

  “Yep. We’ve got hounds, too. A lot of them are bitches.”

  A moment of tense silence hung in the air as her eyes bored into his. And then she let out a hearty laugh.

  “You know what, Plowboy? You just might make it here.” Smiling, she turned away, leaving the image of her sparkling eyes burned into Rory’s mind.

  In the distance, Rory saw a long, gray line stretched out across the horizon. It grew into a tall, sturdy wall as they approached. Emblazoned upon it was a golden A inside a red circle—the insignia of the Aurora Imperial Marine Corps. His breath caught in his throat. This was really it. No turning back now. At least, not without enduring a heaping dose of shame. He felt a tingling sensation in his bladder as the Maglev slowed.

  Whatever you do, don’t piss yourself, he thought. It’s going to be all right. Men go through this training every ninety days and they come out alive on the other side.

  “Giving yourself a pep talk?” Sid whispered.

  “Didn’t realize I was saying that out loud.”

  “You weren’t. I could just see it in your eyes.” Sid shifted in his seat. “It’s cool. I’m doing the same thing.”

  Their transport came to a stop inside what looked like a prison yard. A tall fence boxed them in, a square of blue sky hung high above. Rory looked around and saw that no one appeared to be waiting for them outside.

  The doors slid open but no one moved. Were they supposed to disembark on their own, or should they wait for instructions? Wasn’t following orders an important part of life in the corps? But then again, shouldn’t you show initiative? Assess and respond to a situation? He looked around at the faces of the other recruits and saw the same internal conflict reflected there.

  “I’ll bet this is a no-win situation,” he whispered to Sid. “We get off, someone chews our asses for not waiting for instructions. We stay here...”

  Just then, a dry, almost-human voice filled the compartment.

  “Aurora Imperial Marine Corps recruits, you are now thirty seconds behind schedule. Disembark immediately.”

  “You called it,” Cassidy said over her shoulder. “Everybody look out. Plowboy’s already on his way to squad leader.”

  Rory and Sid sprang from their seats and joined the crush of bodies filing down the aisle.

  The blast of humid air enveloped Rory the moment he stepped off the Maglev, carrying with it the pungent smell of the swamp, but there was no time to take it all in. All around them harsh voices screamed out instructions.

  “Move it, eggs! Move it! Go! Go! Go!” A drill instructor, a tall, broad-shouldered woman in the gray uniform of the corps appeared as if from nowhere. She stood, her nose nearly touching Rory’s. “Are you deaf, egg?” she screamed, her breath hot against Rory’s face.

  “No.”

  “What did you call me, egg?”

  “I, I mean, no sir,” Rory stammered, his mouth suddenly dry. He remembered that, during training, superiors were always addressed as “sir” regardless of gender.

  “When you address me personally, the first and last words out of your mouth will be, sir!” Her face was now a delicate shade of crimson. “One more time. Are you deaf?”

  “Sir, no sir!”

  This must have been the correct form of address because the sergeant moved on to a different topic. “Why are your feet not atop a set of orange prints, egg?”

  Rory immediately spotted lines of orange boot prints painted on the ground in rows of four. He hurried over to the nearest set and took up a spot.

  “What are you doing? Do you think you’re too good to follow the rules?” A new drill instructor, a scarred man with a cybernetic left arm that shone a metallic silver below the elbow, had taken over berating Rory.

  Rory was ready with the quick reply. “Sir, no sir!”

  The man pointed to his right, the sun glinting off his shiny finger. “Go, go, go!”

  Rory didn’t think. Instead, he turned and sprinted in the direction the sergeant indicated. Immediately he saw what his error had been. Up ahead, the recruits were forming up ranks. Trying not to do anything else to call attention to himself, he followed the group and took his spot. Just his luck, he found himself at the front of the line, near the center. He waited, listening to the screams of the drill instructors as they herded the recruits to their assigned spots.

  Suddenly he was keenly aware of his hands. What should he do with them? Clasp them behind his back? He tried that, but it felt wrong. In front? No, that just looked ridiculous. He settled for letting his arms hang by his sides. That felt wrong, too, but that was how everyone else appeared to be standing at the moment.

  When everyone finally stood in formation, the scar-faced drill instructor mounted a block in front of where Rory stood and resumed screaming at them.

  “I am Senior Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant Clancy. When I give you an order you will reply with ‘Aye sir!’ Do you understand?”

  A ragged chorus of, “Aye, sir,” rippled through the assembled recruits.

  “I did not give you an order. I asked you a question. Do you understand?”

  A few recruits, Rory included, filled in the blanks and quickly replied with, “Yes, sir.” It was a weak showing.

  “What was that?”

  This time, the reply came with gusto, and almost in unison. Clancy seemed to find it passable.

  “I want you all to put your hands up in the air, now.”

  “Aye, sir!” Rory boomed along with the rest of his class. He raised his hands above his head, not sure how high to go or whether he should lock his elbows.

  “Put them down!” Clancy shouted.

  They repeated this several times, always shouting the expected reply. Clancy came down from his perch and paced to and fro, informing them that every order they received should be followed immediately, without question, and should be done with speed and intensity. He stopped in front of Rory and looked him up and down.

  “What did I just say, egg?

  Rory swallowed hard. “Sir, you said...”

  “Ewe! A ewe is a female sheep. Are you calling me a ewe?”

  “Sir, no sir.”

  “I hear a note of the farm in your voice, egg. I know what farm boys do with sheep. Do you want to treat me like one of your sheep, egg?”

  Rory felt his face heat. His family had never owned sheep, but this wasn’t the time to point that out. “Sir, no sir.”

  Clancy flashed a wolfish grin. “So you reserve that treatment strictly for the sheep?”

  Rory didn’t know what to say, so he kept his silence. That was a mistake.

  “When I ask you a question, you answer me immediately. Do you understand?”

  “Sir, yes sir. I don’t do that to sheep, sir,” he f
inished lamely.

  Thankfully, the recruit standing two spots over let out a tiny laugh. It was Cassidy. Clancy turned his full attention upon her, and spent the next minute ripping her to shreds. When he tired of that, he instructed everyone to make an about-face. Now, Staff Sergeant Trent, the woman who had first berated Rory when he disembarked the Maglev, took up the instructions.

  Trent was more than a match for Clancy in terms of volume and gusto. She lectured and berated them in equal measure. Rory learned a great deal of information from her: the floor was called the deck, the wall was called the bulkhead, and sidestraddle hops were jumping jacks, of which they performed many. Trent stressed the importance of teamwork, and informed them that words like I, me, and my would no longer be a part of their vocabulary. Instead, they were to refer to themselves and their comrades at “this recruit” and “that recruit.” She informed them of their rights, which were few, and list of violations, of which there were many. All of which they could expect would result in administrative correction, which he took to mean punishment.

  Next, they ran to the contraband room, where they surrendered their personal belongings. This was a protracted process, stretched out so that, by Rory’s estimation, the recruits would have ample opportunity to screw up. Some confused “Aye, sir” with “Yes, sir,” both of which invited tongue lashings. Others sometimes forgot to say the words at all. Still others used personal pronouns, forgetting to say this or that recruit. Mostly, they exercised their vocal chords, as none of the recruits seemed able to scream to the sergeants’ satisfaction.

  When they finished in the contraband room, they ran to the next building, where their heads were shaved. Rory already wore his hair short, so it wasn’t much of a change. Cassidy, however, spared a regretful glance at her lustrous, black hair lying on the floor. The blond youth, rather once-blond, who had sneered at Rory on the Maglev, seemed unable to believe his hair was gone. He kept touching the crown of his head. Rory thought the pale young man really did look like an egg.

  Afternoon gave way to evening, evening surrendered to night. More running, more hoops through which to jump, more screaming. At long last, they emerged from the mess hall, where they had been given thirty seconds to consume a gelatinous square of greenish-white protein, which tasted like unsweetened pudding, and a cup of sour fruit juice. They stood at attention, dark, gray-clad shapes beneath the pale moonlight.

  Silence fell over the group. Clancy and Trent paced back and forth, occasionally looking at the recruits, but saying nothing.

  The quiet, darkness, and stillness opened to door to the exhaustion Rory had thus far managed to hold at bay. The long trip here, the running, and the constant stress had taken its toll. Fatigue swept over. His eyelids fluttered. The recruit to his right began to nod off. His chin dropped to his chest, and he woke himself up with a gasp.

  That must have been what Clancy was waiting for. He looked up at the full moon high overhead and smiled.

  “It’s late. A perfect night for a moonlight run.”

  To their credit, not a single recruit let out a groan as they took off at a steady jog into the darkness.

  Chapter 3

  City of Vatome

  Hyperion

  Lina Navarre threaded her way through the crowded dance floor. The flashing lights, the pounding bass, and the crush of bodies fueled her rising tension. The musky scent of humans in close contact blended with whiffs of delicate perfume and cheap cologne. All around, eyes turned in her direction.

  An exuberant young man whirled into her path and stopped, gyrating his pelvis and leering at her. He reached out and touched her wrist with his sweaty fingers. Carlos, her personal security guard strode forward to intervene, but before he could close the distance, she drove her knee into the man’s groin. His knees buckled and he slid to the floor, wide eyes staring up at her in disbelief.

  “You’ll never find a dance partner that way,” Valeria chided.

  “I don’t dance,” Lina said. “I only came out tonight because you bullied me into it. I’m just going to have a couple of drinks and try to enjoy the music.”

  Val clicked her tongue. “Good gods, Lina. Are you sure you’re my twin?”

  “Sometimes I’m not even sure we’re sisters.”

  Val thrust out her lower lip. “You’re just cruel.”

  “That might work on Father, but not on me. You know exactly what I’m saying.”

  “I’m fun. You’re boring. Is that about the size of it?” Val pointed to a table atop a raised platform in the corner. “We want that one.”

  Marion, Val’s guard, nodded. “At once, Highness.”

  “Val, there are people already sitting there.” Lina hated it when her sister threw her power around for such trivial matters.

  Val arched an eyebrow. “Not anymore.” Her expression turned grave. “Oh, come on, Lina! They’re nobodies. They’ll spend the rest of their lives telling their friends about how the imperial princesses stole their table. It’s probably the most remarkable thing that will ever happen to them.”

  The four young men who had, moments earlier, occupied the corner table, slowly approached. Keeping a respectful distance from the security guards, they stopped.

  “Excuse me, Highnesses, but would you take a vid with us?” asked an olive-skinned man with a hawkish nose and unruly black hair. “After all, we did give up our table for you.” He cackled a nervous laugh. “I’m Kabir, by the way.”

  As usual, Val walked right through the group of men as if they were invisible. Lina frowned at her sister’s back, then flashed a smile.

  “I’ll be happy to. Come on.”

  Carlos hovering close by, the young men flanked Lina. Kabir tapped his biowatch and held his arm out until the cam could get them all in the picture.

  “That’s right, ladies! We’re kicking it with Catalina Navarre!” he shouted to whoever followed his feed. “This is a genuine Empire Twin right here!”

  Lina flinched at the moniker that had followed her and her sister since birth.

  “Say something to your subjects,” Kabir urged.

  “Hello, Hyperion! Hope everyone’s having a good night...or day, depending on where you are right now.” She hated these sorts of things. Public speaking was more her thing—a controlled situation in which she delivered a prepared speech was well within her comfort zone. But these meaningless social engagements confounded her. She’d never been comfortable with people her own age, always preferring the company of her tutors and grandparents. “Bye,” she added, waving half-heartedly.

  “Time to go, Highness.” Carlos took her by the elbow and steered her away from her new admirers.

  As she walked away, she heard Kabir say, “Caliente!”

  Asshole.

  “Thank you,” she said to Carlos.

  “It’s what I do.” Carlos guided her to the table where Val had already reeled in two fresh fish. A tall, pale man with a shock of red hair, and a muscular youth with a shaved head and skin of warm beige.

  “Boys, this is my sister, Catalina. You can call her Lina.” Val draped her arms around the shoulders of the men who flanked her. “Lina, this is Galen.” She flicked her eyes toward the red-haired man, who nodded. “He’s all mine. And this,” she inclined her head toward the other young man, “is Julian. He’s going to keep you entertained. At least until you grow bored of him. And now, if you’ll excuse me, Galen and I are going to make a scene.” Val and her new friend rose and moved out onto the dance floor, Marion following at a respectful distance.

  Lina managed a tight-lipped smile and a nod, then sat down beside Julian.

  “Your sister is quite forceful,” he said.

  “You think?” She looked down at the sea of writhing bodies. She could barely make out the top of Val’s head, but Galen’s height and hair made him easy to spot.

  “Is that the sort of guy she usually goes for?” Julian asked.

  “Are you jealous?”

  Julian scratched the non-existent h
air atop his head and pursed his lips in a theatrical frown. “I’m sorry. Did I say something to offend you?”

  “Not at all. My sister just brings out the worst in me. But to answer your question, she goes for any kind of guy that doesn’t look like us.” She made small, circling gesture intended to take in Val, Julian, and herself. “Our family has always married Vatomians, which means Valeria won’t even look at one. Upsetting our parents is something of a hobby for her.”

  “So, pale white and dark brown are fine for her. Just not right smack in the middle?”

  Lina laughed. “Something like that.”

  “She chose me to keep you company. Does that mean I’m your type?” She had to admit, Julian’s shy smile was endearing.

  “She does it to underscore how different she is from the rest of the family. As for me, I don’t really have a type.”

  “I don’t believe that. Everyone has a type.”

  Lina nodded. “I like a man who brings me a tall glass of Sangria.”

  Julian sprang to his feet, nearly upsetting the small table. “I’m on it.”

  “No apples, extra melon. And an umbrella,” she called as he hurried away.

  That’s him sorted for a few minutes, she thought. She had no doubt the club would whip up a glass of sangria, or at least some semblance of it, for one of the Empire Twins, but extra melon and an umbrella would be difficult to come by. It was unkind of her, but she was so close to finishing her book. She took out her tablet and pressed her thumb to the sensor. The screen came to life, the starry sky background that she found so relaxing. She held the microphone up close to her mouth in order to be heard over the sound of the music.

  “Open The History of the Memnon Wars by Guillame Romero.” The image of a leather bound book floated to the surface. She tapped it once and it opened it, the pages riffling until it landed on the spot she’d bookmarked.

  Though enhancements are common today, they were considered highly unusual, and even suspect in the decades leading up to the Memnon War. Aurorans resorted to enhancements only in instances when the implant was deemed essential for survival or, in some cases, quality of life. The Memnons took a different approach, believing that enhancements were preferable to our natural bodies. Furthermore, they held that enhancement held the key to unity between human and machine. Not only did Memnons avail themselves of every new enhancement, but they engaged in experimental modifications, often with deadly results. Some, however, were highly successful.