Aurora Falling (Aurora Fleet Book 1)

by Finn Gray

  Rory gave a small shake of his head. He felt completely off-balance. “I guess so.” He’d slipped and used a pronoun again. Must be the meds. Trent let it pass. “This recruit hasn’t really spent a lot of time thinking about the subject, sir.”

  “But you have thought about it.” Trent took another step closer.

  Rory shrugged. “Not that this recruit can remember, sir.”

  “Recruit, you have performed well thus far in your training. You have given me no reason to think ill of you. Tell me the truth now, and I give you my word that I will do my best to support you.”

  Rory felt the blood drain from his face and hoped it did not appear to Trent as a sign of deception or an indication that he had been caught in some sort of act. He dropped his efforts to speak properly and instead spoke from his gut. “Sir, I am telling you in all honesty that I cannot think of one damn thing I have said or done that would be considered treasonous. I’m just a farm boy for the gods’ sakes.” He blanched a whiter shade of pale wondering if he’d gone too far.

  “Are there many Memnons on the farm?” Trent asked sharply. Clearly she had more on her mind than the way Rory spoke of himself.

  “None that I... this recruit knows of. That’s something people would keep to themselves, sir.”

  “Indeed.” Trent nodded knowingly. “Are you a Memnon?”

  The question seemed to come out of nowhere but Rory answered immediately. “No, sir.”

  Trent turned, walked to the foot of Rory’s bed, and began pacing back and forth. “On the morning of the explosion, Sergeant Clancy called you to his office. Why?”

  “This recruit doesn’t know, sir. The bomb exploded before this recruit reached the quarterdeck.”

  “Why do you think he wanted to talk to you?”

  “This recruit has no idea, sir.” Gods, it was a pain in the ass to talk this way. Sir at the end of every statement. This recruit instead of I.

  Trent let out a huff of air in a sharp, annoyed exhale. She stopped pacing, turned, and leaned in toward Rory, resting her hands on the rail at the foot of the bed. “Sergeant Clancy received a report that on the night before the explosion, the night after the imperial visit, you were heard discussing the downfall of the imperial family.”

  “No, sir...” Rory halted in mid-sentence. He remembered now. The late-night conversation while lying in his rack. But it had not been he who said it. It’d been Cassidy. He thought fast. Cassidy was already under suspicion due to the fact that she had an enhancement. The last thing Rory wanted to do was bring more unwanted attention to her. She was a good Marine, one of the hardest working recruits in their class. He couldn’t turn their focus onto her. “It was an abstract conversation. People who live in farm country don’t have very much, and seeing the Empire Twins brought back a lot of bad memories, sir.”

  “And you think overthrow of the Auroran Empire is the answer?” Trent asked.

  “No, sir. This recruit only wondered aloud if someday the lowborn might rise above their station. If someone overheard me and took it as anything more than that, they misunderstood, sir.”

  “Who were you talking with?”

  Again Rory thought quickly. He did not want to bring Cassidy into this at all, but there was one person for whom he didn’t mind making a spot of trouble. The person he was certain had relayed the story to the Sergeant “It was recruit Marson, sir.”

  “Do you know how profoundly, unbelievably stupid a person would have to be to say anything at all that might be construed as treason? Especially in this environment?”

  Rory nodded.

  “And are you a stupid person, recruit Waring?” Trent asked.

  “I was on that occasion, sir.”

  “Very well. I consider myself a fair judge of character and I believe you. But know that I will be watching you like a hawk. And if I find out that you have lied to me, there won’t be enough left of you to be taken to the brig. Do we understand each other?”

  Rory put all the conviction to his voice that he could. “Yes, sir. This recruit won’t let you down, sir.”

  When Trent left, Rory found himself lost in thought. Trent said she believed him, but from now on he’d be laboring under a cloud of suspicion. The seeds of doubt had been sown. And he was certain he knew where to place the blame. Marson. A soft knock came at the door and his clouded mind cleared as he saw Jemma peering in.

  “Can I come in?” Her voice was soft, melodic. Nothing about her gentle demeanor matched the determination and even ferocity she had displayed during training thus far.

  “Sure.”

  She sat down on the end of Rory’s bed and smiled. “How are you feeling?”

  “A lot better, now.” He immediately felt his cheeks warm. He’d been referring to the treatment the doc had given him earlier, but Jemma’s wide eyes said she’d taken a different meaning.

  “That’s sweet.” She reached out and gave his leg a squeeze. His flesh tingled where she touched him. Something about her presence made him feel like a first-cycle student at academy.

  “I didn’t expect to see you,” he said, trying to keep his voice level and his tone nonchalant. “No training this morning?”

  “The schedule’s all FUBAR since the accident. Clancy’s not on his feet yet and Trent seems to have other things on her mind. A new guy, Lester, stepped in, but we’re still getting a lot more breaks than usual.”

  “Lucky for me.” This time the flirting was intentional as he flicked a grin.

  “I was worried. Marson’s been telling everything you were going to get cashiered. He wouldn’t say why.”

  “Marson’s an ass.”

  “And he needs his kicked.” Jemma said.

  “Glad to see we’ve got something in common. We both hate Marson.”

  Jemma pursed her lips, her expression thoughtful. “I don’t know if I hate him. I don’t think I know him well enough yet, though he seems to be on his way. Maybe by the end of training.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get there.” As usual, he had a powerful urge to gaze into her eyes. Maybe it would be okay. After all, she’d come to see him in the infirmary; that had to mean something.

  She caught him looking and cocked her head. “Coming down off some heavy meds? You look a little dazed.”

  “Sorry. I had a weird talk with Trent.”

  “I passed her in the hallway.” Jemma glanced at the door, lowered her voice. “Did she accuse you of being a Memnon?”

  “She asked, but I don’t think she really thought I was. At least, she says she believes me.”

  Jemma nodded. “That seems to be all anyone talks about anymore. I thought it would die down.” Her face fell, her smile replaced by a downcast look. “Well, I’d better get back. Just wanted to check on you.” She rose and her face brightened. “But there is good news.”

  “Oh?” Rory had to work to hide his disappointment that she was leaving so soon.

  “Tomorrow’s individual combat. Maybe you’ll get paired up with Marson.”

  Chapter 15

  Battlecruiser Dragonfly

  Thetis

  Serena “Sabre” Sabrakami walked the quiet corridors of the battlecruiser Dragonfly. Most of her shipmates would be in their racks at this hour, but it was seldom a busy place anymore. She supposed that was what happened when the last war, real war, was a distant memory. Sometimes it could be a struggle just to keep all of the crew members focused. That grated on Sabre’s nerves. Hers was a simple motto: do your damn job.

  She arrived at her destination, the fighter bay, a few minutes later. She peered inside the dimly lit space, the smell of ozone and engine fluid strong in the air. She saw the row of Cobras parked side-by-side, gleaming dully in the dim light. She admired the long, sleek lines, the way the light glinted off the canopy, the wings slightly curved like the hood of its namesake serpent, and the vertical stabilizer rising up like a shark’s fin. Even after all this time she still felt a slight shiver run through her body at the sight of the starfigh
ters.

  She stood, listening, for a full minute until she was satisfied no one was about. Then she made her way over to the trio of fighters that were being used for the training of the new recruits. These were older models, but still serviceable birds. She had flown crafts not unlike these during her first cycles in the fleet.

  Knowing time was short, she immediately set to work. She climbed into the cockpit of the nearest Cobra, pulled back a small panel that gave access to the main wiring bundle, and spread the wires apart. Next, she pressed a series of buttons on the black box, activating it. Finally, she shoved the box into the bundles of wire and pressed the wires back into place. No one would find the device unless they pulled the bundle apart again and made a visual inspection. It should go undiscovered long enough to do its work.

  As she slipped out of the fighter and closed the cockpit, a sound caught her attention. She froze, listening. It came again, soft footsteps echoing through the hangar. Someone was coming. Serena looked around but there was nowhere to go. The footsteps were almost upon her. Desperately, she rolled beneath the Cobra and lay motionless.

  She watched the polished, black boots as they came closer. She wondered if whoever it was could hear the beating of her heart. To her own ears it sounded like a bass drum.

  The figure slowed.

  Keep moving, Sabre thought.

  No joy. The feet stopped directly in front of the cobra beneath which Sabre lay hidden.

  “Sabre? Is that you?”

  Sabre awoke in a cold sweat. She sat up, gasping for breath. Sweat streamed down her face, plastered her hair to her forehead.

  “What in the gods’ names is going on?”

  The dreams had tormented her for days. Night after night she prowled the corridors of Dragonfly, sabotaging the ship, even attacking her crewmates. Always she awoke soaked in sweat and exhausted as if she really had made the same trek about which she had dreamed. She knew it wasn’t real. Couldn’t be, but these did not feel like ordinary dreams

  “It’s just anxiety,” she said aloud. “You’re worried about your fledglings, that’s all. You feel responsible for them, and when something goes wrong you blame yourself. That’s why, in the dreams, you are the culprit.”

  She had told herself this every night, now the words seemed rote, a ritual devoid of meaning. Still, she found a measure of comfort in them. They calmed her nerves, if only slightly. What they didn’t do was help her get back to sleep.

  She had considered talking to someone. Not the doc. She didn’t want to risk having mental illness listed in her file. She thought about Hunter, but had decided against that course as well. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. In fact, she was certain he would keep her secrets. But she didn’t want to admit her weakness to him, to reveal that she was anything less than the badass Cobra pilot everyone made her out to be.

  Perhaps she would go to sick bay and ask for something to help her sleep. Maybe if she just got enough rest she would feel better. And then a thought struck her, one that froze her marrow.

  But what if my subconscious really does want me to do these things? What if the meds keep me from waking up? If I start sleepwalking, no telling what I might do.

  She shook her head. This was getting ridiculous. She was not a saboteur. She was the most dedicated pilot on Dragonfly, probably in the whole fleet for that matter.

  But it all feels so real.

  Realizing she wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight, she slid out of bed and was surprised to hear the thud of booted heels on the floor. She looked down to realize that she was still in uniform.

  Just like I was dressed in the dream.

  Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Invisible hands crushed her rib cage. She felt dizzy, and put a hand on the wall to steady herself. A wave of nausea swept through her. She knew she had undressed before going to bed. She remembered it. So why was she in uniform now?

  What if this time it was real? The thought shook her to her very core. This was too much. She had to know. She would go down to the hangar and check out the Cobras, make sure all was shipshape.

  She took a moment to wash her face and run a comb through her mussed hair before setting out. Unlike in her dreams, she made no effort to be quiet, or to hide her presence in any way. Skulking about would draw unwanted attention. She was an officer who was worried about the safety of those in her charge. She had every right to keep an eye on the birds they would be flying. Perhaps she would even catch the saboteur. She slowed as a new idea came to her. An excuse for being in the hangar in case anyone confronted her.

  When she arrived, she mirrored her behavior from the dream. She crept along stealthily, looking around to see if anyone was about. But the hangar was not empty.

  “Lieutenant? You’re out late.” Ray Logan, Dragonfly’s deck chief, stood beside the very same Cobra in which Sabre had planted the device in her dream.

  Sabre shook her head. “Not out late. Just up early. What about you?”

  “It’s still yesterday for me,” the chief said. “I’ve gone over these birds with a fine tooth comb. I’ve poked and prodded them so much that if I go any deeper I’ll have to marry them.”

  “So you’ve been here all night?” Sabre asked.

  “Much to my chagrin.” He quirked an eyebrow at Sabre. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “I had this crazy idea that I would hide in the shadows and catch the culprit who’s messing with our birds. So unless it’s you...” She forced a laugh.

  The chief’s smile appeared no less false. “You know the last thing I want to do is create more work for myself. All this is cutting into my drinking time in a big way.”

  I’ll buy you a few rounds when all this is over,” Sabre said.

  “Deal,” the chief said. “And you don’t have to worry about lying in wait down here. We installed security cameras. If anyone’s in here when they aren’t supposed to be, we’ll know about it.”

  Sabre felt the tension drain from her shoulders until she felt that if she were any more relaxed she might collapse. “That’s good news. Well, as long as I’m awake, I’m going to get some paperwork done.”

  The chief winced. “Better you than me. I’m heading to my rack. Have a good night, or a good morning, whichever the case may be.”

  Grinning, Sabre turned and left the hangar. If paperwork with the worst thing she had to deal with in her job, life would be just fine.

  Chapter 16

  Camp Maddux

  Hyperion

  When they assembled the following morning, Sergeant Clancy was back at work. He wore a patch over his injured eye and moved slower than usual, but otherwise showed no signs of his recent injury. He strode to and fro, barking instructions to the recruits.

  “Today is personal combat day. You have all been trained in a variety of fighting techniques. Today we will see how much you have learned.” He turned, paused, and then raised his voice. “And how much you have yet to learn.”

  Rory stood motionless, not wishing to draw attention to himself. The combat uniform with which they had all been fitted was uncomfortable and he didn’t want to be the first person to try and fight in it. It was thinly padded in strategic places for the protection of the combatants but it was made of a flexible fabric that did not inhibit range of motion. Still, it felt like he was wearing a giant body diaper.

  “Matchups will be chosen at random,” Clancy said. “Combat ends when one combatant is rendered unconscious or submits.” He said the last word with a sneer that indicated what he thought of fighters who submitted. “Or when Sergeant Trent or I declare an end. The mat is behind you. Circle around and Sergeant Trent will announce the first matchup.”

  When the recruit to take in their positions, Sergeant Trent drew two names from a hat. Rory breathed a sigh of relief when she called forward Jones and Savea, the two biggest, strongest recruits in the class. He didn’t relish matching with either of those if he could help it.

  The combat was brief but vicious
. When it was over, both men were bleeding. Savea lay stunned on the mat, blood flowing from both ears. Jones, the victor stood, hands on knees, struggling to catch his breath. When they had dragged Savea away, Sergeant Trent moved to the center the map.

  “There’s fighting, and then there’s flailing. Which one did we just see?” No one answered. “I asked you a question, eggs!”

  “Flailing, sir.” Cassidy replied.

  Trent turned to Jones, who was finally standing erect, chest heaving and sweat dripping down his face. “Recruit Jones, I want you to hit me with the same punch you used to knock out recruit Savea.”

  Jones didn’t hesitate. They had all learned early on to obey every instruction from their sergeants, even the ones that didn’t seem right on the surface. He swung a massive haymaker at Sergeant Trent who easily ducked beneath the blow, popped back up, and struck him with a sharp jab on the jaw. Jones’ knees wobbled and he fell to the floor with a heavy thud.

  “Nice punch, sir,” he slurred.

  Trent turned in a slow circle and addressed the recruits. “Sharp, crisp punches. Precise location. We have been working on this for weeks but some of you still have not grasped it. She sent Jones back to the circle of onlookers and called out the next pairing.

  The fights went fast. No one wanted to look like a coward in front of the sergeants or their fellow recruits, so everyone went at their opponents with fury. Soon, the air reeked of sweat and blood.

  Cassidy was paired off with a young man a head taller than her, but she had no difficulty evading his first attack, mounting his back, and sinking in a chokehold that cut off the blood supply to his brain. Unwilling to submit, the young man lapsed into unconsciousness and had to be dragged off of the mat.

  Jemma displayed surprising skill. She was a moving target her opponent, Logan, could not quite reach. And every one of his misses was answered with a sharp jab or swift kick. Finally, perhaps out of frustration, Logan ducked and bum-rushed her. Jemma planted a knee in his forehead, danced away, and finished him with a roundhouse kick to the temple. This performance earned what passed for praise from Sergeant Trent—the slightest of nods as Jemma left the mat.