Aurora Falling (Aurora Fleet Book 1)

by Finn Gray

“What is it?” Rory asked.

  Cassidy reached inside, grab something, and flung it at Rory. It made a wet, slapping sound when he caught it. He gaped at the thick slab of red meat. “Steak!”

  “And beer!” Cassidy took out an amber bottle and tossed it to the closest squad member, a redhead named Yates. “Drink up, everybody! Unless you’re a Memnon,” she added.

  “I don’t get it,” Rory said, twisting the top off of his beer.

  “Supposedly, Memnons don’t drink,” Jemma said.

  “What do you mean by supposedly?” Cassidy asked.

  “Growing up on Memarca, we heard stories about Memnons. That’s where their religion started. Personally, I don’t know any Memnons. At least, I don’t think I do.” The two young women exchanged a long, unreadable stare, which Jemma finally broke. “Let’s take a walk,” she said to Rory, who was happy to oblige.

  “You two have fun,” Jones said. “I’m going to build a fire and start burning these steaks.”

  “I like my meat rare,” Rory called over his shoulder as he and Jemma headed for the beach.

  “That’s what your boyfriend said,” Monk shouted, raising her bottle in salute.

  “Hey! Leave us out of it.” Craig and Douglas, a pair of recruits from Echota who had been inseparable for the past two weeks, even in the racks, shouted in unison. As a general rule, the recruits turned a blind eye to one another’s hookups, but those two were beginning to annoy. Hopefully they would find a spot away from the others for the evening, Rory thought.

  Dusk surrendered to darkness. Rory and Jemma walked around the island, saying little but enjoying one another’s company. By the time they completed their circuit, enjoying the breeze that wasn’t exactly cool, but better than the warm winds that drifted across Camp Maddux most days, the steaks were ready.

  They didn’t bother with utensils, but sat around the fire, biting of huge hunks of the savory beef. Rory let the first bite sit in his mouth, letting the juices overwhelm his taste buds. He hadn’t eaten anything with so much flavor since leaving home.

  “Our guts are going to hate us for this tomorrow,” Monk said. “We’ve grown unaccustomed to red meat.”

  “Who cares?” Jones said. “It’s worth it.”

  Laughing, Rory bit off another chunk and chewed it slowly.

  “You’ve got some juice on your chin.” Jemma leaned over and, before he could reply, licked his chin. “Yummy!”

  Rory didn’t know what to say, so he merely winked. He picked up his bottle of beer and took a swig. It was crap beer, but tonight it was heaven. He glanced at Jemma, who was sitting inches away. “You’re sweaty. Here.” He pressed the cold bottle against the back of her neck.

  “That’s cold,” she said, “literally.”

  “Better do something about that.” He leaned in and licked the back of her neck. “Now we’re even.”

  “Is that how the game ends, then?” she asked, pouting a little.

  “I hope not.”

  After they’d finished eating, the squad stripped down to their skivvies and swam until they were exhausted. Rory and Jemma splashed around in the tepid water, laughing, joking, and dunking one another. Rory felt like a kid at summer camp. Not that he’d ever been to one, but he had read enough stories and seen enough vids to have an image in his mind.

  After they had exhausted themselves, they returned to the beach and finished off the rest of the beer. They remained there around the fire, swapping jokes and stories, until deep into the night. A few of the guys tried to cozy up to Monk and Cassidy, since Jemma was obviously paired up with Rory. Eventually, the group broke apart. Monk finally made her choices, a pair of husky, dark-haired recruits nicknamed Big and Wig—one for his height and the other for his fast-growing hair that had reappeared with a vengeance days after it had been shorn on intake day. Craig and Douglas headed off down the beach, and others headed for the hammocks and fell into a drunken slumber. Finally, only four remained on the beach: Rory, Jemma, Cassidy, and Jones.

  “Come on,” Rory heard Jones whispered in Cassidy’s ear. “You’re the only girl left. I mean, you’re not a field ten,” he added in a rush, using the term for a female marine who suddenly appeared more attractive due to the prevalence of males. “You’re hot.”

  “Oh, that’s exactly what the lady wants to hear,” she replied, not bothering to keep her voice down.

  “Sorry, I had no idea you were a lady.”

  Cassidy stared at him, incredulous, and then she laughed. “You know what, Jones? The dumber you get, the more endearing you are.”

  “You figured out my strategy. Just don’t tell me you have a headache.”

  “Actually, I have had a headache for days but the beer helped.” She rose to her feet and offered her hand. “Come on. Let’s take a walk and give these to some privacy.”

  “I like the sound of that,” Jones said, grinning.

  “Don’t get your hopes up. I still think you’re an idiot.”

  Jemma leaned her head against Rory's shoulder. He put his arm around her and squeezed her tight.

  “You think they will hook up?” Jemma asked.

  “With Cassidy there’s no telling. She’s a tough one to figure out. I still can’t believe she refused squad leader. I’m even more surprised that Clancy let her do it.”

  Jemma looked around and then lowered her voice. “Everyone thinks Clancy is still suspicious of her. When the bombing happened he accused her of being a Memnon.”

  Rory nodded. “I heard.”

  “What do you think?”

  “No idea. I don’t guess she is.” He felt Jemma tense up, saw her bite her lip.

  “Would it matter? I mean, would it change how you feel about her?”

  He didn’t need to consider his answer. “No. She’s the same person she always was. She’s my friend.”

  Jemma fell silent. He wondered if that had been the wrong answer. Perhaps she hated Memnons and expected him to feel the same way. But he wasn’t going to lie.

  “Today, when we were climbing the wall, you hesitated. Why?” Her question came out of the blue. He had a feeling she was trying to steer the subject away from Memnons.

  His stomach lurched. He hadn’t spoken to anyone about this since it happened. Not even his parents, especially not his father. But maybe it was time.

  “I sort of had a flashback. All of the sudden I was somewhere else.” He hesitated, but Jemma didn’t interrupt or press him. She just waited. “Several months ago I took my little sister on a camping trip with a few friends from academy. Our parents didn’t want her to go, but she really wanted to. They had a big fight over it. She had just turned sixteen and I thought she was old enough.” His throat tightened and his voice grew hoarse. Jemma merely nodded. “I promised them it would be all right, that I would keep an eye on her. It wasn’t like it was going to be some big party, just a few people we knew from academy.” His eyes misted and the world turned into a kaleidoscope. He felt Jemma squeeze his hand. “Anyway, we all started drinking and she and a friend went for a walk. I didn’t go.” He stopped speaking, unable to form the words.

  Jemma turned and wrapped her arms around him. “Tell me what happened. It’s all right.”

  “She and the friend got separated. I heard her scream. She wasn’t far. I got to her right away.” He took a breath. Gods, this was hard to talk about. “She had gotten too close to the edge of a cliff and...” He cleared his throat. “She slipped over the edge. When I got there she was just barely holding onto a tiny little crack. She was too far away but I tried anyway.” Tears were streaming down his face now. “I almost got to her. My fingertip touched hers as she fell.”

  “I am so sorry,” Jemma said, squeezing him tighter.

  “My dad didn’t speak to me for a week. When he finally did, the only thing he said was, ‘You killed your sister.’ That was the last thing he said to me.”

  Jemma didn’t try to tell him it wasn’t his fault. She didn’t remind him that accidents hap
pen, or any of the other things people have said to try and comfort him. She seemed to understand that he already knew all of those things, but that knowledge did not assuage his guilt. She just kept her arms wrapped around him.

  “Thanks,” he finally said.

  “Thank you for trusting me,” she said. “That can’t have been easy.”

  “I’ve always felt you were someone I can trust,” he said. “Even before I really knew you. I just sensed it.”

  “I feel the same way about you,” she whispered. She brought her face close to his, so close that their noses almost touched. “Can I trust you?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  He felt her cheek brushed against his as she moved her lips to his ear. Her warm breath made his skin tingle.

  “I’m a Memnon.”

  Chapter 21

  Battlecruiser Dragonfly

  Thetis

  Hunter rushed into the hangar, walking as fast as he could without running. Fists clenched, jaw set, anger boiled within him. Keep your cool in front of the grease jockeys, he thought. No sense making a scene.

  On the other side of the hangar, Sabre was just climbing into her Cobra. She spared only a passing glance at Hunter and then turned away.

  “You need something, Captain?” she asked without looking at him.

  “Your orders have changed. Rather, they have been added onto.”

  Now she flicked a glance his way. “So I’m no longer on shore leave?” Her tone betrayed a note of hopefulness.

  “You will be after you deliver this.” He handed her a sealed envelope. “The commander wants this taken to the Osprey. He wants you to put it directly into Commander Vatcher’s hands.”

  “The Old Man is getting a little bit paranoid I take it,” Sabre said, turning the envelope over in her hands.

  “He’s just being careful.” Hunter looked at her but Sabre wouldn’t meet his eye. “You were going to leave without saying goodbye?”

  “I didn’t want to bother you. I figured you would be busy talking to your wife.” The shocked expression on her face said that she had not meant to say that. She took an involuntary step back. “Hunter, I’m sorry. I’m just not myself these days. You know that.”

  Her words stung, yet he still felt for her. “Then talk to me,” he pleaded. He tried to close the distance between them but she backed farther away.

  “I can’t. Don’t you know how hard it is? Opening myself up to you, being vulnerable, knowing that we’re never going to truly be able to share our lives?”

  “We will when the time comes. Just not right now.” How many times had they had this same discussion? “You know I can’t divorce a dying woman.”

  “She’s been in a coma for how long now? And the doctors say she’s never going to wake up.” She finally reached out and took his hand, but he could still feel the great void that lay between them. “I do admire your loyalty. It’s one of the things I love about you, but you’re not being fair to yourself or to us.”

  Hunter hung his head. She was right. No one would blame him for moving on with his life. So why was he standing still?

  “You’re afraid,” Sabre said, apparently reading his mind. “In the cockpit you are as brave as they come but love, real love, scares you.”

  “That’s not true.” But Hunter knew she was right. He had married Trace because she was safe and had stayed married to her long after her accident for the same reason.”

  “No?” Sabre cocked head. “Then prove it.”

  “Fine. I will.” Where had that come from? But the moment he said it, Hunter knew it was the right thing to do. “On my next shore leave. I want to see her one last time and talk to her parents. Then I’ll start the proceedings.”

  Sabre’s expression softened and she planted a quick kiss on the cheek. “I really hope you do.”

  It was all Sabre could do to keep her voice strong and her eyes clear as she launched. There would be plenty of time for tears when she was away. She felt that familiar pinch at the back of her throat. Don’t cry. Don’t be weak. When she was finally out of the launch tube and enveloped in darkness, she allowed herself to feel everything.

  It had been foolish to get involved with her superior officer, and downright stupid to fall in love with a married man. Love? That was the word she’d thrown in Hunter’s face but was that what this was? What was she on about? Of course it was. Or was it? Gods, this was all she needed right now, to try and figure out relationship problems like some lovesick girl. She hated the vids where the female lead pined for the unobtainable man. Was that what she’d done with Hunter? Was she becoming one of those girls? She had to stop this. She had greater concerns, like her nightmares and her sleepwalking, and the strange urges she had to do things she didn’t want to do.

  She wished she could have talked to Hunter about it, to tell him the whole truth, but that was impossible. He would revoke her flight status. He would do it out of genuine concern for her, but the flying was the only thing that kept her sane. Then again, she would soon be on indefinite shore leave. Who knew when she’d be in a cockpit again after today?

  “Dammit Sabre, maybe you really are crazy,” she muttered. The now familiar headache returned with a vengeance, stabbing into the base of her neck, and spreading to her temples. She welcomed it like an old friend, embraced the pain that reminded her she was alive. That attitude lasted only a few minutes before the pain became more than she could bear. She would visit sick bay on board Osprey and stock up on pain meds before heading down to the surface of Thetis.

  She handed over the reins to her darkest thoughts and allow them to run wild as she made the trip. Osprey, like Dragonfly, was a battlecruiser in orbit around Thetis. She, too, was an older ship, which was part of why she had been assigned to the colony planet. Sabre hadn’t met the commander, Simon Vatcher, but she knew he was another young, puffed-up noble. As far as his actual abilities, she would have to see how he measured up when she met him.

  A warning on her screens told her she was approaching Osprey. She was about to hail the ship when a transport came shooting up from her starboard side from the direction of the planet and ran across her bow.

  “Unidentified transport, this is Cobra D1967B. That was a little close for comfort. Do you copy?” No answer. She tried again. Still no answer. The shuttle continued on toward Osprey. Sabre gave it the one-finger salute as it roared away, much too fast considering their proximity to the battlecruiser. “Asshole,” she said into her comm, just in case the pilot was listening. Probably a rookie pilot. Sooner or later she would find out who he was and take care of business.

  Suddenly, out of nowhere, she felt the overwhelming conviction that she should shoot down the transport ship. She didn’t think, she simply reacted, firing the Cobra’s thrusters she raced off after the fleeing craft. It was child’s play. The pilot was taking a direct path toward Osprey. In a matter of seconds, Sabre had missile lock on the target.

  “Cobra, this is Osprey. Care to tell us just what the hells you’re doing?”

  The call from the bridge was enough to jolt her senses back to the present. What was she doing, anyway? It was another one of those odd compulsions. Hastily she turned off her missile guidance system before replying.

  “Osprey, this is Cobra D1967B, call sign Sabre. Just teaching a shuttle pilot some manners.”

  She heard a low chuckle from the bridge. “Roger that. If I’d known that was you I wouldn’t have been surprised. Do me a favor and keep the shenanigans to a minimum while you’re here. The commander likes things orderly.”

  She smiled. She knew that voice!

  “Matchbox? I thought they put you out to pasture.”

  “I’m riding shotgun on a twenty cycles old bucket of bolts floating above the colony planet. What exactly would you call that?”

  “Roger that,” Sabre chuckled. Matchbox had been a veteran when she was just a fledgling. He was a good egg. “I’ll buy you a drink when you’re off duty.”

  “Bul
lshit. You’ll buy me two.” Again a gravelly chuckle then he was all business. Cobra D1967B you are cleared to land in the starboard bay. And Sabre, try not to break anything.”

  “Affirmative, Osprey. Starboard bay.” Sabre grinned. The exchange had temporarily taken her mind off of her problems, that and the fact that she had almost shot down a shuttle for the crime of discourtesy.

  “Serena,” she said, “you had better get your shit together.”

  Chapter 22

  Unknown transport craft

  Thetis

  Lina came to in the darkness. Her wrists and ankles were bound and she lay on a hard, cold floor. Pain coursed through her legs and arms and throbbed along the length of her spine up to the burning crick in her neck. Her ankle felt like a balloon, and she vaguely remembered breaking it. But none of that compared to her headache. The pain would have blinded her had there been any light by which to see.

  Blinking her eyes, she tried to ignore the hurts and gather her thoughts. She could feel the familiar vibration of a moving ship. But what ship, and where was it bound? How had she gotten here? Little by little it came back to her. Snowboarding, the chase, gunshots, and then...

  “Carlos,” she whispered. “Oh Gods.” The tears came freely. He had been more than a security guard; he was a friend. And now he was dead, fallen trying to protect her.

  “Lina? Are you awake?” Val’s voice, dull and slurred, came from somewhere close by.

  “Kind of.” She couldn’t keep the husky note of sadness from her words. “How’s your shoulder?”

  “Hurts like the hells. Where are we?”

  “I don’t know. I think I remember someone saying, ‘Get them to the transport.’ I guess we’re in a cargo hold.”

  “Who do you think they were?” Val asked. “The people who took us, I mean.”

  Anger flared inside Lina. “We know who one of them was. Your security guard.” In her mind’s eye she could see Marion’s face as clear as day. She wanted to claw the woman’s eyes out, choke the life out of her.