Aurora Burning: The Aurora Cycle 2

by Amie Kaufman

  I’m so busy relaxing into the dark, breathing in the cooler air, that it takes me a moment to realize there’s no bunk. My heart thumps a quick rhythm—ohpleaseohpleaseohplease—as I turn back toward the door.

  And there it is. I hit the button, and a soft voice speaks in Terran. “GRAVITY REDUCTION IN THIRTY SECONDS. PLEASE SECURE ALL LIQUIDS.”

  I count down, breath catching in anticipation, and then the weights that have been dragging me down for weeks slowly lessen, until with the tiniest push of one foot, I can lift off the ground. It’s like wading into cool water on a scorching day. Like all the tension just bleeds out of my body, and for the first time in a long time, I’m not in pain, I don’t ache, I’m not working just to stay upright.

  I had quarters like these growing up with my grandparents and at Aurora Academy. They were meant to be fitted on our Longbow, but of course we never returned from our first mission. The low grav means I’ll be able to take off my suit to repair it, which will make everything easier. With this much weight removed, I can maneuver with almost no effort. And now I take a closer look, I see the left-hand wall is covered in tools—an array of everything I could want or need.

  I’m almost crying with relief. This is my way out. I’ve been bluffing I’m okay since the World Ship, while my body and suit have been getting progressively worse, dreading the moment my Alpha wouldn’t be able to ignore my condition any longer. But now I’ll be able to do something about it.

  The speaker in the ceiling chimes softly again, and this time the voice that issues from it is Tyler’s.

  “Once everyone’s situated, let’s meet up in the main cabin. It’s time to open Pandora’s box, squad.”

  As I make my way back down the hallway, all my aches and pains reasserting themselves, I wonder who Pandora is—and why we’ve got her box. Tyler and Zila have the Zero humming along on autopilot now, well clear of the Emerald City. We’re headed for a FoldGate, and the countdown above the main console says we’ll be through it in about an hour. Shamrock is tucked into position above the pilot’s chair, and my eyes drift to the stuffed dragon as I slide into my seat. There are six seats here, six cabins aft. Between that and the ship’s name, it’s pretty clear that whoever did all this for us knew Cat wouldn’t be here to need anything.

  One by one the others emerge. Kal and Auri have found the infirmary, because she’s looking a little less rough after her run-in with the agonizer, and Scar’s munching on a stack of cookies that suggests she found the galley.

  Zila peers at the pile in Scar’s hand. “That stack represents significantly more than your required daily calorie intake, Scarlett.”

  The redhead smacks her butt. “Just more of me to love, Zee.”

  I can’t help but smile. Zila purses her lips, mulling it over, and finally reaches out for a cookie.

  Quick enough, we’re all in our chairs, leaning forward in anticipation. Everybody wants to know what’s in the box. Tyler swivels the pilot’s chair away from the forward displays to face the rest of us around the console.

  “All right,” he says. “Scar, Kal, let’s see what you withdrew from the bank.”

  Scarlett brushes away the crumbs, rises to her feet, and pulls the lid off the box. “Okay, first up, there are a bunch of packages in here we didn’t have time to unwrap. But they have our names on them.”

  She hands a small parcel to Zila. Our Brain peels aside the blue wrapping and holds out her hand. Nestled against the cloth is a pair of gold hoop earrings like the ones she usually wears. But these charms are birds.

  “Hawks,” Auri says, looking more closely.

  “Very pretty,” Zila murmurs. “I wonder how they knew I’d like them.”

  Next is a bigger package for our fearless leader. Goldenboy pulls the wrapping aside, all business, that handsome brow creasing when he finds a pair of boots inside. They seem perfectly ordinary: black, shiny, heavy tread on the soles.

  “Something wrong with the ones you got?” his sister asks.

  “No,” he says, puzzled, looking downward. “I mean, I haven’t been able to polish them for a couple of days… .”

  “Oh great Maker.” Scar reaches out and takes his hand, concern on her face. “How are you holding up?”

  “It’s been a struggle.”

  Zila studies his gift for a moment before she speaks. “I suggest wearing them, sir. As Scarlett has observed, whoever left these gifts knows me well. We should assume they also know you and believe this to be necessary. So far, our benefactors have demonstrated they have our best interests at heart.”

  Tyler considers this, shrugs, and leans down to start switching out his old boots for his new.

  Scarlett opens her own parcel next. It’s about the size of Zila’s, and nestled against the blue wrapping is a round silver medallion on a chain. On one side the words Go with Plan B are engraved in a curling script.

  “ ‘Go with Plan B’?” Tyler asks.

  “Usually a good idea where your plans are concerned, brother mine.”

  “Cold, Scar. Real cold.”

  Scarlett lets the medallion twist on its chain between her fingers, looking at it carefully. On the flip side, I can see that it’s inset with a rough chunk of diamond. The cabin lights refract on the surface, tiny rainbows dancing in her eyes.

  “Pretty,” I say.

  Scarlett shrugs. “I guess diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”

  “… They are?” Kal asks, glancing at Aurora.

  Nobody has any wisdom to offer, and after a moment Scar eases the chain over her head and tucks the medallion inside her uniform.

  Kal’s package is small as well, and when he opens it, we see a thin, silver, rectangular box. It has hinges, and it seems as though it’s meant to open, but when he tries to pry off what looks like the lid, it won’t budge.

  “What is it?” I ask, craning my neck.

  I’d assumed it was a Terran or Syldrathi device, but I’m met with a series of bewildered head shakes. Auri finally digs into her pocket, pulls out Magellan, and holds it over the little metal box in Kal’s palm. I can’t believe I’m now mentally calling this thing by its name as well, but I guess its personality program certainly does … set it apart from the standard-issue uni.

  “Magellan?” she says.

  “HI THERE! I MISSED YOUR FACE!”

  “Yeah, yours too. Can you tell me what this is?”

  “I. WOULD. LOVE TO!” The uniglass runs a line of green light down the length of the thing, and beeps. “THIS IS A TERRAN ARTIFACT, PREDATING INTERSTELLAR TRAVEL, BOSS! IT WAS DESIGNED TO HOLD BUSINESS CARDS OR CIGARILLOS!”

  Most of the faces around the table still look baffled.

  “Well, I know what a business card is,” says Auri. “It’s a piece of paper with your personal details on it. You give them to people so they can contact you.”

  I frown. “You don’t just bump uniglasses?”

  “No uniglasses in my time,” she says.

  “DARK DAYS INDEED!” Magellan beeps.

  Kal frowns. “I am not in possession of business cards,” he informs her gravely, as though this might be a problem.

  She glances down at Magellan. “Magellan, define cigarillo.”

  “NOTHING WOULD MAKE ME HAPPIER, BOSS! A CIGARILLO WAS A SMALL CIGARETTE!” It pauses, absorbs the confused silence, and tries again. “A PLANT KNOWN AS TOBACCO WAS ROLLED INSIDE A THIN SHEET OF PAPER, THEN SET ON FIRE, AND TERRANS INHALED THE SMOKE FOR STIMULATION!”

  “This sounds hazardous to one’s health,” Zila opines.

  “CORRECT!” Magellan says. “THE PRACTICE FELL OUT OF VOGUE IN THE TWENTY-SECOND CENTURY, AFTER TERRANS DISCOVERED IN THE TWENTIETH THAT IT KILLED YOU!”

  “It took them two hundred years to stop doing it?” I ask, bewildered.

  “ISN’T THAT INSANE?” Magellan says. “HONESTLY, DOESN’T THAT SOUND LIKE A SPECIES THAT WOULD BENEFIT FROM SOME KIND OF BENEVOLENT MACHINE OVERLORD?”

  “Silent mode,” Tyler says.

&nb
sp; “AW.”

  We share a series of blank stares, pondering the box in Kal’s hand. Our Tank studies the little metal case one more time, then tucks it into the breast pocket of his uniform, with a small shift of posture that’s as close to a shrug as our most dignified squad member ever seems to come.

  Now it’s time for my present. I won’t lie: I’m excited to see what it is. But my excitement fades when I unwrap the paper and discover a small, plain metal cylinder. It’s something like a stylus, but there’s nothing electronic about it.

  “What’s it for?” I ask. “Is it some kind of tool?”

  Auri reaches over to take it from me and presses her thumb against one end, producing a clicking sound. A little point springs out from the other.

  “It’s a ballpoint pen,” she says, handing it back to me.

  “It’s a what now?”

  “It’s a writing implement from my time,” she says.

  “I’ve been ripped off,” I inform her. “I do not need an old-fashioned writing implement.”

  “I’ll trade you for my boots?” Tyler offers.

  “Or my smoking box that does not open?” Kal says.

  I press my thumb to the end like Auri did and retract the point. I will admit the click is a little satisfying. Scarlett reaches into the box again and pulls out a package marked with our squad designation, 312, which turns out to contain a whole pile of red and gold Dominion credit chips.

  “Nothing for Auri, I’m afraid,” she says.

  “I already got my gift,” Auri replies simply.

  “… You did?” Tyler asks.

  “Yeah. You guys.”

  She gazes around at Squad 312 and makes a face.

  “Holy cake, that sounded unbearably cheesy, didn’t it?”

  “Unforgivably,” Scar grins, dropping the cred chips onto the console. “But except for the papers directing us to the ship and the passkeys, this is everything.”

  “At least we will not be lacking in funds,” Kal nods.

  “This is not a credit chip,” Zila says, retrieving a chip bearing a turquoise stripe from under the red and gold. She passes it to me, as I’m sitting in front of a data slot.

  I pause for a moment, because I have a policy of never putting a chip a stranger gives me into my equipment, unless, you know, that whole sentence is a metaphor. But if our benefactors wanted to drop us in it, they’ve already had their chance and then some. So, with a wince, I push it home.

  The main screen above us flickers to life, and we’re greeted by Admiral Adams and Battle Leader de Stoy. They’re in full dress uniform, the sigil of the Aurora Legion emblazoned on their shoulders. Adams raises one cybernetic hand in greeting, and de Stoy favors the camera with a small nod, her black eyes unreadable even to another Betraskan.

  “Greetings, legionnaires,” Adams says gravely. “First, well done on deciphering our code. Battle Leader de Stoy and I regret we can’t be there to brief you personally, but if you are watching this message, it’s our hope that you’re aboard the Zero and headed for the Hephaestus convoy.”

  He pauses, which is helpful, as it leaves room for a collective “Whaaaaat?”

  Before the creeped-out disbelief from all around the table gets too out of hand, de Stoy picks up the narrative.

  “This will doubtlessly be strange to all of you, legionnaires. We know you must have many burning questions. Unfortunately, and for reasons that will one day become clear, there is still much about your situation we cannot reveal. We are sorry for the trials you will face as a result, but you must know this much at least.” She looks around the bridge, as if she can actually see us all. “Our every effort is bent toward supporting you. We know you have taken up the cause of the Eshvaren. And we know you are our last hope against the Ra’haam.”

  “We can’t declare our support publicly,” Adams continues. “In fact, Aurora Legion must be seen to be actively working against you. The Ra’haam has agents within the Global Intelligence Agency, and potentially other stellar governments.”

  My gaze flicks over to Auri, whose face is like stone. I know that like me, she’s picturing her father in the white GIA uniform of Princeps, calling out to her, entreating her to join the Ra’haam.

  “Take these gifts,” Adams continues. “Keep them with you at all times. And know that you’re traveling on the correct path.”

  “Know that we believe in you,” de Stoy says. “And you must believe in each other. We the Legion. We the light. Burning bright against the night.”

  Adams stares straight down the camera and repeats the words he spoke to us when we left Aurora Academy, ignorant of everything that lay ahead of us.

  “You must believe,” he says simply.

  And just like that, the message ends.

  We’re all quiet for a long moment. Trying to process what’s just happened. My thoughts are running light-years per second, the full enormity of it all ringing in my brain and threatening to blow it right out of my skull.

  Our commanders know about the Eshvaren. They know about the Ra’haam. They know what we’re up against, and somehow, some way, impossible as it might seem, they knew what was coming—finding Auri, losing Cat, our new careers as interstellar fugitives—before any of it ever happened. This message waited for us in the security vault for years before any of us ever even entered Aurora Academy. Let alone became legionnaires.

  Auri’s the one who finally breaks the silence. “I don’t know your bosses well, but if they knew this was coming, a little heads-up would’ve been good.”

  Scarlett looks at Shamrock, sitting above the empty pilot’s chair. All the color has gone out of her features, and her voice. “You can say that again.”

  Kal reaches across to tentatively take Auri’s hand. “Have faith, be’shmai. Adams and de Stoy have worked for the best thus far. We must believe that in keeping what they know from us, they continue to do so.”

  Of course, this is right up a Syldrathi’s alley—full of mystery and almost prophecy. No wonder Kal’s eating it up. But I see Tyler looking across at me, pinning me down with those big blue eyes of his.

  “We must believe,” he says softly.

  We’re the only two religious people on the ship, Tyler and I, and I know he feels the same way I do—that the Maker’s hand is in this somehow. It’s Tyler’s faith that Adams is appealing to when he says those words. But it’s so achingly hard to keep believing when it’s cost us so much already. When people we care about think we’re traitors. When we’re fighting to save a galaxy and it seems the whole galaxy is fighting against us.

  When that pilot’s chair is empty.

  “Well,” says Scarlett, deliberately cheerful. “Upside: we know we’re definitely heading in the right direction.”

  Zila nods. “The black box from the Hadfield is our next objective.”

  That pronouncement breaks the somber mood that settled over the table, and Tyler nods, transforming into Goldenboy again with a quick toss of his head. He squares his shoulders, speaks with authority.

  “Okay,” he says. “It’s been a Day. Let’s grab some food and strategize, then once we’re through the FoldGate, we can try and get some downtime.”

  The confidence in his voice seems to galvanize the rest of the squad, and everyone is soon moving again—turning to their displays or rummaging in supply lockers or prepping for the Fold. I look down at my gift on the console in front of me—dull, metallic, about as useful as a spacesuit without an oxygen supply.

  With a sigh, I tuck the pen into my top pocket.

  “I sure hope we know what we’re doing.”

  · · · · ·

  A few hours later I’m on watch, feet propped up on the center console to ease the twinge in my lower back. It’ll be a longish Fold to get to the gate nearest the convoy—longer Folds can come complete with anything from paranoia to the shakes to psychosis, but we’re all young enough that we should be fine on a jump like this.

  Once you hit twenty-five or so, it becomes
a very different equation. After that age, you can’t travel through the Fold for long without being put into stasis. That’s why Aurora Legion squads start so young. We graduate around eighteen, and we get seven years before we mostly move to desk jobs.

  Sometimes I’ve wondered whether the stress on my body will mean I get less time before the Fold starts to wear on me. But hey, as Scarlett would say, upside: I’d need to be alive for it to become a problem. And the odds of that are bad at best.

  If Ty knew what shape my suit was in, he wouldn’t have given me a watch at all. But he still hasn’t completely worked out how bad it is, and Scar has respected my requests to keep it under wraps. It won’t be an issue soon, anyway—I have everything I need in my cabin for repairs, and once my suit’s properly aligned and functioning, it’ll take the strain off my muscles and let them start healing too.

  I check the scanners for the fifth time in as many minutes. We’re still on course, no pursuit, my displays reduced to sharp monochrome like everything else in the Fold. Black and white isn’t a huge stretch for a Betraskan—life underground isn’t very colorful at the best of times. But I sometimes wonder if my squaddies get weirded out by it.

  I hear soft footsteps and look up from my displays to see Auri emerging from the passageway in a sweater and pajama pants. She must have been to visit the super-sleek galley in the stern, because she’s holding two steaming mugs.

  “Hey, Stowaway. Couldn’t sleep?”

  She answers with a little shudder. “Bad dreams.”

  I make a sympathetic face and pull my feet off the console, reaching across to take my mug from her. It’s baris, a favorite drink of my people that nobody else in the galaxy really likes.

  “Wow,” I murmur. “They really stocked the galley with everything.”