Aurora Burning: The Aurora Cycle 2

by Amie Kaufman

  She hisses, trying to sit up. Her arms, her breath, her whole body shaking with the effort. But it’s too much and she collapses. I feel a stab of pity, a wash of shame. These are Terrans treating her this way. My people.

  She’s the enemy, sure. She threw me into a pit to get devoured by a reptilian killing machine, sure. Her comrades are responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands of Terran troops, including my own father, sure. But I can hear him now in my head if I try. The words Dad instilled in me when I was just a little kid.

  To be a leader, you have to set the example. To be a leader, you have to be the kind of person you’d want to follow you.

  Know the way.

  Show the way.

  Go the way.

  I know from my time with Kal that physical touch is a big deal among Syldrathi. But I can’t just leave her bleeding on the ground. And so I scoop her up in my arms. Saedii comes alive, pointed teeth bared behind a matted curtain of dark hair. I’m afraid she’ll hurt herself worse, I hold her tight, the words she spits through clenched teeth echoing along with her thoughts in my mind.

  “UNHAND ME!”

  “Take it easy!”

  “PUT ME DOWN!”

  “Maker’s breath, I will, relax!”

  She bucks again, like a wild thing in my arms, and I stagger over to her bio-cot, holding on for dear life. Saedii spits through split and swollen lips, but I can feel what her rage is costing her, feel the shakes running through her whole body as she tries to fight me off. I lower her gently onto the bed and back away, and she tries to surge up after me. But the effort is too much and she wilts, dragging ragged breaths into her lungs and trembling like a newborn colt.

  “You dare lay hands on me?” she spits, low and deadly. “I will skin you, boy. I will … t-tear off both your jewels and w-wear th—”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re quite vexed with me, I get it. No need to get graphic.”

  She tries to speak more, but she can’t manage it. I feel sore. Tired. And as I sit back down onto my bio-cot, I’m astonished to realize that the wash of pain, exhaustion …

  Not all of it is mine.

  It’s hers?

  I’m not sure how. But I can … feel it? Bleeding out of Saedii’s subconscious into my own. I catch images in her head: Terran military uniforms, bloody fists beating her, a solid hour of pain, silent except for her screams. And she did scream. Howled her fury and hurt and demanded to know what they wanted from her. And the whole session, the few times they did speak … all they did was insult her.

  They never even asked her any questions.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  Her bruised eyes flicker open, and she fixes me with a knife-edge stare.

  “I’m sorry they did that to you,” I tell her.

  “They will b-burn,” she whispers. “And so will you… .”

  “Saedii, please—”

  “Coward,” she spits, voice trembling. “Wretch. Terra will be a mass grave.”

  I rub my temples, trying to hold my patience, trying to be calm, to be the kind of person I’d want to follow me. “Saedii—”

  “We will scatter the Void with y-your ashes, Terran,” she vows, rising up on one elbow. “We will drink the blood from your still-beating hearts. The screams of your children will be the song we dan—”

  “For the love of the Maker, Saedii, can you just STOP AND THINK FOR A SINGLE MINUTE?”

  I don’t like to lose control. That’s why I don’t drink. I don’t do drugs. I don’t even swear. But in that moment, it gets to me. I try to hold it back, but I just can’t keep a grip anymore. The weeks of being on the run. The thought of Scarlett, Auri, and the others out there without me. The memory of my dad and the thought of the Unbroken and Terra on a bloody collision course and the Ra’haam just sitting back, silently orchestrating it all, watching through Cat’s brand-new eyes. All of it bubbles up and spills over and I rise to my feet, grab my bio-cot, and sling it into the wall, cables spitting current, smartglass screens shattering, metal buckling as I turn on Saedii and roar through my wounded throat.

  “And if you won’t think, then please SHUT THE FUCK UP SO I CAN!”

  Saedii falls silent at that. Clearly taken aback. Sinking down onto her cot, she looks me over, toe to crown. Her lips are slightly parted, her eyes lingering on my clenched jaw, my bare chest, my closed fists. She reaches up to brush one stray lock of ink-black hair from the edge of her mouth. And I can feel it in her then, as surely as if it were written in her eyes. Fascination.

  Maker’s breath, even approval.

  She glances at the camera above the door. Spits blood on the floor.

  “As you wish.”

  I sink down onto my haunches, back against the wall. Silence rings in the room, and I’m half expecting the marines to burst back in and kick heads, but nobody does. They’re obviously watching us. Waiting to see what happens next. Maybe hoping to learn something they can use? Maybe just to pass the time?

  But Saedii’s eyes never leave me, her stare lingering, first on my hands and my arms, and then up to my eyes. And finally, I feel her in my mind again.

  You have a temper, little Terran.

  Not if I can help it.

  You saw. The beating they gave me.

  I glance at her, then look away. Strange as talking like this is, I don’t want to let on to the people observing us that we can communicate. It’s one of the few edges we have here, and I need every one if I’m getting out of this… .

  Yeah. I saw.

  Intriguing.

  I didn’t mean to. Your thoughts just sort of… bled into mine.

  She scoffs softly, shaking her head and turning her gaze to the wall.

  You honestly have no idea, do you?

  … What’s that supposed to mean?

  She doesn’t reply, eyes glittering as she stares at me.

  This is all wrong, Saedii, I tell her. And you know it. I saw the way you led your troops during the attack on Andarael. You’re every bit the strategist I am. They didn’t even ask you any questions when they beat you. Why bother doing it at all?

  She sucks her split lip. Her voice echoing in my head.

  If the act has no purpose, then the act itself is the purpose.

  We’ve been Folding for almost six hours, I point out. At full burn, the Earth FoldGate was only about five, maybe five and a half from where Andarael hit us. We should be there by now.

  They are not returning us to Terra, she concludes.

  Exactly.

  Where are they taking us?

  I swallow hard, thinking about Cat’s blue eyes.

  I don’t know. I have my suspicions. But think about it. They pick a fight with an Unbroken flagship, but only after giving you time to alert the Starslayer you’re under attack. Against all odds, they manage to capture one of the highest-ranking members of the Unbroken. But they don’t use you as a bargaining chip. They don’t even interrogate you. Instead, they take you totally off the board and let some testosterone boys beat you to a pulp while we don’t fly to Earth.

  Her eyes narrow, rage glittering in the violet as I press on.

  Think about it. Why would the GIA operatives running this show allow that? Why would they throw that first punch at the Unbroken at all? After two years of TerraGov doing everything they could to stay out of your way?

  They want a war, she finally replies.

  A war with the Starslayer. A man who can destroy suns. Why would they do that? What could Earth possibly have to gain?

  Saedii looks at me, bruised eye and swollen lips.

  Nothing.

  She breathes deep, and behind the malice and the rage, I can see the intelligence in her eyes. Caersan wouldn’t choose a fool to be one of his Templars, and despite her fury, Saedii is far from being a hothead. Now that she’s had a while to realize I’m not the enemy she thinks I am …

  Your GIA would not be goading Caersan if they did not stand to gain.

  They’re not my GIA.
r />   You said this before. The independence of the Aurora Legion—

  Maker’s breath, I’m not talking about the Legion. I’m saying the GIA has been infiltrated, Saedii. For all I know, the entire Global Intelligence Agency is working against the interests of Earth. And the whole galaxy. And the TDF personnel aboard this ship are too well trained to question orders. Even suspect ones.

  She blinks at that, mistrust plain in her eyes.

  Infiltrated? By who?

  Not who. What.

  I wonder how much I should tell her. Wonder how much she’ll believe. The concept of the Ra’haam, its plan for the galaxy, might simply be too much for her to deal with. But from what Kal has said, the Syldrathi do still hold some belief in the Ancients, despite most of the rest of the galaxy thinking they’re a myth. And Saedii’s smart enough to know that something insane is going on here. I need this girl to trust me. I need us to start working together.

  The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

  Or, if not my friend, maybe my ally long enough for us to get out of this.

  Because sooner rather than later, we’re going to arrive at wherever they’re taking us. And if it’s one of those nursery planets, like I suspect, the Ra’haam will be able to infect us, just like they infected Cat and the Octavia III colonists. Dragging us into its hive mind, absorbing all we are and all we know.

  I’m not sure how those corrupted GIA agents are going to explain it to the TDF crew aboard this ship … unless they’re planning to infect everybody aboard?

  Maybe the Ra’haam is that confident.

  Maybe it’s that desperate, with Auri on the loose out there.

  Maybe we’ve tipped its hand.

  Maybe they found the Weapon… .

  I feel my jaw clench, a flood of adrenaline rush through my gut. And, dragging my hand back through my mop of blond, I meet Saedii’s eyes.

  The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

  Okay, you better get comfortable. This is going to be a lot to swallow.

  28

  SCARLETT

  “Finian, Zila, are you reading me?”

  I’m sitting on the Zero’s bridge, looking at the frantic readings and flashy lights on the pilot’s console as the whole ship shakes around me. Things cannot be said, by any measure, to be going well. In fact, we’re very possibly about to die. The only thing bringing me any sort of calm is the electropop thumping over the chaos—I discovered how to hook my uni into the bridge PA four hours ago, and Brittneee Vox’s latest single, “Get It,” is playing on repeat and I know I’m an atheist and very possibly about to perish in the middle of an uncharted spatial anomaly, but MAKER’S BREATH I LOVE THIS SONNGGGGG.

  Before you get all judgy with me, I just want you to know I am the galaxy’s worst pilot. I have no more business sitting in this chair than the Great Ultrasaur of Abraaxis IV has getting a pedicure. Some people are born to fly, is what I’m saying. I was born to be flown. Preferably first class, with a criminally handsome flight attendant named Julio waiting on me hand and foot.

  The ship shakes again. Harder this time.

  Over the PA, Brittneee requests that I come Get It. No points for guessing what It is. This song is a lot of things, but subtle isn’t one of them.

  “Um, Finian?” I ask into comms again. “Zila?”

  I mean, I dated an Ace briefly in second year—my first foray into the high-ego, yeah-we-know-we’re-hot-but-you-know-it-too world of space pilots that Cat swam in so easily. (Kyle Reznor. Ex-boyfriend #19. Pros: Amazing kisser. Cons: Constant cockpit jokes.) I know enough about flying to apparently have not gotten us killed on the way here, but honestly, I’ve spent more time in a pilot’s chair since escaping the Andarael than I have in the rest of my life combined.

  Information is scrolling down the screens, disconcerting words like SPATIAL DISTORTION, PROXIMITY ALERT, and EXTREME DANGER. The bridge lights are all gray because we’re still Folding, but they’re flashing really fast, and the ALERTs popping up on my screens are all helpfully labeled as RED, and I know that any one of these things is usually not good, but I’m afraid if I touch anything I’ll make it worse.

  The ship shakes again as if to agree with me.

  In sultry tones, Brittneee asks if I really Want It.

  “Finian?” I ask, tapping comms again. “Zilaaaaa?”

  I look up at Shamrock, sitting above the pilot’s console. The dragon peers at me with his black button eyes. He says nothing because he’s a stuffed toy but …

  “I can feel you judging me,” I tell him.

  “Scar?”

  I hear the note of panic in Fin’s voice, swivel in the chair to face him.

  “Hiiiii, Finian.”

  He looks at the readouts behind me, eyes wide. “What did you do?”

  “I flew in the direction of the probe trail like I was supposed to.”

  “Yeah, but …” His eyes grow wider at the sight on the central monitor. “Maker’s breath, what is THAT?”

  Up on the console, rendered in high-def, is a holographic image of the … well, I’ve got no damn idea what it is, honestly. It’s about a thousand kilometers across, which sounds big until you sit through a three-hour astrometrics lecture on how brain-breakingly big space actually is. It sort of looks like a whirlpool—strange, multicolored-gray energy spinning in an endless spiral. It’s very pretty. But judging by the fit my controls are throwing, it’s also very dangerous.

  “Where did that come from?” Fin demands.

  “It popped up in front of us, like, five minutes ago.”

  “Why are we still flying toward it?” he demands, slightly panicked.

  “Because we can’t stop.”

  “What?” he asks, abandoning slightly panicked for totally.

  “I tried to turn around. I tried to cut our engines. I even punched the console like Cat used to do when she was annoyed. The flight computer just yelled at me.”

  The ship shakes again, way more violent this time. Shamrock falls off his perch. Finian blinks around the bridge, frowning up at the PA speakers.

  “… What’s with the electropop?”

  “Oh, don’t pretend you’re not a Brittneee fan, de Seel.”

  “We’re getting sucked into a spatial anomaly at hundreds of thousands of kilometers per second with no engine or nav control. Shouldn’t we have a metric buttload of alerts screaming about that? Sirens and whatnot?”

  “I turned them off.”

  “… WHAT?”

  I swivel my chair, release the Mute button on my console. Brittneee’s sing-along-able tones are drowned out as the bridge is plunged into a deafening cacophony of warnings from the flight computer.

  “WARNING: POWER CORE FLUCTUATIO—”

  “NAVIGATION SYSTEMS OFFLINE, REP—”

  “ENERGY SURGE IN ANOMALY CORE, RECOM—”

  I stab the button again.

  Brittneee asks Finian if he’d like to Get It.

  “See?” I say. “Much more relaxing.”

  “Great Maker, we’re going to die … ,” Fin declares.

  “No, we’re not,” says a voice.

  My carefully cultivated facade of chill in the face of certain death slips away as I look past Fin and catch sight of her standing on the bridge threshold.

  “Auri!” I breathe.

  I rise to meet her, to throw a hug around her, just overjoyed to see her back on her feet. I have no idea what she went through in the Echo. I know her brain wave activity was off the charts—Zila said she and Kal were living weeks of time in just minutes. But the look on her face, her pose, everything about her …

  She’s changed.

  I can feel it when I look into her mismatched eyes. When I study her body language. Somehow, even the air around her. She’s … alive. Cracking with purpose, with power, so much so that just the sight of her raises goose bumps on my skin. Kal looms at her shoulder, always just a whisper away. Zila is behind them, eyes fixed on the anomaly we’re being rapidly drawn toward.

&n
bsp; “You know what this is, Stowaway?” Finian asks.

  Aurora stares at the whirlpool, its light reflected in her right iris. For a second, I swear I can see the light inside her, pulsing in response.

  “It’s a gateway,” she whispers.

  “To where?” I ask.

  “Not where.” Auri shakes her head. “What.”

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll bite. A gateway to what?”

  She draws a deep breath into her lungs.

  Her right eye glimmers like a tiny sun.

  “The Weapon,” she says.

  · · · · ·

  We plunged into the anomaly forty seconds later, just as the opening beats of Disasterpiece’s drunken-hookup dubpunk classic “Last Heartbeat in the Club” started pulsing through the PA. They’re not as good as Brittneee, but hey, no one is.

  Anyway, I’m pleased to report we didn’t die.

  The colorscape of the galaxy shifted from the Fold’s monochrome to every shade of the rainbow, crashing right into my head. As we crossed the breach, the Zero bucking beneath us, I caught sight of Aurora standing in the center of the bridge—hands held out, eye burning like a beacon—steady as a rock while the rest of us clung on for dear life. I got the distinct feeling that if she hadn’t been there with us, we’d have all been ripped into disappointed subatomic pieces by the gateway. As it was, plunging through it felt a little like getting hit in the head with a naked astrophysicist.

  Slightly amusing.

  Definitely weird.

  But mostly painful.

  And now we’re on the other side. I’m guessing the anomaly was some kind of FoldGate—hidden, semi-sentient, waiting for someone like Aurora to trigger it into opening. The alerts have calmed down to almost normal levels. I’ve killed the dubpunk—the moment seems to demand a little gravitas. Because as we all gather around the central holographic display, we can finally see the origin point of the probe. The place this journey—Aurora’s, all of ours—started, countless millennia ago. The point in space where the Eshvaren made their last, desperate gamble to stop the resurrection of the Ra’haam.

  It’s a planet.

  An utterly dead planet.

  Lifeless. Waterless. It hangs in space, framed against the soft light of a pulsing red dwarf star, barren and alone.