Aurora Rising

by Amie Kaufman

  Ty simply nods and presses on. “Finian, you have the bridge. Keep working on those missiles. Zila, stay with him, keep on comms.”

  For once, no sass—the two of them simply murmur an acknowledgment and get to work. I think that scares me more than anything else has so far.

  “Looks like we’re going with your plan, Kal,” he continues. “You, me, Scar, arms ready. We’ll head for the cargo bay. First Taneth, gather up anyone among your people who has a weapon and meet us there.”

  Kal and the Syldrathi girl are already moving toward where the First Taneth and I stand by the door, and Tyler’s eyes are on me as he draws close.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve had any combat training?” Ty asks softly.

  “Um,” I say. “I mean, I took a self-defense course at school?”

  “You cannot intend to send her down there?” Kal says.

  Tyler glances at the taller boy. “Give her a sidearm.”

  Kal bristles at the suggestion. “That is extremely unwise, sir. She will only be a liability.”

  “Hey, listen here, Lord Elrond…,” I begin.

  “We face adepts of the Unbroken,” Kal says to Tyler, not even looking at me. “Syldrathi are faster and stronger than Terrans. And these ones are trained from b—”

  “I appreciate the warning, legionnaire. But we’re in it up to our necks here.”

  A small electronic chirp sounds from my breast pocket. “WELL, IF I MAY OFFER AN OPINION—”

  “No, you may not,” Tyler tells Magellan. “Silent mode.”

  My uniglass falls quiet as Ty turns to me. “Look, Auri, I’m sorry. I don’t even know what you’re doing here, but we need everyone in the ring or we’re all dead. If you can pull a trigger, we could use you. Will you help us?”

  My heart is in my throat and my palms are damp. And I’m a million light-years from home and two hundred years out of time, and none of this makes any kind of sense. But if we’re all going to die anyway…

  “Okay,” I say quietly.

  I find myself crammed in the cage elevator with the rest of the team. Kal holds out a dangerous-looking high-tech pistol, and the words “She will only be a liability” are echoing in my head as I snatch it from his hand.

  “This locks on to your target,” he says, pointing. “This will fire. In the unlikely event you actually hit someone, hit them twice more for good measure.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “But I learned to use a flare gun in my colony training. I can shoot just fine, Legolas.”

  He blinks. “My name is Kal, human. Who is this Legolas you speak of?”

  I roll my eyes and mutter under my breath, “Read a book sometime, you conceited sonofa…”

  My grumbling trails off into nothing as I notice how quiet everyone else is. And in that moment of silence, the truth I’ve been running from catches up and hits me like a freight train. I’m about to go into combat here. My hands are sweating, and I’m not sure I’m even going to be able to grip the gun. My body’s still aching from hiding in that crate, and my lungs have gone all tight, so I can’t even suck in a slow breath to try and calm myself. Truth is, the thing in my hands is to a flare gun what a full-grown lion is to a kitten.

  All the stupid little routines I used to do before a big competition at home flash through my mind—the stretches, the breathing exercises, the pump-up songs—and they all seem so impossibly small and stupid. That version of me—the one who thought she had any idea what life-and-death stakes were—feels young and far away, even though, really, she was me only a few days ago.

  I’d give anything to be her again. To be able to tell my mom this scares me and have her tell me to switch off the scary movie. To be able to tell my dad I don’t feel ready and have him help me look up the answers in yet another training course.

  Everything I ever learned, I learned from sims or books.

  But this is real.

  Finian’s voice sounds from Tyler’s uniglass as we spill out into the cargo bay.

  “Fired the missiles, sir. They bounced off the Syldrathi like kebar balls. Their ship’s in position, and they’ve got a shuttle preparing to dock. I’m trying to run a localized current through our hull to stop them from getting a seal, but I’m a little worried about the insulation in this place. I don’t want to do their work for them and fry you all.”

  “Acknowledged,” says Ty, grim, gesturing for us to take cover behind the crates. “Cat, as the boarding party’s docking here, target their cruiser. They’ll be as distracted as they’re going to be.”

  “Roger that,” says Cat over the comms, her tone crisp. “Sucker punch for the mummy ship ready to go. I’ll aim straight for the love factory.”

  “They put those on cruisers now?” Scarlett asks.

  “I mean, I’ve heard rumors….”

  The cargo bay elevator doors creak open again, and First Taneth appears with the Syldrathi girl, Aedra. A few dozen elderly Syldrathi are with them, all moving slowly, wearing long robes and clutching what even I can tell are weapons as old as they are. Kal is beside me behind a tall stack of crates, calling out as he sees them.

  “Take the gantries around the bay. We will cover the ground.”

  “We do not take orders from you, Warbreed,” Aedra glares. “Nor your Terran pets, for that matter. This is our station.”

  “We must stand united in this, Aedra,” Kal replies calmly. “Or fall alone.”

  Aedra breaks away from the other Syldrathi, stalking toward the two of us. Kal shifts his weight so he’s standing in front of me.

  “You speak of standing united?” The purple blade in her hand crackles to life, matched by the fire in her eyes. “When your kind tore our entire world apart?”

  “You know nothing of who I am,” Kal says. “Or what it cost me to be here.”

  She holds up her hand, and I see a tattoo on her ring finger. A circle with a single tear inside it. “I know my be’shmai is dead because of your kind, Warbreed. Him, and our whole world besides.”

  “Aedra!” Taneth calls. “Now is not the time for this!”

  “We’re about to die, Taneth!” she shouts. “What better time than now?”

  She turns back to Kal, her lips curled in a sneer.

  “Your path is littered with death, and your destiny is in your blood.”

  “Cho’taa,” Kal says, his voice subzero. “It has nothing to do with my blood.”

  And all the breath goes out of me right there.

  Because…

  I’ve seen this before.

  He stood just like this in my vision back on Aurora Station. Perfectly poised even when he’s standing still, like a coiled weapon, bruises on his face and disdain in his tone. He spoke these exact words.

  This can’t be happening….

  This is my vision come to life.

  Abruptly the room’s filled with a loud thump, the grinding screech of metal. Nobody needs Finian to tell us that the boarding party’s docked with the outer airlock. Kal turns his head, and all eyes shift to the bay doors.

  The girl takes her chance, lifting the crackling purple blade.

  “I will see you in the Void, Warbreed.”

  Everything slows down. It’s like watching the world in freeze-frame, like a strobe light’s going off and I can see each and every movement and moment.

  What I’m seeing, and what I’ve already seen.

  Aedra will raise her blade and swing it, a flash of purple just like in my vision, a killing blow in the making. Kal will begin to turn but he’ll be too late. The blade will cut straight into him, and he’ll cry out and fall in front of me, and my hands will be covered in blood. Purple blood.

  His blood.

  I can see it in my head.

  Clear as the walls around me.

  My hands in front of me.

&
nbsp; And I know I can change it.

  The cargo bay is suddenly lit by a flickering white light. I throw my hand up. And though I’m nowhere near her, Aedra goes flying backward. She slams into the wall, arms spread wide. As she crumples to the ground, a searing pain cuts through my right eye, lancing into my head. It’s like a clamp around my temples, like it’s squeezing, squeezing, and as I curl in on myself, my scream drowned out by the grinding metal of the cargo bay doors being cut open, blood drips from my nose again. Warm and salty on my lips, spattering on the metal at my feet.

  And Kal’s in front of me, his lips moving, his stare locked on my own.

  “Spirits of the Void,” he breathes. “Your eye…”

  AURORA LEGION SQUADS

  ▶ SQUAD MEMBERS

  ▼ GEARHEADS

  GEARHEADS ARE THE MECHANICS OF AL SQUADS, RESPONSIBLE FOR KEEPING MACHINERY AND EQUIPMENT GOING IN THE FIELD AND FOR COBBLING TOGETHER ANYTHING THEIR SQUADS MAY NEED THAT WASN’T BROUGHT ALONG. MAD INVENTORS, MOST OF THEM.

  THEY HAVE A REPUTATION FOR BEING INGENIOUS, FASCINATED BY GADGETS, AND OFTEN COVERED IN GREASE. FREQUENT PERSONAL TRAITS INCLUDE MISSING EYEBROWS AND AN INTENSE PERSONAL INTEREST IN THINGS THAT GO BOOM.

  GEARHEAD’S INSIGNIA

  The radio’s a low murmur in my ears as I wrestle with this hunk of junk’s systems. Somewhere off to my left, Zila is silently working on improving our comms range, and I’m locked in my own private battle with a computer grid that’s older and uglier than my third grandfather. If this piece of chakk station was going to screw me this bad, it should have bought me dinner first.

  The Unbroken have their docking clamps in place, and they’re cutting through the outer hull now. If I can’t find a way to divert their attention from making a new door through to the cargo bay, Zila and I are in line for a sudden—and probably very brief—promotion.

  “The Maker better take into account that we died on a mercy mission.” I plug my uniglass into a port, praying it’s not too modern to interface with this pile of nuts and bolts. “Because I’m going to need a place to hide when my grandparents reach the afterlife. I’m never going to hear the end of this.”

  Zila doesn’t reply, and when I glance over, she’s got that blank stare of hers fixed on her screen, as if she didn’t hear me at all.

  “My parents are dead,” she says flatly.

  Well.

  That kills the conversation deader than we’re about to be.

  I don’t get this girl. I don’t get what makes that big brain of hers work or what the hells she’s doing here or how she can remain calm when we’re all about to become corpsicles floating in space.

  And see, this is our problem. Right here. None of us are technically bad at what we do. Individually, we have the goods, at least on paper. It’s just that half of us didn’t volunteer to be here, and the other half don’t have anywhere else to be. We should never have been drafted into the same squad.

  We just don’t…click.

  I actually didn’t think I’d be the last Gearhead picked, to be honest.

  They all pretend the exosuit isn’t an issue, but I know it is. It always has been. When people look at me, it’s the first thing they see. Still, I’m damn good at what I do, so it was a kick when the incompetents were picked before I was. Gearheads who couldn’t count past ten without taking their socks off got a gig, and I was left standing there with my tool in my hand.

  Alone.

  I was sent away from home when I was six years old—they said it would be easier on an orbital station with my grandparents. I could sleep in low grav there, have access to the best doctors. What they meant was that it would be easier for everybody else. You’d think I’d have learned to lower my expectations by now.

  Not that I’ll be moping about that—or anything—much longer.

  My uniglass does the job, and a virtual screen springs up above the console. The rush of relief is like a drug. This is what I’m good at. Not people. This.

  I step back and lift both my hands like I’m conducting an orchestra, burrowing my way into layer upon layer of ancient maintenance algorithms. I crunch them in my fist, sweeping aside safety protocols and delivering a surge of power to the couplings holding the Syldrathi shuttle in place. I hear a faint secondhand scream through Tyler’s uni, and the nerve-jangling sound of the plasma cutters abruptly halts. That’ll buy us thirty seconds.

  I plunge into the dizzying mess of code for round two. I deliver a second shock to the couplings, but the Syldrathi techs are onto me now. Dismissing the display with a sweep of my hand, I ease my weight back onto my heels, my suit hissing softly as it compensates.

  Maybe I can mess with their readings, make their computer think there’s not enough atmosphere inside the cargo bay to equalize pressure. That’s going to require something more hands-on.

  I pop a multi-tool out from where it nests in the warm curve of metal at my ribs, yanking the cover off my bank of computers so I can crawl inside. I really hope my suit stays grounded, or I’m going to fry myself. But even if this works, I know I can’t do it forever. And my hands are shaking. Usually they’re fine, especially with the tiny lines of stimulators that run down to my fingertips—it’s my legs that need the most help, my knee extensions and my hips.

  But pump enough adrenaline through me and everything gets tougher, and right now, adrenaline’s not in short supply. In my mind’s eye, I can see the Unbroken bursting into the cargo bay, eating my team for dinner before heading up here for dessert.

  Will I hold my nerve long enough to face them?

  Or will I hide so they have to drag me out?

  There are so many conversations I should have had. I should have been nicer to my grandparents. I should have apologized to my parents. Should have apologized to most of the people I’ve ever met, I guess, but my apologies always seem to make things worse.

  Still, this is probably my last chance to try.

  “Look, Zila,” I say. “About your parents. I—”

  “Sir, I’m getting a transmission from a Terran Defense Force destroyer,” she says. “Ident: Bellerophon. They just dropped through the FoldGate in response to our mayday and estimate they’re eleven minutes from weapons range.”

  Tyler replies down comms. “Um, are you sure?”

  He sounds as lost as I feel. No way in hells is the TDF involving itself in a scuffle like this. No way they’d even be out here in the nowhere end of space, let alone willing to compromise Earth’s neutrality with the Unbroken…

  “Affirmative,” Zila says without missing a beat.

  “Put me on comms with the Syldrathi, Zila,” Scarlett says.

  “Broadcasting.”

  “Syldrathi invaders,” Scar begins, in a don’t-mess-with-me tone. “Please be advised we have incoming support from the Terran Defense Force vessel you can no doubt see popping on your scopes. If you want to keep your pretty asses in your pants, I advise your immediate withdrawal. Or you can stick around to see if a Wraith-class Syldrathi cruiser is a match for a fully armed Terran destroyer. Your call.”

  Is it weird that this girl’s don’t-mess-with-me tone makes me want to tell her she can mess with me any day she wants?

  We hold our breath. I stay where I am, on my hands and knees, half-inside an ancient bank of computers. Zila doesn’t move a muscle above me, and through my audio I can hear the soft breathing and rustling of the team down in the cargo bay as they hold position.

  And then, with a shuddering clunk, the Syldrathi shuttle pulls free.

  “Sir, they’re in retreat,” Zila reports, in exactly the same tone she’s used all through this near-death experience.

  What is with this girl?

  Tyler chimes in on comms. “Cat, let the incoming TDF destroyer know you’re there so they don’t mistakenly blast you out of space. Zila, we
need you down here for medical. Finian, you too.”

  I crawl out backward, and Zila and I exchange a glance.

  Why do they need medical when nobody made it on board?

  When we reach the cargo bay, the Syldrathi refugees are standing together, doing a pretty good job of looking aloof and composed despite the fact they all just escaped certain and brutal murder. The Jones twins are crouching over the one young Syldrathi who’s out cold on the floor, silver hair splayed around her like a halo, arms outflung. Kal’s busy looming nearby, along with our stowaway. I remember her name now—Aurora—and I know where I’ve heard it before.

  She’s the one Goldenboy pulled off the Hadfield.

  But what’s she doing here?

  Zila busts open a crate of medtech, and I help her carry a kit over to where the Syldrathi girl’s lying. Someone’s clearly punched her, and she’s smacked her head but good on the wall behind. Might have been our Aurora, because now that I squint at her again, I see she’s sporting a bloody nose. She looks wild, down on one knee, cheeks wet as though she’s been crying, one hand trying to stanch the blood. Weirdest of the weird, her right iris has turned almost totally white.

  “What has happened to her eye?” Zila asks.

  I shrug, glancing at the bleached stripe running through Aurora’s bangs.

  “Matches her hair now, at least?”

  Aurora ignores us both, looking up at Tyler instead.

  “The Terran government’s outside?”

  “That’s right,” he says, speaking a little carefully.

  “Please, don’t tell them I’m here. I can’t go with them.”

  He blinks, exchanging a glance with his sister.

  “Auri,” he tries. “That’s exactly where you should go. I don’t know how you ended up here, but you’re a Terran, they’ll take care of you.”

  “You don’t understand,” she insists, lowering her bloodied bandage. “Battle Leader de Stoy told me to avoid them. She told me to stow away with you.”