by Amie Kaufman
I look around the room. Her thanks are met with a nod from Zila, a small smile from Fin. But I can tell Scar’s still uncertain about this girl. Cat barely gives her a glance. And Kal just stares.
I see Aurora’s shoulders slump a little. Her lips tighten, she looks at the floor. She probably didn’t expect everyone to be turning cartwheels, but still…
“You’re welcome,” I say.
She looks up at that. I pat her shoulder, a touch awkward in the power armor. Cat’s eyes narrow, but Aurora manages a weak smile.
This can’t be easy for her. Two hundred years out of time. Everyone she knew, everything she had, gone. I don’t know many people who’d still be on their feet after that. But not only is she up and moving, she’s fighting too. Clawing for answers the only way she knows how. She’s got heart, this girl. Even without De Stoy’s message about our precious cargo, that counts for a lot with me.
“We’ll be fine, Auri,” I say, trying to calm her fears. “This is what we do. Just stick with Scar, we’ll see you back at Dariel’s place, all right?”
“…All right.”
“We are wasting time, sir,” Kal murmurs behind me, his voice cold.
“Yeah, okay,” I sigh.
I really need to talk to him about this girl.
I nod to Scar. She nods back.
“Be careful.”
And without another word, we’re gone.
SYLDRATHI SOCIETY
▶ SOCIAL CUSTOMS
▼ HOW NOT TO GET PUNCHED
THE FIRST THING TO KNOW ABOUT LEARNING SYLDRATHI CUSTOMS IS THAT YOU’LL FAIL. THEY’RE IMPOSSIBLY SUBTLE, AND MOST SPECIES CONSIDER THEM FORMAL TO A FAULT. SYLDRATHI BOW INSTEAD OF NODDING. THEY CLOSE THEIR EYES INSTEAD OF BOWING. THAT SAID, MAJOR TRAPS TO AVOID ARE:
NOT DEFERRING TO THE ELDEST PERSON IN THE ROOM. SYLDRATHI BELIEVE THAT WISDOM COMES WITH AGE. THIS IS VERY CONVENIENT, SINCE THEIR LIFE EXPECTANCY IS A FEW HUNDRED YEARS AND ANY SYLDRATHI YOU’RE TALKING TO IS PROBABLY OLDER THAN YOU.
MAKING UNINVITED PHYSICAL CONTACT. ESPECIALLY OF AN INTIMATE NATURE. FOR A SYLDRATHI, THIS INCLUDES TOUCH APPLIED ANYWHERE ON THE FACE, NECK, EARS, OR HANDS. HUGS ARE ALSO RIGHT OUT.
INSULTING THEIR MOTHERS. JUST DON’T.
My jaw aches from the elbow I took in the bar yesterday.
My ribs are bruised where one of the Unbroken adepts kicked me, and I can feel the faint swelling of the knuckles in my left hand from a clumsy punch.
That was careless of you, the Enemy Within whispers.
Weak.
We are riding the turbolift in our stolen power armor, preparing to infiltrate the World Ship’s security hub. It will not be easy, and my mind should be on the mission. But instead, I am thinking about the brawl with the Unbroken yesterday. The disdain in their eyes. Their blood on my knuckles.
I am not thinking about Aurora.
I focus on the pain as my father taught me. Those endless lessons in the Aen Suun—the Wave Way—drilled into me since the day I was born. I remember the two of us standing beneath the lias trees on Syldra before it burned. His hand on my arm, guiding my strikes. His voice in my ear. He was Warbreed like I am. Proud. Fearless. Peerless. But all his training and all his skill were worth nothing in the end.
And so I permit myself to feel the hurt.
The places I allowed my enemies to touch me.
Vowing they will never touch me again.
“You all right?”
I look across the turbolift at my Alpha as he speaks. Tyler Jones is watching me with those cool blue eyes, and I can feel his mind at work behind them. He is wondering how he ended up so close to the edge so quickly. He is wondering if there is any way out of this. And though he would deny it with every fiber of his being if I accused him of it, he is wondering if he can trust me.
I cannot blame him. He was quick to assist in the bar yesterday, but that was mere muscle memory—an Alpha stepping to the defense of a squadmate.
I wonder what he truly thinks of me in the dark and quiet hours.
I could see the pain in his eyes yesterday when he spoke of his father. Even Syldrathi know of the great Jericho Jones. A Terran Defense Force commander who slew thousands of my people in the war, then suddenly turned pacifist. He became the loudest voice in the Terran Senate, arguing for peace between our peoples. It was Jericho Jones who brokered the first round of peace talks between Terra and Syldra. It was his negotiations that opened the way for the cease-fire in 2370.
And when the Starslayer and his Unbroken took advantage of the lull in hostilities to attack the Orion shipyards, Jericho Jones was among those who answered the call for reservists. He had not flown a fighter in thirteen years. He had two children waiting back on Terra for him to return.
And he did not.
I wonder how much of Tyler Jones blames me for that. I wonder if he looks at the glyf on my forehead and sees what everyone else sees.
Warbreed.
Betrayer.
Killer.
I’na Sai’nuit.
“I am fine, sir,” I reply. “I thank you for asking.”
Tyler licks his lip, the small split he earned in the brawl yesterday.
“Listen, I’m not sure how to bring this up,” he says. “And maybe it’s none of my concern. But you’re my Tank, and I’m responsible for you.”
“You are my Alpha. Ask what you will.”
“Auri,” he says. “Aurora.”
The sound of her name is like music. I actually feel my belly flutter, my skin prickle beneath the power armor I am wearing. I picture her eyes, pupils of bottomless black, one ringed in seventeen different shades of brown, the other encircled by a white as pale as starlight. I think of her lips, and I—
“What’s the deal between you two?” Tyler asks.
A surge of sudden enmity roars through me. Territoriality. Aggression. I know that primal instinct has no place here and I fight it, as I have fought it since the moment I laid eyes on her in that cargo bay and she spoke words I will never forget.
“I’ve seen you before….”
I blink hard. Focus my mind as my mother taught me.
“There is no deal between Aurora and I,” I say.
“You called her ‘be’shmai,’ ” Tyler replies. “In the bar before the fight.”
I feel the anger surging again. The war in my blood, entwined with the overwhelming desire of the Pull. The Enemy Within, whispering in my ear. Digging fingers into my spine. I stamp him down. Push him away. Clear my thoughts.
This conversation will not end well.
I clear my throat, keep my voice calm. “Sir, with all due respect, I believe you were correct. This is not your concern.”
“I don’t speak Syldrathi as well as Scar, but I know what ‘be’shmai’ means.”
A bitter smile curls my lips. “No, sir. You do not.”
“I’ve never heard of the Pull happening between a Syldrathi and a human before. Is that what’s happening here? Have you told Aurora?”
“No,” I say, horrified at the thought. “Of course not.”
“Look, I want you to know I respect you. I respect where you’re from. But if you’re going to lose your head at some critical moment because of some Syldrathi mating instinct, then I—”
“The Pull is no mere mating instinct,” I say, steel slipping into my voice. “And explaining it to a human would be like trying to describe the color of a rainbow to a blind man. You do not…you cannot understand.”
I swallow the steel. The taste of anger in my mouth.
“Sir,” I add.
“The Pull is usually reciprocal, right?” he asks, head tilted. “What happens—”
“You need not concern yourself.” I scowl, uncomfortable even discussing this with a Terran. “I assure you I have
it under control.”
“You certainly lost it quick against those Unbroken yesterday.”
“I lost nothing. I knew exactly what I was doing. The violence was necessary.”
“Because they threatened Auri?”
“Because you spoke my name.”
He blinks at that. “What’s your name got to do with it?”
I fold my arms and say nothing, signaling that I wish the conversation to end. But Tyler Jones keeps at it, like a keddai on a corpse.
“Look, I know it can’t be easy, Kal. I know I can’t really understand it. But you need to understand how close to the edge we are here. We can’t afford these kinds of entanglements right now. I need you to keep a lid on it.”
“I might say the same about you. Sir.”
Tyler blinks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I see the way Legionnaire Brannock looks at you.”
He bristles at that, standing a little taller. He still only comes up to my chin.
“That’s none of your business, legionnaire.”
“I agree, sir. It is none of my business at all.”
We stand there in silence, electricity crackling between us. The thing I was raised to be is acutely aware of how easy it would be to reach out and break this human boy. But the man I try to be keeps his arms folded instead. His face expressionless. His pulse calm. The turbolift hisses to a halt, the door slides open with a small chime. Time stands still, and so do we, until the door starts to close.
My hand flashes out, holds it open.
“After you, sir.”
Tyler exits the lift after a few more moments of staring, tapping his uniglass as he goes. “Finian, this is Tyler, do you read?”
“Loud and clear, Goldenboy.”
“We’re on Level seventy-one. Point us in the direction of the security hub.”
“On it. Shift changeover is in five minutes according to Dariel, so you wanna hustle if you’re going to get overlooked in the crush.”
We hurry down the halls at Finian’s direction, into a broad, open space. Dozens of other security crew members in power armor matching ours are converging on the airlock of what looks to be an old Neltaarian cruiser, flashing their IDs at the guards on duty before being waved through. The hour is late—almost midnight shipboard time—and the guards on duty look both bored and tired.
A good combination.
A broad-shouldered Terran in front of us pushes his ID badge under the scanner and is met with a flashing red light and an angry buzz. The guard on duty sighs and tells the Terran to run it again, which he does, only to be met with another angry beep.
“Piece of crap,” the guard says, kicking the scanner.
“In a hurry, boss,” Tyler says smoothly, waving his ID with his thumb over the photograph. “Meeting some ladies, and they don’t like to wait.”
“Yeah, yeah, go through,” the guard says, thumping the scanner again.
As the big Terran complains behind us, we shuffle past into the security hub. Walking down a long main hallway, Tyler taps the commlink in his ear.
“Good work, Finian,” he murmurs.
“Child’s play. Get your uniglass within a meter of any wireless system and I can work miracles. You want to look for a sign for the server core.”
As we step through the airlock, another scanner runs a series of red lasers over our badges and armor, an electronic voice urges us to proceed. The hallways are busy, SecTeam members either clocking off or clocking on. I spot a sign for the server systems, point it out to Tyler. I keep my stride easy, my smile polite. I ignore the tension in my muscles, the feeling of enemies on all sides, the violence simmering inside me. Walking softly. Hearing my father’s voice in my head.
We arrive at a set of double doors, sealed with an electronic keypad and marked SERVER CORE. We pretend to chat as a man in an administrator’s uniform hurries past. When the corridor is clear, Tyler holds his uniglass near the lock.
We wait. Trying not to look suspicious. Which, given that we are breaking into this room in the middle of an armed facility, is somewhat difficult.
“Take your time, Finian,” Tyler mutters into his commlink.
“Look, if you know someone else who can run a wireless hack on an eighteen-digit encryption, be my guest,” comes the reply.
“I thought you said you were a miracle worker.”
The lock beeps. The server doors click open.
“Well, hey now, would you look at that.”
We steal inside the room, pulling the doors closed behind us. The air is cool, filled with a subsonic hum, the room lit by flickering LEDs and overhead fluorescents and lined with rows of servers and tangles of cable. Finian’s voice crackles in our ears.
“Wow, that was amazing, Finian. You really are a miracle worker. I think I’m going to name my firstborn dirtchild after you beca—”
“Knock it off,” Tyler snaps. “Where do we plant this leech?”
“Tertiary uplink oughta do it. Now listen close. I’ll use small words.”
I keep watch at the door, peering out through the crack while Tyler follows Finian’s instructions. Security personnel march past, a few stragglers heading to their shifts. A refreshment drone trundles by on smooth tracks, carrying a tray of coffee and celedine and stimulant supplements. Five minutes pass, each as long as an eon, until finally I turn and whisper to my squad leader.
“Someone comes.”
Tyler looks up from the server, elbow-deep in cable. “You sure?”
I peer back down the corridor at the approaching Terran. He carries an armload of computer equipment and wears a tool belt full of e-tech. He is three days unshaven, glares at the security personnel around him with an air of undisguised contempt, and looks as though he has not slept in seven years.
“He certainly has the appearance of a man who works with computers, yes.”
“Finian, are we good?” Tyler asks.
“Affirmative, I’m getting a signal from the leech. We’re in.”
“Roger that,” Tyler says, sealing up the server cabinet.
A passing security team member bumps into the approaching commtech. The tech curses, stoops to pick up the gear he dropped. But he is barely four meters from the server room door now. He will surely notice us if we walk out of it right in front of him.
Tyler joins me at the door, peers outside.
“This isn’t good.”
“Agreed.”
My Alpha looks at our surroundings. Rapidly reaches the same conclusion I have. There is nowhere to hide in here, particularly in the bulky power armor we are wearing. The Enemy Within whispers that I could easily deal with this tech in silence—crush his windpipe as soon as he steps inside. Snap his neck. Choke him to death. A dozen different endings dance inside my head. But the quieter part of me knows that would leave a corpse in the server core, and that might lead to an investigation, bringing our leech closer to discovery.
My mind is racing. But I am not the one who scored a perfect one hundred on his military tactics exam in final year. The legionnaire beside me is.
“Suggestions, sir?”
Tyler scowls. Permutations and possibilities running behind his eyes. The commtech is shuffling toward the door now, weighed down by his gear, muttering under his breath. Tyler glances at me. Takes a deep breath.
“Look, apologies in advance for this. But whatever you do, don’t punch me, okay?”
“Wh—”
Tyler grabs the front of my power armor and pulls me close. The door opens and the commtech walks right in at the precise moment Tyler’s lips land on mine. My eyes go wide. The tech’s jaw falls open.
I am shocked into stillness. I know Terrans touch casually, slapping each other on the back, shaking hands. This is a lot more than a handshake. This is Tyler presse
d up against me, turning slowly toward the commtech, our mouths still mashed together….
The tech stands in the doorway, glancing back and forth between us. It’s Tyler who breaks off the kiss, looking appropriately embarrassed. For my part, I am simply stunned. Shuffling his armload of gear, the commtech backs slowly out of the room.
“Thiiiiiiink I’m gonna give you boys a moment,” he says.
The tech drags the door shut behind him with an apologetic smile. Tyler pulls away completely.
“You okay? Not going to punch me or anything, right?”
“What…,” I sputter. “You…”
Tyler waits for me to compose myself, then nods toward the hall.
“Give it a second,” he says. “Then slink out of here looking embarrassed.”
“That will not be difficult,” I say.
Tyler chuckles and opens the door.
“After you, sweetie.”
With a deep breath, I stalk out of the server core, back toward the entrance. The commtech is standing a short distance down the corridor, studiously pretending not to notice me leave. But as I pass by, he winks.
My ears burning, I climb the stairs and make my way through the security hub until I’m swiping my ID under the scanner at the entrance hall. The guard on duty nods as I exit, not even looking up from his uniglass.
“Have a good one.”
A few minutes later, Tyler joins me in the entrance hall, and we march off together. Inside the turbolift, he stands beside me, hands behind his back, whistling a soft tune. I am forced to admit that his quick thinking just averted a calamity, that the tech believes we were in the server for…if not innocent reasons, then not illegal ones. That our leech is now safely inside the security network and we have eyes all over the station.
Such a touch is an intimacy among Syldrathi.
It should be treated with reverence, not used as a cheap trick.
But it did work.
“Look, sorry again,” Tyler finally says. “I had to think fast. We good?”
“…Did they teach you that technique in tactics class at the academy?” I ask.
