by Amie Kaufman
“There he is,” she breathes. “There’s the Kaliis I know.”
He takes a step toward her. In a flash, she draws a disruptor pistol from her belt, pointed right at his chest. It doesn’t take a Tank to know from the hum that the weapon is set to Kill.
“Don’t,” she warns.
“You won’t kill me, Saedii,” Kal says.
“True.” She turns the weapon on Fin and me. “But them?”
“I am not going with you,” Kal says. “I am not going back.”
“Oh, Kaliis.” The young woman sighs, looks down at his hands, dripping purple blood on the deck at his feet. “You never lef—”
The impact throws her backward, arms pinwheeling, black hair streaming about her face. Her posse is thrown back too, spit and blood, tumbling through the air. I watch a sphere of translucent force surge outward, crushing the ships around us like paper, peeling the deck, popping the swarms of drones above us like bugs on a windshield. The floor shakes beneath us; the air around us crackles with static, greasy and warm. Every hair on my body is standing to attention.
I turn around and see Aurora wobbling on her feet, hand outstretched. Her right eye is flickering with moon-pale light. Her hair blows like there’s a wind, white bangs twisting, almost aglow. Blood spills from the split in her brow.
“Auri?” I manage.
Like someone switched off a light, the glow in her eye dies and she sinks to her knees again, blood spilling from her nostrils. Kal catches her as she sags, pulling her up in his arms. Impossibly gentle, where a moment ago he was anything but.
“We…” Auri swallows hard, wipes her lip.
“Be’shmai?” Kal says.
“We need…to g-get out of here,” she says.
“AURORA IS RIGHT,” says Zila, pulling off her mask. “Security will be coming.”
I look around us, chest still aching, struggling to breathe as I crawl to my brother’s side. He’s only semiconscious, groaning softly.
The Unbroken are scattered like kids’ toys, comatose, swept aside with a wave of Aurora’s hand. But the dock and ships around us are likewise totaled. The Opha May is a smoldering paperweight and we don’t have the passkeys to any of the other ships at dock.
Our plan to get off Emerald City is in the toilet.
“We need t-to hide,” Aurora says. “Deep and dark as w-we…can.”
I can hear incoming sirens.
“Okay,” I say. “We have to move.”
“Here, hold on to me,” Fin says, helping me to my feet.
“Kal, c-can you grab Ty?” Auri asks.
Our Tank complies, hauling Tyler up. “On your feet, Brother.”
Kal supports Ty; Fin and I support each other. Zila leads the way with her disruptor drawn. And quick as we can, we’re hobbling across the ruined loading docks, the buckled decks, smoke still billowing around us, alarms blaring, groaning Unbroken scattered like fallen dominoes.
We reach the transit station, and Fin’s consulting his uniglass, stabbing in a destination with shaking hands while we wait for the pressure inside the tube to equalize. Thankfully, Aurora’s shock wave knocked out any SecDrones, so the station authorities might not be able to track where we’re headed. If we reach the Emerald City’s underbelly, we might be able to find a place deep enough to lay low.
Aurora is looking back across the docks at the downed Syldrathi, blood in her eyes and on her lips. My stomach flips as I see Madam Badass trying to rise to her feet.
“You two know each other,” Auri says, pawing at her bloody nose.
“Yes,” Kal replies.
“Lemme guess,” Finian says, glancing over his shoulder and stabbing with renewed vigor at the tube controls. “Evil ex-girlfriend?”
“No.”
I glance at Auri. “Evil current girlfriend?”
“Worse.”
“What could be worse than that?” Zila asks.
Kal sighs as the tube doors open. Glances back as he steps into the flow.
“She is my sister.”
Aurora confirms that our hiding place is deep and dark enough to comply with her vision.
The squad is pressed together, all six of us crammed into the junction between eleven different transport tubes. It is a precarious position, every wall at a different angle, obliging us to brace ourselves simply to stay in position. A moment’s inattention would mean a considerable fall through a gap.
Finian managed to halt our progress long enough to open an emergency access hatch in the tunnel we were using, and we exited the tube system into the dark spaces within the transit network. Our current refuge is a small, cramped space that constantly vibrates and shudders as locals whiz by us, one after another, all moving too fast to register our makeshift camp. We are a tangle of limbs and backpacks, but we are temporarily secure.
I am thinking, accompanied by the symphony of whirs and whooshes all around us, my mind humming as fast as any transport tube. I find myself tapping one finger against my knee, the tempo varying, then repeating. I do not know this pattern’s origin, but I feel it rising to the surface of my mind.
Tap.
Tap, tap.
Tap.
Tyler is the one to break the silence. He is huddled in the corner with his sister pressed against him, his knees lifted to protect his crotch. I should ask to examine his most recent injury, but I calculate that the probability of a refusal, followed by a sarcastic response from Finian, is almost one hundred percent.
Tyler still looks a little dazed as he speaks.
“Kal,” he says. “We have a lot of problems on the boil already without this kind of surprise cropping up.”
“My sister prides herself on appearing when least needed,” our Tank says. His face is still daubed with his own blood, and that of the Unbroken.
“Well, where’d she come from?” Scarlett asks.
“I know not,” Kal replies. “I have not seen Saedii since before I left for the academy. She was unaware I had even joined Aurora Legion.”
“She mentioned those Unbroken we fought back in the bar on the World Ship,” Tyler says. “I’m guessing they passed on word to her about you?”
Kal inclines his head. “I did tell you I started that fight as a diversion.”
“Because I used your name,” he says.
Kal nods, brooding. “Perhaps I should have silenced them permanently….”
My finger taps away at my knee again, the movement involuntary. My hand seems to shift of its own accord, and begins tapping the rhythm out against my left forearm instead.
Ah.
I realize I am mimicking the rhythm of Admiral Adams’s finger during the broadcast in which he condemned us. I have watched the footage fourteen times now. I have not tried to shake the compulsion to do so. It is my experience that when my mind seizes on something seemingly insignificant, usually it is solving a problem I have not yet identified.
It is a hallmark of the highly intelligent.
Tap, tap, tap.
Tap, tap.
Tap.
We condemn, in strongest possible terms, the actions of Aurora Legion Squad 312 at Sagan Station….
Aurora lays one gentle hand on Kal’s arm. “Tell us about your sister,” she suggests, oblivious to my internal problem solving.
Kal swallows, dropping his gaze to Aurora’s fingers. They are stained with her own blood, red alongside his purple, dried and flaking around her nails.
“Our father was a warrior of the Warbreed Cabal,” he says. “But our mother was a Waywalker. They are the most spiritual of my people. They study the mysteries of the Fold, and the self. My father taught us to kill. But my mother tried to teach us the waste found in death.” He is quiet for a moment, and I see Aurora’s hand squeeze his. “I took her lessons to heart. Saedii did not.”
I consider the difference between my own parents. My mother was the more practical. My father was warmer. I wonder what he would think of the person I have become. I am very different now from the little girl I used to be.
It is an uncomfortable question, and one I have not considered in years.
I push it away.
Tap.
Tap, tap, tap.
Kal continues. “Saedii and I grew up together, but we grew ever apart. After our father died during the battle at Orion, I joined Aurora Academy to help bridge the gap between our two peoples. My sister joined the Starslayer to tear it wider. In these choices, you find all you need to understand us.”
“You…,” Scarlett begins. “You…lost your dad at Orion, too?”
Kal slowly nods. I see the Jones twins exchange a glance—obviously remembering their own father, who perished in that same infamous battle. Scarlett’s gaze softens as she looks at the Syldrathi boy.
“I’m sorry, Kal,” she murmurs. “You never said…”
Kal’s normally perfect posture slumps very slightly. Aurora squeezes his hand again. For a moment, our Tank’s eyes are clouded, his expression pained. But despite this revelation—that three of our squad members lost their fathers in the same bitter conflict—Tyler keeps his mind on the task at hand.
“And now your sister wants what? To kill you?”
Kal hears the note in our Alpha’s voice and sits up straight once more. “She wishes me to embrace the war in my blood. The fact that I have not joined the Unbroken is a shame to her. And she will not stop pursuing me until she has her way.”
“We’re pretty good at dodging pursuit, Kal,” Scarlett says. “We’ve had a lot of practice lately.”
The Syldrathi shakes his head. “The Waywalkers among my people are sensitives. Empaths. And though she was raised Warbreed, Saedii inherited a touch of our mother’s gift. My sister can…sense me. She has been able to do so since we were children. Not from an infinite distance, but certainly while we are stranded in the Emerald City.” He pauses, lifting his chin in the manner I have learned often proceeds one of his pronouncements that owe more to nobility than sense. “I am a danger to all of you. It is better that I leave, and draw away the peril.”
Aurora begins to protest, but is cut off by Ty, who lifts one hand—even that movement is pained—and speaks.
“Nobody’s going anywhere,” he says.
I am only half listening. My mind is humming as loudly as the tubes around us, and as I watch another pair of bodies shoot past, I am recalling Adams’s face in his message. The rhythm and inflection of his words.
They have violated our trust.
Tap.
Tap, tap, tap.
They have broken our code.
Tap, tap, tap.
My cheeks heat with a momentary flush of embarrassment that it has taken me so long to understand. But there is no time for such indulgence. I take out my uniglass and begin my calculations.
“Can you sense your sister too, Kal?” Aurora asks. “Because when I’m…when I use my powers…I can see something in you. Feel something in your mind. Maybe you have a touch of your mother in you too?”
“It is possible, be’shmai,” he replies. “The gift is passed through the blood.”
I scroll through another round of calculations and—filing away with interest the fact that I feel the urge at all—allow myself a small smile of satisfaction.
“Zila?” Scarlett notes my change in demeanor, glancing at my uniglass. “Do you have something you want to share with the class?”
“Yes,” I say, eyes still on my calculations.
“…Well?” Scarlett asks.
“Admiral Adams has not abandoned us,” I declare. “His broadcast contained a coded message.”
I turn my eyes to Tyler.
“And I have just broken it.”
SUBJECT: GALACTIC COMMERCE
▶ ORGANIZATIONS
▼ THE DOMINION
WHOEVER SAID MONEY IS THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL PROBABLY NEVER HAD ANY, BUT IT DOES MAKE LIFE IN THE GALAXY A LITTLE COMPLICATED. THE MILKY WAY HAS NO OFFICIAL CURRENCY, AND FOR REASONS THAT MAY NOT BE CLEAR TO YOUR TINY HUMAN BRAIN, CHANCES OF IT GETTING ONE ARE SMALL.
ENTER THE DOMINION.
THE DOMINION IS A BAND OF TRADE SPECULATORS, AND THE LARGEST CURRENCY EXCHANGE IN THE GALAXY. REALIZING THERE WAS A HUGE PROFIT TO BE MADE IN THE ABSENCE OF A STANDARD UNIT OF TRADE, THE DOMINION CREATED ITS OWN, OFFERING TO BUY THE CURRENCY OF ANY KNOWN SPECIES (FOR A SMALL FEE, OF COURSE) AND CONVERT IT INTO EXCHANGEABLE DOMINION CREDITS, WHICH ARE NOW ACCEPTED IN MOST TRADE HUBS.
OF COURSE, THIS SCHEME QUICKLY MADE THE DOMINION WEALTHIER THAN PROFESSOR LISA MCCARTHY IV, THE INVENTOR OF SELF-WASHING DIAPERS, WHICH IN TURN GAVE IT ENORMOUS CLOUT OVER POLITICIANS IN THE GALACTIC CAUCUS, WHICH EXPLAINS WHY WE’RE NOT GOING TO BE SEEING ANY OFFICIAL GALACTIC CURRENCY ANYTIME SOON.
DEMOCRACY, HUH?
We have not even kissed yet.
My squad members would say this is a strange thought to be entertaining in the middle of a crisis. I know Aurora herself would probably think it foolish. And that, in essence, is the heart of the problem. Because I am not feeling what humans feel. I am not feeling like, or lust, or even love.
I am feeling the Pull.
Syldrathi poets have spent millennia trying to describe it. I studied the work of our most renowned maesters back on Syldra. Sometimes I put their verses to music and played them on my siif beneath the lias trees outside our home. Billions of words over thousands of years. Songs and sonnets, couplets and hymns. All trying to evoke even a fraction of how this feels.
Having lived it now, I know not a single one of them has come close.
The Pull is more than words.
Love is a drop in the ocean of what I feel for her.
Love is a single sun in a heaven full of stars.
And I know Aurora cannot really understand it. That humans do not feel as Syldrathi feel. And as much as I want her, I do not wish to rush her or—spirits forbid—frighten her away. And so I keep all this inside as best I can.
But we have not even kissed yet.
Spirits of the Void, this is torture….
“Get over yourself, Pixieboy,” Finian mutters.
“…What?”
The Betraskan blinks his large black eyes.
“I said get over here, Pixieboy,” he repeats. “We gotta run through this.”
I breathe deep, run my hand across my brow. My squad has gathered in the cramped living space of our so-called apartment. This place is smaller than an Enlei’s den, and smells twice as noxious. But we have little choice with our available funds, and with my sister now on the hunt through the Emerald City, we must lay low, among the dregs who ask no questions. At least with Zila’s powers of deduction—nothing short of brilliant, I must admit—we now have a chance of getting off this accursed station once and for all.
The wall display in our new hovel is nonfunctional, and Finian has his uniglass plugged into his exosuit, projecting a schematic of the Dominion Repository on the opposite wall in glowing light. I take a seat on the tiny couch beside Aurora, staring at the image. Her split brow is knitted closed by a small, flesh-colored suture; the bruise under her right eye is a dark constellation. Her lips are soft, bow-shaped, hypnotic to watch. She reaches out and touches my hand gently, her fingertips lighting fires across my skin.
“You okay?” she asks softly.
I give her my best attempt at a reassuring smile. “I am well.”
“Will you two get a room?” Tyler says.
“…What?” I scowl.
“I said there’s two ways into the room,” Tyler says, pointing to the schematic. “Main entrance to the south, and a smaller one on the west. Both are guarded, but the west has t
wo fewer security goons. So, if trouble hits, that’s the way we leave.”
“But trouble won’t hit, right?” Scarlett says. “Because all your ideas are amazing?”
“Exactly,” Tyler says, ignoring his sister’s jab. “Now, according to the admiral’s coded message…”
Here Tyler pauses to offer Zila a small round of applause, which I and the rest of the squad join in on. Zila ducks her head, dark curls tumbling over her eyes. But I catch the ghost of a smile on her lips as Tyler continues.
“…there’s some kind of cache waiting for us in the security deposit room, past the main foyer. It’s apparently coded to accept Scar’s DNA ident. Not sure why Adams thought to set it up that way.”
Scarlett raises one brow. “Because I’m fabulous?”
“Yeah, that’s definitely it,” Tyler mutters, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, that means Scar will be taking point on this one. We have no idea what’s back there in terms of weight, so Kal, you’re going with her in case it’s heavy.”
Scarlett glances at me. “You and me, Muscles. Dress sexy.”
She winks at Aurora, and Aurora smirks back, squeezing my hand. Most of us have become accustomed to Scarlett’s insistence on flirting with anything with a heartbeat. But I notice Finian is staring at the floor, looking altogether glum.
“Fin, you wanna take them through the run?” Tyler asks.
Our Gearhead blinks in confusion. “Um…yeah, if you want?”
“Sorry.” Our Alpha hobbles toward a chair. “I just gotta sit for a minute.”
Scarlett watches her brother lower himself onto the moldy cushion beside her, one hand at his crotch. She winces in sympathetic agony.
“Poor baby,” she coos. “Madam Badass really did a number on the boys, huh?”
“I mean, I can always adopt,” he whimpers.
“If it makes you feel better, the black eye kinda suits you? The bloodshottiness really brings out the blue.”
Tyler shoots Scarlett a withering glance, and she grins and ruffles his mop of blond hair. He groans a protest and smooths his locks back into place, only to have them mussed again by his sister’s hand.