Aurora Rising: The Complete Collection

by G. S. Jennsen

  With a harsh, bitter breath he squeezed his eyes shut…then climbed off the bed and collected his clothes from the laundry port. He’d steal a skycar from one of the residents and get to the spaceport. He’d use another ID to catch a transport to Pandora or Romane.

  Two hours and he’d be gone.

  After all, his mission was complete, if a failure in the purest sense of the term. The war had everyone spinning in circles chasing their tails, but he was determined to make Division, the government, the military and whoever else mattered understand they had been fooled. They were wasting precious time and resources on the wrong target, when the true threat loomed hidden on the horizon.

  He pulled on his shoes and headed down the stairs. There were things he needed to do, and they did not involve getting entangled with an Alliance Admiral’s daughter in the middle of a war and impending alien invasion…even if the peculiar tightness in his chest proclaimed otherwise.

  He had done everything in his power to get her to trust him; done everything her way even when it went against his better instincts. That path had taken him away from where he needed to be, put Senecan citizens at greater risk and gotten him arrested and imprisoned. True, it had also gotten him outstandingly laid—only to be turned on in a fit of spiteful anger he did not deserve.

  Dammit she was infuriating! And bullheaded stubborn. Quick to flare in temper. Ridiculously private and emotionally closed-off—

  He felt his attention drawn to the wall of spacescapes once more, found himself pausing in front of the panorama.

  She had somehow managed to capture in frozen images the sense of wonder and awe one experienced in deep space. The vastness and the beauty. It was as if he was looking into space through her eyes, seeing it as she must see it…and thus glimpsing a mirror into her soul.

  —also intriguing, even captivating. Exceedingly talented, capable and independent. Fiercely determined and unafraid. Vulnerable and strong in equal measure. A damn revelation in bed. All in all, kind of remarkable.

  His gaze rose to the balcony above. Never have anything you can’t walk away from. Especially a woman.

  “Shit.”

  He grimaced and dragged a hand down his face…and went back upstairs, dropping his clothes in a trail across the floor to the door of the bath.

  She stood in the shower, eyes closed and head bowed as the water cascaded over her. Before she realized he was there, he had slipped inside.

  Her irises flared in outrage, sparking a pure bright silver. He thought there may have been a glint of tears in them…but it may have just been the falling water.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Invading your privacy. Sorry, I didn’t want you to have any more time to get angrier at me.”

  She shoved him into the glass. “How dare you! Get out—”

  He smiled, ignoring her attempts to extricate him from the shower. “Listen, you’re right—I don’t know you, not really. But I’d very much like to, if you’ll allow me.”

  She stared at him furiously, but at least she stopped trying to shove him out. Her features could be so expressive when the mask fell away. He saw anger, then suspicion, confusion, doubt and perhaps even fear in the shadows crossing her face, in the quirking of her lovely mouth. He wondered what his own eyes were showing her, and whether it was more than he wanted to reveal. Ah well, too late now.

  He recognized the softening in her expression before it manifested in the relaxing of her shoulders and dropping of her chin. It took another several seconds for her to roll her eyes in exasperation and step forward to rest her forehead on his.

  “You’re infuriating—and entirely too clever for your own good. You know this, right?”

  He chuckled lightly and reached up to run fingers through her soaking wet hair. “Back at you.”

  Her face tilted up and supple, moist lips met his. Hesitant, tender, gentle. She tasted of warm spice, like nutmeg in mulled cider. Her skin had felt amazingly smooth earlier; here, softened by the steam of the shower, it was silk beneath his hands.

  One arm coiled around her until his palm came to rest at the small of her back. Her body was quite slender; he would have called it delicate but for the long, lithe muscles gracing her frame. It reminded him of a dancer’s body, though after watching her spend three days repairing her ship he knew the work which had actually shaped it.

  Her hand in his hair tightened, the other grasped his hip and in a flash any hesitancy in her kiss vanished. Urgency was bleeding out of her and into him, and he gathered her fully into his arms as desire battled with and quickly overcame sentiment.

  The water flooded over them as he pressed her to the opposite wall. His hand slipped along wet, soapy skin, desperately seeking her toned thigh. He gripped her leg and coaxed it up to his hip…then he was engulfed within her.

  She gasped in response but pulled him yet closer and deeper. Demanding, needing all he had to give. As before, she was a force of nature, a whirlwind to which he could do little more than hang on for dear life. The spirit, the fire he had first witnessed in the hold of her ship blazed to life in his arms.

  Still, he tried to draw it out, to tease her and prolong her pleasure, and his. But she was so damn intoxicating and it was all so overpowering—the deluge of water enveloping them, the steam filling the air, the silk of her skin pressed to his and the incredible, perfect heat within her. The look of wild abandon in her eyes was like staring into a nova at the moment of its explosion.

  She clenched around him, her eyes squeezed shut—and he let himself go, following her over the edge into the rapturous abyss.

  They very nearly tumbled to the shower floor as they lost control of everything…bodies, thought, breath, time and space. He fell deeper into her as his legs threatened to collapse beneath him.

  An aeon passed before the world began to regain detail and, eventually, clarity. His lips had found hers, and she grinned into them. “Less than an hour and we’ve already had our first make-up sex.”

  He laughed haltingly, still struggling to catch his breath. Reasonably confident in his legs’ capability to now marginally support him, he leaned back enough to gaze at her.

  “It isn’t going to be boring, is it?”

  He was leaning against the windows and contemplating the wall of spacescapes—again—when she descended the stairs.

  Alex frowned to herself. Either he was playing at manipulating her on such a deep and meaningful level as to be reprehensible…or he was like her in such a deep and meaningful way as to be extraordinary. She was a bit shocked to realize how much she wanted to believe it was the latter, and how terrified she was it could be the former.

  He turned his attention to her as she reached the landing, smirking in that endearing, annoying, dangerous, boyish way which was so immensely kissable. So when he met her at the bottom of the stairs, she did.

  Her arms draped over his shoulders; his encircled her waist. “I have a question.”

  “Mmhmm?”

  “Earlier, your accent….”

  He cringed and retreated slightly. “Yeah, I guess I wasn’t altogether, um, in control for a while there.”

  “Is that how you really sound? When you’re not on the job?”

  “You are not a job to me.”

  Maybe. “You know what I—”

  His hands rose to grasp her face as he drew her into an impassioned embrace. The sheer fierceness of the kiss sent her reeling. The world spun in one direction, her head in the other, her heart in a third as his hands, his mouth, his tongue and the press of his body asked everything of her, and offered everything in return.

  She was left utterly breathless as he pulled back a trace.

  “Tell me you believe me.” It was a throaty, desperate whisper against her lips.

  “Ya veruyu….”

  He smiled softly and at last gave her space to breathe. “Then to answer your question, when I’m home, around my family? Yes. It is.”

  “You don’t need to prete
nd for me.”

  “I was concerned you might have negative associations with a Senecan accent.”

  She shook her head almost imperceptibly. “I like it. And now I’m going to associate it with—” her gaze drifted pointedly up the stairs “—spectacular sex, so….”

  He laughed, but his eyes were serious as they seemed to search her face. “Okay.” And with a word, his voice regained its full melodic timbre…and his smile shifted indefinably. “‘Spectacular,’ huh?”

  “Don’t get cocky—” Her grumble was cut off as his lips met hers yet again. Softer, less urgent than before. Nevertheless, the kiss was rapidly becoming more when she sucked in a deep breath and reluctantly stepped away. “We need to go soon.”

  “Right. Okay.”

  She went to double-check her pack, then remembered she never had made it to the storage closet. She ducked in, ostensibly to grab a few things. Alone in the shadowy recesses of the room she exhaled slowly, closed her eyes and made a choice.

  “I’ll go with you to Seneca—on one condition.”

  She emerged to find him regarding her rather intently. “Lay it on me.”

  “That you can absolutely and completely guarantee the safety and security of my ship while we’re docked there.”

  His mouth opened to respond, then closed. His eyes dropped away from her. She could only guess at what transpired in his mind as he stared at the floor, hands resting on his hips. When he looked up his expression was distressingly solemn. “Honestly? I’m not sure I can. I mean I think it would be safe, but there’s a war on and it’s going to be making people crazy.”

  She ran an agitated hand through her hair in frustration. “Dammit, Caleb. I’m trying, but you’re not making this easy.”

  He began pacing behind the couch. “But I can guarantee its safety and security on Romane.”

  An eyebrow arched in question.

  “I know, it’s not quite perfect. But it’s convenient enough, not too far from here and a quick trip to Seneca. We’ll take a transport from there, or we can rent a ship if you want more control. However long we need to be on Seneca, the Siyane will be safe on Romane. And when our—” he paused, and his voice dropped in tenor “—or your business on Seneca is concluded it will be waiting on you. I promise you.” He frowned a little. “Unless Romane gets blown up by the invading aliens. I can’t do a thing about them, and I hope like hell you don’t expect me to.”

  Her gaze roved across the loft…out the windows, where the night sky had barely begun to lighten, and back to the wall in front of her, finally coming to rest on the visual hanging at eye level: she and her dad standing atop Mammoth Mountain. They had hiked it for her thirteenth birthday. He was killed in action two months later.

  Caleb was right, it wasn’t perfect. But it was a surprisingly decent alternative. Off Earth, on an independent world—which arguably was better than Seneca and the safest place to be given the war. Romane enjoyed the solidest reputation of any independent colony, and the location would give them at least some degree of flexibility.

  He had leaned against the couch to await her decision. She nodded. “Okay…okay. You can tell me why you can guarantee its safety on Romane on the way to the spaceport.”

  His expression blossomed into a relieved smile. “It’s a deal.”

  She couldn’t help but return the smile as she picked up her pack and tossed it over her shoulder.

  “Let’s go.”

  PART IV:

  ACCELERANDO

  “Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

  Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

  The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

  The ceremony of innocence is drowned.”

  — William Butler Yeats

  49

  ROMANE

  INDEPENDENT COLONY

  * * *

  WHITE GOLD SWIRLED AROUND hammered chrome, weaving again and again until it formed an intricate knot. Red dollops of plasma appeared to emerge from the chrome and glide through the gaps in the knot to orbit it, though it was an illusion. In reality the plasma merely hovered in a deceptive shimmer so as to imply motion.

  “In my opinion, this is one of the artist’s most powerful pieces. It speaks on multiple levels: how we are prisoners to our own weaknesses, how we inflict far greater damage and pain upon ourselves than anyone else is capable of, how we cannot escape who we are or a prison of our own creation. Some believe it also asserts that emotions themselves—our metaphorical heart—are a flaw dooming us to failure and despair. I myself tend to view it with a bit more optimism.”

  The woman placed a delicate hand to her mouth. “It’s magnificent. I simply must have it.”

  Mia Requelme smiled with practiced ease. “Certainly. We will want to retain it for the remainder of the exhibit, but I’ll be happy to make all the arrangements for you now. If you’ll follow me?”

  She slipped gracefully amongst the patrons milling in the gallery’s exhibit space as the woman trailed behind her. It was a good crowd. Thus far the showcase was a smashing success. A third of the pieces had sold in the first two days, and it would run for another week. Antonio Castile Ledesma created art which was simultaneously garish and elegant, which represented everything or nothing depending on what the observer desired to see. It would soon make him ridiculously wealthy, Mia was quite certain.

  She reached the small alcove tucked into the rear corner of the room, activated the screen and turned to her customer. “You can input your information here—”

  The priority pulse asserted itself into her vision.

  Mia, I need your help.

  “Why should I help you?” she snarled.

  “Because I can get you out. I’ll even get you off-planet, to somewhere you can start a new life.”

  “I already started a new life once. Didn’t help.”

  The man smiled in the dim light of the alley; it made her feel safe, which was something she could not afford to feel. “But I bet you have a list a kilometer long of the mistakes you made and how you would get it right the next time. Help me, and let me help you find your next time.”

  Mia’s eyes narrowed warily. He had intercepted her on a run through The Boulevard, grasping her wrist from behind as she was preparing to palm a set of disks off the adventure illusoire merchant stand. She had thought he was a cop—though there weren’t many cops on Pandora—until she whirled around and saw the faded flannel shirt and scruffy beard. Then she had thought he was an undercover cop. His eyes were a cop’s eyes—sharp, observant, calculating.

  And she had been mostly correct. He was a cop, of sorts. Now he wanted her to give him the access codes to Eli’s inner compound.

  He continued to watch her and she him…but at her prolonged silence, his gaze softened. “I tell you what. Why don’t you let me buy you some dinner, and you can think it over while we’re eating.”

  That was low. How did he know she was near to starving? Eli’s lieutenant Paul had caught her skimming weeks ago and threatened to rat her out unless she gave him half of everything she made. She’d barely been scraping by before; now she survived on one meal a day and what she managed to steal. It was humiliating.

  She scowled and ran a hand through tangled, dirty hair. “Fine. It’s your money.”

  A few minutes later she eyed him over her burrito. “What are you planning to do to Eli’s operation?”

  The guy—he had said his name was Josh, not as if she believed him—shrugged. “I’m going to explosively dismantle his chimeral production line and bring the cops down on the remains.”

  “There aren’t any cops here.”

  He laughed. It bore a hint of mystery, as if to imply he knew more about Pandora than she did. “Yes, there are.”

  “Well, could’ve fooled me.” She took another bite, stuffing her mouth full of rice and beans and olives. She loved olives.

  She regarded him a moment. He was quite handsome, with startlingly blue eyes and black hair which
fell in soft, lazy curls along his forehead. And he seemed only a few years older than her. She might prefer him without the beard, but she suspected it was temporary anyway. “Why would you help me?”

  “Because you’re a better person than they are. You’re intelligent and quick and you clearly have skills. I can see the potential beneath the grime. Besides, you don’t like what you’re doing. You don’t like being a criminal, and you definitely don’t like being beholden to a scumbag like Eli.”

  “How could you possibly tell all that about me? You just met me.”

  A corner of his mouth curled up in a smirk. “I’ve been watching you for a few days and—”

  “Impossible. I pay very close attention—I’d realize if I were being followed.”

  “Yes, you do. But I’m better than you.”

  She snorted and finished off the burrito.

  “As I was saying. I’ve been watching you, along with several other of Eli’s lackeys. I need someone on the inside, and it was simply a matter of deciding who. I chose you. Did I make the wrong choice?”

  She finished off the chips next and sank back in her chair. He was right of course. Shockingly, annoyingly so. She had run away from her dad and brother four years ago in search of a better life. But lacking credits, contacts or credentials, she had soon become trapped yet again.

  She knew there must be another way, a better way of living. Glimpses of it teased her in the spaceport and on the exanet. She had educated herself over the last few years, far beyond what an official primary education would have taught her. Now an adult, she was able to legally speak and act for herself. She just needed a chance. One real chance.

  “How do I know you won’t double-cross me?”

  He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small translucent film. He laid it on the table but kept two fingers securely atop it. “Here’s a ticket to Romane. Give me the access codes, I give you the ticket and transfer two thousand credits to you. You can leave right away.”