Aurora Burning: The Aurora Cycle 2

by Amie Kaufman

Remember Orion.

  Those are the two words burning in my mind as Ty guides the Zero into the Andarael’s docking bay. I should be worried about Kal. Worried about Auri. Worried that the name Andarael means “She Who Lies with Death” in Syldrathi. I should be thinking of how I’m going to talk our way out of this. I’m the team Face, after all. We’re outgunned and outmanned—the only way we’re getting clear here is diplomacy. But I can’t quite bring my thoughts to bear on the problem at hand, can’t think of anything to say, witty, sassy, sexy, or otherwise.

  Because these are the people who killed our dad.

  Remember Orion.

  He was a Great Man, our dad. That’s what everyone told me and Ty. Those were the words repeated over and over at the funeral of Senator Jericho Jones. All those diplomats and heads of state, all those military types with chests full of shiny medals. They said those words with gravitas. They said them like they meant them.

  Capital G. Capital M.

  A Great Man.

  The thing about great men is that they usually don’t make great dads.

  We never knew Mom. She died when we were both too young to remember. And it’s not that Dad didn’t try—he really did. But the problem was, everyone wanted a piece of the great Jericho Jones. And there just wasn’t enough to go around.

  The Syldrathi war against Terra had raged for twenty years before Tyler and I came into the picture, and Dad had been a soldier for twelve of them. He was TDF, born and bred—an ace pilot who escaped enemy captivity and led the rally at Kireina IV, where TerraFleet held back a Syldrathi armada twice its size. He was a literal poster boy after that. The Terran Defense Force actually put him in their recruitment ads, ice-blue eyes staring right at you as he told you, “Earth needs heroes.” One year later, he was a rear admiral—the youngest ever in TDF history.

  Then Ty and I came along, and he resigned his commission.

  Just like that.

  It wasn’t to raise his kids, that’s for sure. The year after he quit the TDF, Dad ran for the Senate and won in a landslide. After that, he was always away. But Ty just idolized him, and I couldn’t really be mad about it, not with the work Dad was doing. Because, despite being the TDF poster boy, Jericho Jones became the strongest voice for peace in TerraGov. The blistering speech he gave against the war in 2367 still gets taught at Aurora Academy today. I can no longer look my children in the eye without seeing the wrong in killing other people’s, he said, and that always made me kinda mad, considering how little time he actually spent with us.

  But seeing Earth’s greatest hero advocating for peace with the Syldrathi helped turn public sentiment against the war. It was Jericho Jones who began the first real peace talks with the Syldrathi government, Jericho Jones who organized the cease-fire in 2370. The war had been raging almost thirty years by then. The defeats they’d suffered had seen the Warbreed fall from ascendancy in the Syldrathi council, and the Watchers and Waywalkers were just as tired of the bloodshed as we were. The treaty was drawn. Everyone was ready to sign.

  And then?

  Remember Orion.

  The Warbreed saw the treaty as dishonor. As weakness. And, under the leadership of their greatest Archon, a faction of Warbreed attacked during the cease-fire. In desperation, TerraGov activated its reservists for a counterattack.

  Dad hadn’t flown a fighter in years. And still, he answered the call. I remember him kissing my forehead and wiping away my tears and telling us he’d be back in time for our birthday.

  A little aluminum canister with his ashes inside came back instead.

  Remember Orion became the rallying cry after that. Remember Orion was the call on every recruitment poster, every simcast, every news feed. “Remember Orion!” bellowed the president himself at Dad’s funeral, right after he told us all what a Great Man we’d lost.

  But I didn’t lose a Great Man at Orion. I lost my daddy. And as much as I wished he’d been a greater father than man, you bet your ass I remember.

  I remember that the Archon who led the Orion attack was named Caersan, later to become known as Starslayer. And the faction he led? Those bastards so in love with the idea of war that they couldn’t bear the thought of living in peace?

  I remember they called themselves Unbroken.

  And now we’re surrounded by them.

  The Andarael’s docking bay is large enough for twenty Zeros to fit inside—Kal’s big sister holds rank among these maniacs, and her vessel is the business. The ship itself would be impressive if I actually gave a damn, but I’m more concerned by the small army of Syldrathi warriors waiting for us outside as Tyler cuts our engines. He’s trying to keep himself calm, but I can see that the thought of surrendering to these bastards is burning him just as bad as me. Auri is wide-eyed, barely suppressing her panic—we still don’t know how bad Kal got hurt aboard the Totentanz. But without him aboard, it’s up to me to brief my squad.

  “Okay, Kal said Saedii was a Templar,” I murmur, slipping out from behind my console. “Which basically means she’s the commander of a capital warship on active duty. You don’t get to that rank in the Unbroken without being bad news, all the way.”

  “Understood,” Ty nods.

  “Remember, most Unbroken once belonged to the Warbreed Cabal like Kal. Warbreed respect strength. Prowess. Fearlessness.”

  Ty meets my eyes as he shrugs on his Aurora Legion uniform jacket. “I have every confidence you’ll be all that and more, legionnaire.”

  I shake my head. “You should be the one doing the talking here, Ty.”

  “You’re my Face, Scar. You’re trained for this. I don’t speak Syldrathi nearly as well as you, I don’t know the customs, I—”

  “You’re our Alpha, Bee-bro,” I say. “If you want them to see you as a leader, you need to be front and center. And our family has history with these people. Kireina IV was the worst defeat the Syldrathi suffered in the whole war. These bastards will remember Dad’s name.”

  I meet his stare, my lips pressed thin.

  “And it’s our name, too, Ty.”

  He tightens his jaw, breathing deep. I can see Dad in his eyes now. The memory of that little aluminum box full of ashes arriving just in time for our party.

  Happy birthday, kids.

  “Okay,” he nods. “Let’s not keep our hosts waiting.”

  We march down the corridor to the main hangar, gathering at the loading ramp. Zila is quiet as the grave. I glance at Aurora, see her jaw clenched, fear in the set of her shoulders, the tilt of her chin. I peer hard at her right eye, but there doesn’t seem to be any sign of a glow there, no hint of her power. Still, I saw her rip the Hadfield apart with just the strength of her mind, and if she loses it here …

  “You doing okay, sweetie?” I ask.

  “I told Kal,” she mutters, shaking and furious. “I told him. I saw him get hurt in my mind and he still went charging off like an idiot.”

  Tyler’s hand hovers over the release button. “You didn’t happen to see anything about what’s coming next, did you?”

  She shakes her head. “And I don’t want to look. I thought I was … getting better. I thought I had a grip on it, but …”

  “It’s okay, Auri,” Ty says, squeezing her hand. “Just stick near me. I’m sure Kal’s fine. We’re gonna get out of this, okay?”

  “You got a plan?” I ask.

  “Do you?” he asks, meeting my eyes.

  I pat the diplomacy stream logo emblazoned on my sleeve: that little flower in its ring of gold. “Tactics aren’t my department.”

  He smiles and shakes his head. “You might wanna practice. One day, you could find yourself doing this without me.”

  “Not today,” I shrug. “So go get ’em, Tiger.”

  Tyler presses the release, and the door opens with a low electronic hum. The ramp extends onto the Andarael’s deck, and I can see that the interior is dark metal, aglow with blood-red light. The design here is stunning: sleek lines and gentle curves, as graceful as the hundre
d Unbroken warriors waiting for us.

  Their faces are ethereal and gorgeous, fierce and cruel silver hair tied back in an assortment of ornate braids. Each wears a beautifully crafted suit of black tactical armor, daubed with flowing Syldrathi script, decorated with trophies of battle. Each carries a disruptor rifle and a pair of silver blades at their back. They stand tall in neat rows, lining our exit into the bay. And waiting at the end, that crossbowesque agonizer at rest on the dangerous curve of her hip, is Kal’s sister, Saedii.

  All Syldrathi are beautiful, but good looks definitely run in our Mr. Gilwraeth’s family. Queen bitch she may be, but Saedii is drop-dead, maybe-I’m-gay-after-all gorgeous. Her olive skin is poreless, flawless. Her long black hair is swept back from a heart-shaped face that could launch a million ships. Her eyes are smoldering violet, framed by that perfect stripe of black paint. A silver chain of what might be severed thumbs dangles around her neck. She talks in Syldrathi, her voice low and musical, almost as if she sings rather than speaks.

  “Welcome aboard Andarael, human filth.”

  And with a smile, she slings that agonizer off her hip and fires right at Auri.

  It happens in a split second, almost too quick to track. Auri cries out, brings her hands up, but before she can invoke her gift, those red bands wrap themselves around her and crackle to life. Her scream rings across the bay as she tumbles to the deck, bucking and thrashing.

  “Auri!” Tyler shouts. He drops to his knees beside her, touches her shoulder, and is rewarded with a crackling shock of agonizer energy. Drawing his hand back with a hiss of pain, he surges to his feet and finds a hundred disruptor rifles pointed at his chest. I’m not too worried about him—Ty’s not stupid enough to charge a hundred armed Syldrathi killers, and his language isn’t going to get too offensive, because Tyler Jones, Squad Leader, First Class, doesn’t curse.

  Scarlett Isobel Jones sure as hells does, though.

  In fluent Syldrathi, no less.

  “What is wrong with you, you crazy bitch?” I shout.

  “You speak our language.” Saedii’s eyes glimmer as she looks me up and down. “An amusing trick, little one.”

  Tyler speaks in his halting, broken Syldrathi. “We … are the treatment demanding … conventions in the under …”

  Saedii looks him over, lip curling. “You, however, are less amusing.”

  “We’re not here to amuse you, pixiebitch,” I say.

  “Perhaps you should rethink that strategy, Terran,” she says.

  Saedii holds out her arm and makes a hissing sound in the back of her throat, and I hear the flap of leathery wings. A creature drops from a rafter above and swoops down through the bay. It’s about the size of a cat, reptilian, with broad bat-like wings and a long serpentine tail tipped with a vicious-looking sting. It reminds me an awful lot of Cat’s stuffed dragon, except it’s black and sleek rather than green and fluffy. The beast lands on Saedii’s forearm and trills, blinking at us with golden eyes.

  Saedii whispers to it; it nuzzles her long, tapered ear and purrs. Brushing her hair off her shoulder, pixiebitch stalks down the line of warriors toward us. Ty is tense at my side, fists clenched as she stops in front of us. Aurora is still on her back, whimpering and convulsing inside those crackling red bands.

  “My Alpha is demanding just treatment under the Jericho Accord,” I say, “as signed by the Terran government and the Inner Council of Syldra in 2378.”

  Saedii is as tall as Ty is, so when he meets her eyes, they’re almost nose to nose. “Your Alpha should make his demands himself.”

  “I demand just treatment under the Jericho Accord,” Tyler says, following my accent and speech patterns perfectly. “As signed by the Terran government and the Inner Council of Syldr—”

  “The Inner Council of Syldra burned along with Syldra itself,” Saedii replies. “We do not respect your pitiful government, nor your pathetic treaty.” She leans in close, staring at Ty, eye to eye. “We were born with our hands in fists, little one. We were born with the taste of blood in our mouths. We were born for war.”

  “Unbroken,” the warriors around us say, all as one. And they don’t shout it like TDF goons on parade, either. Don’t bark it like your typical meatheads in uniform. They murmur it, reverent, like the word itself is a prayer.

  Saedii holds out one slender hand. This close, I can confirm the desiccated nubs on the silver chain around her neck are definitely thumbs.

  “Your uniglasses,” she says, cold as ice.

  Tyler meets her stare and doesn’t move. I can still feel the kick she gave his babymaker echoing faintly in our shared genetic code. Saedii touches the shoulder stock of her agonizer, and at our feet Auri arches her back and screams.

  “She sings sweetly.” Saedii’s smile is cold as the black outside. “I can see why Kaliis might abase himself at her temple.”

  The dragon thing on Saedii’s arm trills. Auri screams again. The Unbroken Templar’s expression is calm, her face beautiful and terrible.

  “Every moment you waste, she will sing more, little ones.”

  “She wants our unis,” I explain.

  Tyler glances at me and nods, and we reach into our jackets and hand them over. Saedii tosses them to another Syldrathi close by—a tall, willowy man with a scar cutting deep down one cheek and a string of severed Syldrathi ears hanging from his belt. He catches them and bows.

  “Where is my brother, Erien?” Saedii asks him.

  “Our adepts have apprehended him and the Betraskan, Templar,” the lieutenant replies. “They are aboard a shuttle en route to Andarael.”

  “His injuries?”

  “I am informed he will recover, Templar.”

  Saedii nods, cool and aloof. “Take him to medical when he arrives, see his needs are met. Take this one”—she gestures to Auri—“to the holding cells and sedate her to within a breath of death. If she wakes before she is in Archon Caersan’s possession, I will be displeased.”

  “Your will, my hands, Templar.” He bows, glances at me and Ty. “And these?”

  She looks us over, lips pursed. The dragon thing trills again, fluttering its wings and licking Saedii’s earlobe with a long pink tongue.

  “We have not had much time for sport lately, yes?” she says. “We should dance in the blood to celebrate my brother’s return. So when the Betraskan arrives?”

  She meets my eyes and shrugs.

  “Throw them all to the drakkan.”

  · · · · ·

  I’m not an aficionado of spaceships, but I’ve been on my share. Junkers and cruisers, fighters and destroyers. One of my boyfriends had his own stellar yacht, and he took me on a cruise from Talmarr IV to Rigel for my seventeenth birthday. His ship had its own ballroom, complete with a thirty-piece orchestra.

  (Pieres O’Shae. Ex-boyfriend #30. Pros: Tall. Rich. Handsome. Cons: So. Much. Tongue.)

  Still, I don’t remember being on a ship that had an arena before.

  It’s located down in the bowels of the ship, sunk about ten meters into the deck. The walls are the same dark metal as the rest of the Andarael, lit by crimson globes, scored with what might be claw marks. The arena floor is littered with millions of smooth, glowing stones and tall, twisted spires of sharp, dark metal. Long bleachers are arranged in concentric rings, looking down on the pit below.

  We’re marched in at rifle point, hundreds of Unbroken warriors taking their places according to rank. They’re male and female, all armed, all gorgeous, all wearing the three crossed blades of the Warbreed Cabal on their brows. They’re possessed of the traditional We’re better than you arrogance that makes pixies so much fun to have around at parties. But I can sense a tremor of anticipation flowing through them, too. A lust for the violence and bloodshed to come.

  Saedii takes her place on a balcony, reclining in a throne-like chair, the back crafted of three crossed blades. Her pet sits at her shoulder, watching with glittering golden eyes. A small legion of guards lurks around her like beautifu
l shadows.

  The pixies march us down to the edge, onto a broad gangplank that hangs a little ways out over the pit. I hear a commotion behind, turn to see Finian being led to us, surrounded by more Syldrathi. He looks a little disheveled, but mostly unhurt, and I give him a fierce hug, a quick kiss on his cheek.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  Our Gearhead peers around the arena crowd, down into the pit below us. “You mean aside from the fact I’m about to be eaten for these people’s entertainment? Yeah, I’m one hundred percent, Scar.”

  “Touché, Mr. de Seel,” I smile. “How’s Kal?”

  “He’s okay.” Fin frowns, thoughtful, as if suddenly unsure about that. “The cigarillo case Adams gave him … it stopped the shot. Like Adams knew …”

  “How is that possible?” I ask, bewildered.

  Tyler jumps in before the speculation can begin, cutting to the important part as always. “You got the black box data though, right?”

  Fin nods. “On my uni. They confiscated it, but I encrypted the info hard as I could make it. They’ll have a time cracking it without wiping it altogether.”

  “Good work, legionnaire.”

  Fin nods at the praise, glances to the pit, and swallows hard. “So, anyone know anything about this drakkan they’re throwing us to?”

  I shrug. “I slept through xenobiology.”

  “They’re not allergic to Betraskan, by any chance?”

  “Right there.” Ty points to Saedii’s shoulder. “That’s a drakkan.”

  “Oh.” Fin frowns at the small dark-scaled reptilian coiled around Saedii’s throat. She reaches into a bowl at her side and tosses the thing a ragged scrap of meat, which it snaps out of the air with sharp, tiny teeth.

  “Ohhhh,” I say, brightening considerably.

  Fin’s pale brows come together in a frown. “Um, I’m not one to judge performance based on size, but isn’t it a little … little?”

  Saedii stands and holds her hands outward, killing our discussion dead. She looks around at the other Unbroken, radiating a dark, imperious will, until their murmured conversations falter, until the whispers stop, until the only sound is the low thrum of the engines and the thudding of my heart.