Aurora Burning (The Aurora Cycle #2)(105)
“We must consider our next steps.”
Auri’s response is immediate and unwavering. “We need to take control of the Weapon.”
Scarlett nods. “Ideally, before Caersan uses it to blow up Earth. And we’re already three hours into his twelve-hour countdown.”
Auri glances at her, gaze burning, chin up.
“And then we have to turn it against the Ra’haam.”
“Right,” I agree. “So that means we need to get aboard it, yeah? Past a massive Syldrathi war fleet on high alert, ready to unload its many, many guns on anything that looks remotely unfriendly.”
Zila inclines her head. “This is an accurate summary.”
“Do we have any advantages?” Scar asks. She’s reaching for what Tyler would do, I think. Trying desperately to fill the hole her twin has left behind.
“They will certainly not be expecting us.”
I wish Zila were making a joke right now, flexing that newfound sense of humor of hers. But she’s just stating the obvious. They won’t be expecting anybody to do anything this foolhardy, to take on odds this long. Because it’s suicide.
“Auri can flatten them with her brain bullets,” I offer. “Put that in the advantage column, I guess?”
Aurora doesn’t even smile.
“This is true,” Zila agrees, equally grave. “However, displays of devastating psychic power would certainly draw attention among the Syldrathi armada. If we wish to maintain our advantage of surprise, we will need to blend in.”
Auri’s gaze flicks to Zila. “We need a Syldrathi ship.”
I frown. “Where are we going to …”
My voice fades as I catch the look in Scarlett’s eyes. I can see the intelligence behind them, the smarts she keeps hidden behind a mask of sass and indifference. She told me once she never even wanted to join the Legion. That she only signed up to look after Tyler. And she feels her brother’s absence worse than any of us, I know. But suddenly she’s filling his shoes just fine.
“Raliin Kendare Aminath,” she says.
Maker’s breath, of course. The Waywalker elder we rescued on Andarael told us to find him if there was a way he could repay his debt to us.
Scar looks across at Zila, and our Brain nods, her fingers flying across the pilot’s console. “We can be there in four hours,” she says. “Shall I set a course?”
Scarlett nods. “Burn as hard as you can.”
· · · · ·
Each of us finds a way to occupy the next four hours. Zila’s at the controls, checking the readings over and over. Auri disappears to her room and closes the door. Scarlett pulls up files in Syldrathi and starts reading.
Me? I got nothing except trying to fix Magellan, and to be frank, hearing a relentlessly chirpy summary of how stupid I am doesn’t sound like too much fun right now. Instead, I find something to eat, and I feed Zila and Scar—Auri doesn’t answer my knock—then I pace a little. I stare at the closed door to Kal’s quarters, trying to figure out what I think of what he did. But though I’m usually a galactic-class champion at dreaming up comebacks an hour or two after the opportunity to say them has passed, this time I draw a blank. I can only be certain of how it feels now that Kal’s gone. And honestly, after all we’ve been through together, it feels like someone reached into the heart of us and ripped out a fistful.
Eventually, on a hunch, I head back to the storage bays. Sure enough, piled in a corner behind the spare fuel cells and replacement parts are drums of thick black paint. Just what we’ll need.
This ship really does have everything.
Gets me thinking, that. About the note in Kal’s cigarillo box. The little metal case itself sure proved useful, and the note inside it proved right.
So, what about the other gifts we were left in the Emerald City storage box? Zila’s earrings, Scar’s pendant, Tyler’s shiny new boots. It’s like Adams and de Stoy knew what was coming for us—where we’d be, what we’d be doing—and not for the first time, I wonder how.
I reach into my cargoes, find the ballpoint pen they gave me. I frown at it. Wondering what in the Maker’s name it’s for. I figure if the Legion commanders did know about Kal getting shot, if they knew enough to warn him to tell the truth, maybe this thing in my hand has some magic to work in our darkest hour.
I click the button on the end, in and out. Hoping for some kind of miracle.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
“I got robbed,” I sigh.
· · · · ·
When we arrive at Tiernan Station—Zila did burn it, but the clock’s still ticking—we don’t know what the reception will be like. So we ease cautiously out through the FoldGate, color restored to the ship once more. The station’s structure is beautiful, as all Syldrathi designs are. It’s shaped like a large egg, speckled all over with lights. There’s a massive Waywalker glyf painted down one side in an elegant script, and close to a hundred fighters and cruisers are swarming around the station in graceful, sweeping arcs.
Every single one of them locks its weapons on us as soon as we appear.
Scar leans forward to speak very carefully into the mic. I don’t understand Syldrathi, but I can follow along with the translator on my uni, and this encounter is so important that she practiced her script with me before we arrived.