Aurora Burning (The Aurora Cycle #2)(28)

“Oh great Maker.” Scar reaches out and takes his hand, concern on her face. “How are you holding up?”

“It’s been a struggle.”

Zila studies his gift for a moment before she speaks. “I suggest wearing them, sir. As Scarlett has observed, whoever left these gifts knows me well. We should assume they also know you and believe this to be necessary. So far, our benefactors have demonstrated they have our best interests at heart.”

Tyler considers this, shrugs, and leans down to start switching out his old boots for his new.

Scarlett opens her own parcel next. It’s about the size of Zila’s, and nestled against the blue wrapping is a round silver medallion on a chain. On one side the words Go with Plan B are engraved in a curling script.

“ ‘Go with Plan B’?” Tyler asks.

“Usually a good idea where your plans are concerned, brother mine.”

“Cold, Scar. Real cold.”

Scarlett lets the medallion twist on its chain between her fingers, looking at it carefully. On the flip side, I can see that it’s inset with a rough chunk of diamond. The cabin lights refract on the surface, tiny rainbows dancing in her eyes.

“Pretty,” I say.

Scarlett shrugs. “I guess diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”

“… They are?” Kal asks, glancing at Aurora.

Nobody has any wisdom to offer, and after a moment Scar eases the chain over her head and tucks the medallion inside her uniform.

Kal’s package is small as well, and when he opens it, we see a thin, silver, rectangular box. It has hinges, and it seems as though it’s meant to open, but when he tries to pry off what looks like the lid, it won’t budge.

“What is it?” I ask, craning my neck.

I’d assumed it was a Terran or Syldrathi device, but I’m met with a series of bewildered head shakes. Auri finally digs into her pocket, pulls out Magellan, and holds it over the little metal box in Kal’s palm. I can’t believe I’m now mentally calling this thing by its name as well, but I guess its personality program certainly does … set it apart from the standard-issue uni.

“Magellan?” she says.

“HI THERE! I MISSED YOUR FACE!”

“Yeah, yours too. Can you tell me what this is?”

“I. WOULD. LOVE TO!” The uniglass runs a line of green light down the length of the thing, and beeps. “THIS IS A TERRAN ARTIFACT, PREDATING INTERSTELLAR TRAVEL, BOSS! IT WAS DESIGNED TO HOLD BUSINESS CARDS OR CIGARILLOS!”

Most of the faces around the table still look baffled.

“Well, I know what a business card is,” says Auri. “It’s a piece of paper with your personal details on it. You give them to people so they can contact you.”

I frown. “You don’t just bump uniglasses?”

“No uniglasses in my time,” she says.

“DARK DAYS INDEED!” Magellan beeps.

Kal frowns. “I am not in possession of business cards,” he informs her gravely, as though this might be a problem.

She glances down at Magellan. “Magellan, define cigarillo.”

“NOTHING WOULD MAKE ME HAPPIER, BOSS! A CIGARILLO WAS A SMALL CIGARETTE!” It pauses, absorbs the confused silence, and tries again. “A PLANT KNOWN AS TOBACCO WAS ROLLED INSIDE A THIN SHEET OF PAPER, THEN SET ON FIRE, AND TERRANS INHALED THE SMOKE FOR STIMULATION!”

“This sounds hazardous to one’s health,” Zila opines.

“CORRECT!” Magellan says. “THE PRACTICE FELL OUT OF VOGUE IN THE TWENTY-SECOND CENTURY, AFTER TERRANS DISCOVERED IN THE TWENTIETH THAT IT KILLED YOU!”

“It took them two hundred years to stop doing it?” I ask, bewildered.

“ISN’T THAT INSANE?” Magellan says. “HONESTLY, DOESN’T THAT SOUND LIKE A SPECIES THAT WOULD BENEFIT FROM SOME KIND OF BENEVOLENT MACHINE OVERLORD?”

“Silent mode,” Tyler says.

“AW.”

We share a series of blank stares, pondering the box in Kal’s hand. Our Tank studies the little metal case one more time, then tucks it into the breast pocket of his uniform, with a small shift of posture that’s as close to a shrug as our most dignified squad member ever seems to come.

Now it’s time for my present. I won’t lie: I’m excited to see what it is. But my excitement fades when I unwrap the paper and discover a small, plain metal cylinder. It’s something like a stylus, but there’s nothing electronic about it.

“What’s it for?” I ask. “Is it some kind of tool?”

Auri reaches over to take it from me and presses her thumb against one end, producing a clicking sound. A little point springs out from the other.

“It’s a ballpoint pen,” she says, handing it back to me.

“It’s a what now?”

“It’s a writing implement from my time,” she says.

“I’ve been ripped off,” I inform her. “I do not need an old-fashioned writing implement.”

“I’ll trade you for my boots?” Tyler offers.

“Or my smoking box that does not open?” Kal says.

I press my thumb to the end like Auri did and retract the point. I will admit the click is a little satisfying. Scarlett reaches into the box again and pulls out a package marked with our squad designation, 312, which turns out to contain a whole pile of red and gold Dominion credit chips.