Aurora Burning (The Aurora Cycle #2)(44)

It’s a note.

Four words.

TELL HER THE TRUTH.

Tell who?

What truth?

They’re both good questions. But for now, as I hear Saedii demand our surrender again, as more Syldrathi fighters swarm in the space around us, as I hear Ty give the reluctant order for me to stand down, my brain shoves them aside in favor of a much more compelling one.

I turn the note over in my trembling hands, dragging shaking breaths into my lungs. Trying to make the pieces fit. Because, like the rest of the gifts in the deposit box, like the Zero in the Emerald City docks, this note has been waiting to be found since Kal and I were both children.

So how in the name of the Maker is it in my handwriting?





11

SCARLETT

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.