Aurora Burning (The Aurora Cycle #2)(71)

Our Tank’s interest sharpens. “I take it you did.”

“I did,” I confirm. “And I still can’t figure it out, Kal. There was a note inside it. A note in my handwriting. A note I am absolutely positive I have never written.”

He returns to the handsome frown. “And what did it say?”

“It said, ‘Tell her the truth.’ ” I’m watching him keenly now. “Do you know what that means?”

He shakes his head a fraction. “I do not,” he replies.

“Because we can’t afford for anyone to be keeping anything from anyone else right now,” I continue. “If there’s something you’re not telling Auri, or Scar, or Zila, or even your crazy sister, I get it, but now’s the time, Kal.”

His expression frosts over. “Perhaps the note was for you. You believe you were the one who wrote it. And you were the one who read it.”

“But it was your gift,” I point out.

“And yet I cannot answer your question.”

I have absolutely no idea if he’s being straight with me. He might as well be Zila, for all I can read of him right now. After a long pause, I sigh.

“You need anything?”

“No.”

“Well, Zila has the bridge,” I tell him. “Holler if you’re in trouble.”

“Del’nai, friend.”

As I make my way to my quarters, I’m racking my brain for any kind of secret I could be keeping. Anything the note might have meant for me. Apart from not telling Scar that I’d crawl over cut glass for a date with her if we both survive this thing, I’m drawing a blank. And the note—however the hells it happened—seems like a huge amount of effort to go to for an unrequited crush.

The door hums closed behind me, and I hit the button for the gravity release. I’m still thinking as the soft countdown completes and the pressure on my body eases. I have no answers.

In fact, as I shed my suit and push off the ground to curl into a ball for sleep, I have nothing but questions.

· · · · ·

A soft chime wakes me, and as I stretch slowly, I revel in how much better I feel—my sore muscles have unlocked, and my body likes me again.

Then I remember that Ty’s a GIA prisoner, the galaxy’s poised on the edge of war, and Squad 312 has no idea what to do to stop it all.

Aaaaaand that brings me down with a thud.

The chime’s followed up by Scar’s voice over the intercom.

“Good morning, you incredibly good-looking people. It’s 08:00 shipboard time; we’re sixty minutes from our destination. I’ll see you on the bridge when you’ve risen from sleep and made yourselves even more beautiful. If that’s possible.”

I shed my uniform and, with a gentle touch against the ceiling, send myself sailing over to the corner where the hydrosonic shower’s located. I activate the force field that’ll keep the rest of the room dry, close my eyes in pleasure as the nozzles in the wall emit a gentle mist, and let the sonic part of the shower do the rest, the vibrations combining with the moisture to scrub away the dirt, sweat, and panic of the last couple of days. My grandparents had pretty much the same unit on the station where they lived, and though at first I thought it was bizarre—on Trask, water’s in no short supply—these days I appreciate the fact that it really gets you clean.

After a few minutes, I reluctantly shut it off, then find a fresh uniform. When I slip into my suit and run a diagnostic, it’s in miraculously good condition.

I make my way out to the bridge, feeling the usual settling that comes with full gee—everything protesting a little bit at the extra work. I find my squadmates seated around their consoles, eating breakfast. Auri slides a foil pack down the table to me, and I inspect the label, then wish I hadn’t. I don’t know what Brunchtime Savory Mix!!TM is, but I’m pretty sure the extra information isn’t going to help me feel better about it.

I glance at Scarlett, shaking my breakfast to warm it up. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long.”

She winks. “Some of us need less beauty sleep than others.”

“Any news?” I smile.

“There are official statements out from Terra, Trask, and several nearby systems. Nobody wants a war. Everybody knows they might not get a vote. The Unbroken haven’t said anything yet, but their fleet is still mobilizing, and it’s looking huge.”

That adds a grim note to breakfast. Kal in particular looks troubled. We finish eating, and Zila and I settle in to find whatever it is we’re actually looking for.

“Compensating for drift over the last century,” I report, “we should be on-site now, plus or minus a thousand klicks.”

“Scanning now,” Zila says to her screen.

“Processing data,” I murmur as it begins to flow through to me. It takes less than two minutes before something jumps out from the rest. “Is that … ?”

“Confirm,” Zila says, turning from her console to the pilot’s controls. “Unidentified object detected. Altering course.” I grin at the others. “Picked it to within thirty-seven klicks, my friends!”

This announcement of unmatched prowess is met with polite nods.

“Oh, come on,” I protest. “This is like finding … what do you dirtchildren say? A beetle in a haystack?”