Aurora Burning (The Aurora Cycle #2)(80)

She draws me down with her.

“Let’s burn together,” she breathes.





21

TYLER

It’s cold in this interrogation cell.

The troopers who escorted me from the detention level ignored all my protests, all my challenges to the lunacy of what they’re caught up in. Good soldiers don’t listen to terrorists, I know. Good soldiers don’t think. Instead, they just marched me into this room, bound me to a chair in mag-restraints, and, with a series of crisp salutes, tromped right back out again.

Leaving me with them.

I look the three figures over, picked out in the spotlights overhead. Their breath hisses, slow and hollow. They have identical mannerisms, identical mirrormasks, identical charcoal-gray uniforms. Apart from the one leading them, of course, who’s clad head to foot in pristine white instead.

“GOOD EVENING, LEGIONNAIRE JONES,” Princeps says. “WELCOME ABOARD THE KUSANAGI.”

I look at the figure where I guess its eyes must be. Imagining the face hidden behind that featureless facade.

“Nice to see you again, Zhang Ji,” I say.

The name of Aurora’s father. The name of the shell this thing stole and now wears like a cheap suit. This thing that’s slumbered for a million years, wounded, hiding in the shadows, wanting to be unseen, undiscovered, unknown.

But I know its name.

“Or should I call you Ra’haam?”

I look among them, bristling with anger. Waiting for an answer. A reaction. Something. But they just stare, silent and still.

“I know what you’re doing,” I spit. “You’re starting a war between Terra and the Unbroken as a smoke screen. Buying yourself time until your nursery planets are ready to bloom. But millions of people are going to die. Maybe billions. You know that, right?”

The two gray GIA uniforms take up position on either side of me. The one to my left reaches out with gloved hands and slips a pain collar around my neck. I flinch at the touch of cold metal. I feel the tiny trode slip out and press against my spine.

“Use of pain collars is outlawed under the Madrid Conventions,” I say. “They probably should’ve written something about being possessed by alien parasites in there too, but you get th—”

“WHERE IS AURORA JIE-LIN O’MALLEY?” Princeps asks.

I square my jaw, look into that blank, mirrored face. “Under Aurora Legion protocols, I’m permitted only to give you my name, rank, and squad number.”

Princeps tilts its head. “WHERE IS AURORA JIE-LIN O’MALLEY?”

I lick my lips. Brace myself.

“Tyler Jones. Alpha. Aurora Legion, Squad 312.”

A bolt of agony rockets up the back of my skull and explodes inside my head. I gasp as every inch of skin bursts into flame, as every nerve is stripped raw and dragged through broken glass, as my eyes burst inside my skull and acid is poured into the sockets, eating through my sinus cavities and dripping down my thr— It stops. Shut off with a flick of Princeps’s finger. I drag a shuddering gasp through my teeth, sweat stinging in my wounds. It only lasted a few seconds, but that was the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life, up to and including that time in sixth grade when I caught myself in my zipper.

Princeps opens one white-gloved hand, shows me the pain collar’s control. The settings range up to 10. It’s currently set to 1.

“WHERE IS AURORA JIE-LIN O’MALLEY?”

“Tyler Jones. Alph—”

The rest of my words are strangled as the collar kicks in again. A groan slips through my teeth. My whole body shakes. I try to think calming thoughts, try to convince myself this isn’t real. But though the logical part of my brain knows this is just nerve induction, just the illusion of pain, the reptile part is screaming. The skin is being flayed off my body with rusted knives, sandpaper is being scraped against raw muscle, blunt chisels are being jammed between my vertebrae, blood and spinal fluid are spilling down m— The pain stops. A moment of shining, unspeakable relief.

“WHERE IS AURORA JIE-LIN O’MALLEY?”

I breathe deep. Close my eyes. Pray to the Maker for strength.

“T-Tyler J—”

And so we go.

I lose track of time.

I lose count of the flips of that switch.

I know I make it to Level 2 before I start screaming.

I start roaring at them to stop, stop, Maker’s breath, stop, at Level 3.

They don’t stop till 4.

“WHERE IS AURORA JIE-LIN O’MALLEY?”

“I don’t know!”

I thrash weakly against the bonds holding me, just to have something to rage against. I taste copper on my tongue, spit blood on the floor. I realize my screams must have ruptured my vocal cords.

“WHERE IS AURORA JIE-LIN O’MALLEY?” Princeps repeats, maddening.

“I don’t KNOW!” I roar, my voice hoarse and broken. “The location we were headed was on the Hephaestus black box! I never saw the data!”

Another impossible lance of pain.

Another bloody, spit-flecked scream.

“THIS CAN ALL END, LEGIONNAIRE JONES.”

Again.

“SIMPLY TELL US THE TRUTH.”

And again.

“WHERE IS AURORA JIE-LIN O’MALLEY?”

And again.

“I’M TELLING YOU I DON’T KNOW!”