Aurora Rising (The Aurora Cycle #1)(10)

Cat scowls. “The Aurora Legion is the best chance we have of bringing stability to the Milky Way. How’re we gonna be of any help out there with a squad of psychos, discipline cases, and gremp fondlers?”

“People fondle gremps now?”

“I mean, I’ve heard rumors. …”

“Who does that?”

“She’s right,” Tyler says.

Cat and I look up at my brother. He’s stopped with the pacing and is staring down at the garden. He reminds me of our dad for a minute. And though I’m doing my best to keep up my Queen of Bitch routine, my shriveled black heart does sort of hurt for him.

“She’s absolutely right,” Tyler sighs again.

“Damn right I am,” Cat growls. “We should go talk to de Stoy. Lodge an official complaint. You earned those points, Ty, it isn’t fair—”

“I mean Scarlett’s right,” Tyler says.

“… She is?”

“… I am?”

Tyler turns to us, leans against the railing, and folds his arms.

“I shouldn’t have been out in the Fold in the first place. It was my mistake.”

“Ty, you risked your—”

“No, Cat,” Ty says, looking at his bestie. “I know you had your pick of squads, and I won’t ever forget that you stuck with me. But the Draft is done. It wouldn’t be fair to ask for special treatment. I’ve gotta go the way.”

Sigh.

Know the way.

Show the way.

Go the way.

That’s what all good leaders do, according to our dad—the great Jericho Jones. And those are the words Tyler lives by. They’re the reason he’s spent his whole life looking after me and everyone around him. They’re the reason he joined the Aurora Legion in the first place. And normally, hearing him say them makes me want to kick my dear baby brother right in his sanctimonious junk. But every now and then, they remind me just how much I love the little jerk.

Tyler takes a deep breath, nods to himself.

“The Legion stands for something real. There’s people out there who need our help, and we’re not helping any of them sitting here feeling sorry for ourselves. I’ve still got the Legion’s best pilot in my squad.” He smiles at Cat, giving her a double shot of dimples. “That’s a start, right?”

Cat doffs an imaginary cap. “Bloody great one if you ask me.”

Ty winks in my direction. “And my diplomat isn’t totally incompetent.”

“Respect your elders, brother mine.”

“You’re three minutes older than me, Scarlett.”

“Three minutes and thirty-seven point four seconds, Bee-bro.”

“You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“Why do you think I do it?” But I stand up slow and offer him a wry salute. “Legionnaire Scarlett Isobel Jones, reporting for duty, sir.”

Tyler salutes back, and I just roll my eyes.

“The highest-ranked Alpha in Aurora Academy,” he says. “The best Ace. A killer Face. That sounds like the makings of a squad to me. I mean, we’re part of an elite military school with the best students from across the galaxy, right? How bad could the rest of the crew I’ve been saddled with actually be?”

Cat and I exchange an uneasy glance.

“Um, yeah. About that …”

?????

“She’s a psychopath,” Tyler declares.

“Technically, she’s more of a sociopath,” I reply.

“Look at these disciplinary actions, Scarlett.”

“Um, I read them when I compiled the file for you, thanks for noticing.”

Cat, Tyler, and I are walking down C-Promenade through the early morning crowd. The place is always a hive, but today it’s especially busy with all the newly promoted Legion squads being shipped out to their first assignments. Everyone in the crowd is military; Betraskans and Terrans mostly, rubbing shoulders in our scandalously drab uniforms.

I swear, the person who designed these things must have considered “boring” an interstellar sport. I’d rather give the Great Ultrasaur of Abraaxis IV a foot rub than wear one. The cut is okay, I suppose, padded and plated and formfitting. But the color is an ugly shade of blue-gray, with a shiny Aurora Legion logo on the chest and single bright strip across our shoulders and cuffs to denote our divisions: Blue for the leadership corps.

White for Cat and her fellow Aces.

Green for the Brains in the Science Division.

Purple for the Gearheads.

Red for the Tanks.

And lucky me, a bright, sunny yellow for the diplomatic corps to match my bright, sunny disposition.

I do what I can to liven things up—my hemline is five centimeters higher than regulations technically allow, and my bra probably defies Newton’s law of universal gravitation. But pushing the envelope any further is a good way to get a disciplinary citation from one of our instructors, and who needs another one of those, honestly. I’ve already collected the set.

It’s twenty-four hours since Tyler pulled his white knight routine out in the Fold. Battle Leader de Stoy and Admiral Adams have debriefed him, so aside from the novelty of him pulling a two-hundred-year-old orphan from the most famous derelict in Terran history, we’re back to business as usual. First missions are being assigned by the hour, and the sooner we meet the rest of our squad, the sooner we hit the black. We’ve worked five years for this, and I’m so sick of this place I can actually taste the vomit. School is most definitely out.