Aurora Rising (The Aurora Cycle #1)(108)

The girl shakes her head, looking at Cat. Through the visor of her biosuit, I can see our Ace’s blue eyes are open, eyelashes fluttering. Her skin is covered in sweat. I swear I can see a faint silver sheen on it.

“I am unsure, sir,” Zila replies. “I have never seen symptoms like—”

“Improvise,” he snaps. “You’re my Brain. I need you now.”

“Medical storage,” she says. “I do not know what chemicals they had here, or what will be unspoiled after two centuries. But I may be able to cobble some kind of antibacterial agent or suppressant if we find a supply cache.”

“Right.” Tyler nods. “Let’s move.”

We stalk off through the dark belly of the med center, footsteps squeaking and squishing on the carpet of plant growth. Every surface is covered with it. The heat is oppressive, like the inside of a sauna. I can hear Cat’s shallow breathing, my heart thumping inside my chest. We check room after room, but everything is overgrown, useless, unrecognizable. Vague shapes of maybe-beds and possibly-computers, tiny motes of luminous blue pollen dancing in the air.

Cat reaches up in Tyler’s arms, grabs his shoulder. “Tyler …”

“Cat, you just relax, okay?” he says. “We’re getting you out of this.”

“Y-you …” She shakes her head, swallows hard. “D-don’t under … stand.”

“Cat, honey, please,” I beg. “Try not to talk.”

“I … see,” she whispers.

“What do you see?” Zila asks.

“G-men.” Cat closes those new blue eyes. “C-coming.”

“The shuttle we saw.” Zila looks at Tyler. “Survivors from the Bellerophon.”

“Zila, what’s happening to her?” I ask.

Our Brain’s brow creases in thought, her lips pursed. I can see that genius-level IQ at work behind her eyes. Her detachment bringing a clarity I can only envy. I wonder what it was that made her like this. How she got to be who she became.

After a moment pondering, she turns and fires her disruptor at the wall—when all else fails, stick to what you know, I guess. The blast burns a section of the overgrowth to cinders, the blue-green leaves reduced to ashes. Just like when we killed the chimp-things, the rest of the plant life around us ripples, whispers, shudders. And, my heart sinking in my chest, I see Cat shuddering, too.

“Ohhh,” she moans. “Ohhhhh.”

Zila runs her uniglass over Cat’s body, through the air. The device beeps and clicks, Zila playing it like a concert pianist in a concerto.

“Legionnaire Madran?” Tyler asks.

Zila shakes her head. “There is so little data. So many variables. But these growths, the infected animals, all we have seen … there appears to be a congruence between them. When one is hurt, the others appear to feel pain.”

I think back to the bridge of the Longbow. The words Aurora spoke when she pointed to those glowing red dots on the star map.

“Gestalt,” I whisper.

Zila nods. “A gestalt entity, yes. A multitude of organisms that actually comprise a single being. It is as if everything on this planet, everything affected by this plant bloom … it is as if they are all connected.”

Cat begins convulsing in Tyler’s arms, a fit gripping her whole body. Her teeth are bared, and he lowers her to the floor as she thrashes, tries to hold her still, tears shining in his eyes.

“Cat?” Tyler asks. “Cat, can you hear me?”

“Ra’haam,” she groans, echoing Auri’s words on the bridge.

“Hold on, we’ll figure this out, I promise.”

Cat groans, head thrown back, every muscle taut as she lifts herself off the floor, back bent in a perfect arch.

“Ra’haaaaa-a-a-aam!”

I feel so helpless, so useless, I want to scream. Every ounce of my terror, my horror, is echoed in the lines of Tyler’s body, in the way he bends down over her, runs a hand helplessly down her arm, tentative, like touching her might break her.

I know what happened between them on shore leave. Neither of them told me, but I figured it out. Coming back with those new tattoos and a new distance between them. I could see Cat wanted to close it. I could understand why Tyler didn’t. Why it might have been a mistake. Why it might have been the best thing that happened to either of them. Because as in love as Ty is with the idea of being a leader, of being a soldier, of being someone Dad would be proud of, I know part of Tyler is in love with Cat, too.

He just hasn’t figured out how yet.

But what will he do if he loses her?

“I can f-feeeeel it,” Cat hisses, sweat beading on her brow. “I can feel them. This place, this planet … I kn-know what it issssss.”

She sighs and sinks back down onto the mossy growth. Her eyes are open, the same faintly luminous blue as the pollen floating in the air around us. And with dawning horror, I realize her pupils aren’t round anymore.

They’re the shape of flowers.

“Cat?” Zila asks, kneeling beside her. “What is Ra’haam?”

Our Ace looks at Zila, tears shining in her lashes.

“We are.”

“Maker’s breath,” Tyler whispers. “Your eyes …”

Cat’s hand snakes out, grabbing Tyler’s arm so hard he flinches.