Aurora Rising (The Aurora Cycle #1)(11)

Tyler is still looking over the digital dossier on his uniglass. “Zila Madran. Terran. Age eighteen. Science Division.”

“She’s clever,” I say. “Her academic record is flawless.”

“She’s had thirty-two official reprimands in the last two years.”

“Well, we aren’t all perfect little snowflakes, brother mine.”

“Speak for yourself.” Cat grins, smacking her butt. “I’m bloody brilliant.”

Tyler looks over the uniglass in his hand, shaking his head. “Says here Cadet Madran locked two fellow cadets in a hab room and exposed them to the Itreya virus so she could test a serum she’d concocted.”

“Well, it worked,” I point out. “They didn’t go blind.”

“She shot her roommate with a disruptor pistol.”

“Set to stun.”

“Repeatedly.”

“Maybe she didn’t stun so easy?” Cat offers.

“Et tu, Brannock?” Tyler asks.

We salute a passing instructor, dodge a gaggle of younger cadets (who whisper in appropriate awe at the sight of the famous Tyler Jones) and step into the elevator leading down to the squad briefing rooms. As the station spins past the transparent plasteel, along with all the hustle and bustle twenty thousand people can provide, Tyler flips to the dossier on our next squaddie.

“Finian de Karran de Seel. Betraskan. Age nineteen. Tech Division.”

“He’s smart,” I say. “Top tenth percentile. If you’re into that sort of thing.”

“Says here he failed Fold Dynamics.”

“Otherwise he’d be top two percentile,” I say. “See? Super smart.”

“Also says here he wears an exosuit,” Tyler continues.

“Yeah,” I nod. “He has nerve damage, muscle weakness, and impaired mobility. He caught the Lysergia plague as a kid. The suit compensates.”

“Fair enough.” Tyler nods. “But if he’s so smart, why’d he fail Fold Dynamics?”

“The final exam was a group exercise.”

“… So?”

“So, you’ll see,” Cat sighs.

We step out of the elevator, work our way through the crowd, and a few corridors later, we arrive at our allocated briefing room. The walls are aglow with displays—star maps denoting galactic territories, daily feeds about the Syldrathi civil war, news footage of the refugee fleets amassing on the edge of Terran space. A smartglass table dominates the room, the sigil of Aurora Academy projected on the surface, along with our motto.

We the Legion

We the light

Burning bright against the night

And on opposite ends, literally as far apart as they can possibly be, are two of our new squad mates.

Zila Madran is Terran. She’s even shorter than Cat, with dark brown skin and long, tight black curls. The green stripe of the Science Division across her shoulders does nothing for her complexion, but if cute could be weaponized, she’d be a pretty good candidate. There’s something about her stare, though. Like there’s no one home behind those dark eyes of hers.

But hey, at least she’s not carrying a disruptor pistol today. …

Our second squaddie is almost the mirror opposite of our first, leaning against the far wall. Like all Betraskans, his skin is the white of bleached bone. The only bright color on him is the purple stripe of the Tech Division on his uniform. His eyes are bigger than a human’s, and the protective contact lenses he wears over them are totally black. His bones are the kind of long and thin you get growing up in zero gee, and that makes him unusual. Betraskans love to travel, but almost all of them are reared on their home planet of Trask. Finian’s file says he spent a lot of his childhood on off-world stations. He has short, spiky hair with just enough product to make it look like he might not use product at all. But he doesn’t fool me.

The most notable thing about him is the light exosuit mentioned in his file. It’s made of a silvery metal, a half shell covering his back, his arms and legs fitted with articulated sleeves, gloves, and boots. It’s state-of-the-art tech, and his movement is fluid, almost soundless. But even if I hadn’t read his background, I’d still be able to tell the suit is handling much of the hard work for him.

Tyler looks at the pair, offers them a picture-perfect salute.

“Good morning, Legionnaires.”

They both just stare at him, Zila as if she’s counting all his atoms one by one, and Finian as though he just got served a dish that looks nothing like the pretty picture on the menu. Still, he’s the one who moves first, lifting one hand in a half-assed salute.

“Sir.” The honorific doesn’t sound like a compliment.

Zila keeps staring. When she finally speaks, she sounds quiet. Polite, even.

“Good morning.”

Tyler turns to me, eyebrow raised. “Aren’t we missing someone?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, dear brother.”

“He’s going to miss the briefing.”

“Hmm.” I make a show of patting down my uniform, peering down my tunic. “I seem to have left the part of me that cares in my other pants.”

Please note: I love my brother very much and I know he’s having a tough day, but I was up really late last night pulling together his dossier and I haven’t had my caffeine yet and I’m normally not this mean to him. …