Aurora Rising (The Aurora Cycle #1)(15)

Holy cake, what’s happened to my hair?

The cut’s still the same messy pixie as it’s always been, but looking at my reflection, I can see there’s a wide streak of white through my bangs. I run my fingers through it, wondering if maybe it’s another symptom of my long-term cryo. Wondering if I’m sick. Maybe I should mention it to someone. Though I suppose it’ll be a miracle if I get out of two centuries in suspended animation on a malfunctioning ship with nothing more than a bloody nose and a few white hairs.

Well, a bloody nose and a few white hairs and hallucinations.

I wash my face in the sink, then focus on getting dressed. I trade my white pajamas for what looks like a cross between a school uniform and some kind of sports gear. There’s underwear, a bra that’s a little optimistic given my assets, leggings, and a long-sleeved tunic with a logo I don’t recognize on the chest.

I spot a pair of boots by the door, which is when I notice a small red light on a panel beside it. I allow myself a minute to wonder if that means it’s locked, and debate whether there’s any value in confirming this.

Not really. Where would I go?

There’s a second red light up in the corner, probably a camera. I’m looking at it when there’s a soft knock at the door, and when it slides open, it reveals Captain Hotness—the guy who rescued me from the Hadfield. He’s in the same blue gray as me and my imaginary visitor from earlier, and he’s got a faint bruise along his jawline, just a shadow. He’s carrying a little red package with a bow on top, the only real spot of color in the room. Unless you count my blood, I mean.

It’s the gift that makes me think he’s probably another hallucination, because it’s so out of place. At least no one’s bleeding or screaming in this one, I guess. I wonder if I’ll get to find out what he brought me before he fades away.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

When I don’t answer, he makes his way to the end of the bed and sits, keeping a polite distance between us. I’m staring at him and he’s staring back, looking a little bit worried. My heart’s going thud-thud-thud in my throat, and I’m going to panic if I’m not careful.

The visions are getting more frequent, and more real.

“… Are you okay?” he asks. “It’s Tyler, remember?”

“I remember,” I say. “Are you going to vanish, or what?”

His brows lift, and he looks over his shoulder toward the door, like he’s checking if I’m talking to someone else. “Um, vanish?”

And that’s when I realize the mattress is bending a little under his weight.

Wait, is he real?

I poke at his chest, encountering solid muscle. I yank my finger back, scrambling for an explanation and desperately hoping I got rid of every last trace of the creepy cannibal blood mustache.

“What the hell are you keeping under that shirt, rocks?”

Oh, son of a biscuit, did I just say that out loud?

“I brought you a present,” he says, saving me from myself, and holding out the package. “I figured you might be ready for something to break the monotony.”

Peeling the wrapping away—the fact that he’s gone to the trouble to wrap it makes the gesture extra sweet—I find a slim plate of tempered glass about the size of my palm, edges rounded.

I turn it over in my hands, then hold it up to the light to look through it. “I think I’m going to need an instruction manual,” I admit.

“It’s a uniglass. Portable computer, hooked into the station net,” he says, holding out his hand for it. “I’m going to hold it up to your eye so it can register that you’re its new user.”

He holds it level with my face, and I stare at it as a thin red line travels down its length. A message flashes to life in the same red, rendered on the glass.

Retina scan complete.

The thing lights up like someone dropped a match on a pile of fireworks. Holographic menus are projected to either side of it, data scrolls across the screen, displays spring to life and vanish again. I can see a list of offerings across the bottom of the glass plate.

directory storage network

messenger map schedule

“Happy birthday.” He grins, and heaven help me, those dimples of his should have their own fan sites. “I mean, I know today’s not technically the date you were born, but I figured you deserved a present. Seeing how you’ve missed a few.”

My birthday.

My dad forgot to wish me happy birthday.

That was the last thing I said to him. I basically told him he was the worst and hung up on him.

And now he’s—

But I’m not ready to think about that yet—about what I’ve lost. On top of everything else that’s happened, it’s just too much. So I push the thought away, take the uniglass. I turn the device over to rest on one palm, and the displays flip so they’re still facing me. I try pressing the lit-up section labeled map, because once a cartography nerd, always a cartography nerd.

A detailed holographic display flickers into life above the uniglass, showing several floors above and below me, my own location marked with a blinking red beacon. A little icon says DIRECTIONS?

The detail is amazing, and I’m left gawking. I saw prototypes of stuff like this when I went to trade shows with my father in Shanghai, but compared to this thing, they were tricycles alongside a Harley.