Aurora Rising (The Aurora Cycle #1)(24)

Tyler Jones raises his hands in supplication, trying to calm him. “First Taneth, Legionnaire Gilwraeth is a member of the Aurora Legion, and I can—”

“He is Warbreed!” Taneth glowers. “He is not welcome here!”

I look at my squad leader, and bite down on the words I told you thus.

It has been two years since the war between Syldra and Terra ended. Twenty months since I tried to forge a new future as a member of the Aurora Legion, despite my mother’s protests. I have studied among the Terrans. Lived and worked and fought among them. And I still do not understand them.

They are like children. The youngest race among the galactic milieu. Oblivious in their righteousness. Firmly convinced that any problem can be solved with enough faith or good hard work or, when all else fails, bullets.

But they have not seen their sun die. Their people burn. Their world end. And they do not know, yet, that there are some breaks that cannot be fixed.

“Maybe there’s a compromise?” Scarlett Jones suggests to Taneth, running one hand through her flame-colored hair. “If you’re willing to let Legionnaire Gilwraeth into the cargo bay, he can deliver the medical supplies while the rest of us see to Sagan’s onboard systems?”

Hmm.

I look at the human who would speak for me.

A wise one.

First Taneth remains silent, stroking his brow in thought.

“Honestly, sir, the faster we work, the sooner we’ll be out of your business,” Tyler Jones assures him. “I give you my word, Legionnaire Gilwraeth will follow all AL protocols while aboard Sagan station.”

I look at the human who would be my leader, eyes narrowed.

A trusting one.

Despite our diplomat’s assurances, I still do not believe Taneth will agree. Syldrathi are a noble and ancient people. The warriors who followed the Starslayer, who refused to accept peace with the Terrans, named themselves “the Unbroken” in their hubris. Even those of us who accepted the peace still felt our pride stung by the treaty. Though we Syldrathi are fallen far from what once we were, we do not accept charity from others. Especially not those who made their first stumbling steps into the Fold only a few hundred years ago.

And so I am surprised when Taneth purses his lips, and bows his acquiescence. Looking at the shadows under his eyes, the desperation on his face, I realize their situation must be more dire than I imagine.

All is not as it seems here.

?????

Our Longbow’s airlock hisses open, and I immediately taste stale oxygen and old sweat. Faulty lighting flickers in the cargo bay, and I see half a dozen Syldrathi waiting for us. They wear traditional robes, glyfs of the Waywalker Cabal etched in the flowing fabric, Void crystals strung on silver glass about their necks. They are tall and graceful. But thin. Haggard. Many have centuries behind their stares, and aside from a psi-blade at the waist of their youngest, none are armed.

Physical contact is an intimacy among my people. Syldrathi do not touch strangers, but I know it is custom among Terrans to shake hands upon meeting others. And so I am surprised when Scarlett Jones walks forward to Taneth, raising her fingers to her eyes, then her lips, then her heart in perfect greeting.

The First Walker repeats the gesture with a small, puzzled smile, obviously pleased to see a Terran so versed in our ways.

Scarlett Jones introduces the other members of our squad. “Tyler Jones, our commander. Zila Madran, science officer. Finian de Seel, engineer. Catherine Brannock, pilot. And finally, Kaliis Idraban Gilwraeth, combat specialist.”

One by one, the Syldrathi close their eyes and turn their backs on me, until only Taneth remains facing us. And he does not spare me a glance.

“The five of you are welcome here,” he declares to the others. “Though we do not ask it, we will gratefully receive any assistance the Aurora Legion offers.”

Tyler Jones looks about the cargo bay, notes the fluctuating power, the wires and circuitry spilling from tears in the walls, the staleness of the air. He sees their plight as swiftly as I do. This station was abandoned by its original owners years ago, and without money and maintenance, it is falling apart. The people here are in obvious need. But still, a part of me is saddened to see those of my race lunge so eagerly for help. To prostrate themselves like beggars before children.

Once we walked the dark between the stars, unequaled.

What have we become?

“Where are the rest of your people?” Tyler asks.

Taneth blinks. “The rest?”

“Legion Command told us there were close to seven thousand refugees here.”

“We are a hundred at most, young Terran.”

Tyler Jones shares an uneasy glance with his sister. Zila Madran simply blinks, like an automaton storing data for later inquiry. Finian de Seel has the same question in his large black eyes as Cat Brannock does. As I do.

Why travel so very far, risk so much, for so few?

“Do you have a command and control center?” Tyler Jones asks. “We need a better look at your systems so we can prioritize repairs.”

“And a chapel maybe?” Our Ace mutters, peering about the bay. “So we can ask the Maker what the hells we’re doing here?”

“We have a central control.” Taneth nods. “Please, follow me.”

He turns to the youngest among them—the female with the psi-blade at her belt. “Aedra, please oversee the delivery of the medical supplies. And watch”—a glance at me—“that. Carefully.”