Aurora Rising (The Aurora Cycle #1)(39)

“Right. Every security squad is on their way up here to level twelve. The docking bay is on five. Cat, you take Zila, Fin, and Kal down there and get the Longbow ready to launch. Quietly. If we’re not aboard in five minutes—”

“Ty, I’m not taking off without you,” Cat says.

“I was gonna say give us another five minutes, but no, you’re right, you should totally take off without me.”

“Where are you going?” Finian asks.

“Scar and I are gonna go get Aurora.”

“I am coming with you,” Kal says.

“No,” I snap. “You’re not. You stick out like a six-foot-eight pointy-eared sore thumb in here. Get to the docking bay. You might need to fight your way through.”

“You will definitely need to fight your way to Aurora,” Kal says, stepping forward. “And I am better at it than you.”

“I just gave you an order, Legionnaire,” I growl.

Kal tilts his head. “Please feel free to put me on report, sir.”

“For the love of … ,” Scar sighs. “Will you two just kiss and get it over with?”

“I mean, I could think of worse things to watch?” Finian says.

The lift arrives and the doors hiss open as the alarms continue to scream. I wonder what the big deal is. Why Kal is so keen on rescuing Aurora when he was such a jerk to her back on Sagan. But looking up into his eyes, I can tell he’s not going to budge unless I push, and Maker’s breath, we just don’t have the time.

“Scar, go with Cat. Five minutes, then you launch. That’s an order.”

Scarlett looks at me, blinking in the silver rain. “Yes sir.”

The four board the turbolift, and I look Cat in the eyes as the door hisses closed. I turn to glower at Kal, met with a stare hard as diamond.

“Priority prisoners will be in the brig down on eleven,” I say.

“Follow me,” the Syldrathi replies. “Sir.”

We dash to the stairwell, taking the steps four at a time to the level below. Marching out into the hallway, Kal walks in front, hands still held before him in the mag-restraints. I march behind, pointing my disruptor rifle at his back, hoping I look like a guard escorting his prisoner. A tech crew with fire-suppressant gear barrels right past us, followed close by a squad of TDF troopers. None of them spare us much more than a glance. The alarms are still blaring, the PA still shouting warning about the fire Zila set in the electrical conduits. I make a mental note to ask Fin exactly why he has a propane torch hidden in his exosuit, and what other surprises he has stashed in that thing.

Presuming we make it out of this alive, that is.

The brig is almost deserted—most of the troopers are upstairs looking for us. I see a hallway beyond the admissions area, lined with heavy doors. A junior officer is typing at a workstation, and a second sits behind the counter, shouting into a comms unit over the ship-wide alarm. He holds up one hand at me, signaling I should wait.

And then it starts.

It’s a weird prickling on the back of my neck at first. The air suddenly feels greasy—charged almost, like with static electricity. There’s a noise, above the thrum of the engines, below the shriek of the alarm. Almost …

Whispering?

I look to Kal, and from the slight frown on his face, I can tell he hears it, too. The brig officer blinks, looks in the direction of the holding cells.

Without warning, the lights flicker out, plunging us into darkness. The whisper gets louder, almost sharp enough to make out the words, and the room … vibrates. High-pitched screams sound out in the black, followed by a wet crunching noise, and every holding cell door buckles simultaneously, titanium crumpling like paper.

Every display on every console dies.

The engines and alarms are suddenly silenced.

The dull illumination of emergency lighting kicks in overhead.

Terran destroyers have four separate reactors, a hundred fail-safes and a dozen different backup systems. But impossible as it is, I realize the entire ship has suddenly and completely lost power. The silence after all that noise is deafening, and I look down the hallway, wondering what on Earth is going on here. Spilling from beneath one of those crushed doors is a long, dark, gray slick of what can only be— “Blood,” the brig officer whispers, reaching for his sidearm.

Kal takes his chance, sloughing off his mag-restraints and slamming them into the officer’s throat. The man falls back gasping, and Kal vaults the counter, strikes twice, and leaves him unconscious and bleeding on the floor. The junior officer turns with a shout, sidearm raised, and Kal has broken his wrist and his elbow and then knocked him senseless before I can squeeze my trigger.

The Syldrathi straightens, tossing his long braids back off his shoulders, his face as impassive as if he’d just ordered dinner.

Great Maker, he’s good. …

I’ve no idea what just killed the power, but we’ve got no time to start a global inquiry about it. The overheads start flickering like strobes, and I come to my senses, leap the counter after my Tank. Dashing down the hallway, we skid to a stop on the blood-slicked door. I raise my disruptor rifle, heart beating quick, nod to Kal. Though he’s stronger than a human, it’s still a stretch for him, but finally he drags the cell door aside with a squeal of metal.

I step inside, weapon raised and ready.