Aurora Rising (The Aurora Cycle #1)(48)

Cat blinks. “I should—”

“I’m not sending him off solo. Nobody moves alone. Scarlett, you’ll take Zila. I’ll take Kal and Auri, we’ll do some recon. Maybe Auri will see someone or something she recognizes, and we’ll get a better idea of what we’re supposed to be doing here. Using our currency accounts will give away our location, so everyone give up whatever creds you’ve got on you.”

?????

There’s nobody to check our ID or ask any questions as we make our way out the airlock and into a long hallway lined with heavy doors. It’s made of a transparent material, and I can see an umbilical corridor snakes away from every hatchway. Each one connects to a ship at the other end, like we’re part of one big bunch of grapes. And beyond the ships, I can see the stars, dimmed by the station lights.

“It’s beautiful,” I realize.

“It’s ghastly.” Fin says beside me, dismissing the glories of the galaxy with a wave of his hand. But even though he’s grumbling, I realize he might be attempting conversation. And it’s not like anyone else is talking to me right now.

“You don’t like stars?” I ask.

“No,” he says quietly, for once lacking his smirk, and staring at the floor. “A lot of those stars actually died millions of years ago. It’s just they’re so far away, the light they created before they died hasn’t finished reaching us yet.” He waves at the galaxy beyond the glass. “You’re looking at a sky full of ghosts.”

“Well, that’s depressing.”

“My people live underground.” He shrugs. “Wide-open spaces, not so much.”

“And you signed up as a space soldier?” Scarlett scoffs beside us.

“Yeah.” He winks. “Intriguing, aren’t I?”

Scarlett rolls her eyes as we reach the end of the docks. With much flashing of globes and beams of light cutting over our bodies, another airlock runs us through some kind of scan, and then opens into a promenade bustling with life and light and noise. With the stars safely out of sight, Fin seems a little more at ease. He squares his shoulders and claps Cat on the back.

“Let’s go find some crash space, eh?”

“Never say the word ‘crash’ to a pilot, Finian.” Cat scowls. “And if you touch me again, I’ll feed you your fingers.”

“I like you, Zero.” He grins, manages to make the nickname sound only a tiny bit like he’s making fun of her. “Don’t ever change, okay?”

Cat shoots an accusing glance at Tyler, and she and Finian slip off into the crowd to scout out somewhere for us to go to ground. Scarlett and Zila head for the marketplace, the bulk of our money in their pockets (or in Scarlett’s case, down her bra) in search of disguises. I’m left with Kal and Tyler, one on either side as I gawp at the crowd around us.

Many of them are human, and most of them are at least human shaped. There are healthy numbers of Betraskans, mostly dressed in dark colors that match their contact lenses, their skin as white as paper. I realize none of them wear the whole-body frame that Fin does—I’d wondered if they were common among his people, but I guess it’s just him.

I spot a couple of silver-haired Syldrathi in the distance, but closer are other … aliens, I guess. I see midnight-blue skin and scaly red, I see eyes covered by yellow-lensed goggles and hidden deep in the folds of damp gray faces.

I stare at a pair in sweeping silk robes that flow like water behind them, and a cluster of figures no higher than my waist, with the heavy build that I guess comes of living in a high-gravity environment. There must be dozens of species I haven’t seen before here, and none of them are paying me a moment’s notice.

“So, where are we going?” I ask.

Tyler offers me a tired grin. “The place the latest gossip always is. A bar.”

We head off into the crush, and the crowd grows thicker as we move away from the docks. Kal moves out in front, and the look in his eyes seems to do wonders to protect our personal space. He walks tall, almost prowling, one hand close to his weapon. Most people take one look at the three crossed blades marked on his forehead and give us a wide berth.

It doesn’t take long for us to locate what I presume is a bar, its facade clustered with glowing lights and strange neon letters. We head in through a narrow door, so low that both the boys have to duck. A faint light glimmers inside the door frame as we’re scanned, and the air tastes like cinnamon and rubber. We pause inside to let our vision adjust, and I take in the space around us.

Holy cake, this place is unbelievable.

It’s kind of like a cross between a sports bar and a Wild West saloon, spread over three rotating, circular levels. Bodies of all shapes and sizes are packed onto barstools and into booths, heads bowed in quiet conversation. There’s five … things? People? Both? … in the corner, playing strange, beautiful music. They have transparent skin and tentacles instead of arms.

I clench my jaw so it doesn’t drag on the ground.

There are tables on the edge of the room, layered in fluorescent yellow. They’re covered in brightly colored stones—round, square, jagged—laid out in intricate patterns that clearly mean something to the players jostling for position around them. I see a blue-skinned woman with a high-domed head, dressed in a tunic that almost seems to be a continuation of her blue skin—it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. She smiles, then delicately nudges a green rock forward with a long stick, pushing another stone aside. A chorus of shouts goes up from the crowd. Delighted or angry, I can’t tell.