Aurora Rising (The Aurora Cycle #1)(58)
I look around the room at the faces of my squad. Cat’s a tiny ball of suspicion, staring right at the back of Auri’s head. Kal has his lips pursed in thought, even Zila looks a little put out. Scarlett glances at her brother, but Tyler is still peering hard at the image on the first monitor screen.
The statue Aurora painted on the walls.
“You notice anything about its eyes?” he says softly.
I look at the display. Skeptical as I am about the artifact’s origin, I can’t help noticing that its gemstone eyes bear an awful similarity to Auri’s.
One dark.
One white.
The younger Jones twin takes hold of Dariel’s chair, swivels it to face him.
“Okay, Big Time,” he says. “Tell us everything you know.”
16
Tyler
“Wow,” Scarlett breathes.
It’s not often my big sister is reduced to being monosyllabic. Our father told us that when we were kids, Scar was speaking full sentences while I was still struggling with “dada.” But as we walk through the Bianchi Museum—visitors welcome holograph and into the ship’s grand entry hall, I can’t help but agree with her assessment. My eyes roam the graceful archways above our heads, the smooth curves of the alien architecture, the milling crowd and the beautiful exhibits. We’re here hunting down information about Aurora’s mysterious artifact, and tensions are high in the squad after her impromptu painting session last night. But even if we’re in it up to our eyeballs on this little adventure, this place is still breathtaking.
“Yeah, it’s a sight,” I murmur.
“Didn’t think you liked blondes, Bee-bro,” Scar replies.
I raise a brow, look at my sister sidelong. And that’s when I realize she’s not admiring the architecture or crowd or exhibits; she’s checking out the security guards posted beside the door. Both are human, handsome, well armed and kitted out in dark blue power armor. Scar catches the blond one’s eye, gives him a wink. The guard grins with all due enthusiasm.
“Come on, let’s take a look around,” I say.
“I am looking around,” my twin protests.
I take Scarlett’s hand and haul her inside, mind on our mission. Wondering for the hundredth time if I should have my head examined, if I wouldn’t be smarter just turning Aurora over to the authorities, if this wild-goose chase is going to lead me anywhere but a dishonorable discharge and a prison cell.
“You must believe, Tyler.”
That’s what Admiral Adams told me. And in the five years I served at Aurora, our academy commander has never steered me wrong. He’s the one who organized extra time in the simulators for me when I needed to practice zero-gee combat. He’s the one who arranged for me to take my astronav exam over again when I only scored a ninety-eight and he told me I could do better. He’s the one who sat with me in chapel, telling me stories about my dad—how they came up through the TDF together, both of them gun pilots. Rivals turned best of friends.
Adams gave the eulogy at my dad’s funeral.
Adams has always had my back.
Always.
But this time …
“You must believe, Tyler.”
Scar and I walk into the foyer of the Bianchi Museum, simulated sunlight illuminating the large open space. I couldn’t even guess the origins of this part of the station, but the structure is huge—maybe it was a cargo ship or freighter?
Tall support pillars stretch floor to ceiling, and the place is filled by a milling crowd. Betraskans and Rigellians and Lierans and Terrans. Dozens more goons in power armor cover the entries and exits, but in our civilian clothes, we don’t raise an eyebrow. We’re surrounded by artwork and sculpture and displays from all over the galaxy. According to Finian’s cousin, this museum stretches over seventeen floors. So what we really need to find is— “Information?”
Scar and I turn at the sound of the voice. A young Betraskan woman is standing behind us, smiling warmly in my direction. She wears a formfitting blue uniform with the star-shaped crest of Casseldon Bianchi on the breast. Above her small hat spin a dozen holographic logos, one of which is a question mark.
“Do you require directions?” She smiles. “Mister Bianchi’s museum can be a little overwhelming at first. Is there a particular exhibit you’re interested in?”
“Oh, thank you, that’s so sweet!” Scar smiles. Reaching into a pocket in her long, red coat, she holds up a picture of the sculpture that Auri scrawled all over the walls last night. “We’re looking for this?”
The Betraskan woman looks at the pic, a tiny LED in a memory implant at her temple flickering. Reams of glowing data roll down her black contact lenses for a moment, her lashes fluttering.
“Unnamed religious artifact from the Eshvaren Empire,” she finally says. “I’m afraid that exhibit closed quite some time ago. That particular artifact is now part of Mr. Bianchi’s private collection.”
“Is there any chance we could get a look at it?” Scarlett asks, turning her smile up to eleven. “I’m studying galactic history, you see, and my thesis is …”
The woman sadly shakes her head. “It wouldn’t be much of a private collection if it were open to the public, I’m afraid. Although we do have some other ancient artifacts on level th—”