Aurora Rising (The Aurora Cycle #1)(6)

I don’t wait to hear their delayed reply. I don’t want to hear new versions of the same old excuses or apologies. I stab a button to kill the transmission. But before I can rise from my seat, the frozen image of the two of them wavers.

I see a flash of light.

It’s so bright, the whole world burns to white. And as I squint against it, put my hands out in front of me, I realize I can’t see anymore.

I can’t see.

?????

I can see.

I’m lying on my back, and I can see the ceiling. It’s white, and there are cables snaking across it, and somewhere above me is a light that hurts my eyes. I hold up my hands against it like I did in my dream, almost surprised I can see my fingers.

But, weird dreams aside, I have my name now. And I remember my family. I was part of the third shipment of colonists to Octavia III. Progress!

Maybe I’m on Octavia now, and this is cryo recovery?

I stare up at the ceiling, eyes half-closed against the light. I can feel more memories hovering just out of reach. Maybe if I pretend I’m looking this way, away from them, they’ll come creeping out. And then I can pounce.

So I focus on something else and decide to try and turn my head. I pick left, because I think that’s where the guy’s voice is coming from. I feel like one of those strongmen you see in vids, trying to tow a whole loader-drone by hand, straining against the inertia, putting every atom of myself into the effort. It’s the weirdest sensation—immeasurable effort, but I can’t feel a thing.

I’m rewarded with a view of a glass wall, frosted to about waist height. The guy’s on the other side of it, pacing like a caged animal.

My brain goes haywire, trying to input too much information at once.

Fact: He’s hot as all get-out. Like, chiseled jaw, tousled blond hair, brooding stare with a perfect little scar through his right eyebrow, this-is-just-ridiculous hot. This fact takes up quite a bit of my mental real estate.

Fact: He’s not wearing a shirt. This is now making a play for Most Important Fact, and currently seems very relevant to my interests.

Whatever those are.

Wherever I am.

But wait, wait a minute, ladies and gentlemen and everyone both otherwise or in between. We have a new contender for Fact of the Century. All other facts, please step aside.

Fact: Though the frosted glass obscures all the interesting details, there can be no doubt about it. My mystery man is not currently in possession of pants.

This day is looking up.

He frowns, making the very most of that scarred eyebrow.

“This is taking forever,” he says.

?????

“This is taking forever.”

The man in front of me is whining again. We’re lining up for cryo, hundreds of us, and the place smells like industrial-strength bleach. There are butterflies in my stomach, but they’re not nerves—they’re excitement. I’ve trained for this for years. I fought tooth and nail for my apprenticeship. I’ve earned this moment.

I said goodbye to my mom and my little sister, Callie, yesterday, and that was by far the roughest part of leaving. I haven’t spoken to Dad since the Patrice Incident, and I don’t know what either of us will say when we’re reunited. Patrice herself has been okay—she’s sent through a few briefing papers she needs me to read, kept it friendly and professional. But of all the people he could’ve picked, my father had to start boning the woman who was going to be my supervisor?

Thanks again, Dad.

I shuffle a little closer to the front of the line. In a minute it will be my turn in the showers, and I’ll scrub myself within an inch of my life, don my thin, gray jumpsuit, and step into the capsule. They knock us out before they get the breathing and feeding tubes in.

The girl in line behind me looks about my age, and nervous as all hell, gaze flickering around the place like it’s ricocheting off everything it lands on.

“Hi,” I say, trying on a smile.

“Hi back,” she replies, shaky.

“Apprenticeship?” I guess, aiming for distraction.

“Meteorology,” she says, her grin a little sheepish. “I’m a weather nerd. Hard not to be, growing up in Florida. We get all the weather.”

“I’m Exploration and Cartography,” I say. “Going where no one has gone before, that kind of thing. But I’ll be back at base a lot, too. We should hang out.”

She tilts her head like I’ve said something strange, and the whole scene shakes, shivers, a bright light flickering somewhere like a strobe. The girl closes her eyes against the flashes, and when she opens them again, her right eye has changed. I can still see the pupil, the black edge of the iris, but where her left eye is brown, her right has turned pure white.

“Eshvaren,” she whispers, staring at me like she doesn’t see me.

“… What?”

The whiny man in front of us in line whispers the word. “E-E-Eshvaren.”

When I whirl around, I see that his right eye has turned white, too.

“What does that mean?”

But neither of them reply. They just whisper the word again, and it spreads up and down the line like a forest catching fire.

“Eshvaren.”

“Eshvaren.”

“Eshvaren.”

Eye burning, fingers trembling, she reaches out to touch my face.