Aurora Rising (The Aurora Cycle #1)(74)

Getting slow in my old age.

“Okay, corridor ahead will be clear in twelve seconds,” I say. “That uniform suits you, by the way, Kal. You look good.”

Pixieboy adjusts the ridiculous little hat on his head. “I look like a fool. It is too tight. How am I supposed to fight in this?”

“I dunno. Sexily?”

“You are not much of a warrior, are you, Finian?”

“Well, you’re not …” I bite down on my comeback as the security patrol in the corridor beyond turns and walks around the corner. “Okay, corridor is clear, go, go.”

Zila opens the blast door and slips inside, Kal right behind. Pixieboy hands Zila his delivery boxes, draws out his disruptor pistol from inside them. It’s not like he can fire it in here without bringing the house down, but he seems the sort who’s more comfortable with a weapon on hand.

On my go, they make a dash for the next corridor, slipping into a maintenance closet a few seconds before another patrol rounds the corner. I’m watching seventeen cams at once, plotting the patrols’ course on an overhead schematic, trying to predict which way they’re going to move and see my kids through—

“Great Maker … ,” mutters Dariel beside me.

My heart lurches and I glance across to see what’s worrying him, only to find a giant silver … thing on the monitor. It has a row of perfectly white, straight fangs that would make a mass murderer proud. And another row of fangs behind that. Scarlett must be fascinated by it, too, because her micro-cam is following it as it swims up to the glass. Its skin ripples in a threat display, silver through to blue through to red.

“I thought you were an atheist,” I growl, elbowing him as I turn my attention back to Zila, Kal, and the heist I’m attempting to mastermind.

So hard to get good help these days. …

But even as I’m complaining—and though Dariel’s about as much use as a waterproof towel—I can’t deny I’m having fun. Swapping family gossip with my cousin between fish talk, breathing in the scent of wet stone by the dim light of the vines and my screens, guiding my squadmates through terrifying adventures … Practically my childhood all over again.

I weave my pair of assistants through another six hallways and two close shaves before the inevitable moment comes. “Okay, end of the line. Grav-generator room is dead ahead. Time for phase two, kids.”

Kal peels away from Zila like a ghost. She stands perfectly still, waiting for him to move into position, dark eyes fixed on the ceiling, dark skin almost gleaming in the light of the overheads. She’s good at that—if she doesn’t need to be doing something, she doesn’t. Maybe so she can channel any extra brainpower she has into her master plan for taking over the galaxy. …

“Okay, go,” I whisper, and she strolls out and around the corner in her delivery-girl outfit, looking lost.

The four guards on the heavy blast doors at the other end of the hallway freeze in place. They scope Zila’s uniform and boxes, do a bit of confused math in their heads, then raise their weapons anyway.

“Halt!” one shouts, and Zila obliges, going so far as to drop the boxes and raise both her hands as an added precaution.

“This area is restricted!”

“What’re you doing back here?” demands another, coming no closer until he has a better idea of whether she’s dangerous. Though I can already see the cogs turning. She’s so small. She’s ten meters away. How could she be dangerous?

“I have a question,” she says, in that solemn way she has.

The quartet look at one another blankly.

“In entertainment sims,” she continues, “I’ve often seen scenes in which groups of guards are accosted by a seemingly harmless infiltrator, while a larger, more dangerous infiltrator uses the distraction to incapacitate them. I was wondering if you thought this was realistic behavior for trained security personnel.”

The four blink at her, the way people often do around Zila Madran.

“Are you c—”

The guard doesn’t get any further before Kal drops from the air vent above and clocks him at the base of his skull. In a handful of seconds, he’s laid out the other three with barely a muffled shout. No disruptor required.

“I genuinely believed you would get shot there,” Zila muses.

Kal turns to look at her, eyebrows raised. “You said I had an eighty-seven point three percent chance of success.”

She tilts her head. “I did not want you to be nervous.”

“Okay, you two,” I say. “I gotta check on the A-Team. Grav-generators are just through those blast doors. Kal, hide the bodies. Zila, you’ve got my instructions.”

“Is she dating anyone right now?” Dariel whispers, eyes on Zila.

“I will cut your toes off,” I tell him. “One by one, and then you can watch as I feed them to your damned fish, if you don’t stop interrupting me.”

He holds his hands up in a whoa no problem what’s your deal gesture, and I grit my teeth, turning back to the cameras.

I’m scanning the jam-packed ballroom sector by sector, looking for the distinctive blue of Bianchi’s skin. But that stands out like a Betraskan in a snowstorm, which is to say not at all. He’s blue, and thanks to the light cast by the aquarium and the star-studded ceiling, so is every other thing in the room. Doesn’t help that every being at the party is wearing a damn mask over their faces.