Aurora Rising (The Aurora Cycle #1)(77)

“Zila and Kal’s explosive charges are in place.” He taps his uniglass. “Even without Fin, I can detonate them remotely. When they pop, Bianchi’s security will be in chaos. We’ll still have ourselves a window, just like we planned.”

“But without Fin, we can’t get the key code,” O’Malley protests. “Even if we make it to Bianchi’s office, we won’t get through the security door.”

Tyler calls up the schematic from Finian’s presentation and points.

“The security door isn’t the only way in.”

“You’re not serious?” I ask.

Tyler winks, and my heart drops into my boots.

“I’m improvising.” He grins.

A few minutes later, we’re lurking near a heavy plasteel door in a shady corner near the back of the ballroom. It’s a little quieter here, and a few couples and one triple are getting to know each other better in the gloom. Large red letters are stenciled on the door in a language I can’t read. If I was a betting girl, I’d wager the passkeys to the Longbow that it says Menagerie: Keep Out.

The door is guarded by four huge Chellerian goons, leathery blue skin gleaming in the dim light, thin black masks covering their four blood-red eyes. They’re each standing with four arms folded across their broad chests, but they’re not on high alert—there’s cams everywhere after all, almost a hundred other guards in this ballroom. And as Ty said, nobody in the ’Way is stupid enough to mess with Casseldon Bianchi.

Well, almost no one.

Tyler looks at me, the whites of his eyes aglow in the black neon light.

“Ready?”

“Is this a trick question?”

We all reach down, flick the switches on our boots. The electromagnets Finian installed in our heels begin to hum softly, fix us to the metal floor. Tyler looks at O’Malley, squeezes her hand.

“Just act drunk and stupid,” he says.

“Second part should be rrrrreal easy for us,” I mutter.

We begin walking toward the guards, heels clunking on the deck. It’s a little awkward to move in the magboots, but Tyler takes the lead, pretending to be off his face. He wobbles, almost falls. I support him, trying to look embarrassed and loaded at the same time. O’Malley trails somewhere behind us. The goons look us up and down as we approach.

Tyler holds up his uniglass, slurring. “Any of you got station time?”

“Move ’long, hoo-maaan,” one growls.

And as he steps within range, Ty gives the detonation command.

There’s a second’s delay. The lights flicker overhead as Zila’s and Kal’s charges explode deep down in the belly of the station. And with a rush of vertigo, the sickening feeling of my insides suddenly floating free in my body, the gravity aboard the World Ship dies.

The Chellerians wobble, lifted gently off the ground. They reach out to the walls for balance, but their movements are too sharp, and they’re overcorrecting. I hear shouts of joy from the crowd, followed by uncertain screams as that ocean of people begins to float up off the deck toward the galaxy-clad ceiling.

Tyler moves quick, I move quicker, each of us reaching into one of the Chellerian’s jackets to draw out his disruptor. I fire once, twice, Tyler offloading into the third’s chest. The fourth manages to grab Ty’s wrist, twist it hard before I fire into his face. Red eyes roll up into his skull and the guards are drifting unconscious. The couples and triple are screaming behind us, but their cries are lost among the chaos of the ballroom. People are floating everywhere now, a sea of bodies rising into the air, the music still blasting, strobe lights bursting.

“Go!” Ty orders.

I grab a passkey off a goon’s belt, swipe it through the scanner. The door to the menagerie opens wide, and in a heartbeat, Tyler, O’Malley, and I are inside, slamming the door behind us.

Tyler takes the lead, magboots clomping as he follows Fin’s schematic. O’Malley’s eyes are wide. I wonder if it was the GIA who hit Dariel’s den before they were supposed to. If some other drama took Fin out of play. How I can keep this whole thing from spinning out of control. How we’re going to get through this alive.

We round a corner, find two guards floating in midair, shouting into their commsets and trying to get a grip on the ceiling. A blast from our disruptors silences them, and we’re slipping in through a heavy door, sliding it shut behind us.

The room beyond smells like a sewer. I wince at the stench, looking around at the doe-eyed beasties in the cages surrounding us. They’re sorta like cows, gentle fuzzy quadrupeds with big brown herbivore eyes. They mewl when they see us, ears flicking back in fear.

“What is this place?” O’Malley whispers.

“A larder,” Tyler says. He’s got his uniglass held up on translate mode, scanning the Chellerian letters on the controls and searching for the right switch.

“Bianchi eats these things?” she asks, horrified.

“Not Bianchi,” I sigh. “His baby boy.”

Ty presses a button and a section of the floor rumbles and slides away, revealing a steep ramp curving down out of sight. I smell wet earth below, the sweetness of flowers.

O’Malley has her head down, and for a moment I think it’s fear. But then she lifts her chin, and her mouth’s a straight, determined line.

“Does that lead where I think it does?”