Aurora Rising (The Aurora Cycle #1)(78)

“To Bianchi’s office?” Tyler nods. “Yeah, it does.”

I shake my head. “This is crazy, Tyler. This is every kind of stupid.”

“At least we’re being consistent,” he says, ripping off his mask and jacket.

“This bad boy killed every living thing on its planet. You really wanna go poking around its house?”

“Gravity is still down, it’s not going to be mobile. We move quick and quiet, we’ll be okay. We’ve come this far. There’s no backing out now.”

“And presuming we dodge that thing down there, how do we get through into Bianchi’s office afterward?”

Tyler smiles. “Trust me.”

A beep sounds inside O’Malley’s pocket.

“You realize you’re all about to die, right?”

“Magellan, hush,” she whispers, muting its volume.

Annoying as the little bastard is, I can’t help but agree with it. I want to protest more, but Ty’s already gone, deactivating his magboots and pushing himself down the ramp. For all her obvious fear, O’Malley zips her pocket closed, throws her mask aside, and follows close behind—Tyler Jones just has that effect on people, I guess. Because as pants-on-head stupid as this is, I find myself killing my magboots and floating after him, too.

The ramp emerges into a broad stretch of amazing jungle—a bona fide rainforest right here in the middle of a space station. I don’t know why it surprises me after the aquarium, but this is somehow even more incredible.

I can’t imagine the creds Bianchi must have blown to put this place together, how mad he’s going to be if anything happens to his prize pet. The foliage is thick, rippling shades of red and orange and yellow, like a permanent autumn. The air smells sweet, hung with vines and vibrant alien blooms. We push ourselves around the edge of the enclosure, using the twisted magenta trees to guide our movements. The space is massive, deathly still, and the sounds we make as we brush past the branches seem deafening, though they’re no more than a whisper.

And in the distance, in that stillness, I hear a shuddering, chuddering roar.

“Son of a biscuit,” O’Malley whispers.

“Why don’t you just swear like a normal person?” I mutter.

She smiles then, like I’ve said something funny. Glancing at me with those mismatched eyes. “Sorry, but … do I seem normal to you?”

Yeah okay, fair enough …

Another roar rings through the enclosure. The vibration shakes my belly, sets my teeth on edge. Tyler pulls out his uniglass, punches in a set of commands, throws it hard, back toward the ramp we just came from.

“What the hells are you doing?” I hiss. “That’s a Legion-issue uniglass! It’s more valuable to us than the Longbow!”

“Just keep moving,” he whispers.

He’s out in front, moving sure and steady—he aced his zero-gee orienteering exam, after all. O’Malley moves just as quickly, her movements careful and quick. I’m guessing maybe she practiced for this sort of thing in her colonist training, because for once, she looks like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

I can hear earth being torn up, timber breaking, another bellowing roar. Tyler makes a fist, bringing us to a halt. And peering over his shoulder, my stomach turning to solid ice, I see it.

It’s about the scariest thing I’ve laid eyes on, and again, I’ve seen Dariel in his undies. It looks like the Maker took every monster from under every bed of every child ever born and squished them into one great big über-monster—and then made a creature that’d eat that monster on toast with a glass of OJ and the morning news.

It’s as big as a house, all teeth and claws, sinewy legs flailing as it struggles to find its footing in the zero gee. It’s got its hands dug into the black earth, and apparently it’s not stupid, because it’s using its front claws to pull itself about. It snuffles the air with a blunt, snotty snout and roars again, spit flying from its mouth, black pupils dilated in five emerald-green eyes. The reptile part of my brain is just screaming at me: Run! Go! Get out! Because there’s apex predators and there’s Apex Predators. And then there’s the Great Ultrasaur of Abraaxis IV.

“It can smell us,” I whisper.

“There’s Bianchi’s office.” Tyler points, somehow cool as ice.

There’s the glint of a polarized silicon wall through the undergrowth, a hint of the spotlights and furniture in the office beyond. The wall is perfectly clear, but there’re no seams. No latches. No hinges. Nothing.

“How we gonna get in there?” I whisper.

“Faith,” he murmurs with a smile.

I scowl at the ultrasaur. “Is faith gonna get us past that thing?”

“Not faith.” Tyler waggles his eyebrows. “Hormones.”

In the distance, I hear a sound. It’s faint, tinny—about the quality you’d expect coming from a uniglass’s speakers. It sounds like two chainsaws trying to have sex.

The ultrasaur falls still, perks up, its eyes wide. The sound repeats again—it’s the recording from Finian’s presentation, looped on playback, over and over. I look at Tyler and he grins, and much as I still want to punch him, I can’t help but grin back.

It’s a bloody mating call.

“You smug son of a b—”