Aurora Rising (The Aurora Cycle #1)(80)

We bounce off the wall, sailing back through the air. We’re spinning out of control. Nothing to hold on to. As I grab at her, I see O’Malley is out cold, eyes rolled up in her skull, tiny globes of blood floating from her split brow. I can see the beastie over her shoulder, tensing for another spring. I hear a disruptor fire, Ty shouting.

But its eyes are locked on me. I’ve pissed it off. You don’t get to be the last surviving member of your species without learning to hold a grudge, either.

I look at O’Malley again. Her eyes are closed, her jaw slack, brow bleeding. I do the math. Figure we both don’t need to die. So I let her go and kick her away.

She sails apart from me.

The ultrasaur springs my way, roaring as it comes.

Tyler fires again, I see a bright flash.

The world is moving in slo-mo, I’m spinning weightless as that engine of teeth and claws flings itself right at me. But I find myself smiling. Because I’m flying.

Here at the end, at least I’m flying.

And then I hit something hard.

There’s nothing there, but still I hit it—some invisible force that arrests my flight. Holds me in place.

The ultrasaur is frozen, too, hanging in midair and defying every law of momentum and gravity I know.

It roars in fury.

The air vibrates around me, the world goes out of focus. I taste salt in my mouth. I see O’Malley from the corner of my eye. She’s floating on air, too, short hair rippling as if the wind were blowing. I can see her right eye is glowing, burning, her arms outstretched, a subsonic hum building like static electricity in the air around me.

“T-t-ttrig-ggerrrrr,” she says.

A wave of force rolls out from her, shivering, translucent, spherical. It flattens the undergrowth, crushes the trees flat, expanding in an ever-widening circle until it hits beastieboy.

And beastieboy just … pops. Like a bug being squashed by some massive, invisible shoe. Its armored skin splits apart and its insides become its outsides and I turn my head and close my eyes so I don’t have to watch the rest.

The enclosure shakes like it’s in the middle of a planetquake. There’s something soft and spongy under my feet. Opening my eyes, I realize my boots are now touching the floor.

Maker’s breath, she’s moved me. …

O’Malley sinks down to the earth, arms still outstretched, blood spilling from her nose and floating in the air. Her eye is still burning with that ghostly white light, almost blinding. But I can feel her looking at me. Feel her seeing me.

“Believe,” she says.

She convulses once, then her eyes close and she passes out again, slowly curling into a fetal position and floating there like a baby in its mother’s womb.

“Cat!”

I turn and see Tyler behind me, shaggy blond hair drifting about his head in the zero gee. He’s clinging to the flattened tree line, spattered in ultrasaur blood. His face is pale, his blue eyes wide. But he’s pointing past me.

“Look,” he says.

I turn, look past the curtain of gore to the office wall. And I see the force of O’Malley’s … well, whatever she just did … hasn’t just flattened the trees, torn the shrubs free, squeezed the Great Ultrasaur of Abraaxis IV like a very large and angry jelly doughnut. It’s also cracked the wall of Bianchi’s office open like an egg.

She did it.

We’re in.

“Told you,” Tyler says.

I look at him blankly, and he just smiles.

“Faith.”





23


    Scarlett




“We are aware World Ship residents may currently be experiencing difficulties with [gravity]. Please remain calm.”

The announcement spills over the public address system, met with hundreds of outraged shouts from people already well aware of the problem. I push my way out of the turbolift, sailing into the grand bazaar and a scene of absolute chaos.

People and goods and everything else float in the air, a tumble of colors and shapes, like confetti at a very angry wedding. As I pull myself to a stop on an access ladder, my gown billows about my waist in ripples of shimmering blue and glittering crystal. I’m feeling glad I decided to wear sensible underwear for once.

“Our technicians will return the [gravity] service shortly,” the announcer assures us in a lilting female voice. “We thank you for your patience.”

The announcement cycles through a dozen different languages, only four of which I can speak. The reaction from the residents is universal outrage. The savvier folk in the bazaar are wearing magboots like me—but that doesn’t do much for their wares, their livestock, their belongings.

I keep to the edge of the bazaar, pushing myself along the wall, engaging my magboots only when I need to. It’s quicker to fly, and time is something we’re apparently way shorter on than we planned.

“Kal, Zila, can you hear me?”

“Affirmative, Legionnaire Jones,” Zila responds.

“What’s your position?”

“Almost at Dariel’s flat. ETA, forty-two seconds.”

I reach the edge of the bazaar and consult the schematic on my uniglass, shaking my head. “Crap, I’m at least five minutes away.”

“We cannot wait for you,” I hear Kal declare.