Aurora Rising (The Aurora Cycle #1)(98)
I stay where I am for now, because I’m waiting for enough motor control to raise my hand and hit the release button in the middle of my chest, but nobody seems to realize it’s not a choice.
“Do we have any power left?” Goldenboy asks, not sounding that hopeful.
“Not even enough to run my favorite toy,” Cat says, running a hand over her console. “And that thing gets amazing battery life.”
He shoots her a grin, reaching across to squeeze her shoulder. “That was something, Cat. That was … that was flying.”
She smiles in reply, letting out a shaky breath. “They do say you should try everything once. But that was my once. Never again.”
Everyone laughs for that—we’re all too ready to laugh at anything, too jittery still. But Tyler’s already getting back to work.
“Zila, pull out the biosuits and distribute them. I don’t want anyone breathing one molecule of air without protection. Kal, break out the heavy weapons. We don’t have scopes, so we’ll have to keep watch for pursuers the old-fashioned way. And we’ll need to look over the Longbow, figure out what she needs to get her space-worthy again.”
Aurora is standing now, staring at the displays of the world waiting for us outside. Her eyes are wide, her face pale. Zila hands out the suits, and Kal and Ty and the others start to wriggle into theirs. But Scar rests her hip against the central table in front of me, no doubt noticing I’m still exactly where I was when we landed. With a wink, she leans forward to press my release clasp, and the restraints slither back over my shoulders to retract inside my seat.
“You always could press my buttons,” I tell her, and I sound pretty damn close to myself. But she’s a brilliant Face, as good at her job as her brother is as an Alpha. Of course she was the one who noticed something was off with me.
“Need a hand getting into your biohazard gear?” she asks.
“What, now you’re trying to get me to put even more clothes on? I’m going backwards here.”
“It’s no trouble,” she says, lowering her voice to keep the conversation between the two of us. “How’s your exosuit?”
Truth is, it’s sluggish, reacting slower to my movements than it should be. The EMP that knocked out our Longbow systems hit my suit, too. It’s shielded against that kind of thing, but apparently not perfectly—I’ve never exposed it to a nuclear explosion in space before. And no way do we have the time for me to spend several hours servicing it.
“It’s good,” I insist.
“Fin?” She’s not buying it, but the question’s still gentle. And that’s what slugs me in the guts. I don’t want it from her, of all people. If she looks like she’s sorry for me, like she wants to say something to make me feel better, I’ll …
But when I look up, her blue eyes don’t hold the pity I’m expecting. There’s nothing there except a touch of worry. And I think that’s why I speak, keeping my voice as low as hers. Saying something I’ve never said out loud.
“Scarlett, I don’t want to be the guy who needs help. Every time I’ve shown what others think is weakness, I’ve paid the price for it. Full gravity’s hard? Send me away from Trask, from my friends and family. Need low grav at night to give me a rest? Stick me in academy quarters on my own, no roomie like everyone else. Suit malfunctions? Your brother’ll keep me out of the action, put all of you in danger. And you never get back what you lose, once they see it. So please, don’t make a big deal out of it. And if you could hold off your customary scarcasm, that’d be great too.”
Scarlett quirks one sculpted eyebrow. “Scarcasm?”
“Yeah, fits, right? I thought that one up last night.”
Great Maker, Finian, did you just let her know you were thinking about her last night … ?
“Nobody here is going to think less of you if you accept help, Fin,” she says.
“Easy for you to say,” I reply, waving at my exosuit. “There’s a reason I got picked last out of every Gearhead in the Draft.”
Ever so slowly, Scar pouts. “Finian?”
“… Yeah?”
“Do you ever wonder if the reason you were picked last might not be the suit?” She holds me pinned with her eyes. “I’m not saying people don’t notice it. I’m just saying that maybe … just maybe, you got picked last because you spend all your time convincing the galaxy you’re an insufferable asshole?”
I don’t know how to reply to that. Knocked all the way back on my heels.
“It’s okay, Fin,” she says quietly. “Your family seals your den, right?”
And I know, in that moment, that she’s figured me out. A Betraskan wants a group to be a part of—needs one on a deep, instinctive level. It’s not just cultural for us, it’s a part of our very DNA. Much as I pretend, we don’t like to be alone.
And though I’d rather tango with Casseldon Bianchi’s favorite ex-pet than say it out loud, all this time, a part of me’s been hunting for a connection. I can’t help it—I lean toward it like a flower following the sun. And looking around the bridge, I realize maybe, just maybe, I’ve found my clan in this squad.
So, I thump my hand into hers, and with a nearly invisible heft, she has me on my feet. For a moment, we’re only a few centimeters apart. Big blue eyes staring right into mine.