Aurora's End (The Aurora Cycle #3)(54)

Like I say, there’s advantages to being a badass.

I’ve been on MaZ4-VII Station for thirty-two hours. It’s a starport at the intersection of a dozen major shipping routes, orbiting a gas giant right next to the FoldGate into the Stellanis system. Longhaul flights use it as a stopover for crews to avoid Fold psychosis, but it’s also on the border of Betraskan, Rigellian, Terran, and Free space. Which means it’s as busy as a one-handed Chellerian in an arm-wrestling competition.

Saedii and Co. dropped me off here almost two days ago, and I can still feel her farewell kiss on my lips. Still see the look in her eyes as she handed me that knife and refused to say goodbye, even knowing we’d probably never see each other again.

I will see you in the stars, Tyler Jones.

Best-case scenario, she unites the Unbroken, I somehow keep the Ra’haam from destroying Aurora Academy, and we’re still stuck without the Weapon, still all die fighting the Ra’haam.

Far more likely, we end up on opposing sides of an everdevolving galactic war. Or most likely of all, I just get arrested for being a traitor to Earth and the Legion, and executed.

Being one of the galaxy’s most wanted criminals isn’t all free drinks and pretty girls’ palmglass numbers, see. And truth is, I’m running out of time.

I scan the crowd, looking for my contact, rubbing the plastique disk in my pocket. The credits Saedii gave me are enough to buy passage to the Aurora system, but there’s still a summit of the entire Galactic Caucus being held at the academy in three days. What I’m saying is, getting to the system isn’t the real drama. Getting onto the station is. Security is going to be scarier than Scarlett without her morning coffee.

But like I told Saedii, I can’t just send a random warning and hope for the best. I have to get aboard without getting caught and shot so I can warn Adams directly about the threat to it.

The only way I can send him something that won’t be intercepted is via the academy system, to his private number. Anything else, there’s at least one person between me and him, and probably more.

There’s only one way I see myself pulling this off.

“Should call her, Earthboi.”

I glance at the seat beside me, see a feline humanoid sitting where nobody was a moment ago. Takka’s got sneak, I’ll give him that.

He peers up at me with slitted golden eyes, whiskers twitching. He’s dressed the same as when I scoped him out yesterday—a big-shouldered suit black as his fur, lifts in his bulky shoes. I’ve never met a gremp with short-man syndrome before, but there’s a first time for everything, I guess. He’s chewing a bright blue stick of Rush, his teeth discolored from the saccharine and stims.

“What?” I ask.

He nods to the number on the coaster. “Girrrrrl,” he purrs. “She pretty. Should enjoy last night before you dying.”

“You pulled it off?”

He sneers, rolling the Rush back and forth across his jagged teeth with a rough pink tongue. “Tell you, Earthboi. Takka people who know people.”

“What’s the deal?”

He lowers his voice to appropriately conspiratorial levels, looks around the bar. “Ice freighter. Passing two thousand LY shy of Aurora FoldGate.”

“Two thousand light-years?” I frown. “What good is that?”

“Closer than now,” Takka shrugs. “Sure with motivation, captain could get closer. Speaking of …” He glances down at my coat, rubs his fingers together. “Paypay.”

“You don’t get paid till I’m on board.” I glower. “And I want to meet this captain of yours before I sign on.”

“Funny. Said same ’bout you.” Takka crunches the Rush between his teeth, shivering. “But Takka not taking Earthboi nowhere without paypay.”

With a sigh, I reach into my coat for the credstick, press my thumb onto the ident sensor to unlock the funds. Takka grabs it with clawed fingers, but I hold tight, staring into his eyes. “Half now. Half if I sign up.”

One ear twitches. “Real distrusting nature, Earthboi.”

“I’m a master criminal, remember?”

Takka sneers, taps his stick to mine for the transfer, and slides off his chair. I follow him through the crowd, out into the station corridors, drawing my hood down around my face. It’s sleep cycle on the station clock, so the lighting is dim, but the transit tube we ride in is still packed, Takka obviously displeased at his crotch-eye view as we’re jammed in like ration packs.

We offload in a quiet section of the docks, spilling out with a group of long-haulers. It’s quieter down here, Takka leading me through the landing bays, chattering about a tip he got on the upcoming heavyweight GMA match, easy paypay, blah blah. But my eyes are on the shadows around me, heartbeat running quicker as I grip the Syldrathi pulse pistol in my coat pocket.

I’m suddenly aware how far from home I am.

Things go bad here, they go bad all the way.

“Which ship is it?” I ask.

“Up here,” the gremp nods. “D Bay.”

A long transparent window of plasteel looks out on the ships berthed below, all models and makes. But there’s a small mountain of freight between us and Bay D. Glancing around, I realize even for late night, this place is awfully quiet. A few loader drones. But no sec patrol or dock crews.