Aurora's End (The Aurora Cycle #3)(6)

“Ending with our deaths,” Zila nods. “And resetting to the moment we arrived. Like Ouroboros. The snake from Egyptian and Greek mythology that eats its own tail.”

I scowl at the pair of them. “That’s impossible.”

“It is extremely unlikely,” Zila agrees. “But once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable—”

“You have been warned!” the pilot spits. “I am opening fire!”

All around us, alarms flare into life, lights flashing and Syldrathi symbols illuminating, and a loudspeaker barks.

“WARNING, WARNING: MISSILE LOCK DETECTED.”

A tiny line of light appears on our scanners. I look to the others. We have no engines. No navigation. No defenses.

“Do not be afraid,” Zila says.

“It doesn’t hurt much,” Fin murmurs.

My hand reaches for his, fear turning my belly cold and hard.

“You better be right about this,” I breathe.

“Well, in case I’m not … you wanna make out some more?”

BOOM.





2.3



SCARLETT





Black light burns. I can taste the sound around me as everything rips itself apart and together and together and togeth—

“Scar?”

I open my eyes, see another pair before mine.

Finian.

“What … ,” I ask.

“The … ,” Fin says.

“Fuck,” we murmur.

I look around, déjà vu spidering up my spine again. We’re outside the engine room again. And, joy of joys, we are not, in fact, dead.

Again.

I look at Finian, and even though all this is impossible, I’m still aware of how close we’re standing. A tiiiiiiiiiny part of me is conscious that the last time we did this, this pale, beautiful boy kissed me about five seconds from now. But the rest of me, the sensible part of me, is screaming at my lady parts to shut the hells up because who cares what happened when we did this before, Ovaries, the point is, WE DID THIS BEFORE.

“What the hells, Finian?” I whisper.

“Finian?” a voice crackles. “Scarlett?”

Fin taps comms, speaks quick. “We’re here, Zila.”

“Again,” I say.

“I suggest you both get up here. Quickly.”

The impossibility of all this is turning my legs to jelly, and my brain is buzzing in my skull as Fin grabs my hand and we run up the corridor to the cockpit. Again, we find Zila in the pilot’s chair, the roiling darkness, the brief bursts of light, the space station. Everything is the same as when we did this before, and oh Maker’s breath, we did this before, we did this BEFORE.

Except this time …

“Where’s the pilot?” Fin asks. “The Terran who blew us up?”

“Her ship is out there,” Zila nods. “I can see it on our sensors. But she has not initiated radio contact.”

“Wait … ,” I stare at Zila and Fin, my brain running so hard my head aches. “You … I thought you said we were in a time loop.”

“That is the most plausible conclusion, given current data.”

“Well, then shouldn’t she be yelling at us for clearance by now? Shouldn’t she be doing the same thing, over and over?”

Zila chews the end of a curl, staring at the tiny blip on our scopes. She types rapidly on the flickering console, murmuring almost to herself.

“Interesting.”

The alarms flare into life, lights flashing and Syldrathi symbols illuminating and a loudspeaker barking.

“WARNING, WARNING: MISSILE LOCK DETECTED.”

“Oh Maker’s sake, not again … ,” I mutter.

My hand reaches and finds Finian’s.

He looks into my eyes, squeezes tight.

Zila stares at the fighter on the sensors, still chewing that lock of hair.

“Very interesting.”

BOOM.





2.4



SCARLETT





Black light burns as everything rips itself apart and together and togeth—

“Scar?”

Finian.

I look into his eyes as the lights dim around us. The alarms flare into life, a now-familiar barking spilling from the loudspeaker as my stomach sinks all the way down to my shoes.

“WARNING, WARNING: MISSILE LOCK DETECTED.”

“Okay,” I sigh. “I am officially over this day.”

“Scarlett? Finian?”

“We’re here, Zila,” Fin reports.

“The pilot is preparing to fire on us again. Even faster this time.”

“Look,” I hiss into comms, trying to keep from just screaming until my voice breaks into a million pieces along with the rest of me, “maybe I didn’t study temporal physics, maybe I’m just stupid, but if we’re stuck in a loop, shouldn’t everything around us be acting exactly the same?”

“My readings on the station are congruous,” Zila says. “Gravitonic bursts in the tempest, energy signatures, quantum flux—everything about this scenario is identical every time.”

Electricity crackles as Fin’s fingertips brush mine. “You know, you’re not stupid,” he tells me. “I dunno why you talk about yourself like that.”