“Probably impractical to go to a war council barefoot,” she says, with a small, rueful smile that tugs at my heart.
This moment is such a small one, so simple, so domestic. But it summons a thousand others we spent together in our half year inside the Echo. It reminds me of all the ways in which we learned to fit together, day by day. And so I am reminded that although she is impossibly powerful, and although we are in a galaxy made of nothing but death, she is still the girl I know. I still have riches beyond counting, because I have her.
Tyler will not, of course, dock with the Eshvaren ship, and so Aurora takes us to meet the Vindicator, carrying us out into the void.
I am not wearing a suit or helmet, just the black armor of an Unbroken warrior—I would normally freeze and suffocate out here. But a warm nimbus of light plays over Aurora’s skin, engulfing me as she takes my hand, carrying us through the empty dark with only the power of her mind.
Her right eye is aglow, and I find myself in awe of how far she has journeyed. How strong she has become. Her face is almost ecstatic as we traverse the Void together, her lips gently curled. But still, I see that faint webwork of scars about her eye, picture the same cracks in my father’s face, deeper, darker. I wonder at the toll all this is taking on her.
The price she might pay in the end.
“You are beautiful,” I tell her, as we soar together through the black.
My heart aches at her smile. “Not so bad yourself.”
“I am … sorry, Aurora. For lying to you. About who I am.”
Her smile fades a breath, and she glances back toward the Neridaa. The ship hangs in the dark behind us—colossal and beautiful, all the colors of the spectrum. But I can see scars torn down its flanks from the Ra’haam attack now. And I can feel the shadow lurking in its heart.
“It hurt that you couldn’t tell me the truth, Kal.” She squeezes my hand. “But now I’ve met him, I understand why you’d rather your father be dead.”
“He gave me life,” I say, looking down at our entwined fingers. “And I sought to take his in return. I tried to put a knife in his back.”
“He’s a monster, Kal. He murdered a whole world.”
“I know it.” I shake my head and sigh. “But it should not be this way.”
She holds my hand tighter, looks me in the eyes.
“I understand. I’m with you. And I’m glad you’re here with me.”
She kisses me, brief and soft, and out in this infinity, we are totally alone, and totally complete. And despite everything, the struggle, the hurt, the loss, a part of me still cannot believe this girl is mine.
Aurora brings us across the span of nothing between the Neridaa and Tyler’s ship. Drawing close, I can see the Vindicator has been through many battles, held together with spotwelds and prayers. We glide into the fighter launch bays, and Aurora brings us through the secondary airlock. The aura she has thrown around us fades as the chamber pressurizes, oxygen hissing into the compartment. Gravity slowly returns, Aurora’s hair drifting downward, the white streak settling over the dying glow in her eye.
The hatchway cycles open, and we see the gremp from Tyler’s bridge crew waiting, one clawed hand on the pistol at her waist. She wears a battered spacesuit, and through the plexiglass of her sealed helmet, I can see her black fur and the spot of white over her left eye. A toothpick of what might be humanoid bone hangs from one corner of her mouth.
Beside her stands the Rikerite—another female, by the look. She is taller even than I, horns sweeping back from a heavy brow. Her arms are thick as my thighs, her shoulders impressively broad. The heavy pulse rifle she carries is aimed vaguely in our direction, and she wears an old sealed combat suit.
“Morning,” she says, in a deep voice turned metallic by her visor. “I’m Toshh, chief of security aboard the Vindicator.”
“Greetings,” I say, touching my eyes, lips, heart.
“Hello,” Aurora smiles.
“This is Dacca. She’s going to scan you for infection. Do yourselves a favor and don’t move.” Toshh hefts her rifle. “Sudden or otherwise.”
The gremp steps forward, sweeping us with a handheld scanner. Aurora and I exchange a glance as the red light scrolls over our bodies—both of us know exactly what kind of infection these two are searching for.
Finishing her sweep, the small feline steps back, growling in her own language. The Rikerite nods, touches her helmet. “Comm, this is Toshh, we’re green light on bio-scans. No sign of corruption, over?”
“Roger that, Chief,” comes Tyler’s reply. “Bring them up.”
The woman hefts her pulse rifle onto one massive arm, motions over her shoulder. “Follow me.”
The inner airlock opens after the woman punches in a code, and we follow her into a broader corridor, the gremp bringing up the rear, with her hand still on her pistol. Stepping out into the main vessel, I see the power settings are low, the lights dim. The plasteel is old, the fixtures faulty and flickering, the steel pocked with corrosion. This ship has seen far better days.
Aurora finds my hand as we move into a larger bay, crowded with people. They are young and old—Betraskans mostly, though I see Chellerians and humans and a few gremps among them. They are ragged and shell-shocked, dirty skin and thin bodies, watching with tired eyes as we follow Toshh. I have seen enough war to know their look in an instant.
“Who are all these people?” Aurora whispers.
“Refugees,” I reply.
Toshh nods. “Survivors of a miner fleet, hiding in an ice belt around a dead sun in the Beta sector.” She shrugs. “The Weeds found ’em anyway. We pulled them out of the fire just as the swarm hit. Managed to evac two of the ships in the convoy before the rest got taken.”
“How many ships were there total?” Aurora asks.
The gremp chatters behind us, little fangs bared.
“I’m sorry,” Aurora replies. “I don’t und—”
“Thirty-seven,” Toshh says. “We saved two of thirty-seven.”
We reach an elevator, the doors hissing wide. Aurora watches a little Rikerite girl playing with a stuffed toy beside a pile of packing crates. She is filthy, terribly thin, small horns budding on a brow stained with old blood.
“Be’shmai?” I murmur.
Aurora blinks, joins us in the elevator, her hand finding mine as the doors slip closed. We feel motion, the gentle hum of magnetized mechanics, and in a moment we are stepping out into the space we saw in Tyler’s transmission—the bridge of his vessel.
I take note of spot repairs and jury-rigs, bundles of cable and wiring spilling from tactical stations—the signs of wear and tear are apparent here too. But nowhere more so than in the man who awaits us in the commander’s chair. He swivels toward us, a battle-scarred mask, a journey of years and blood staining his hands and etched in his one good eye.
“Tyler!” Aurora cries.
She runs forward, suddenly, without warning. Toshh and Dacca both shout in alarm. I see the Syldrathi woman coming to her feet, drawing a null blade from her waist.
I cry out as weapons are raised, stepping toward Chief Toshh, between her and my be’shmai. Tyler rises from his chair, hand slipping to the sidearm at his waist, the Syldrathi woman roars, “SIR, LOOK OUT!” charging toward Aurora. As I kick the gremp’s weapon aside and snatch the pulse rifle from Toshh’s hands, I hear a soft grunt from Aurora, a hiss from Tyler. And he stands there, his whole body tensed as Aurora throws her arms around him and gives him a crushing hug.