“Give us an excuse, Jones,” the Tank says. “Please.”
Takka steps aside as more figures emerge from the shadows, each wearing a Legion uniform—Ace, Gearhead, Face—a mix of Betraskan and Terran. Each is armed with a disruptor and a dark scowl. I ease my grip away from my pulse pistol. I can feel the Syldrathi blade that Saedii gifted me still strapped to my forearm, heavy as lead.
I glance at Takka, jaw clenched. “You sold me out.”
“Sorry, old chap.” He takes another bite of Rush, smiling with discolored teeth, his Terran suddenly vastly improved. “Perhaps you should work on that distrusting nature we discussed. Any fool knows Aurora Legion has been looking for your stupid arse in this sector for months.”
“You won’t get the other half of your money.”
“But I get the reward for turning you in.” He grins wider. “No hard feelings, old chap. The Legion just has deeper pockets than you.”
A figure steps from the dark to my left, her aim and stance academy-issue perfect. I see the blue stripes of an Alpha on her uniform, long blond hair drawn back in a smooth tail, deep green eyes and lightly freckled skin.
“We can do this gentle, Jones,” she says. “Or we can do it rough.”
“Cohen.” I smile, raising my hands extra slow. “Long time since graduation. How you been, Em?”
“Shut up, Tyler,” she replies. “Get on your knees.”
“And you do it slow,” the Tank growls behind me. “Or I swear to the Maker, you are never getting back up again.”
I glance back to him. “You’re not still sore about the Draft are you, de Renn? Not my fault I got stuck with Kal, I didn’t really have a choice. Although honestly, you woulda been my third pick anyway.”
“Same old Goldenboy.” Emma steps closer, rifle aimed at my chest. “Almost as full of yourself as your sister.”
“Scar said sorry about your boyfriend, Em, I dunno how many t—”
“You thought you were the smoothest flavor in our whole damned class, Jones. But it’s gonna take more than a cute set of dimples to save you now, you fucking traitor.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You think I’ve got cute dimples, Em?”
Cohen hisses in outrage. Raises the rifle to my face.
“Looks like we do it rough, then.”
BAMF.
? ? ? ? ?
It’s the dream that finally wakes me. Dragging me up from the black mire of unconsciousness into a nightmare.
I see it again, just like before—the silver city of Aurora Academy, floating in the light of the Aurora star. It gleams like a jewel in the night, like a lighthouse that old Terran sailors might have used to keep their ships off the rocks that would ruin them.
I reach out toward it. I hear screaming, somewhere distant.
The station blows apart from the inside out, scattering like diamonds across the black velvet of space.
And I realize the screaming is me.
I open my eyes, slowly sit up, the thudding of my pulse only adding to the throbbing in my head. From the stiffness in my muscles, I’d guess I’ve been unconscious maybe twelve hours. Not so bad, really. An Aurora Legion disruptor can knock you out for three days without burying you. Cohen’s rifle must have been set a lot closer to Stun than Kill.
Honestly, she always had a bit of a thing for me.
I recognize where I am immediately. It’s a Legion Longbow, 6-Series, same model as the ship issued to my squad when we set out for Sagan Station, what seems like a thousand years ago. The walls are burnished gray, but a glance toward the light fixtures tells me we’re Folding—there’s usually a slight blue hue to the globes.
I’m in the Longbow’s detention cell—a three-by-three-meter room used to transport prisoners or dangerous cargo. The walls are blast-shielded, there’s no controls on this side of the heavy door. The only furniture is a temperfoam mattress and a waste disposal system. The air vents are tiny, there’s no wall sockets, no windows. Far as short-term prisons go, the Legion makes them pretty good.
My head feels like someone kicked me in it.
Like any good Alpha on her first year of duty, Cohen has followed the rules. Mag-restraints bind my wrists and ankles. They’ve stripped me of my coat, my pistol, Saedii’s blade, leaving me with the minimum—gray cargoes, T-shirt. They left me my boots, but they took the laces.
There’s a metal tray on the floor near the door, an unwrapped protein pack and a cardbox of filtered water sitting on it. Making a show of being more hurt than I am, I guzzle the water as I glance up at the corner of the room. I can see the tiny black stud of the sec cam in the ceiling—if Cohen is good, she has her Tank watching me like a hawk through those feeds. And Cohen is good—she was the top-ranked Alpha after me in our year. The squad she picked are half the people I’d have grabbed myself if I hadn’t missed the Draft. So there’s not a lot to do for now except wait.