thanks,” Tyler replies, looking at the image on the display in horror. “The further away from those things we are, the better. Maybe it was some virus they picked up aboard the World Ship or something?”
“Doubtful,” Zila says.
“Even if they did, how’d they live long enough to catch it there?” Fin asks.
Aurora is staring, too, her eyes distant, perhaps lost in memories of this woman, this partner of her father, now become her enemy.
“Auri, do you recognize this man?” Scar pulls up the image of the second GIA operative I killed. He is like the first—those strange fronds sprouting from his eye, a cluster of bright flowers growing from his ear and through his hair, the right side of his face glazed with mossy growth. I can see a tracery of fine veins within the leaves, scrawled across the man’s cheeks. Dark as blood.
Aurora bites her lip. “Maybe? He might’ve been an engineer.”
“Another Octavia colonist,” I say.
“Who should’ve died two hundred years ago.” Scar nods.
“He looks good for his age,” Fin says. “All things considered.”
The joke perishes in silence, but a part of me admires Finian for at least trying to lighten the mood. The bridge is quiet, save for the thrum of the engines, the hum of the consoles around us. Aurora is looking at the main display screen, the lifeless skin of these people she knew, the growths sprouting from their heads. I can feel the tremors in her body, feel the fear in her soul. I wish to reach out toward her, to take some of it away. But I resist the Pull with all I have, try to keep the want from my voice as I speak to her.
“The Trigger.” I nod to the statue in her hands. “Does it tell you anything?”
She simply shakes her head.
“We all just risked our tail-sections for that little thingamajig,” Cat growls. “You’re telling me it was for nothing?”
“I don’t know. It feels … right. It’s supposed to be here with me. But I don’t know how to use it.” Aurora shakes her head, looks up at Tyler. “Look, why don’t we just go to Octavia III and check the planet out? If these colonists—”
“Correct,” comes a digital voice from inside Aurora’s dress. “The planet has been off-limits by order of the Terran government for several hundred years.”
“Well, does anyone know why?” Aurora demands.
The device beeps. “According to records, exploratory probes discovered an aggressive pathogen in the atmosphere of Octavia III. Galactic Interdiction was invoked to stop the virus getting off-world.”
“But it looks like it already has!” Aurora says, pointing to the screen.
“We should definitely report this to the authorities,” Scarlett says.
I nod to the GIA corpses up on screen. “These people are your authorities.”
“Well, whatever we do,” Cat says, “we can’t just charge off to bloody Octavia. The penalties for breaching Interdiction are scary bad.”
“She means they kill you,” the device offers. “Like, really painfully.”
“Yes, thank you, Magellan,” Aurora sighs.
“Hey, no problem,” it replies. “I only mention it because you’re sometimes not the brightest spark in th—”
“Silent mode,” she says.
Aurora hangs her head, staring at the Trigger in her hands. I can see the struggle in her. She wants to know the truth about what became of her loved ones. The colony that supposedly never existed. But at the same time, she knows what this squad has already risked for her. The danger she’s brought among us. And it seems she’s unwilling to ask us to risk our lives for her again.
“Auri, do you remember the fight outside Bianchi’s office?” Tyler asks. “What you did to the ultrasaur?”
“No,” she whispers.
I feel the fear in her swell. I do not wish to accuse her of lying, but I suspect what she says is untrue. That perhaps part of her does remember. It’s just that the rest of her does not wish to.
“Maybe this … power you have has something to do with the Trigger?” Tyler offers. “Can you try to—”
A soft alert sounds through the bridge, a series of warning lights flashing on the displays. Cat turns to her controls, and Tyler jumps behind his own station, his fingers flowing swiftly over the console.
“Something just pinged us with LADAR,” Cat reports. “Got a reading. … Behind us, heading seven sixty A-12 gamma four.”
“Main display,” Tyler says.
Cat complies, pulling up visual of the craft that has tripped our proximity alarms. I feel the mood drop around the bridge as the image flickers to life.