down its flanks.
312.
“Great Maker …”
I glance at Scarlett. The voice-over rises above the worsening bar brawl.
“The perpetrators of the Sagan massacre are also wanted in connection with breach of Galactic Interdiction while being pursued by Terran forces. The joint commander of Aurora Legion, Admiral Seph Adams, released the following statement just moments ago… .”
The footage cuts to the familiar figure of Admiral Adams, our Aurora Legion CO, decked out in full dress uniform. Dozens of medals gleam across his broad chest. His cybernetic arms are folded, his expression grim. He taps one prosthetic finger on his forearm as he speaks, metal ringing softly on metal.
“We condemn,” he says, “in strongest possible terms, the actions of Aurora Legion Squad 312 at Sagan Station. We cannot explain their motives, save to say that this squad has clearly gone rogue. They have violated our trust. They have broken our code. Aurora Legion Command offers every assistance to the Terran government in its pursuit of these murderers, and our thoughts and prayers are with the families of the slain refugees.”
Photographs flash up on the screen. The faces and names of my crew.
Finian de Karran de Seel.
Zila Madran.
Catherine Brannock.
Kaliis Idraban Gilwraeth.
Scarlett Jones.
Tyler Jones.
Under each of our names scroll more words.
WANTED. REWARD OFFERED: 100,000CR
And it’s about then that my stomach feels ready to crawl right out of my mouth.
I glance at my sister wordlessly. We need to move. Scar’s already snatching her uniglass off the table when Tannigut’s claws sink into her wrist.
“On second thought”—the gremp smiles with pointed teeth—“a hundred thousand credits does sound like a bargain.”
Scarlett looks to me. I’ve always said it’s funny being a twin. Sometimes I feel like I know what my sister will say before she says it. Sometimes I swear she can tell what I’m thinking just by looking at me. And right now, I’m thinking we need to get all the way out of this stinking bar and off this stinking station.
Like, yesterday.
Scarlett slams the heel of her palm into Tannigut’s nose. She’s rewarded with a loud crunch and a shriek of pain, a gout of deep magenta. I grab my sister’s bloody hand and drag her out of the booth as the other gremps howl and leap at us.
The brawl over the remote control at the other end of the bar is now in full swing, and I figure a little more chaos isn’t going to hurt. So I blast a gremp in the face with my disruptor, knock another’s fangs out of its head with my boot, push Scar toward the door.
“Go! Go!”
Someone screams. A barfly goes sailing into the wall above my head. Three gremps jump on me, clawing and biting. I kick and blast them free, roll across the floor and up to my feet, burst out the front door behind my sister and into the labyrinth of streets that make up the Emerald City.
The station covers eighty levels, a hundred kilometers wide. The lower levels are taken up by an inverted forest of wind turbines, which harnesses the immense storm currents below and turns them into energy. The city is interconnected by a huge lattice of transparent public transit tubes, powered by those same currents. And it’s into one of these tubes that my sister and I leap face-first.
“Grand bazaar!” Scarlett shouts, “COMPLYING,” the computer beeps, and before I can blink, we’re being whipped along the tube on a cushion of ionized oxygen.
“Fin? You reading me?” I shout over the rushing current.
“Um, yeah,” comes the response. “You catch the news, Goldenboy? That was not a flattering photo of me.”
“Yeah, we saw it. So did half the people in this city, I’m guessing. Including the syndicate we were trying to sell the Longbow to.”
“No deal, I take it?”
I glance behind, see a pack of gremps whipping along right on our tails, disruptors ready to fire as soon as we’re out of the pressurized tube.
“You could say that,” I reply. “We’re coming back through the bazaar, I need you giving us directions. Tell Kal and Zila to prep for launch. Every bounty hunter, lawman, and half-baked do-gooder in this hole is gonna be after us now.”
“I did tell you this was a bad idea.”
“And I told you. I don’t have bad ideas.”
“Just less amazing ones?”
Emerald City is whipping past the transit tube outside, dozens of levels, thousands of secrets, millions of people. The clouds around us swirl and shift in beautiful patterns, like watercolors on wet canvas. The walls and archways and gleaming spires under