Requiem: Aurora Resonant Book Three (Aurora Rhapsody 9) Read online

  Now that she was here, she still wasn’t certain what she’d found. “What’s wrong?”

  He looked up at her as if he’d only now realized she’d appeared. His expression drifted through what seemed to be a jumble of contradictory sentiments. “I got a message in the latest delivery from home. My, um…my father’s dead.”

  Her jaw fell open in blatant shock, but she recovered to sit down next to him and grasp his hand in hers. “I’m so sorry. What happened? Is there new trouble back home? Did someone target him?”

  “No. It was just a random, dumb accident. A new piece of equipment was being installed in one of the factories, and he happened to be onsite, walking the floor and pointing out little imperfections, I’ve no doubt. The safety rigging came free, and the equipment fell. Landed right on top of him.”

  He shook his head. “We’re out here trying our damnedest to kill people who can’t die, and meanwhile across a couple of universes in a tiny factory on a tiny planet a tiny piece of machinery falls and ends a life.”

  The Anadens’ confounding immortality, coupled with David Solovy’s astonishing resurrection, meant life, death and the blurring line between them had become a recurring conversation topic at dinner tables, in break rooms and during idle moments. “Well, speaking of…I don’t want to be indelicate, but do you know if he had a neural imprint? A recent, more advanced one?”

  “Lionel? Are you kidding? I assume he kept one updated twice a day.” Noah’s eyes widened. “Are you suggesting I should try to bring him back? I don’t…I mean, I’m sorry he’s dead, I think. But I’m not sure Lionel Terrage deserves the honor or the notoriety of being the second human being that science brings back from the dead.”

  She grimaced, immediately regretting having broached the question; now wasn’t the time. Nevertheless…someday, probably a day not terribly far in the future, someone was going to be second. Then someone was going to be third. Soon after that, they’d stop counting.

  “It’s not a pressing consideration. We’re not ready to try it ourselves yet, and anyone who could help us try it is busy on time-and-civilization-critical matters right now. It’s merely an idea to keep in mind for later, after we all survive the war and life returns to normal, whatever that looks like.” She tilted her head toward the bag. “You’re heading home?”

  His shoulders sagged, as if many kilos of real, rather than emotional, weight burdened them. “They want me to speak at the memorial service. The Board of Surno Materials does, that is. It seems I’m the only family he has—had. I don’t know. I started packing, but then I thought…what the hell am I going to say? I scarcely knew him and hardly liked him. Maybe it would be better to leave the public eulogizing to his colleagues. At least they’ve had practice at fawning over him for an audience.”

  She smiled warmly. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No. You’re needed here. Civilizations at stake and whatnot. Besides, there’s no reason both of us should suffer the torture the funeral festivities will absolutely entail. I’ll go, put on a suit, make up some bullshit and spout it on a stage, then sprint back here. After I sign a few documents.”

  “What documents?”

  He glared at the ceiling. “He left me everything. The companies, the trusts, the estate on Aquila, the flat in Manhattan, apparently some beachfront hut on Requi.”

  “Noah….”

  “Don’t start. I don’t want to think about it, much less talk about it.” He sighed. “But I guess I’m going to have to, aren’t I? Responsibility sucks. I spent twenty years trying to escape it, and in the end he still managed to get the last laugh by dumping it all on me on his way out.”

  “Sometimes it does.” She squeezed his hand. “I’ll go with you.”

  “But—”

  “Hush. I’m not needed here, not any longer. It’s all about the shooting now, and our ships can handle that without me loitering around wringing my hands.”

  “Whereas you think I can’t handle a funeral without you at my side?”

  “Honestly?”

  He groaned. “No. Lie to me.”

  “Of course you can handle it—the funeral as well as the surprises that get thrown at you while you’re there. But your father went to prison for me, and I want to pay my respects.”

  “He did. Damn near heroic of him.” He drew her in closer to rest his head on her shoulder. “Thank you.”

  29

  SCULPTOR DWARF GALAXY

  LGG REGION VIII

  * * *

  ZITON JERKED AWAKE inside a featureless dungeon of cold blackness.

  He shivered, though his diati ensured he wasn’t physically cold. No, the cold was strictly metaphorical and the result of spending hours lurking in the cavernous belly of the Kat provision vessel. Emptied of supplies at the Andromeda Sector 1 Regional Hub before embarking on its return journey to the Kats’ hidden network, currently it held nothing but obsidian metal walls, harsh white quantum circuitry, and him.

  For his take, this exposed the root of why SAIs could not be trusted: they were not alive. For all its size and apparent intelligence, nothing alive inhabited this vessel, save its stowaway. Stripped of accoutrements, what was left? Naught but machinery assembled, powered and programmed by its masters to serve its masters.

  But enough about the false sapience of machines. His mission was not philosophy but rather investigation and discovery—of truths, of secrets. He’d awoken because the vessel had exited superluminal travel. While there were other possibilities, the odds favored this meaning it approached a portal.

  He’d narrowly escaped detection twice thus far, once during the initial infiltration at the regional hub and a second time midway through the journey when the vessel was inspected by two Kats. Now he needed to risk it a third and hopefully final time. He must be prudent but swift.

  He drew himself up and teleported thirty meters to the outside of the vessel.

  Half a turn, though without the vessel in his field of vision he lacked any orientation…there. His suspicions were confirmed; this wasn’t another way stop or attempt at misdirection. A shining portal towered over him, impossibly large when cast against his miniscule form.

  He cloaked himself in a diati shield and watched as the vessel traversed the portal. Seconds later, the portal vanished.

  Astounding technology. There was no trace, no signature, no residual disturbance—no sign at all of a four-kilometer-wide portal lying hidden within folded and collapsed dimensions at this spot, a single point in the great vastness of the universe.

  Lacking the desire to float in space in nothing but the void any longer, he did what only a Praesidis elasson—and only an arrogant one at that—dared do: he teleported across two galaxies directly into his Primor’s chambers.

  SOLUM

  PRAESIDIS COMMAND

  MILKY WAY SECTOR 1

  “—assigned to critical duties across the—”

  The Machim Primor broke off what sounded like a tirade to glare at Ziton in blatant surprise, while the Praesidis Primor displayed relief. “Ziton, you have information?”

  “Do all your elassons treat your boundaries with such disrespect, Praesidis?”

  “It’s not disrespect when it means they’re succeeding in their missions.”

  Good thing he’d succeeded. Ziton pretended to ignore their bickering and nodded respectfully. “Yes, sir. One of the Katasketousya portals lies on the fringes of Sector 3 of the Sculptor Dwarf galaxy.”

  His Primor conjured a map of Sculptor Dwarf between them. “Show me.”

  Ziton rotated the map to the relevant vantage then added a virtual beacon at the location. “I’m confident my presence was not detected, but I recommend haste nevertheless, as it’s possible the portals shift locations regularly.”

  “Are you suggesting the Katasketousya move interdimensional portals of great size and complexity on a whim? This seems highly unlikely.”

  He regarded the Machim Primor with barely disguised contempt. “Considering
that when I departed, the interdimensional portal consisted of a point in space too small to be measured or even detected, I submit it seems all too likely.”

  Machim scoffed and turned away from him. “Do you know what else my elassons possess which yours do not, Praesidis? Manners.”

  Ziton worked to school his features further. The fact that his Primor and Machim regularly clashed was common knowledge among the elassons of both Dynasties, but this interaction had clearly escalated beyond quarrelling. The stress of a war going badly was getting to them both, when he’d have thought them both above such pettiness.

  He hurriedly quashed the thought, but his Primor was too busy antagonizing Machim to notice its brief appearance.

  “How would you know, Machim? All of your elassons keep dying at the hands of their lessers. How many recuperate in regenesis labs as we speak? Half? Two-thirds?”

  “Until you leave your anodized tower and actually face this enemy, you don’t have the right to insult me or my Dynasty in such a reprehensible manner.”

  “I—” Praesidis spun away from them. “Our ceaseless bickering matters no longer. Your every effort must focus on traversing this portal and destroying the Humans’ realm.”

  Machim’s visage hardened beyond even its normal dour state. “On this one point, we can agree. I’ll return to the Central Command Annex at once to prepare.”

  “I hope the Annex has power, if you’re to plan a mission of appropriate magnitude from it.”

  Machim pivoted, one hand half-raised. “A lesser man would put you on the floor for that remark.”

  “A greater man wouldn’t need to.”

  Dismayed, Ziton cleared his throat. “Ahem. Sirs. The enemy? The war? The portal?”

  30

  SIYANE

  TARACH

  ANARCH POST DELTA

  * * *

  ALEX STOOD AT THE DATA CENTER, charts and maps arrayed in front of her. The floor had been a pleasant indulgence, but there was always more to learn, more data streams to capture and sift through before they could be confident they were ready to make their move.

  Which wasn’t to discount how much they now knew, because they knew a lot. The locations of the critical regenesis labs had been pinpointed, the details on their defenses scoured and distributed to the mission teams. AEGIS military Prevos now hunted the Primors via sidespace; once they found them they would stay glued to their asses up to and through the end. Three of the eight were already under surveillance.

  All of which was to say, everyone would soon be vaulting into action on what might well be the final major gambit of this war. But first, it appeared there was time for a breath—of rest, of rejuvenation, of reflection. Whatever one’s inclination.

  Yet once she’d started helping, she couldn’t seem to stop to enjoy that breath.

  She hoped her parents were faring better at it, spending the time together and in private. They’d acted…good the last little while. More comfortable with one another, more at ease in one another’s presence. This was a welcome turn of events and a tremendous weight off her soul.

  Kennedy and Noah had left for home on the heels of fervent apologies and a list of items Kennedy was tracking. Alex had never met Lionel Terrage, but she knew Noah’s relationship with his father-clone had been complicated. Regardless, if Noah needed to return, she understood why Kennedy needed to go with him, being his non-platonic life partner and all.

  One of the most interesting items on Kennedy’s list was a side project Devon had started working on: the radical miniaturization of the Caeles Prism for personal use, if by Prevos only for now. They were getting better at building the interdimensional engines, increasing the power efficiency of both the Prisms and the Rifters with each cycle, but miniaturization was a big leap forward. Her curiosity made her want to follow up with Devon, but unless the tech was ready to deploy, realistically it was probably going to have to wait until after the grand finale.

  Caleb wound his arms around her from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder. “Anything new?”

  “Not really. I’m mostly crossing ‘t’s. Then checking to make sure they stay crossed.”

  “So you’re not actually busy with life-or-death matters, then.”

  His voice had dropped into a whimsical, lilting tenor, and she smiled to herself. “No, merely trying to distract myself from portentous dread.”

  He shifted his weight, which was when her brain registered that what she felt was bare skin brushing against the thin material of her shirt. She peeked behind her to discover he wore nothing but a towel. “Where are your clothes?”

  “I’m washing them.”

  A memory promptly surfaced of the first time he’d worn nothing but a towel in her presence. The sight had knocked the air from her lungs and sent her head spinning, leaving her flustered for almost an hour. Hell, just remembering it spiked her body temperature now. “That excuse won’t work this time, because you have more than one set of clothes here. In fact, you have all the clothes here, except for a couple of extra shirts hanging in our closet in Seattle.”

  He shrugged. “I do. Still, it seemed like a waste of effort to put clothes on when I would be taking them right back off again.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yep.”

  “But I’m working.”

  “No, you’re not—you’re distracting yourself from portentous dread.” One hand casually drifted along her arm, and she could feel his breath dance across the nape of her neck. “And there are better ways to do that.”

  She bit her lip as tingles of anticipation flared to life beneath her skin—then she whirled around and urged him backward across the cabin. “Not on the data center table there aren’t.” When his ass connected with the side of the couch, she pressed her body into him and her lips onto his.

  He grumbled against her mouth as his hands roved hungrily on a search for the hem of her shirt. “Those were special circumstances.”

  “Uh-huh.” She broke off the kiss to allow him to lift her shirt over her head and toss it on the couch. She was in lounging clothes, and the next second her loose shorts hit the floor with far less effort.

  Her thumb curled over the top of the towel resting low on his hips…and stayed there as she grinned at him until he growled in impatience, at which point she yanked it free before he could do it himself and deny her the pleasure.

  He lifted her up and spun around to prop her atop the couch as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

  Some nights called for slow, tender foreplay, for optic candles and soft jazz and murmured whispers. Those nights were beautiful and she counted them among her most treasured memories, but he had the right of it—this was not one of those nights. Tonight, they should chase away their worries about what waited on the other side of morning by living and loving fiercely.

  She locked her ankles together at the small of his back and drew the length of his body along hers. His crimson irises danced with desire and tantalizing danger. “Do you trust me?”

  “To the ends of the universe.”

  “Well, we won’t go that far. Only—” their surroundings abruptly blurred and shifted “—a megameter or so from the Siyane.”

  She gasped in surprise, which was itself an impressive act considering their new location. But of course she could breathe, because the diati effortlessly provided him and by extension her with a bubble of air. This ‘air’ was chilly but not frigid; the diati had wrapped them in a cocoon of protection, shielding them from the myriad of ways space would kill them.

  Which was where they now were—floating in space. No hull, no physical barrier, no environment suits. No clothes at all, in point of fact.

  Dizziness threatened at the edges of her perception, but she’d done enough spacewalks to not be panicked by the lack of orientation.

  Besides, they weren’t quite weightless, either, and an invisible, slight resistance pushed against her back. A touch of gravity anchoring them in the void. Convenient and helpful use of
diati if there ever was one.

  She stared at him wide-eyed, keeping a firm hold on him with both arms and legs despite the fact he also held her securely in his arms. He watched her carefully, concern and protectiveness overtaking passion for at least a few seconds. But her gaze kept darting away, past his shoulder and all around, taking in the stars and the stretches of blackness and even a fuchsia-and-coral nebula. “This is….”

  “Your greatest fantasy?”

  Though she did recall indulging in some notably lustful ideas while hitching a ride atop a reconnaissance ship to break into a superdreadnought above Seneca, she’d never seriously imagined this. “It didn’t occur to me that it could be a fantasy I might dream of.”

  “I never thought I’d say this to you, my fearless and indomitable wife, but you need to learn to dream bigger. In this new world, what we’ve become? Nothing is out of our reach.”

  The corners of her lips curled up, and she pushed a shoulder against the resistance at her back to create a bit of momentum, then flipped him over. “Are we musing philosophically about our lives, or are we making love among the stars?”

  “Oh, you are the perfect woman for me. Most definitely the latter.” He grasped her hips firmly and slipped inside her as her hair floated around his face in the low gravity and their momentum continued to spin them in slow revolutions.

  Beneath him, stars. Above her, stars. In her heart, stars. In their bodies, fire.

  PART V:

  SOULS AFIRE

  “What am I living for and what am I dying for

  are the same question.”

  — Margaret Atwood

  31

  AFS STALWART II

  TARACH STELLAR SYSTEM

  * * *

  RICHARD GLANCED UP TO SEE Devon walk into the makeshift strategy center they’d set up down the hall from the main conference room.

  He and Will had been working for the last several hours to confirm as many of the details about the planned operation’s target locations as possible. Two anarch tech agents and an anarch intelligence officer were on instant comm access to answer questions, but many of the unknowns were too nebulous to solidify into questions capable of being answered in a sentence or two. Richard reminded himself every half hour or so to take solace in the fact that every bit of intel they confirmed or refuted increased the odds of the operation’s success.