In a blur, she jerked her hand away and detangled their arms. “Oh no,” she said, bolting upright so quickly she shook the mattress. “It’s a trigger for you. That’s why you flipped out the first time you saw me without gloves. And why you kept quiet when I said this crew might ransom you.”
Doran was about to say yes, but she didn’t give him the chance.
She scrambled out of bed, apologizing over and over and ignoring him when he asked her to come back. Then, after rooting through her clothes, she pulled on those damned fingerless gloves again.
“No,” he insisted as he propped himself on both elbows. “Take them off.”
“It’s fine,” she said. “I don’t mind wearing them.”
“I mind, damn it!” He hadn’t meant to shout, but if she started covering her knuckles again, it wouldn’t be to protect his delicate sensibilities. “I want to see your ink. It’s part of who you are.”
“But—”
“But nothing. I don’t care what we said before. The day you took off those gloves and told me your story was the day we became friends. If you hide from me now, it’s like taking a step backward.” He knew he shouldn’t care. Soon he’d be gone and none of this would matter. But it did matter, to him. “Just take them off.”
She hesitated.
“Please,” he said. “For me.”
She peeled the gloves from her hands but avoided his eyes afterward as she brushed and braided her hair. The conversation died, and when he offered to eat breakfast with her in the galley, she insisted that he stay in bed. He objected, making it only as far as the chamber door before a dizzy spell sent him back beneath the sheets.
Stupid traitor body.
More than the silent treatment, Doran hated lying around like an invalid while other people pulled his weight. Everyone on board the Banshee had a purpose: Renny navigated, Solara repaired, Cassia and Kane tackled the day-to-day chores, and the captain generally saved their asses. All Doran had accomplished was one lousy pirate divorce.
You’ll never change, and you’ll never make a difference. When you die, no one will miss you, because your life won’t matter. You don’t matter.
He knew Solara didn’t believe those words now, but they still stung because, deep down, there was a kernel of truth to them. He was the reason the Banshee was hiding like an insect inside this asteroid. Half the quadrant was hunting him, and if the Daeva ever picked up his location, they’d use it to capture the crew. The kindest thing he could do for these people was leave. At least he’d make a difference in that small way.
“Are you sure you’re strong enough for this?” Solara asked, her gaze averted as she nudged his duffel bag with the toe of her boot. “There’s no hurry.”
No hurry. That was what the crew kept telling him, but another week had passed, and Doran couldn’t stay here forever. The dizzy spells had subsided, and honestly, he’d felt fit for travel a while ago. But he couldn’t admit to that, so he deflected with a question of his own. “Are you sure you won’t come with me? It makes sense. We’re both going to the fringe.”
Yesterday he’d broken down and told her that his coordinates were located in the outer realm. His father wouldn’t approve, but Doran didn’t care. He trusted Solara, and he didn’t want to make the journey alone.
“Thanks, but they need me here.” She mumbled something about leaking coolant coils in the main engine. “Your ship probably runs like a gazelle.”
“What about the Daeva?”
She shrugged. “No matter what I do, I’m not safe. If I stay here, it’s the Daeva. If I go with you, it’s Demarkus and the Enforcers. Six one way, half a dozen the other.”
He couldn’t really argue with that.
“But,” she added, “I’ll shuttle you to your ship.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Doran told her. “Kane said he would.”
“I want to.” She finally peeked up at him, a hesitant grin sparkling in her eyes. “It’s only fitting. I’m the one who started you on this wild ride.”
“True. Did I ever thank you for that?”
She cocked her head in mock offense. “No, I don’t believe you did.”
“Not surprising,” he said. “I’m an asshole like that.” She rewarded him with a peal of laughter, and in that moment, he would’ve paid anything to bottle the sound. “Take this instead,” he added, handing over the fuel chip necklace. “Money’s more useful than words.”
“Won’t you need it?”
He shook his head. It was company policy to keep a sack of fuel chips inside all Spaulding-owned vessels. He would have more than enough to sustain him through this job and perhaps beyond. Solara fastened the leather cord behind her neck, then tucked the metal coins beneath her shirt. It made Doran think of something, and he smiled.
“I challenged Demarkus for you,” he said. “And now you’re wearing my token. You know what this means, right?”
She laughed again. “Look at me, jumping from one pirate husband to another.”
“What would the nuns say?”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“It’s a deal.” He extended a hand to shake. “Our little secret.”
But when Solara slid her palm against his, it wasn’t enough.
Doran pulled her into an embrace and wrapped both arms around her shoulders, fully expecting her to pull back. She surprised him by locking both wrists at the base of his spine and resting a cheek on his chest, a reaction that pleased and shattered him in equal measure. Because now it would be twice as hard to walk away.
Long seconds ticked by, but her body felt so warm and soft that he resisted breaking the hug. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed human contact. So he buried his nose in the braids encircling her head and breathed in the lingering scent of oil vapors from the engine room, intoxicating when blended with her natural sweetness. He never imagined the combination could smell so good, and he wished he could bottle that, too.
In the end, she was the first to pull away.
“Ready?” she asked.
He hid his disappointment and slung his bag over one shoulder. Then he made his way through the Banshee, shaking hands and trading well wishes until there was no choice but to board the shuttle and head toward his destination.
They arrived at the ship’s hiding place far too quickly for Doran’s liking, a flat patch of onyx sand on the opposite side of Obsidian from the beaches, where an ancient salt ocean had long ago died and surrendered to the desert. No tourists ventured here. Nothing but jet-black dunes stretching for miles in every direction. He doubted that anything survived here at all.
He scanned the area and noticed a slight color variation in the sand, roughly the length of a small passenger craft. “There’s the ship,” he said, pointing. “It’s under a tarp.”
Solara nodded and landed nearby.
Once the thrusters died and they opened the shuttle doors, a scorching wall of heat slammed into them with the force of a tsunami. Wind danced over the arid landscape, offering no relief whatsoever. The air was so hot and devoid of moisture that it reminded Doran of aiming a blow-dryer at his face.
“So this is what hell looks like,” Solara observed, glancing this way and that. “Does your father always hide his ships in the desert?”
“Just this one. He insisted on it.” Doran found an edge of the tarp buried beneath the sand and began pulling it up. In seconds, the light task had him sweating like a linebacker. Solara helped, and before long, they had the ship uncovered. It was a sedan-class vessel, standard for the kind of traveling he’d done as an intern.
“Want me to stay awhile?” she asked. “I should at least make sure the engine starts.”
“No, that’s all right. I’ll radio you if I need help.”
“Then I guess this is good-bye.”
“Yeah,” he said, lifting a shoulder to blot the sweat from his face. “Guess so.”
A gust of fiery air pelted them with smoldering bits of sand, ensur
ing this wouldn’t be a drawn-out farewell. Solara jogged back to her shuttle to take shelter. Right before she closed the door, Doran shouted, “Wait.”
Shielding her eyes, she turned to him.
“I never asked where you’re going,” he said. “In the outer realm.”
“A brand-new terraform called Vega,” she hollered.
“Vega,” he repeated to help him remember. “If I’m ever out that way, I’ll look you up.”
“Make sure you do. And bring some birds.”
She waved and disappeared behind the metal door, then gave him a minute to scale the ramp into his ship before she fired up the thrusters. Once he was safely inside the open cargo hold, her shuttle lifted off and spun to face southwest before speeding away. He watched the craft grow smaller in the distance until it faded from view. Afterward, he waited there for a full five minutes, expecting her to return.
She didn’t.
While moving through the ship’s narrow hallways, he told himself this wasn’t really good-bye. Assuming he cleared the charges against him, his work for Spaulding Fuel would send him to the far reaches of the galaxy, occasionally to the fringe, where new elements were discovered every day. It was completely within the realm of possibility that he could find her on Vega.
But then he imagined what that visit might look like.
She would probably have a new circle of friends by then, a place within the budding community of outcasts and runaways. What would he have in common with any of them? And what if she had a guy in her life? Doran felt a sharp tug in his chest when he pictured her with someone else.
Whatever, he thought. I’ll worry about that later.
He reached the cockpit and searched the hidden compartment beneath the floor until he found a sack of fuel chips. After tossing a handful of chips in his pocket, he returned the rest to the cubbyhole and booted up the ship’s navigational equipment. His father hadn’t told him anything about his destination other than You’ll know what to do when you get there, so Doran entered the coordinates and sat in the pilot’s seat to read the results.
The map displayed a nameless moon-sized planet located at least a day’s journey beyond the farthest fringe settlement. Classified only by its chart number, the tiny planet orbited too far from its sun to support human life, which meant it would never qualify for terraformation. Doran had seen worlds like these, nothing more than useless boulders in orbit. Why would his father send him to a place like that? For a new element, perhaps?
There was only one way to find out.
He’d just plotted a basic navigational course when, from outside, a ship’s engine rumbled with enough force to vibrate his control panel. He shifted his focus out the front window, and what he saw made his stomach hit the floor.
The Enforcers had found him.
An armed Solar League vessel twice the size of his ship hovered above the dunes, its thrusters blowing clouds of ebony sand in every direction. For a fraction of a second, it occurred to Doran that someone had betrayed him, but then his mind shut to all coherent thought outside of escape. His hands flew into action, powering on the ship’s engines and auxiliary systems. The thrusters on either side of his craft rumbled to life, ready for takeoff, and he grasped the wheel with trembling fingers.
As if anticipating his move, the Enforcers fired two perfectly aimed blasts that turned his thrusters to useless shards of metal.
The impact shook Doran out of his seat, and before he could gasp, he was on the floor with a chorus of fire alarms blaring from above. Tendrils of smoke crept and curled inside the cockpit, poisoning the air and forcing him to belly-crawl to the rear exit.
Fed by canned oxygen, the fire shot like lightning through the walls and shorted the electrical system. By the time Doran reached the rear hatch, not even the emergency lights were operational. Blindly, he felt for the hatch’s manual lever and hauled the door open. Blazing sunlight spilled inside, along with a gust of hot air and a face full of sand.
He stumbled outside, shielding his eyes from the desert’s assault while he spun in a circle to search for a safe haven. Logically, he knew there was no place to hide, but it took several moments for his eyes to get the message. He tried telling himself this was for the best, that eventually someone would’ve caught up with him—better the Enforcers than the Daeva or Demarkus Hahn. At least now he’d make it back to Earth in one piece, maybe even receive a fair trial.
By the time the Enforcers touched down, Doran almost believed his own lies.
But then he noticed another craft bearing toward him, so high in the sky that he had to squint to make it out. The colossus sailed nearer, blocking the sun while remaining just outside the planet’s gravitational pull. Even from so far away, Doran recognized the battered ship, bigger than a lowland giant and twice as ugly—much like the pirate at its helm. Its belly opened and belched out half a dozen shuttles, which flew like arrows in his direction.
Doran sat back on the dune, not bothering to run. The kohl sand scorched his backside, and he dismissed that, too. Because no matter what he did, his ass was cooked.
Sister Agnes used to say that trust was like a flower unfolding in the sun: The more you opened yourself to the warmth of this world, the more of God’s blessings you would receive. But in Solara’s experience, trust was like a switchblade: Give it away too quickly, and expect to find a knife in your back.
As much as she wanted to believe that Kane was a friend, she’d found it suspicious when he offered to pilot the shuttle to Obsidian. He’d never volunteered for extra duties before, so why would he start now? Even more suspicious was his reaction when he’d learned that she wanted the job. He’d gone pale and offered his services as if his life depended on it. Clearly he was hiding something. Behind the goodwill and the easy smile, she’d sensed a simmering anxiety that warned his feelings toward Doran hadn’t changed.
That was why she’d insisted on flying here, and why she’d spent the last several minutes surveying the desert for a safe place to watch the skies.
Just west of Doran’s location stood a wide, curving cliff that surrounded a sooty valley resembling the Grand Canyon. Halfway up from the base of a long-dead river and concealed from above by a stone ledge, she’d discovered a crevasse just wide and deep enough to hide the shuttle. No sooner had she climbed out to stretch her legs than an Enforcer craft appeared on the distant horizon. It seemed Kane had cashed in on the reward.
A cold weight settled in her heart. She’d predicted this, but she didn’t want it to be true.
She strapped into the pilot’s seat and made two incog radio transmissions, first to the captain, asking him to let her shuttle go off the grid for twenty-four hours. If her plan went sideways, she didn’t want him wandering into this mess. As for the second transmission…that might’ve been a mistake. But the deed was done, and now she had to let the chips fall.
Traveling due east, she pushed the shuttle to the limit and arrived just as complete and utter hell broke loose.
A swarm of mismatched pirate shuttles circled like vultures above the smoking ruin of Doran’s ship, seeking a safe place to land and dodging cannon fire from the Enforcers on the ground. She peered through the dark fog and spotted Doran sitting twenty yards behind his craft, its shell consumed by flames that stretched toward the clouds. With any luck, the smoke would provide enough cover to scoop him up and make an easy getaway.
Keeping the flaming ship between herself and the Enforcers, she touched down dangerously close to Doran, hoping he’d have enough sense to get out of the way and open the passenger hatch. Sand flew in every direction, but she couldn’t afford to cut the engine and wait for it to restart.
For the longest five seconds of her life, she bounced a heel against the floor and waited for him to join her. When he didn’t appear, she opened the pilot’s hatch and lifted a hand to protect her eyes.
“Doran!” she yelled, earning herself a mouthful of sand.
She spat downwind and scanned the dunes,
her stomach dipping when she spotted a red uniform heading toward her. If one Enforcer had made it to this point, others wouldn’t be far behind.
From somewhere above her head, the scream of metal rent the air, followed by the sickening crunch of a shuttle as it crashed to the ground. She needed to get Doran out of here before the cannons disabled her craft, too. She called his name again and found him striding into view with his T-shirt pulled over his nose and mouth. He seemed to realize who she was, and then he finally snapped out of it.
A foot soldier moved into Doran’s path, but that didn’t faze him. Doran bent and charged the Enforcer, planting a shoulder in the man’s midsection. The soldier flipped forward in a blur of red, and the next thing Solara knew, the passenger hatch opened and Doran leaped inside.
She lifted off without a moment’s hesitation while Doran wrestled the door shut. Another pirate shuttle went down in flames, nearly clipping their starboard wing as it spiraled toward the ground. Solara rolled away while trying to hug the sand. The closer she stayed to the dunes, the better her chance of avoiding the cannon blasts raining from above. As soon as she cleared the battle scene, she sped toward her hiding spot in the canyon.
“What are you doing here?” Doran asked.
She cut her eyes at him. “I think what you meant to say is, ‘Thanks for saving my pretty hide, Solara.’”
“But you—”
“Never left.”
He watched her while picking grains of sand off his tongue. “Why not?”
“I had a feeling someone would sell you out.” While Doran reached over to fasten her harness, she explained everything. “I should’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t want to believe it.”
“Kane,” Doran said, sounding wounded. “He even called Demarkus.”
“Um, actually…” She trailed off, focused on finding her bearings, then veered farther west. “I’m the one who radioed Demarkus.”
A moment of silence followed. “Come again?”
“I had a feeling he’d be lurking near Obsidian. So I called in an anonymous tip.” She shrugged and added, “I just didn’t mention that the Enforcers were here.”
Starflight Page 18