Starflight

by Melissa Landers

  On a whim, Solara rolled up her shirtsleeve to display her tattoo. “More than enough,” she blurted. “Considering who we are.”

  Eyes went wide, and the group leader retreated a pace. As an outcast himself, he obviously recognized the symbol for the Brethren of Outcasts and knew its implications. Anyone bearing that mark belonged to a network of ruthless fighters. To provoke one was to provoke them all.

  Doran caught on quickly and displayed his own wrist. He looked down his nose at the group and said in a menacing voice, “You’ve heard stories of Demarkus Hahn, the pirate chief with fists like sledgehammers. I’m the man who laid him flat and took his bride.”

  To validate his story, Solara gave a tight nod.

  “He may rule the quadrant’s inner circle,” Doran went on, “but the fringe belongs to me. All Brethren in this realm will answer to Daro the Red.” He cracked his knuckles and cocked his head to the side in a flawless imitation of the pirate lord. “Or else challenge me now, before these witnesses.”

  Nobody volunteered.

  “We have no quarrel,” the group leader said, taking another backward step as he lifted both hands in supplication. “Let’s part as friends…and allies.”

  After pretending to think it over, Doran nodded as if he’d done the man a favor. Then they climbed inside the shuttle and didn’t look back.

  Late that evening, when the Banshee was locked up tight and the rest of the crew slept in their bunks, Solara stood in front of the bedroom mirror and unfastened her braids with cold, clammy fingers. She couldn’t stop picturing the bones that had protruded from the settlers’ clothes, or the way their hollow eyes had made them look more like scarecrows than human beings.

  Would a year on Vega do the same thing to her?

  Yes, she realized. If someone doesn’t sell me first.

  The captain had warned her about this months ago, but she’d stubbornly clung to her dreams of independence and belonging—of being revered for the calluses on her palms and the grease under her fingernails. There was no freedom here—not really. She’d just traded one form of oppression for another. Whether on Earth or on Vega, her life would never be anything more than a bare-knuckled fight to survive.

  Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away and focused on Doran’s reflection in the mirror. She could tell his mind was somewhere else, too. He sat hunched on the edge of the bed, resting both elbows on his knees and staring at his hands. They were nice hands, strong and rough from months of labor, but she doubted he was really seeing them.

  “You okay?” she asked. “You’ve been quiet tonight.”

  He flashed an empty grin, all lips and no eyes. “Just thinking.”

  “I thought I smelled smoke,” she teased. When the joke didn’t rouse him, she turned around and tipped his chin with an index finger. “What’s wrong?”

  He watched her for a moment, then shrugged. “I think I found my purpose in life.”

  The flippancy in his tone shocked a dry laugh out of her. “Is that all? Try not to act so excited. You might pull a muscle.”

  “There’s nothing to be excited about. At least not yet. Discovering your purpose and making it happen are two different things.”

  His message hit home, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. Until today, she’d thought she had a purpose. Now she wasn’t sure.

  “I can make a difference here,” Doran told her. “Just by putting an end to the price gouging. Think of the impact that cheaper fuel would have on the fringe—more crops, better technology, the freedom to travel off world. It would be a total game changer.”

  She glanced up at him and noticed a passion in his eyes she’d never seen before. Clearly he’d given this a great deal of thought. But his smile was sad when he added, “I could help people.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “I can’t do anything unless the Enforcers drop the charges,” he said. “And even if the Spaulding board reinstates me, it could take months before we see changes in the fringe.” He leaned forward and delivered a pointed look. “This place isn’t safe. A lot of terrible things will happen before then. A lot could happen to you.”

  She’d managed to forget about Vega for a moment, and the reminder sent needles of anxiety prickling along her spine. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  “No, you won’t,” he said. “And neither will I—not if you ask me to leave you here.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Actually, I do. But my motivations aren’t that pure.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means,” he said, standing from the bed, “that if I clear my charges, I want you to come back to Earth and stay with me. For good.”

  “Stay with you?” For a brief second, her heart soared. But then she remembered the reason she’d left Earth in the first place. “And do what?”

  “Anything you want.”

  “Have you forgotten about the fraud charges?”

  “It was my credit account you used. I’ll tell the investigators you had permission to buy whatever you wanted.”

  “But I’m only trained to do one thing,” she said. “There weren’t enough mechanic jobs when I left, and nothing’s changed since then.”

  “I’ll make sure Spaulding hires you. We always need mechanics. Or if you want, I’ll teach you another career, maybe product development. Then we can travel together like we do now.”

  “And how would that look?” She glanced at her tattooed knuckles and imagined what the gossip magazines would say: SPAULDING HEIR SLUMMING IT WITH LATEST FLING. “A convicted felon working side by side with the future company president?” She shook her head. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

  “I’ll hire a flesh forger to erase your record.”

  “But I still won’t fit in. I’m not cultured or beautiful like your—”

  “Stop saying that,” he interrupted. “You are beautiful.”

  “You stop saying that,” she fired back. “Because I know you don’t mean it!”

  His blue eyes flashed and he took a step closer, erasing the distance between them.

  “Don’t tell me what I mean,” he said, his voice rough. “When I walk into a room, you’re the only person I see. My brain doesn’t get a choice anymore, because there’s something inside you so rare it radiates out and blocks everyone else. You have the kind of beauty that can’t be manufactured—the kind that comes from in here.” He tapped a finger against her chest. “I didn’t know what real beauty was before I met you, but I get it now. So trust me when I say you’re the most breathtaking girl in my world.”

  Solara’s eyes burned with tears. She tried blinking Doran into focus, but something hot and painful welled inside her until his face became a wet blur.

  “I like waking up in sheets that smell like you,” he said, gentler this time. “And I like the little wrinkle that shows up between your eyes every time you look at me. When I think about giving that up, I can’t breathe.” He took her face between his warm, callused hands. “Today, when I imagined what it would feel like to leave you behind, I realized that I can’t do it. And don’t think I’m being noble.”

  “Doran,” she whispered with a weak smile, “I would never accuse you of being noble.”

  “Then you know me.” Smiling in return, he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “My reason is totally selfish—I need you. Wherever you are is where I want to be.”

  Solara shook her head as tears leaked down her cheeks. She wanted to believe him, but deep down she worried that he’d only grown attached to her out of isolation. Once he had other options, he might feel differently.

  “You think that way now,” she said, pulling away. “But that doesn’t mean it’s real. We’ve been through a lot together. It’s normal to have feelings for someone when you’re alone like this.”

  “So you think I fell in love with you by default?”

  She nodded.

  “You know,�
� he said with a twinkle of amusement in his gaze, “I’ve never told a girl I loved her before. This is kind of a big deal for me, and you’re ruining the moment.”

  That forced an undignified snort of laughter out of her. She used a sleeve to wipe both eyes and repeated what Doran had said weeks ago. “Not surprising. I’m an asshole like that.”

  He moved in close, capturing her face again. “Then we’re a perfect match, aren’t we?”

  Before she could even draw a breath to answer him, Doran brushed her lips in a kiss that wiped her mind clean of everything but the electric thrill of his mouth on hers. At the barest contact, her insides did backflips, and when she rose onto tiptoe for more pressure, her blood simmered to a boil. Right then, she decided that their kiss behind the barn on Cargill didn’t count. Because it hadn’t made her feel anything like this—as if her skin were alive with energy and about to burst into fireworks.

  This was their first kiss.

  And if she thought that was mind-blowing, it was nothing compared to the moment their tongues met. Her nerve endings ignited, and what little control she had snapped in half. She wrapped both arms around his neck as his hand slipped under her shirt, and the next thing she knew, they were stumbling toward the bed and landing on their sides in a tangled heap.

  While Doran caught his breath, he watched her beneath heavy lids, his gaze flickering like a blue flame. She saw the raw emotion on his face and felt it in the desperate press of his fingers. It was then that she finally believed him. Doran had given his heart to her. At the realization, something in her own heart shifted and grew, spreading outward until there wasn’t room for anything else inside her chest.

  “My answer is yes,” she whispered.

  Doran rolled her beneath him and interlaced one of their hands high above her head, gazing down at her with so much gratitude that it tightened her throat. “You’ll come home with me, when all this is over?”

  She nodded against the pillow, breathing in the scents of soap and oil vapors that their joined bodies had made. It was unique to them, and sweeter than any perfume implant in creation. “I’ll go anywhere with you.”

  As she locked her legs around his waist, a shiver spread out from her navel all the way down to her toes. Soon their hips grew restless, and their breathing turned choppy. He whispered one more time that he loved her and lowered his mouth for a kiss.

  After that, there was no more talking.

  “Hand me the two-thirds hydraulic wrench, will you?” Solara asked, facedown in the shower’s filtration system while her backside wiggled in the air, turning Doran’s thoughts far from repair work. She must’ve known he wasn’t paying attention, because she clarified, “The one with the blue handle.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, still staring.

  “Doran!”

  He tore his gaze away and handed her the blue wrench, then leaned forward and glanced over her shoulder to see if she was almost finished. The tangle of tubes beneath the floor looked like disemboweled innards, so the answer was probably no.

  His shoulders slumped.

  In the days since they’d waited for the geomagnetic storm to pass, Solara had taken it upon herself to give the Banshee a full tune-up—a nice gesture, but Doran was tired of sharing her with the ship. He kept daydreaming about whisking her away to someplace tropical, just the two of them. In his fantasies, life had returned to normal and he had full access to the Spaulding toys.

  “Have you ever seen the ocean?” he asked.

  “Once,” she called over her shoulder. “The nuns took us on a day trip to Galveston. It rained the whole time, but we had fun. Sister Agnes let me bury her to the neck and sculpt her into a mermaid.”

  “I want to take you to the Caribbean,” he said. “We’ll borrow one of my dad’s smaller yachts so we can drop anchor in the island shallows.” That way they’d have total privacy—no hotels, no touristy beaches, not even a crew to disturb them. “We can snorkel and swim right off the boat.”

  “A personal yacht? What’s next, a private shuttle?”

  “Well, yeah,” he said. “How else would we get to the marina to fetch the boat?”

  Solara righted herself and leaned on one elbow, smiling at him. “If you’re trying to spoil me, it won’t work. I can earn my own keep.”

  He returned her smile while his whole heart melted. His feelings for her were nearly tangible, swelling like billows inside his rib cage, and he found himself constantly consumed by the need to express it. Each night he did his best to show how much he loved her—until they were breathless and weak—but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to give Solara closets full of glistening ball gowns, to take her to exotic places and fill her belly with the finest foods. There was no better reward than seeing her happy, so from now on he was going to pamper her like it was his job.

  “I’m highly motivated,” he said. “So I suggest you don’t fight it.”

  She leaned in for a quick kiss before returning to her work. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. We might not be able to go back.”

  Doran frowned. He knew that better than anyone. “A guy can dream.”

  The captain’s voice came over the Banshee’s intercom system and put an end to the reverie. “Looks like the worst of the storm has passed, so prepare for takeoff. We should arrive at Planet X by morning.”

  Planet X—the site of Doran’s errand. That meant his ordeal was almost over, though whether it would end in his favor remained to be seen.

  “Want to talk about that?” Solara asked.

  “No,” he said.

  He didn’t want to think about it, either. In the last few weeks, he’d nearly thought himself to death trying to puzzle out how to save himself and free his father. Now that he realized how many lives in the fringe depended on his return to Spaulding Fuel, he felt a weight on his shoulders so heavy that sometimes he caught himself stooping over. What if he failed? Or if someone else found out about the coordinates and beat him there?

  No, he definitely didn’t want to talk about it.

  “Well, scratch that,” Captain Rossi grumbled over the intercom. “The storm must’ve shorted the main transmitter. I don’t want to lift off until it’s fixed. Lara, can you come take a look?”

  Solara hauled herself out of the coils of tubing beneath the floor. “Sure, just give me a minute.”

  “I think the parts are fried,” the captain said. “Maybe you can salvage what we need from the other system.”

  “What other system?” she asked, scrunching her forehead.

  “The emergency com. It’s a decent backup, but between the two, I’d rather have the main transmitter running.”

  “I didn’t know we have a backup.”

  “You’re not supposed to. It’s hidden under the console.”

  Solara shared a long, silent glance with Doran—one that told him they were both realizing they’d left a stone unturned during their search of the ship. As much as he didn’t want to backtrack, he couldn’t ignore the possibility that Kane had used the emergency com to alert the Enforcers.

  “All right,” Solara told the captain. “We’re on our way.”

  Ten minutes later, Doran was lying underneath the pilothouse control panel, squinting at a tiny com screen while Solara rebooted the hardware from beside him.

  The ancient screen blinked to life, asking him to input a recipient frequency. He wasn’t accustomed to this operating system, so it took a few tries to navigate to the main menu, but once there, he tapped the SENT file and waited for the data to populate. Soon, pages of lines filled the screen, each one detailing a date, time, frequency, and length of transmission for every call that had left the Banshee. He scrolled through the previous month, looking for the signature Solar League code that ended in a series of zeroes.

  As he searched the data, a sick feeling of foreboding uncurled in the pit of his stomach. It reminded him of the time he’d snooped on his first girlfriend and discovered her with another guy. Looking back, he hadn’t needed
the proof. His gut had told him something was wrong, and since then he’d learned to trust his instincts. Right now, those instincts told Doran he would find a government frequency in the ship’s system.

  And he did.

  A brief, one-way transmission had been sent to the Enforcers weeks ago, on the morning he’d left to shuttle to Obsidian. He read the information twice and triple-checked the date until finally there was no denying it.

  Kane had betrayed him.

  Doran wasn’t prepared for the blow that came next. An ache opened up behind his chest—the kind of pain that only a friend could inflict. But the suffering didn’t last long. On the heels of that pain came a rage so hot it tunneled his vision and turned it red. He had barely enough forethought to duck out from beneath the console, and then all logic flew out the window. He didn’t care about strategy or timing. All that mattered was finding an outlet for his fists, and he knew exactly where it would be.

  Ignoring Solara’s questions, he slammed aside the pilothouse door and flew down the stairs, not bothering to silence the clamor of his boots. A furious pulse pounded in his head, and he couldn’t have held back if he wanted to. The scent of onions led him to the galley, where he paused in the doorway just long enough to scan past Cassia and Renny to the dreadlocked boy standing at the stove.

  After that, Doran charged.

  When Kane glanced over one shoulder, his eyes flew wide and he dropped his ladle to brace for impact. A microsecond later, their bodies collided with a rewarding smack that sent Kane stumbling backward into the storage wall. Cabinets shook, sending loose tin cups clattering to the floor while voices bellowed from behind Doran. Kane flailed both arms in a struggle to right himself, but Doran didn’t give him the chance. Bracing one hand against the wall, he sank his opposite fist into Kane’s stomach, then drew back to deliver a right hook to the jaw.

  Doran’s knuckles screamed at the impact of bone on bone, but he ignored the burn. He’d just wound up for another blow when a powerful set of arms locked around his chest and dragged him back toward the table.