Doran shot her a warning glare. He didn’t cook for anyone. Not even himself.
“He’ll clean the galley, too,” she said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Our Doran’s no engineer, but he sure is a hard worker. I can’t wait to show you what he’s made of.”
“Might as well take off the gloves.” Using his crutch for support, Captain Rossi lowered onto the pilot’s seat. Its metal springs groaned beneath his weight, and he mimicked the sound while rubbing one knee. “You’re not fooling anyone.”
He stowed his crutch on the floor between their chairs, leaning close enough for Solara to hear the tinny click of his artificial heart—a Beatmaster 3000, from the sound of it. The hollow tap was a dead giveaway. Lab-grown donor organs had replaced that technology decades ago, meaning the captain had to be at least a hundred years old. He seemed to have a lot of mechanical enhancements. Solara wondered how long a man could keep replacing his broken parts with machines before he lost what made him a person.
She pointed at his knee, which could use an upgrade, too. “I’ll bet you felt better when the grav drive was broken. Less stress on your joints.”
“Don’t change the subject,” he said, powering on the main engine. The ship came to life in a gentle hum that drowned out the sound of his Beatmaster. “I know you’re marked. What’d you do?”
Solara dropped her gaze into her lap and used a thumb to stroke the buttery leather of her glove. Did the whole crew know? Had they talked about her, worried she might attack them in their sleep? If so, they’d probably bolted their doors last night, too.
“I didn’t hurt anyone,” she said.
“I know that.” His tone sounded clipped, as if she’d offended him. “The Banshee isn’t much to look at, but she’s where I lay my head at night. If I thought you were a threat, I wouldn’t have let you on board.”
“Thank you. She’s a fine ship.”
The captain wheezed a laugh. His chest shook, causing Acorn to flick her long, fluffy tail out of his pocket. “Now I know you’re a liar and a con.” He motioned to her with one hand. “Let me see.”
His smile gave Solara the courage to peel off her gloves. She extended both arms while Rossi squinted at the block letters etched onto her skin. He arched an appreciative brow and let out a whistle.
“Grand theft,” he said. “And conspiracy. Didn’t see that coming.”
“It sounds worse than it really is.”
“Mmm-hmm. I’ve heard that before.”
“I’m not a thief.”
She shoved her hands back inside their casings, but that didn’t stop Doran’s voice from echoing inside her head. You’re a real masterpiece, aren’t you? How many of my credits did you steal at that outpost?
Just because Doran had money to burn didn’t mean she had any right to take it. Her face grew warm when she pictured the crates of supplies downstairs in her quarters. There was nothing wrong with using his money to buy passage—he had promised her that in their contract—but she’d gone overboard with the clothes and tools…and the ball gown.
She was a thief.
“I didn’t say you were,” the captain told her. “Inked knuckles don’t mean much.” He disengaged the Banshee from its docking station, and with a slight lurch, they left the moon colony behind. Slanting her a glance, he said, “You met Renny. He’ll steal the gun right off an Enforcer’s hip, but he’ll never wear a thief’s mark. He’s too good to get caught.”
“That’s different,” she said. “Renny has a sweet spirit. He doesn’t want to steal.”
The captain lifted a shoulder. “Doesn’t stop my pills from going missing.”
“What I did was on purpose.” She knitted her fingers together. “Kind of.”
“Let me guess: the devil made you do it,” he said, beard twitching as he grinned.
The devil. What a fitting description for Jace. The nuns had always preached that Satan was a seducer, that he dealt in clever half-truths and betrayed anyone foolish enough to allow him into her heart.
“Yes,” she said. “You nailed it.”
“Your father?”
“No. I don’t remember my father.” Like most kids at the group home, she’d been accepted into the custody of the church because her parents couldn’t afford to keep her, and neither could the state. The abandonment stung, but at least her mom and dad hadn’t thrown her to the wolves the way Jace had done. “He was a friend,” she said as a blush crept into her cheeks. “Or at least it started that way.”
The captain grunted in understanding. “Ah, yes. Love—the great equalizer. It makes all of us stupid.”
A familiar ache opened up behind Solara’s breast, but she forced it down. She hated that Jace still had the power to hurt her from halfway across the galaxy. She hated even more that she’d given him that power—dropped her heart right into his waiting hands in exchange for a few sweaty fumblings and some pretty words.
“It’ll never happen again,” she insisted. “I’m smarter now.” She didn’t know who she was trying harder to convince, herself or the captain, so she asked, “Can we talk about something else?”
“One more question, and then we don’t have to talk at all.”
“Fair enough.”
He brought the ship around and hit the accelerator, and the Banshee shrieked, hurtling them away from the nearest sun and into the black. Light faded and within moments they were surrounded by a veil of darkness. The view sent a shiver down her spine. If anything could make her feel even more insignificant, it was the open void of space.
After programming a navigational course, the captain released the controls and sat back to face her. “What are you really after,” he asked, “in the fringe?”
Solara drew a breath and prepared to give him the easy answer: a job. But something in his expression caught her off guard. A hint of tenderness shone in the depths of his ebony eyes, like he actually cared. She didn’t know if that was the case, but she found herself willing to share the truth with him. And the truth was bigger than simply needing a job.
She was tired of being charity’s slave.
When farms donated soy-meal to the group home, that was what she ate. If she outgrew her boots, she made do until someone discarded a larger pair. When her data tablet broke, she shared with another orphan. Nothing belonged to her, not a single sock. Even her underclothes had been handed down.
She wanted to own something, all to herself.
More than that, she craved a purpose—to matter and feel needed. In the outer realm, settlers didn’t care about supple skin or glossy pink hair. Practical skills were the real beauty in those colonies, and for once, she would be stunning.
Finally she told the captain, “A new life. That’s what I’m after.”
He made a noncommittal noise, and she couldn’t help noticing that the smile had left his face. “And you think you’ll find it there?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Ever been to a fringe planet?”
“No, but I’ve heard the stories.”
“It’s a dirty, hard existence,” he warned.
“I know that. And I want it.”
He tipped his head in a suit yourself gesture. “All right, then. I guess we’d best see to our breakfast.” Turning to his navigational screen, he added, “I just need to engage the autopilot.”
She leaned in to peer over his shoulder. “It’s not broken, then?”
“What’s not broken?”
“The autopilot,” she said, testing him. “Isn’t that why we docked last night?”
He shifted a terse glance in her direction, a look that told her not to play games. “You know it’s not.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I felt the blast.” She chewed the inside of her cheek and tried to think of a way to probe for more information without revealing that she was a kidnapper and a thief. “Who were they after?”
Gaze softening again, he patted her knee. “Not you.”
Solara blew out a breath. T
hat was all she needed to know.
They stood and slid aside the pilothouse door, then instantly recoiled at the stench that slammed into them from the other side.
“Saints on a cracker,” she hissed, waving a hand to dispel the fumes. “Only one thing stinks like that.”
“Burnt porridge,” the captain muttered. “We’ll never get the smell out.”
He was right. Burnt gruel had magical properties, clinging to walls and surfaces like a hundred-year curse until the reek grew so familiar that you stopped noticing it. In hindsight, maybe she shouldn’t have volunteered Doran for breakfast duty.
By the time Solara and the captain arrived in the galley, the whole crew had gathered at the table, Cassia and Kane on one side, Doran and Renny on the other. Each head was bent over a bowl of flawlessly prepared hot cereal, creamy and dusted with a sprinkling of cinnamon. That didn’t explain the foul smell…until she glanced at her spot at the table and the bowl of soup waiting there. It seemed Doran had managed to simultaneously burn and drown her porridge.
And judging by the smug look on his face, he’d done it on purpose.
“Kane helped with breakfast,” Doran told her. “But I insisted on making yours all by myself. I hope you love it.”
She faked a smile and settled on the bench beside him. If he thought he’d won this round, he was wrong. She had eaten far worse than this. “I’m sure I will,” she said, even as the putrid scent burned her nostrils. Peering down, she used her spoon to jab a lump floating in the gruel. Was that charred grain or a dead bug?
“Go ahead,” Doran challenged. “Don’t be shy. There’s plenty more.”
She glanced up and noticed the whole crew watching her with mingled amusement and disbelief. Even Acorn, who was perched on the captain’s shoulder, nibbling a chunk of dried fruit, had trained her glassy black eyes on the bowl. Before Solara lost her nerve, she scooped up a spoonful of porridge and shoved it in her mouth.
Sweet mother of God. It tasted like death.
When her eyes and mouth watered in protest, she reminded herself that she couldn’t let Doran win. She had to eat it. She tried to swallow three times, but her gag reflex kicked in and forced her to spit the mouthful into her bowl. The bite landed with a plop that splashed her cheeks.
The table erupted in laughter, and Kane walked to the stove to fill a new bowl for her. “I made extra, just in case,” he said. He handed the porridge to Doran, who set it in front of her with a grin that made her want to slap him so hard his grandkids would feel it.
“Sorry it wasn’t to your liking,” Doran told her.
“That’s all right,” Solara said coolly while wiping her mouth. “I didn’t hire you for your cooking skills. I’ll find other ways to make you useful.”
Cassia snorted from across the table and gave a knowing wink. “I’ll bet you will.”
Solara’s face blazed. She couldn’t shake her head fast enough. “No, that’s not what I meant.”
“Yeah,” Doran echoed while pointing back and forth between him and Solara. “There’s nothing—”
“Zero judgment.” Cassia flashed a palm. “Hookups are the best way to fight transport madness. If you don’t rev up those endorphins, the lack of sunlight will scramble your brain.”
With a sardonic twist of his lips, Kane leaned an elbow on the table. “So that’s why you keep a meathead at each port. I thought you just had bad taste.”
Cassia swiveled around so quickly she smacked herself in the eye with her own dreadlocks. “Don’t talk to me about taste, you wharf-licker!” she yelled. “Your last girlfriend couldn’t walk and chew gum at the same time.”
“Well, your last boyfriend had a nose like a weasel.”
“Maybe it wasn’t his nose that made him special.”
Kane made a face. “Thanks for the visual. Excuse me while I vomit to death.”
“Enough!” barked the captain, and Acorn dived headfirst into his pocket. “If you two can’t behave, I’ll send Renny to make the Pesirus delivery.”
Cassia gasped and sat bolt upright. “Pesirus? That’s today?”
The captain pointed his spoon at her. “Only for good little ship hands.”
Cassia and Kane turned to each other with manic smiles, argument forgotten, as they bounced in their seats and squealed like children. They drew a joint breath and yelled, “Hellberries!”
Solara shared a questioning look with Doran.
“Those two are weird,” he whispered behind his hand.
She nodded. For once, they agreed on something.
Cassia linked her arm through Kane’s as if she hadn’t just screamed in his face and called him a wharf-licker. “You should come with us,” she said to Solara. “Your servant, too. It’ll be fun.”
The confusion must have shown on Solara’s face because Renny explained, “Pesirus hosts a hellberry festival each spring. We have a contract to deliver cane syrup from Orion.”
“They add syrup to the wine,” Kane added. “To take the edge off. You can drink it straight, but it’s a donkey kick to the mouth.”
“Hellberry wine,” Cassia said, going dreamy. “It’s spicy and sweet and makes you warm all over. There’s nothing like it.”
The captain warned, “Your delivery comes first, then payment, then fun. And take it easy on the drink, you two. We don’t want a repeat of last year.”
His warning made Solara wonder what had happened last year. When she asked them, Renny and the captain grinned but said nothing while Cassia and Kane blushed ten shades of crimson. They avoided each other’s eyes and then suddenly “remembered” they had chores to do. Within seconds, they were gone.
“Must’ve been good,” Solara mused as she watched them retreat. She knew the dash-of-shame when she saw it. “Or hilariously bad.”
Renny laughed. “I didn’t get a ringside seat—”
“Neither did I,” the captain interrupted. “Thank the maker.”
“—but I imagine it was both.”
Solara found herself wearing a smile. There was a real festival nearby, with food and drinks and games. She weighed the risk of appearing in public against the rewards of sunshine and spiced berries. In the end, sunshine won the battle. “Sounds fun. I’ll come along.”
Doran nudged her with his elbow.
“Doran, too,” she added. As much as she dreaded spending the day with him, it wasn’t smart to leave him alone. He might find a way to use the ship’s com system to alert the Enforcers. “He’s no engineer and his cooking may kill us, but even he can haul a few crates of syrup.”
Four hours and two solar systems later, they stood in the bottom-level cargo hold and craned their necks to stare at a mountain of storage containers marked PESIRUS FEST.
“A few crates?” Doran remarked. “How much wine can one colony drink?”
Solara had to agree. Judging by the amount of syrup to deliver, the festival must’ve been more popular than she’d expected. In that case, maybe leaving the ship wasn’t a wise move. She bit her lip, peering out the open door of the cargo hold to the rolling landscape beyond.
The view was nearly too gorgeous to believe.
Pure yellow sunlight gleamed above a field of shorn blue-green grass dotted with lavender wildflowers. The terraformed colors weren’t quite right, as if someone had overbrightened the saturation on a telescreen. But after a month of space travel, her body craved fresh breezes and warm sunrays more than her next breath. She caught herself leaning toward the exit ramp.
She was so going.
“The job’s easy,” Kane said, thumbing toward a wheeled pallet parked outside. “We just stack everything on there, then strap it down and use the auxiliary shuttle to haul it to the fairgrounds.”
“Easy,” Doran repeated with a scowl. But he didn’t spend another second complaining. He grabbed the first crate and walked outside, then double-timed it back for another.
Apparently he was anxious for fresh air, too.
Kane pulled off his shirt
and tossed it over a nearby railing just as his fellow ship hand joined them. Cassia caught her lower lip between her teeth and stared at the dusting of blond hair across his chest before catching herself. Then with an eye roll, she snapped, “Quit showing off for the guests and put on your clothes.”
“What?” Kane asked, splaying both hands. “Laundry day’s not till tomorrow, and this is my last good shirt.” He shot her a teasing grin and flexed his pecs back and forth in a twitchy little dance. “You think I’ve got something to show off?”
Groaning, Cassia spun around and picked up a box of syrup. Solara moved in to help, but Cassia shook her head. “The captain will flay me alive if I let you do my work,” she said. “Why don’t you wait outside? It’s nicer out there than in here.”
Solara didn’t need further convincing.
She jogged down the exit ramp until her boots met grass. Once there, she couldn’t stop herself from jumping in place to feel the dull thud of soil beneath her feet. She never thought she’d miss something as simple as standing on the ground, but there was no replacing it. Not even the Zenith’s manufactured lawn had come close.
Giddy, she raised her face to the sun and pulled in a breath of air. The breeze smelled sweet compared with the stench of burnt porridge, but the effect wore off the longer she stood outside. Then she began to detect other scents—sharp and acrid, like cleaning products—and her smile faded.
She studied the turquoise grass between her boots. She’d never visited a colonized planet before, but some people claimed the terraforming chemicals caused cancer. Others said that if a planet’s ecosystem wasn’t completely destroyed before terraformation, its elements could mingle with the earth’s to create new toxins. She didn’t know if any of that was true, but she decided to remain standing instead of taking a seat on the ground.
“Not much to look at,” Doran called to her while stacking another box. He flicked a glance at the landscape before marching back up the ramp. “They didn’t even spend enough to bring birds here.”
Gazing skyward, Solara realized he was right.
Since alien life hadn’t been discovered yet, all animals were imported from Earth. And here, not a single creature took to the clouds or perched on tree branches, not even insects. There were no chirps or musical warbles to fill her ears. The quiet was unsettling, and she wondered if her new home on the fringe had imported birds to populate their world. If not, maybe she’d take up a collection to buy doves. And squirrels. Butterflies, too.
Starflight Page 7
