Starflight (31 page)

The captain landed the shuttle on a hilltop about twenty yards away, but instead of opening the side hatches, he raised an antique pistol for show, the kind that fired metal slugs instead of energy pulses.

“Ever shoot one of these?” he asked. When they shook their heads, he handed them each a sheathed dagger. “Then tuck this in your belt. And don’t be afraid to use it.”

“I thought we were here to help,” Doran said.

The captain strapped a pistol across his chest. “You’ve never tried to save a drowning man, have you?”

“No,” Doran said, wrinkling his forehead. “What’s that got to do with—”

“He panics,” the captain interrupted. “Grabs onto you and pushes you under. He can’t help it. He’ll do anything for one more breath.” Rossi pointed a second pistol at them before adding it to his holster. “Desperate people kill to survive. I’ll do what I can for these settlers, but not at the expense of losing one of my own. Are we clear?”

They nodded.

“Good,” he said, unlocking the hatch. “Now, watch each other’s backs.”

The noise of the shuttle had drawn a dozen survivors from their hiding places. The settlers blinked at them with bloodshot eyes that seemed to bulge from their skulls. So much filth covered their faces and matted their hair that Solara couldn’t tell the men from the women, or even their ages. Their clothes hung in tatters from sharp, thin shoulders, and bony ankles jutted from torn trouser hems.

Whatever they’d been eating, there wasn’t enough of it.

“Picked up your distress beacon,” the captain said, making sure to open his jacket and display both pistols. “Might be able to transport your injured. How many are there?”

One person stepped forward and answered in a man’s deep timbre. “None. At least, not anymore. The last one bled out a few days ago.”

“Survivors?”

“What you see here.” The man hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “Plus fifty more in the dugouts.”

Now that Solara paid attention, she noticed a few shelters excavated from the hillside behind the group, basically caves made of dirt. A small fire crackled in the center of camp, smoking a few strips of meat into jerky. Sudden movement caught her eye, and she spotted a mud-streaked child poking his head out of his cave to study her. The whites of his eyes grew when they met hers, but someone quickly snatched him out of view.

“If you want transport to the next settlement,” Captain Rossi said, “we can probably arrange it.”

“Thank you, friend,” the man replied with a coolness that negated his words. “But we’ll stay and rebuild. There’s only a month till harvest, and the crop looks good this year. It’ll get us through the winter.”

“What will you eat in the meantime?” Rossi asked. “I don’t see any livestock.”

The man indicated the long red strips dangling over the fire. “We just butchered our last steer. The meat’s well preserved.”

“Will it be enough?”

One bony shoulder lifted in a shrug. “If not, the slave traders will come around soon. They always do. Our weakest will fetch a bushel of grain per head.”

“You would sell your own people?” the captain asked, not sounding surprised.

“Better a life of servitude than death by starvation.” A spark of inspiration lit the man’s eyes, and he added, “We have widows. And orphan girls. They’d make excellent traveling companions for your crew. If you’re willing to trade—”

“I don’t deal in flesh.”

The man looked taken aback, as if insulted by the quick dismissal. He tipped his dirty head and studied each of them in a way that raised the hairs at the back of Solara’s neck. Then his gaze returned to the captain’s pistols, and he asked, “How many are in your crew?”

Solara’s pulse throbbed with fear because she knew what the man was thinking. Slave traders would pay a lot more than one bushel of grain for her, and an even higher price for a strong boy like Doran. She sensed the man sizing them up, calculating how many shots the captain could fire before he succumbed to an attack. She rested a hand on her knife hilt, but even armed, they were no match for a group of sixty.

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.