Starflight (12 page)

“We’re working on it,” Doran told him, exactly as Solara said, “No.”

“No pressure,” Rossi told them. “But we’re about to have some very unpleasant company.”

“Give us a minute,” Doran shouted, and then took hold of Solara’s upper arms. She was undeniably smart and resourceful. All she needed right now was more confidence. For the briefest of moments, it occurred to him that this might not be an issue if he hadn’t spent so many years tearing her down, but he shoved that thought aside and gave Solara a fortifying shake. “Listen to me,” he said. “I watched you work on the grav drive. You’re a natural. You’ll figure this out, too.”

“That was different. It wasn’t broken.”

“The only difference this time is the stress. If you weren’t so panicked, you’d have it figured out already. I want you to take a breath, hold it, and count to ten, and then you’re going to try again.” He tightened his grip. “Okay?”

Nodding, she puffed out her cheeks and held her breath while he counted down from ten to one. He knew the Daeva were closing in on them, but he forced away his fear and focused on their only chance of survival: getting Solara back in the game.

“Ready?” he asked when he got to one.

She released a lungful of air. “I think so.”

“You can do this,” he reminded her. “What are the challenges?”

After a moment of consideration, she retrieved a pair of pliers from her tool kit and pointed them at the engine. “First I have to remove the rod that broke off inside the accelerator cradle.”

That sounded easy. “I’ll do that. You tackle the next obstacle.”

He took the pliers and knelt on the floor to retrieve the broken rod. Removing it was much like pulling out a splinter—a very greasy, slippery splinter the size of his thumb. By the time he slipped the rod free, Solara had puzzled out a makeshift replacement.

“It’s not quite wide enough,” she said while hammering a wrench handle through the broken end of the accelerator. “But it might hold for a few hours.”

The intercom blared, “Status report!”

“Almost done,” Solara shouted. “One more minute…”

“We don’t have that long,” the captain yelled, and a sickening sound like a foghorn penetrated the ship. “They’re trying to board. It’s now or never.”

Solara scrambled to the engine and placed the accelerator in its cradle, then snapped both fasteners over the extension rods. “If they’re close enough to dock,” she hollered to the captain, “then they can eat our thrusters. Fire it up!”

The engine began to spin in a noisy rotation, turning faster by the second until its parts formed a gray blur and filled the tiny partition with blistering heat. Doran jogged into the cargo area, and when Solara followed, he shut the engine room door behind them.

“Cover your ears,” she shouted over the din.

He had just enough time to comply before an unholy shriek rang out, and the floor vanished from beneath his feet. He skidded on his backside until he hit the wall, then remained plastered there by the sheer force of speed, tangled up with Solara as the ship rocketed into space like a bullet from a gun.

Doran closed his eyes and savored the crush.

Acceleration had never felt so good.

That night, after the captain had docked the ship inside another dismal hidey-hole, Doran and the crew gathered in the lounge to wash down the day’s horror with a round of hot buttered Crystalline. But despite cushioned seating and the facade of a crackling fireplace, the mood was anything but cozy.

“They’ve been quiet for months,” the captain said from his chair while petting that ridiculous thing he called a sugar bear. Acorn sat in his palm and curled a long tail around his thumb, oblivious to how close she’d come to nibbling a poisonous treat today. “What were they doing on Pesirus?”

“Waiting for us, maybe,” Renny answered. “It’s no secret we make the syrup delivery each year.”

Doran was tired of tiptoeing around for answers. If Solara wouldn’t ask, he would. He leaned forward in his seat and looked the captain right in the eyes. “What are the Daeva, and why are they after you?”

At the question, Captain Rossi tucked his “baby” inside his coat pocket as if to protect her. “When you want someone dead,” he said quietly, “you hire a hit man. When you want someone to scream until his vocal cords rupture, you hire the Daeva.”

Solara glanced up from the floor, where she sat hunched over the ship’s accelerator with a soldering gun in one hand and the broken rod in the other. “So they’re snuffers?”

“I guess you could call them that,” the captain said. “Since they do kill folks.”

“Eventually,” Renny added.

“Which one of you are they after?” Doran asked, glancing around the room. He noticed that Cassia and Kane hadn’t said much. They sat at the gaming table, each studying a handful of cards, but had yet to make a single play. Kane’s eyes seemed especially shifty, never settling on his opponent’s face longer than a second. Doran’s money was on that one. Maybe he’d seduced the wrong man’s wife with that greasy smile of his.

“We don’t know,” the captain said. “And it doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“Because we just roasted their hull and sent them spinning.” The captain smiled at Solara. “Thanks to you.”

“I can’t take all the credit,” she said. “If Doran hadn’t kept a cool head—”

“So you’re telling me,” Doran interrupted, “that the whole ship is marked?”

Captain Rossi nodded. “For death.”

“Worse than that,” Cassia muttered behind her cards. “If the Daeva catch you, death will sound like a trip to the candy store.”

“What did they look like?” Solara asked, peering at the ship hands. “I never saw who we were running from.”

Neither had Doran, so he listened for the answer.

Kane spoke up for the first time, though his gaze never left his cards. “You can spot them by the metal studs on their temples.” He tapped a finger against the side of his head. “Prefrontal cortex blockers. Subdues the part of the brain that controls guilt and empathy.”

Solara’s mouth dropped open. “That’s…”

“Disturbing,” Doran finished.

“And how they do their job so well,” Kane said.

That clinched it. Doran was getting off this heap as soon as possible. “How much longer are we stuck here?” he asked Solara.

She powered off the soldering gun and inspected the rod she’d just reattached. “Until morning. I want to reinforce the other side, too.”

“How far is the nearest outpost?” he asked the captain.

“From here,” Rossi said, “a couple of days.”

“Good. The sooner the better.”

Solara stood from the floor and motioned for him to do the same. “Excuse us,” she said to the others. “Doran and I have to discuss some contract details, since we’re parting ways before Obsidian.”

He had no idea what she meant by that, but because he didn’t want to spend the evening in the company of death-marked fugitives, he gladly followed her back to their room. The door had barely shut when she lit into him.

“This is a bad idea,” she whisper-yelled. “We should be heading in the opposite direction, away from where your evil girlfriend thinks we’re going.”

Doran rolled his eyes. “She’s not evil. It was a secure line, and I trust her.”

“Well, I don’t,” Solara said. “And it’s not just your neck on the line. As your pink-haired princess pointed out, I have a record. Do you know what’ll happen if I get caught?”

“Yes, you’ll go to a prison colony. Which, if I’m not mistaken, is preferable to death by torture.”

“Not by much.”

“You don’t know Ava. She won’t tell.”

Solara shook her head. “You really are an infant, aren’t you?”

His anger flared, sending a billow of heat to his face. “We’re not changing course, so shut up about it.”

To reinforce the message, he turned his back on her and rummaged through her crates of supplies—which technically belonged to him—looking for objects of value. The Enforcers had probably frozen his assets and blocked his father from sending help, so he’d have to find more creative ways of reaching Obsidian.

“Stay out of my things,” she ordered. “I’ll give you some money.”

He would’ve laughed if his lungs weren’t hanging limp inside his chest. A false indictment and the threat of imminent death tended to have that effect. “How generous of you,” he said as a glimmer of fabric caught his eye. He smoothed his knuckles over the satiny folds. Whatever it was, it looked expensive. “Is that a ball gown?”

“Not important.” She grabbed the crate’s lid and slammed it down, barely missing his fingertips in the process. “You need to get your head in the game. A pocketful of fuel chips won’t take you far. And then what? Not even
you
can get by on your looks. Not out here.”

Her words stirred the anxiety that had already bubbled inside his stomach, but he faked a lazy shrug. “If my father doesn’t meet me at the outpost, I’ll just go to Obsidian. I have a private ship hidden there. That was the plan to begin with. I was supposed to find it and then travel to a set of coordinates my father gave me.”

What he didn’t tell her was that the coordinates were in the outer realm. He’d already shared too much, and he didn’t want her asking for a ride. The idea of having Solara as his permanent shipmate made his eye twitch.

“Transportation is the least of your problems,” she told him. “If the Solar League wants you extradited, there’s probably a reward for turning you in. Have you considered that?”

No, he hadn’t. And now his heart was trying to beat its way out of his body.

“Come on, Doran. Use that cool head of yours.”

“What do you suggest,” he snapped, “since you’ve got all the answers?”

She took a seat on the edge of the bed and said, “Stay here.”

“With you?”

“On the
Banshee
,” she clarified, as if there were a difference. “Your passage is already paid. And the crew has no love for Enforcers.”

“The same crew who you said would ransom me? The ones marked by a group of sadistic terrorists? That’s where you want me to put my faith?”

“Better the devil you know…”

“I’ll take my chances alone,” he decided. If nothing else, at least he would shake those Daeva.

Solara made a face that said,
It’s your funeral
, then lay back with both hands folded behind her head. “So what did you do?” she asked. “And don’t give me that crank about being innocent, because I don’t buy it.”

Doran pointed at her gloved knuckles. “What did
you
do?”

As usual, that question put her on edge. “None of your business.”

“In that case,” he said with a sardonic grin, “I’m innocent.”

She blew out a frustrated breath and flopped onto her side, facing the wall.

Even though she didn’t believe him, Doran had told the truth. He’d always kept his nose clean for the benefit of the Spaulding shareholders. He couldn’t count the number of invitations he’d turned down for wild weekends with his friends at the red-light cities, where a few hundred credits would buy enough debauchery to last a lifetime. And that wasn’t even illegal. Plus he’d graduated with honors from the most prestigious academy in Texas—all while balancing varsity football and an internship at his father’s company.

The indictment had to be a mistake.

“Why Obsidian?” Solara asked. “That’s not where fugitives go to lie low.”

Again, he had to admit she was right. The Obsidian Beaches drew more tourists than Planet Disney. But that was where his father had planted the ship, and unless Doran managed to reach him and make other arrangements, it would have to work. “I don’t know all the details, but this job is top priority. My father said he didn’t trust anyone else to handle it.”

Solara rolled over to face him. “That sounds cryptic.”

“Not really,” he said. “Part of my internship was to visit new planets and bring back ore samples for research. The company kept those missions quiet to discourage competition.”

“But the timing is suspicious, don’t you think? How do you know this secret job isn’t related to your indictment?”

“Because my father wouldn’t do that to me,” he told her. “Plus there’s no reason to do anything shady when we already control the League’s fuel supply.”

“Successful people can be greedy. They always want more.”

The hypocrisy of that statement shocked a chuckle out of him. “You’re wearing a necklace literally made from my stolen money, and you’re lecturing me about greed?”

She sat up so fast he thought she might charge him. He flinched back, but she stayed in bed and brought both hands behind her neck to untie the leather cord.

“Here,” she said, thrusting the necklace at him. “It’s all yours.”

He took the fuel chips before she changed her mind. “This doesn’t make us even,” he said while stuffing them in his pocket.

“Oh, we’ll never be even.” Her eyes glinted with something wicked. “But that won’t stop me from trying.” Lounging back against her pillow, she ordered, “Bring me a cup of tea.”

“Excuse me?”

“Tea,” she repeated. “Now.”

“Get your own damned tea.”

“Doran,” she warned, “on a regular day, I want to push you in front of a bullet tram. But today I was robbed of spiced berries and then handed a suicide pill. So don’t test me.”