Starflight (13 page)

Clenching his jaw, he told her, “Fine. You want tea? I’ll make it extra special for you.”

He stormed to the galley and rummaged in the cabinets until he found a tea bag. He’d never brewed tea before, but he understood the basic concept: fill a cup with hot water and dunk the bag in it a few times. He returned to their room ten minutes later, tin mug in hand.

“Drink it,” he said, then leaned down and added, “I dare you.”

The tea wasn’t contaminated, but she didn’t need to know that.

She handed back the mug while her face turned red with rage. If steam had poured from her ears, it wouldn’t have surprised him. “I can’t wait until you’re gone,” she ground out.

“Well then,” Doran said. “We
do
have something in common.”

D
oran spent the next couple of days avoiding everything on two legs, which wasn’t easy when his least favorite pair was regularly stretched out on the bed above him.

Right now Solara was sleeping facedown with her limbs sprawled across the mattress and one bare foot hanging off the edge. She mumbled something in her sleep and punched through the blanket, then drifted off again with her fist dangling above Doran’s head.

As if a double bed weren’t enough, she had to invade his floor space, too?

He frowned at her gloves, wondering if she ever took the blasted things off. Knowing her, she probably wore them in the shower. Whatever she’d done must’ve been heinous if she refused to let anyone see her conviction codes. And if that was the case, he’d made the right call by terminating their contract. He wished he’d caught a better look at her tattoos on the
Zenith
because the curiosity was killing him.

After today, it won’t matter,
he reminded himself.
I’ll never see her again.

Good riddance.

He ignored the sudden heaviness in his stomach and cleared his pallet from the floor. With any luck, he’d sleep on a real bed tonight—in a room all to himself. Maybe with an adjoining bathroom and unlimited shower privileges. Funny how, a week ago, he never would’ve considered bathing a luxury. Now he’d trade all the champagne in the quadrant for one long, steamy shower.

Settling for another sponge bath, he made his way to the washroom. When he returned to his chamber, Solara was sitting up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

She greeted him with a gravelly “Mornin’,” then must have remembered they weren’t on speaking terms because she immediately scowled. But with a pillow crease embedded in her cheek and a halo of loose hair sticking out from her braids, the effect was more cute than menacing.

“This is the last time we’ll ever wake up together,” he said. “You should be happy.”

Stretching both arms above her head, she told him, “I’m smiling on the inside.”

He found a knapsack and filled it with a handful of toiletries and two changes of coveralls. Since all his luggage was still on the
Zenith
, there was nothing else to pack. “Talk about traveling light,” he muttered while tossing his bag in the corner.

Solara picked at a loose thread on her glove. “You can still change your mind.”

“I know,” he said. But if he wanted to keep his heartbeat steady, he couldn’t start second-guessing himself. “My mind’s made up.”

“Good luck, then.” She kept her face turned down as she spoke. “I know we’re not friends or anything, but I hope it turns out okay for you.”

Doran watched her for a moment. It couldn’t have been easy for her to say that, and despite everything she’d done, he felt a stirring of respect for her. “Same to you,” he said, and meant it.

They spent the next few minutes avoiding each other’s eyes until the captain’s voice came over the intercom. “Passengers, report to the bridge.”

Doran glanced up. “Guess he means us.”

“Hand me my pants?”

He tossed them onto the bed and waited outside until she’d dressed. Then they strode quietly through the ship to the bridge, where the whole crew was waiting for them.

Right away, the silence sent up a red flag.

Cassia and Kane sat with their backs to the pilothouse door, each studying the bolts in the wall. The first mate had taken a seat on the edge of his navigation table, polishing his glasses over and over while the captain stood nearby, leaning on his crutch. No one was smiling—not even Renny.

“What happened?” Doran asked.

The captain gave a terse nod. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I won’t blow sunshine up your trousers. You’ve been made.”

“Made?” Doran asked. “Into what?”

Solara moved close beside him and stood on tiptoe to whisper, “It means your cover’s blown.”

Pulse hitching, he glanced around the room and checked for weapons or rope—signs that they meant to hold him hostage. When he saw nothing to that effect, he released a quiet breath. “So you know who I am?”

“We’ve always known,” Renny said. “Since the first night, when the Enforcers hailed us. They were looking for a missing
Zenith
passenger called Doran Spaulding. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

Doran cocked his head in disbelief. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“None of our business,” the captain replied. “But that’s not why I called you here.” He pulled a data tablet from inside his jacket and handed it over. “This just broadcasted on the emergency frequency. When I said you’ve been made, I meant on a galactic level.”

Doran took the tablet while Solara leaned in to read over his shoulder. It was an all points bulletin with his name and senior picture at the top, the cheesy one of him leaning against a tree with a football tucked under his arm. Beneath his smiling face were the instructions
ARREST ON SIGHT
.

He read the charges—conspiracy to defraud the government, theft, industrial espionage, obstruction of justice, resisting arrest—but they made no sense.

“I didn’t do any of this,” he said.

The captain told him, “Keep reading.”

When Doran continued to the bottom of the page, the real blow came, a bullet to the heart that knocked him back until he actually swayed on his feet.

AN ANONYMOUS CITIZEN REPORTED SPAULDING’S LAST KNOWN WHEREABOUTS AS PESIRUS. HIS DESTINATION IS OBSIDIAN, BY WAY OF OUTPOST #8774.

“I changed course,” the captain said. “Just in time.”

All Doran could do was nod and try to breathe. Ava had betrayed him. She’d said that she loved him, and then she’d told the Enforcers everything. Maybe he’d never intended to move in with her, but he had trusted her. Shared his bed with her. Told her secrets he’d never revealed to his friends, like how he still talked to his mother’s picture at night when he couldn’t sleep. A lump rose in his throat, but no matter how hard he swallowed, he couldn’t push it down.

He couldn’t believe she’d actually turned him in.

“There’ll be too much heat around Obsidian,” the captain went on. “So we’ll steer clear and head straight into the fringe.”

Pressure built behind Doran’s eyes, but he bit the inside of his cheek to ward off tears. He wouldn’t lose it. Not in front of the crew.

Solara’s hand appeared on his forearm. Her fingers bit into his flesh, the steady grip keeping him upright. She told the captain, “Let’s not make any decisions yet.”

“The choice is already made,” the captain said. “When it affects my ship, you don’t get a say.”

Doran’s ears pounded, forcing the argument to his periphery. He mumbled a hasty promise to compensate the crew for all the trouble he’d caused and then stumbled down the stairs on weak knees. He didn’t remember the trip back to his room, but the next thing he knew, he was sitting on the bed, staring at the wall.

What was he going to do next?

He had no way to reach his father. He might be able to send a message to his friends, but if Ava had sold him out, it stood to reason they would do the same. He didn’t know where to go, and every minute he spent on the run would make him look more guilty. Maybe he should turn himself in and trust the Spaulding attorneys to untangle this mess.

Too bad he was fresh out of trust.

A quick knock sounded at the door, and Solara stepped inside. She didn’t say anything, but he had a pretty good idea what was on her mind.

“You were right,” he told her. “Go ahead and say it.”

“I’m not here to gloat.”

“Yes, you are.” He would gloat if their roles were reversed. “Just leave me alone.”

“I want to show you something first.”

Doran was about to snap at her, but she stunned him into silence by peeling off her gloves and tucking them in her back pocket. Then she displayed her tattoos and gave him an eyeful. It would’ve shocked him less if she’d stripped nude.

She sat beside him on the bed and held a hand between them. From left to right in bold black ink, the markings read
SLPC 33.87, SLPC 43.14
.

“It’s Solar League Penal Code,” she explained. “The first number is for grand theft, and the second is for conspiracy. What that basically means is that I stole something worth a lot of money and tried to convince other people to help me.” She glanced at him. “But only the first part is true.”

He waited for her to go on.

“I never told anyone what really happened,” she said. “Not even the Enforcers who arrested me. But I’ll tell you if you still want to know.”

Once Doran managed to close his mouth, he nodded.

“It started with a boy,” she said while staring across the room. “He was an orphan like me, but nineteen and emancipated, with a job and an apartment that he shared with a few other guys. He wasn’t gorgeous or anything, but he paid attention to me. He always smiled when I walked by.” Going quiet for a moment, she picked at a cuticle. “No one ever looked at me the way he did. Like every other girl in town was ordinary and I was on fire.”

“Was he your boyfriend?” Doran asked.

She nodded. “He was my first boyfriend. My first love. My first kiss. And my first”—her cheeks flooded with color—“well,
everything
.”

“Everything,” he echoed in understanding. That was a lot of
firsts
for one boy to take from a girl. Doran could sense where this story was headed.

“Once he had me hooked,” she said, “he told me about a group of revolutionaries called the Patron Brotherhood. They were going to change the world—feed the hungry, help the poor, make it so everyone could afford to live on Earth. But to do that, they needed money.”

“Of course they did,” Doran said. He’d heard of this scam. “What did he ask you to steal?”

“The coolant coils and buffering plates from city trams,” she told him. “Worth a fortune on the black market. And there were a bunch of us in on it. We’d steal the parts, and then he would fence them and send the money to the Brotherhood.”

“Which didn’t exist.”

“And I had no idea,” she said. “When the Enforcers busted us, I stayed true to the cause. I told them nothing—didn’t say a word to defend myself. Not even when they offered me a plea deal.”

Doran was willing to bet her boyfriend hadn’t extended the same courtesy.

“And the whole time,” she went on, “he was pinning the operation on me.” She shook her head and scoffed. “In exchange for full immunity.”

“And because you refused to talk…”

“I took the blame by default.” She retrieved her gloves and pulled them on one slow finger at a time, as if telling the story had drained her. “The only reason I’m not in a penal colony is because the judge didn’t believe I was the ringleader.” She grinned. “I guess criminal masterminds don’t sob during their trials the way I did.”

“What happened to the boyfriend?” Doran asked.

Solara shrugged and traced a leather seam with her fingertip. “Nothing. I imagine he’s still running around out there, looking for new hearts to steal.”

Doran didn’t like hearing that.

“He told me I was special,” she said quietly. “And that was all it took to unravel my integrity. So you can probably understand why I don’t like talking about it. Or looking at my hands.”

Doran nodded. All that made sense. What he didn’t understand was why she’d shared her story with him. “Why did you tell me? We’re not even friends.”

“Because we’re members of a secret club now,” she told him. “Both of us were used up and betrayed and thrown away by the people we loved.”

“I never loved Ava.”

“But still,” Solara said.

“But still,” he agreed. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“It didn’t happen to me. I made it happen.”

Doran glanced at her hands, now concealed beneath black leather. He wanted to confess the real reason he had panicked when he’d first seen her tattoos, but he couldn’t get the words past the knot in his chest. So instead, he said, “I guess we’re stuck with each other.”

She gave him a sad smile, and he realized for the first time that her eyes were hazel, not simply brown or green. A starburst of warm amber surrounded her pupils, giving way to olive-hued irises that were rimmed in glowing emerald. The effect was striking. Odd that he’d never noticed before.

Looking into those smiling eyes, he felt a little less alone.

“Guess so,” she said. “Too bad you make lousy tea.”