Starflight (38 page)

Doran snatched another frozen stone from the ground and swung it at the man’s knee, but the Daeva was twice as fast, grabbing Doran’s wrist and squeezing until the rock fell from his fingers.

“Where is she?” the Daeva repeated.

“Gone,” Doran yelled, wincing in pain as the vise on his wrist tightened. “She changed ships at the last outpost.”

“You’re lying.”

“I swear! She took a medic job on a luxury liner. I think it was called the
Zeni
—”

Quick as a cobra strike, the man clutched the base of Doran’s throat and lifted him up until both boots dangled in the air. Doran’s windpipe constricted under the pressure. Hungry for breath, he clawed at the fingers gripping his neck. His face tingled and swelled, eyes throbbing as they met the bloody gaze in front of him.

“Let’s try again,” the Daeva said. He turned and dragged Doran toward the shuttle. Once there, he set Doran on his feet and allowed him to breathe right before slamming his helmet into the steel hull. “Where is the princess?” the Daeva said.

He pounded Doran’s head against the shuttle until his face shield cracked wide open. Steam poured from the gap, and Doran fell to the ground, disoriented. To compensate for the breach, his helmet released a burst of heated air in a steady hiss that ate through his tank’s reserves. With his helmet spewing oxygen, he had a few minutes left—at best.

“Suffocation is a horrible death,” the man said, and swept a gloved hand toward his shuttle. “I can fill my craft with warm air for you—if you take me to the girl.”

Against Doran’s will, his eyes turned to the cushioned pilot’s seat, visible through the open hatch. He was tempted to say yes, and then sabotage the man during flight or lead him in the wrong direction. But if Kane’s shuttle had crashed half a mile away, it was only a matter of time before the Daeva spotted the
Banshee
on his own.

Doran had to keep the man on the ground. “You can take that warm air,” he growled, “and blow it up your ass.”

The Daeva bent down, tracing a finger along the edge of his blade. “Once your lungs are flat and screaming, you’ll change your mind. Or maybe I should carve the information out of you. That would be faster.”

“So arrogant,” Doran muttered. “Guys like you never learn.” He kicked the man squarely between the legs, but his boot met the resistance of a plastic cup.

For the first time, the Daeva smiled—a mechanical curve of lips revealing two rows of dull, metal teeth. “You’ve never met anyone like me,” he said, and unsheathed his blade. With one hand pressing Doran’s helmet into the ice, he used the other to slash through the open face shield.

Doran cried out in pain, his cheekbone burning as warmth oozed over his skin. The Daeva drew back to make another cut, but he halted when pulse fire sounded from behind them. His head whipped around, and in a flash, he sprang to his feet and ran to the open door, leaving Doran bleeding on the ground.

Doran pushed to his elbows and found Solara aiming a pistol at the shuttle. She fired two warning shots, which struck the hull on either side of the Daeva.

“Shoot him,” Doran told her. “Don’t hold back!”

“I’m trying,” she yelled.

When another round of fire failed to strike him, the Daeva leaped onto the pilot’s seat and closed the side hatch. Soon the engine rumbled to life. The craft lifted off the ground, its thrusters sending gusts of heat that scattered pebbles in every direction.

Solara ran over to protect Doran from the debris, but he shook his head and pointed at the shuttle. “It’s the Daeva. He’s going after the crew; we have to stop him.”

“What about the explosive rocks?” she asked, pulling a bag from her pocket. “I still have some left.”

Doran took the bag and shook its contents into his palm—two chunks of ore. “Two chances,” he murmured. “That’s all we get.”

“You throw and I’ll shoot,” she told him. Doran didn’t point out her questionable aim, but she must’ve known he was thinking it, because she added, “I won’t miss.”

Nodding, Doran rose to his feet and gauged the distance between himself and the departing shuttle. Then he drew back his good arm and launched the first rock into the air. The ore sailed into range behind the craft, and Solara fired three blasts in quick succession.

She missed.

“Again!” she shouted.

With the shuttle gaining speed, Doran took his last bit of ore and gimped forward in a jog. When he knew he couldn’t create any more momentum, he used every muscle in his core to hurl the rock at the shuttle, grunting as he released it.

Don’t miss,
he prayed while he watched the ore fly into the distance.

This was their last chance.

Please don’t miss
.

Gripping the pistol in both hands, Solara fast-tapped the trigger and filled the dim evening sky with pulses of brilliance. Doran lost count of how many shots missed the mark and bounced off the hull. But then a ball of light appeared, growing brighter until he had to shield his eyes. A thunderclap rent the air, and he peeked between his fingers as the tail end of the shuttle blew apart. The blast must have breached the fuel tank because another explosion took hold, and the next thing Doran knew, engine parts were raining from the sky.

Twisted ankle be damned, he grabbed Solara’s hand and ran toward safer ground. Metal fragments pounded the landscape, each one spurring his adrenaline until he couldn’t feel anything except the drag of half-empty air into his lungs. They’d just dodged a sheet from the hull when Doran’s body collapsed beneath his weight.

He couldn’t go any farther, not without air.

Solara dropped to her knees beside him and yanked free his oxygen tube, replacing it with hers. He started to object, but she shushed him.

“We’ll share it,” she said. “Cover your face to slow the leak.” From within his hissing helmet, Doran heard the com-link fizzle to life, followed by Solara’s message to the crew. “Renny, I need an immediate track-and-intercept,” she said. “We’ve got five minutes of oxygen to split between us. Do you copy?”

At first, there was only silence. Then Renny’s voice came through the link with four of the finest words in the English language: “We’re on our way.”

“Y
our chief is dead,” Doran shouted to the fifty or so pirates kneeling before him in the great hall later that night. This was the largest room on board with an oxygen supply, so the survivors who’d surrendered their weapons had gathered here. Rows of men bent their heads toward the floor, fingers laced behind their necks as they awaited judgment. He had no plans to kill them, but they didn’t need to know that.

“You’re alive by the mercy of Daro the Red,” Solara continued, resting a hand on the pulse rifle slung over her shoulder. “If you choose to bear his mark, you’ll leave here on shuttles that I’ve repaired for you. But on two conditions. First, that you never return to this wreckage site, or to the planet below it. And second, that you’ll repay Daro’s kindness if he ever calls on you for a favor.”

“If anyone objects to those terms,” Doran said, “I’m happy to escort you to the nearest air-lock.”

Not surprisingly, there were no objections.

The pirates remained on their knees until Doran summoned them, one by one, to the stage at the front of the room. There they swore allegiance to him and rolled up their sleeves to expose both wrists. Each previous chief had made a coin-size mark in the flesh, visible now as thin scars or faded tattoos. The younger Brethren wore only a single image, having served no one else but Demarkus Hahn, while seasoned veterans had brands halfway up the lengths of their forearms. Doran added his mark above the rest, an interlocking
DR
monogram stamped in thermal ink that would cool if he activated it.

“When this grows cold,” he explained, “you’ll know I’m calling for you.” Then he provided a radio frequency where he would leave instructions if that day ever came.

Once the pirates accepted Doran’s mark, Solara ushered them to the last functioning transport air-lock, where Renny and Gage filled the shuttles to capacity and sent them on their way. The crew kept the process moving, and in the span of a few hours, they’d fully evacuated the ship.

With that task completed, they returned to the
Banshee
to tend to broken bones, lacerations, and laser burns. Doran meant to ask his brother if they could spend the night in the comfort of the underground bunker, but his brain shut out coherent thought as soon as Solara fastened a splint around his wrist. He kissed her on the cheek and collapsed onto the bed, fully clothed and neglecting to eat dinner.

Cheating death was exhausting.

At first light the next morning, Doran changed into fresh clothes and scrubbed his face, then gathered with the crew in the galley. Even Gage joined them, electing to take the seat at the farthest end of the table. The thick scent of porridge hung in the air, but bowls remained untouched as each of them stared at the metal crutch resting on the table.

It was all they had left of their captain.

Acorn padded into the room, her nose twitching as she sniffed for her lost “mother.” She climbed the wall and glided onto the table, where she scurried up and down its length in desperation. When she couldn’t find the captain, she let out a heartbreaking whine that sent Cassia rushing out of the galley. She returned wearing a faded blue jacket that hung to her knees, her hands lost somewhere inside the depths of its enormous sleeves. It must have been one of the captain’s, because the instant she sat down, Acorn chirped and took a nosedive into the breast pocket.

Cassia stroked Acorn’s head with a thumb. “Now we can start.”

Renny gave her a nod and stood from the head of the table. “I met Phineas Rossi when I was at the lowest point in my life,” he said. “About six months after I left home. We were in this seedy outpost bar in the middle of nowhere, and he caught me picking his pocket.” Renny smiled as if replaying the memory. “He bloodied my lip. Then, when he realized I’d taken a grease pencil instead of his money, he laughed and bought me a drink.”

Kane chuckled softly, and Cassia rested her head on his shoulder.

“He’d just bought a small cargo ship from a repo man,” Renny continued. “He told me the
Banshee
wasn’t much to look at, but if I wanted to join him, it’d probably beat stealing pocket lint from strangers. I had nothing to lose, so I came on board as a general hand. A week later he learned I could navigate, and he promoted me to first mate—just like that. Without knowing anything about me, except that I made his pills disappear.” Renny paused to remove his glasses and scrub away a tear. “He gave me a new life, and in the years after that, he gave me his friendship. I don’t know which I value more, because I needed both.”

“Remember when his Beatmaster charging paddle went missing?” Cassia asked with a sniffle. “Everyone blamed you, except the captain. And he was right. It turned out I was the one who’d stuck it in the wrong drawer.”

“It takes a big man to trust a thief,” Renny agreed.

Doran felt Solara sit up straighter beside him. She studied her tattooed knuckles and seemed to hesitate for a few beats. “That’s what I loved most about him,” she said. “I used to hate looking at my markings. But the captain taught me they don’t mean anything. Because I’m more than the sum of my mistakes.”

Doran took one of her hands and interlaced their fingers. “Captain Rossi showed more faith in me than my own father did.” He tried not to think about when he’d see his father again, if ever. The wound was too fresh. “I always put my dad on a pedestal, but he must’ve had a low opinion of me if he thought I’d turn against my own brother.”

Gage didn’t respond, but color fanned out on his cheeks. Probably because not too long ago he’d shared that same low opinion.

“Biology doesn’t make anyone a parent,” Cassia added as she tucked her Eturian prayer stone beneath her shirt. She kissed her fingertip and pressed it on Acorn’s head. “The captain would’ve died before letting me go to auction. I can’t say the same for my parents. They only ever saw me as a commodity.”

That silenced the room until Gage cleared his throat. He poked at his porridge with a spoon, never looking up when he said, “I didn’t know Rossi for very long, but he seemed like a good man. I’m sorry he’s gone.”