Starflight (6 page)

Kane scratched the back of his neck and took a sudden interest in his shoes. “I don’t know what kind of relationship you have with your servant.…”

“Oh.” Now she understood. “Not the kind you’re thinking of.” She’d rather sleep with the crusty old captain than share a bed with Doran. “It’s not a problem. He can take the floor.”

Satisfied, Kane turned back down the hallway and climbed the steps to the bridge at the top level. This area was narrower than down below, its ceiling tapered to a point so the only place she could stand without hunching over was in the middle of the room. To the left, a tall brown-haired man with glasses teetering on the tip of his nose was bent over a metal table that had been fused to the wall. About thirty years old, he appeared to be studying solar charts.

He met her gaze and grinned—a real smile that reflected in his eyes. It’d been so long since Solara had seen a gleam of genuine kindness that her heart melted, and she liked him at once.

“This is Lawrence,” Kane said, lifting a hand toward the man. “Our first mate.”

“Call me Renny,” the man told her. He pointed at his charts. “I was just plotting a course to the Obsidian Beaches. The captain said your final destination is the fringe, but he didn’t specify where.”

“Vega,” she said, and leaned in to look at his charts. She recognized the Solar Territories from interstellar geography class. The Milky Way was divided like a dartboard into four sectors with Earth as the bull’s-eye and five rings moving out from it. The tourist rings were the closest, then came the colony planets, ore mines, and prison settlements, in that order. The Solar League headquarters were on Earth, along with most of the galaxy’s industry and wealth, so the farther away you traveled, the more rustic the surroundings. The fifth ring was the fringe, or the outer realm, which the government hadn’t annexed yet. She tapped a spot on the chart and told him, “Vega’s in the same sector as Obsidian, but a few rungs out.”

“Good. That shouldn’t be too—”

“Kane!” interrupted a shrill feminine voice that carried up the stairs so loudly it rattled a loose bolt in the floor. “You scum-eating son of a crotch smuggler!” Footsteps clattered up the metal planks, but Kane didn’t seem concerned. He crossed one foot over the other and studied his fingernails. “I’ll have your guts for bootlaces!”

“Go ahead!” he shouted. “But you’ll have to reach up my ass to get them!”

Solara retreated a pace until her back met the wall. She braced herself, waiting for the owner of that enormous voice to appear, but a tiny young woman stepped onto the bridge, wearing a bathrobe that dragged on the ground. No taller than Kane’s shoulder, the girl craned her neck to glower at him. Her tawny complexion and long blond dreadlocks were nearly identical to his, but dripping water onto the floor. Solara wondered if the two were siblings.

“You took my laser blade again,” the girl shouted. “My only day for a shower, and now I can’t shave!”

“I didn’t touch your blade.”

“Really?” The girl stood on tiptoe and scrutinized his jaw. “Then where’s the dandelion fuzz that usually grows on your chin?”

Kane sighed. “Fine. I used it yesterday.”

“I knew it!”

“But I put it back in your shower caddy.” Kane gripped his hips. “I didn’t bother asking, because I knew you’d never let me have it.”

The girl curled one hand into a fist and shook it menacingly. “I’ll
let you have it
.”

“Check your caddy, you lunatic!”

“I told you, it’s not there! The only other person—”

Suddenly the argument came to a halt and all eyes shifted to Lawrence, who blushed and dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Renny,” the girl said. “Turn out your pockets.”

The first mate dug into his pockets and emptied two handfuls of odds and ends onto the table—casino chips, a wristwatch, mismatched earrings, key fobs, dice, folded pieces of paper, and a pink laser blade.

He offered a sheepish grin. “Sorry. You know I can’t help it.”

The girl stomped forward and snatched her blade off the table. Then she flung her wet dreadlocks behind her and set off down the stairs.

“Hey,” Kane called after her. “You owe me an apology!” When she didn’t respond, he jutted his chin at the pile of knickknacks on the table. “Is that my watch?”

“I don’t know.” Renny handed it over. “Probably.”

Kane raised the item for show and told Solara, “There’s a lockbox in your quarters. I suggest you use it, because Renny’s got sticky fingers.” He pointed down the stairs. “And that delightful girl is Cassia, the other ship hand.”

“Is she your sister?” Solara asked.

He barked a laugh. “God, no. I’d hang myself.”

Renny lifted an object from the table and inspected it beneath the light. Inky black and flawlessly round, it might resemble a marble to someone who hadn’t trained for several years as a mechanic. But Solara knew what it was.

“Is that the
Banshee
’s tracker?” she asked. “Removed from its port?”

Renny and Kane shared a knowing look before the first mate tucked the item back inside his pocket. “Yes,” he said. “It’s broken.”

Solara didn’t believe him. Trackers withstood even the worst collisions, and it was illegal to remove one from its designated port. The only reason to do that was if someone didn’t want to be found. Not that she was complaining. She didn’t want to be found, either. But regardless, she resolved to bolt her bedroom door that night.

Clearly she wasn’t the only one with secrets.

D
inner consisted of dried beans stewed in rehydrated tomatoes. Solara could tell the food was reconstituted because of the rare times when farmers had donated fresh, albeit half-rotted, produce to the diocese. Even bruised and overripe, tomatoes in their natural state were bursting with a sweetness and tang that the dehydrating process couldn’t capture. Still, she ate her supper without complaining. It was better than soy-meal, a cheap oat hybrid that tasted like dishwater.

The captain frowned at the untouched bowl of beans next to hers. “Where’s your indenture? Everyone eats—”

“Together,” she finished, avoiding his black gaze. She’d discerned that his eyes were real, but looking into them still made her uneasy. “I told him.”

Doran joined them soon afterward, announcing his presence by dropping a sack of fuel chips on the floor. “It’s all there,” he said, and blew out a breath. “Ten thousand. I counted them myself.”

“Counted them?” the captain asked. “Why didn’t you use the machine?”

Doran froze. “What machine?”

“The trading scale,” Kane supplied from the far end of the bench. “We’d never get anything done if we hand-counted chips. I told Lara about it.”

While Doran glared at her, Solara explained, “But they’re not always calibrated just right. I wanted to make sure the captain has his due.”

With a disbelieving grunt, Doran took his seat. He glanced at his beans and then peered around the table as if looking for something. “Where’s the main course?”

“This is it,” she said.

“But there’s no meat.”

Solara turned to face him, stunned by the sense of entitlement that transcended his memory loss. It must be nice to afford so much animal protein that he expected to have it served at every supper. “If it’s not to your liking,” she told him, “the rest of us can divide your share.”

Clearly he was hungry, because he curled a protective arm around his bowl.

“Now that we’re all here, we can get started,” the captain said. “Whose turn is it?”

“For what?” Doran asked.

“To ask ‘would you rather,’” Cassia said, blotting her lips with a cloth napkin. “We play every night.” She dismissed him with a flick of her wrist and turned to Kane. “Would you rather know the date of your death or the cause of it?”

“Can I change the circumstances of my death?” Kane asked.

“Of course not.”

“Then the date,” Kane quickly decided. “What’s the point of knowing the cause if I can’t change anything? That’s a weak question.”

Solara agreed with him, but she wasn’t about to say so and risk Cassia’s wrath. When it came to venom, the scorpions in Texas had nothing on this girl.

“Some people might want to know,” Cassia argued. “So they’re not always worrying about it.”

“Who wastes their time worrying about how they’re going to croak?” Kane shoveled a heaping spoonful of beans into his mouth and spoke with one cheek full. “Weak.”

Cassia landed an elbow in his side. “Let’s hear you do better.”

“Fine,” he told her, but Renny cut him off with a lifted hand.

“It’s my turn,” Renny said. “And I’ve got a good one.” After a dramatic pause, he smiled at everyone and asked, “Would you rather find the love of your life, or ten million credits?”

At once, everyone echoed, “Credits,” not needing time to think about it.

Renny’s shoulders slumped. “Really?”

“Really,” Doran said. “Credits are actually useful.”

Renny looked at Solara with soft eyes, as if he considered her an ally and she’d disappointed him by not feeling the same way—strange because he didn’t really know her. “Even you?” he asked.

She was about to tell him
Especially me
when she noticed movement from inside the captain’s left breast pocket. She didn’t expect to see a tiny brown head poke out and blink at her with bulging black eyes.

Solara extended an index finger. “Is that a chipmunk…in your pocket?” It sounded like the opening line to a bad joke.

“This is Acorn,” Renny said, using a fingertip to stroke the animal’s fur. At the contact, the creature ducked its head. “She mostly sticks with the captain.”

“That’s because he’s her mommy,” Kane said with a chuckle, then shut down his laughter when the captain glowered at him.

“Acorn’s a sugar glider,” the captain said. “Renny pinched her from a trader when she was a baby, then slipped her in my pocket without telling me. She’s a marsupial, so…”

“She thought your pocket was her mama’s pouch?” Solara pressed a hand over her heart. The poor little thing was motherless, just like her. “That’s so sad.”

Captain Rossi nodded, not looking pleased. “She bonded to me before I even knew she was in there. Made a mess of my coat.”

“She makes a mess of everything,” Cassia muttered under her breath.

“That’s what the cage is for,” Solara said. “The one in the lounge.”

“Not that she uses it,” added Cassia. “And guess who gets to clean up all her little surprises.”

The captain cut a sideways glance at Cassia and reached a thumb inside his pocket to soothe his pet, as if the words had hurt her feelings. “You know she can’t be caged in there all alone. Acorn’s a colony animal.”

“Very social,” Renny added with a nod. “We looked it up. She can actually die if she doesn’t get enough affection.”

“So until we find her a friend or two,” the captain said, “she has free run of the ship.” He lowered his voice to a rumble and asked, “Anyone have a problem with that?”

Both ship hands faced their bowls and filled their mouths with food. Everyone ate in silence for a while, until Acorn peeked her furry head out again and Renny handed her a bean. She took it between her paws and sniffed it with a tiny pink nose, then began nibbling while making a contented chirping noise.

The captain’s mouth turned down. “I wish you’d stop giving her junk food.”

“It’s not junk,” Renny said in a tone that implied they’d had this argument before. “Beans are healthy.”

“Not as healthy as insects and—”

An alarm interrupted them, and the captain cocked his head toward the sound in perfect synch with the marsupial in his pocket. “Vessel approaching,” he muttered while reaching for his crutch. He pushed to standing with a groan and limped toward the stairs leading to the pilothouse.

“It’s probably nothing,” Renny told them.

But not a minute later, the captain’s voice crackled over the intercom with a single command. “Strap in.”

As the crew scattered, Doran jerked his gaze around the galley. “Strap into what?”

“Follow me,” Solara said while swinging both legs over the bench.

She ran back to their room and pointed at the front wall, where two harnesses were bolted on either side of the door. Kane had shown her what to do in case of turbulence. They were supposed to sit on the floor and strap their backs to the wall.

A sudden force of inertia tossed them both to the floor. Their bodies collided, but Solara barely felt a thing. She rolled off Doran and crawled to the nearest harness. He did the same, and they buckled in.

Solara tightened her straps and drew both knees to her chest.

“I can’t die yet,” Doran whispered. “I barely remember living.”

“Don’t talk like that. It’s probably just a debris field.”

But then a force of energy passed through her—a vibration, like she’d pressed her whole body to the shell of an engine. The fierce, rattling hum settled in her joints. Her teeth clattered together, making her lips go numb. The discomfort stopped as abruptly as it had begun, but it left a lingering impact because she recognized the sensation. She’d felt it before, several months ago, when she’d tried to run from the Enforcers. It was a cautionary blast, a threat before they fired real ammunition. And if memory served, the
Banshee
would only get one more warning. Her heart pounded and jumped into her throat.