Starflight Read online

  He knew that birthmark.

  “Did you hear me?” she asked. “What do you remember?”

  He tried thinking back but couldn’t focus over the pain. “I don’t know.”

  “Let’s start with something easy,” she said. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  “One.”

  “What’s two plus two?”

  He shot her a glare. “I’m injured, not deficient.”

  “Who’s president of the Solar League?”

  “Haruto Takahashi. These are ridiculous questions.”

  “What’s your name?”

  He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

  The answer was on the tip of his tongue, suspended barely beyond his reach. It was like trying to place an old friend he hadn’t seen in a while. The realization was there, but it hadn’t fully connected. It was probably one of those situations where the answer would come to him as soon as he quit trying to force it.

  “I know my name,” he insisted. “I just can’t think of it right now.”

  She wrinkled her forehead and studied him. “What’s my name?”

  This time he didn’t have the foggiest idea. His instincts told him they knew each other, but not very well. Otherwise her name would be on the tip of his tongue, too.

  “Remind me,” he said. “How do we know each other?”

  Of course she didn’t answer him. He was beginning to think she was doing that on purpose. While she crouched there in silence, he scanned her for clues.

  She wore a fingerless glove on one hand and cradled the other against her chest. Something about her glove plucked at his senses, a warning of sorts, but the memory wouldn’t come. A simple bracelet encircled her wrist, thin and metallic with an M-shaped barcode etched onto the surface. He recognized it at once. The M stood for “master.” That meant she had an indentured servant. But people only wore those bands while traveling. He glanced around the room, taking in metal walls and a staircase leading to a small platform and an exterior door.

  “Are we on a ship?” he asked.

  The girl laughed at him. “You drank more than I thought.”

  “It was your bracelet that clued me in.”

  She nodded at his hand. “You have the other one.”

  When he glanced down and noticed the matching S band, all the pieces clicked into place. “Do I work for you?” he asked, but the words felt wrong when he spoke them aloud. “No, that can’t be right.”

  “Yes, it can,” she said. “And I have the contract to prove it.” She gave a scolding shake of her head. “You really do need to lay off the bottle before you kill your last few remaining brain cells.”

  He scowled at her. “Why would I indenture myself to you?”

  “For a free vacation,” she said with a shrug. “My father doesn’t like me traveling alone, so he hired you to take me to the Obsidian Beaches. You said you’ve always wanted to go but couldn’t afford the fare. It was a perfect match.” She pointed at the platform above them. “In fact, we were on our way to catch our connecting ship when you got dizzy and fell down the stairs.”

  The Obsidian Beaches.

  He hated to admit it, but her story sounded familiar. He recalled feeling excited to visit the beaches. Everything else was a blur, but at least his memory had begun to return. Just as he’d predicted, full realization would come as soon as he quit trying to force it. However, this didn’t mean he was anyone’s servant. He couldn’t picture himself hauling this girl’s baggage or braiding her hair. Assuming he knew how to braid hair.

  “I want to see the contract,” he told her.

  “You can’t,” she said. “It’s with my luggage on the next ship. Like we should be.”

  “But why did you hire me to travel with you? Why not take your friends?”

  “My father thinks they’re a bad influence,” she whispered behind her hand. “He was afraid I’d have too much fun and come home with no tan lines.” She laughed without humor. “So he chose you to keep me on the straight and narrow. You’re doing an interesting job so far.”

  He studied the girl and tried to pinpoint the reason for his hesitation. Everything she said made sense, and yet…

  “Listen,” she told him. “I know you’re hungover, but we’re going to miss our connecting ship if we don’t hurry. This outpost is kind of scary.” She shrugged. “For you, anyway. With a pretty face like yours, the ship hands won’t look twice in my direction.”

  That made him chuckle, but not for long. The added movement hurt too much.

  “So are you coming?” she asked. “If not, I hope you have enough credits to cover your fare, because I only paid your way to this stop.”

  Did he have enough credits to buy a ticket? He had no idea.

  “They arrest stowaways,” she added with a raised brow. “Just so you know.”

  He glanced at his indenture band and wondered if he was being paranoid. All the evidence confirmed what the girl had told him, and he really did want to visit the Obsidian Beaches. Looking at the girl, he figured she didn’t weigh more than a sack of potatoes. Even if she was lying, how much harm could she possibly do?

  “All right,” he decided. “But I still want to see the contract.”

  “You will, once we’re settled in. Can you walk?”

  He moved his legs in a brief inventory. They were wobbly but usable. “I might need some help.”

  She slung his arm around her neck, and together, they hauled him upright. His brain spun a rotation inside his skull. “Steady, there,” she said while leading him toward the stairs. “If you throw up on me, I’m adding another week to your service.”

  “That’s a joke, right?”

  “Let’s not find out.”

  Once they’d made their way up the stairs, she stopped to retrieve a glove, then kicked aside a discarded luggage trunk and keyed open the exterior door. A burst of canned oxygen washed over him, followed by piercing, artificial light. Right before they stepped out of the ship, he stopped her.

  “Wait,” he said. “Remind me what my name is.”

  “It’s Doran,” she told him. “Doran Zenith.”

  “Doran,” he repeated. Yes, that felt right. “And who are you?”

  She looked up at him with a smile so wide it drew out a dimple in her left cheek. Despite the drumming in his head, he couldn’t help smiling in return. The girl wasn’t beautiful, but she had an honest face, and he finally understood why he must’ve indentured himself to her.

  “I’m Lara,” she said. “But you can call me Miss Brooks.”

  As Solara guided her new servant across the outpost floor, she couldn’t decide if she was a genius or a fool. Taking Doran’s money was a no-brainer. Once she’d hired a ship and reached the outer realm, the Enforcers couldn’t touch her. Their jurisdiction didn’t extend to the fringe settlements, and as a matter of policy, the settlers didn’t extradite.

  Everyone knew that.

  Taking Doran along for the ride, however, wasn’t one of her better ideas. At some point, his memory would return, and she couldn’t keep stunning him forever. Her device had only one use left, two at most. Maybe she should ditch him here after she withdrew his credits. That was the smart thing to do.

  “I was thinking,” she said. “Let’s see if we can get you wait-listed for a ship back to Earth. You shouldn’t continue on like this.”

  “What?” His eyes went round. “No!”

  “I’ll pay for your ticket.”

  “You can’t leave me here!”

  “Oh, come on. It’s not that dangerous.”

  He cast her a skeptical glance. “What about my ‘pretty face’ drawing in all the ship hands?”

  “Just strike up a conversation with them,” she said. “You’re a lot less attractive once you open your mouth.”

  “Very funny.” His muscles tensed as a hulking man with a long, jagged scar where his left eye belonged passed by. “I need to get to the Obsidian Beaches,” Doran said. “There�
��s something important I have to do there.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I remembered it’s the whole reason I came on this trip. Whatever it is, it’s urgent. You have to take me with you.”

  She stalled and tried to think of an excuse to send him home.

  “Let me rephrase,” he added, sharper than barbed steel. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Excuse me?” Solara came to a sudden stop, forcing him to do the same. “You’ll go wherever I send you.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Don’t interrupt.”

  He sealed his lips shut.

  “Our relationship is simple,” she told him. “I say ‘Jump,’ and you say ‘Through which window, Miss Brooks?’ You don’t make demands of me. Are we clear?”

  Instead of answering, he cringed and used his free hand to grip his temples. Solara decided not to press the issue, because it wasn’t any fun taking Doran down a peg when he was in so much pain. But that didn’t mean she would let him order her around. She was the master now…for as long as this farce lasted.

  Once the tightness faded from Doran’s mouth, he gave a slow nod.

  Solara was about to tell him not to let it happen again when he loosened his grip around her shoulder and whispered, “Please.” He swallowed hard and begged with those big blue eyes. “Please don’t leave me here.”

  All the air trickled out of her lungs.

  “Take me to the beaches,” he said, blinking down at her. “I won’t cause any trouble.”

  How did he do that?

  A minute ago she wanted to break his jaw, and now she had to fight the urge to pat him on the head and give him a cookie. That had to be some kind of superpower. She finally understood how he got everything he wanted in life.

  Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to bring him along. The outpost wasn’t the safest place to strand someone with neuro-poisoning, and if she sent him back to the Zenith, the crew would find out what she’d done. Plus, traveling with Doran would allow her more access to his credit in case of an emergency. As an added bonus, she’d get to make him polish her boots and wash her socks—maybe wake him up in the middle of the night to fetch her a glass of water, too.

  She smiled just thinking about it.

  “All right,” she said, figuring she’d already dug herself a deep-enough hole, so she might as well keep on digging. What was one more felony? Doran’s memory wouldn’t return for at least another day. She could always ditch him then, or stun him again. “We’ll go together.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it. I’m sure you’ll make it up to me.” She hid a grin and paused to take in her surroundings.

  Thanks to movie nights at the group home, she knew that each space station was modeled the same. Along the perimeter, narrow corridors led to the ships docked outside. If the doorway glowed green, it meant a vessel was available for hire. A glance around the hub showed only three green doors, fewer than she had hoped but better than none. The center of the outpost was a wide floor dotted with freestanding vendor booths, an open setup that made it easier for security to keep watch from their platform overhead. Only two structures in the outpost offered the concealment of four walls and a roof: the automated mall, where valuable commodities were kept, and the bordello, where she probably would’ve ended up if Doran had succeeded in abandoning her.

  Solara slid a glare at him.

  Suddenly she didn’t feel so guilty about spending his money. But first she had to gain entry to the automated mall. No one was allowed inside until proving they had credits to use, which she could only do by scanning Doran’s bracelet along with his handprint. After that, she’d be free to buy whatever she needed without scanning him again.

  “I want you to come with me to the auto mall,” she told him. “There’s probably a med-pod in there. We’ll buy something to settle your stomach before we board the ship.”

  He answered with a nod, and she tightened her hold around his waist while they crossed the floor. To avoid drawing attention, she kept her stride casual and leaned into Doran’s body as if she couldn’t get enough of him. She hoped they looked like a couple, as much as that made her want to retch.

  When they reached the auto mall, she placed his palm on the security pad and scanned her bracelet, thankful he was too woozy to notice. Then the doors parted, and she led the way into the market of her dreams.

  She’d never seen the inside of an auto mall—or any mall for that matter—but she imagined this was what heaven looked like. Rows of luxuries spread out before her: delicate candies, silken robes, insulated spacesuits, medicines, tools, and even Spaulding fuel chips. She’d hoped to find the chips here, because those slow-burning ore coins were the most useful currency in the galaxy. She was going to buy as many as she could carry.

  After she peeled Doran off her.

  She helped him to the medical pod in the far corner, a computerized chair behind a thin metal screen that offered patients the illusion of privacy. He lowered to the seat, and she strapped a belt around his chest and lap, making sure to position the buckles behind the seat, where he couldn’t reach them. If his memory returned, at least he’d be trapped here for a while. Attached to the chair was a small screen that read, TOUCH HERE TO BEGIN TREATMENT.

  “Let’s see,” she said, scrolling through the medicinal offerings. “Custom-made tonics.” She tapped the corresponding button and asked Doran to describe his symptoms. As he spoke, she clicked HEADACHE, NAUSEA, and DIZZINESS.

  A computerized voice droned, “Please provide one hundred credits.”

  Doran looked at his wristband. “Do I have that much?”

  “Probably not.” Solara lightly patted his cheek while scanning her bracelet. “But lucky for you, I take care of my employees.” When the pod dispensed a cup of clear, fizzy liquid, she chirped, “Bottoms up.”

  She stepped out from behind the screen and headed straight for the fuel chips. It wouldn’t take long for Doran to finish his seltzer, and then they needed to go. Each second they spent here was a risk.

  She bought the sturdiest shoulder bag she could find and told the computer to fill it with chips. As she watched the tiny coins drop into the sack, an idea came to mind. She fed the machine a leather cord and instructed it to punch a hole in a set of chips to string a necklace for her to wear. She’d seen traders do the same—it kept their currency close.

  While her fuel order was being filled, she wandered the aisles and purchased a practical wardrobe and enough boots to last five years. She guessed Doran’s size and ordered a set of generic coveralls for him, the kind she’d worn at the group home. It put a bounce in her step to imagine how he’d look as a ward of the diocese.

  Next she loaded up on standard medications like pain relievers and antibiotics. She’d heard those were hard to find in the outer realm. After buying a precision tool kit and a set of toiletries, she was ready to have her order boxed. But then a twinkle of light caught her eye, and she saw something that sucked the air from her chest.

  It was a dress. No, not a dress—a gown fit for an empress.

  Made from the most opulent fabric she’d ever seen, it hugged the mannequin’s curves to the waist and flared out to the floor, shimmering like a million dying stars. The effect was mesmerizing. She couldn’t identify the dress’s color. It was simply made of brilliance.

  Solara knew she’d never wear anything so lavish. A gown like that was for people with more money than IQ points. But that didn’t stop her from drifting forward and allowing the computer to take her measurements. A moment later, the screen showed her size in stock and offered the dress for five thousand credits.

  She gulped and scanned her bracelet.

  TRANSACTION APPROVED.

  “Thanks, Doran,” she whispered. “You shouldn’t have.”

  A shaky laugh escaped her lips. She’d better wrap it up before she completely lost her mind. She returned to the med pod, where Doran pounded a fist
against his chest and released a belch.

  “Better?” she asked him.

  When he glanced over his shoulder, she noticed a difference in him right away. His brow was smooth and his eyes were clear of pain. “Much.”

  “Good, because you have a lot of packages to haul.”

  Annoyance flashed behind his eyes, but he clenched his jaw and mumbled, “Yes, Miss Brooks.”

  It was music to her ears.

  Ten minutes later, he wore a set of delightfully dull coveralls and pushed a handcart piled high with her treasures. She led the way, glancing around the outpost at the green doorways to weigh her options, until a voice came over the central intercom and interrupted her thoughts.

  “Passenger Spaulding,” came the announcement. “Please report to your ship.”

  Solara’s heart dropped into her pants. How had the Zenith discovered Doran’s absence so quickly? Jerking her gaze to the nearest green doorway, she told him, “That one!” She jogged ahead of him to the corridor and punched the contact button while scanning the temporary sign affixed to the wall.

  SS BANSHEE. CAPTAIN PHINEAS ROSSI,

  SOLE PROPRIETOR.

  RING BELL FOR INQUIRIES.

  NO SOLICITING—UNLESS YOU’RE

  SELLING SUGAR GLIDERS.

  There was no information on the ship’s make or model, and Solara had never heard of a sugar glider. But beggars couldn’t be choosy. She pushed the button a few more times and peered across the expansive hub at the Zenith’s boarding doorway, where two stewards argued with each other. Probably debating how much longer to wait before dispatching a search team. Solara’s pulse skipped, and she pushed the button again.