Starfall (Starflight #2)(30)
“No thanks.” She patted his shoulder. “You go ahead.”
She picked up her bowl and leaned against the wall, watching Kane stow the clean dishes inside the cabinets. She waited for him to ask about the transmission. When he didn’t, she volunteered, “That was Jordan.”
“Figured as much.”
“He didn’t find anything at the armory.”
Kane nodded in acknowledgment but didn’t offer his opinion. He finished putting away the dishes and latched the cabinet doors. Then he stood in front of her and dug inside his pants pocket. “I keep meaning to give you this.”
He placed something light and warm into her hand. She knew without looking that it was the Eturian prayer necklace he’d bought for her. She’d memorized its weight like a favorite song.
“You accidentally left it in a box of my stuff,” he added.
They both knew that wasn’t true. She gripped the stone pendant and drew it to her breast. “I’ll be more careful with it from now on.”
She wanted to say something more, to thank him for the peace offering and apologize for what she’d said to him earlier. But before she could shake the words off her tongue, she found him with his back turned, disappearing down the stairs to the cargo hold.
Weeks later, when they reached the outer realm, Kane and the crew met in the bridge to pinpoint the exact location of their moving target. Stooping to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling, he approached the navigation table and studied the star charts spread out across its surface.
Earth wasn’t the center of the galaxy—not by a long shot—but the Solar League liked to pretend it was. They’d divided the Milky Way into four sectors and five rings, similar to a dartboard with their planet as the bull’s-eye. If the League ever moved headquarters, they’d probably recalibrate the whole star chart to reflect it, but for now, the first ring in the Solar Territories was the tourist circle, a playground for the wealthy. Next came the colony planets, including Eturia, followed by the ore mines and the prison settlements. The fifth ring was known as the outer realm, or the fringe, a lawless collection of planets the League hadn’t annexed because of the lack of taxable income.
Money—it made all worlds go around.
And because Kane understood that simple fact, he also knew money was at the root of whatever deal Marius’s father had struck with his backer. People didn’t invest in foreign wars for fun. There was something to be gained by helping the Durango kingdom defeat the other three houses. All Kane had to do was figure out what, and it would lead him to the man who’d poisoned his mother.
He leaned closer to the table. “Where’s our target?”
Renny tapped their location with an index finger. “About an hour away. Cassia’s theory was right. The coordinates keep moving because they’re in orbit around a planet that’s not even terraformed. It’s a satellite station.”
“Of course I was right,” Cassia said. “It’s a black market hub. Why else would it be out here in the…” She paused to yawn, and while doing so, shot Kane a glare that warned him not to suggest that she go lie down. “…middle of nowhere?”
He patiently held his tongue, but he was getting tired of pretending not to care that she was the last to go to bed at night and the first to wake up in the morning. Or that she spent the hours after dinner holed up in her bedroom. At least her face had filled out and her pants no longer hung from her hip bones. If nothing else, that was progress.
He turned his focus to Doran. “If it’s a black market satellite, we might need Daro the Red to come out of hiding.”
Doran frowned at the tattoo on his wrist: four curved sabers forming a figure eight. It was the logo for the Brethren of Outcasts, pirates who ran roughshod over the fringe. A few months ago, Doran had accidentally inherited one of their territories when he’d killed a pirate lord named Demarkus Hahn. And because no self-respecting criminal would swear allegiance to the preppy son of a fuel mogul, Doran had donned a costume and taken a fake name during the fealty rite. Since then, he’d delegated most of his authority, but he still had to dress up and make appearances once in a while.
It was a long story.
“Fine,” Doran said. He raked a hand through his dark hair, which he would have to color red. “But we’re almost out of dye. I should’ve called myself Daro the Black.”
Solara stood on tiptoe and whispered to Doran. Whatever she said made the tips of his ears turn pink. He whispered something back and then kissed the tattoo on the inside of her wrist, which matched his, because she was his fake pirate wife.
A very long story.
Renny told everyone, “This time we stay together. All of us, no matter what. I suggest you use the bathroom before we leave, because any pit stop you make on that satellite will be a team effort.” He pushed his glasses higher up his nose. “Understood?”
“Yes, Cap’n,” they echoed.
“And remember to keep your heads down. Stay away from large crowds, and don’t advertise who we are once we’re inside. I crossed the Zhang mafia once, and they never forget a name.”
“But they operate on Earth,” Doran said. “The fringe is Brethren territory.”
“Tell that to my pistol wounds.” Renny pointed at Doran. “And don’t go throwing your name around, either, Daro the Red. All anyone has to do to claim your territory is challenge you to a fight.”