Starflight (Starflight, #1)(25)

“Don’t be dramatic,” he said. “If it weren’t for me, you’d still be on Earth, begging for passage.”

She blinked at him in shock. Did he really see it that way?

“You showed more compassion to your girlfriend’s dog than to me,” she said. “Maybe I made some bad choices since then, but what I did was nothing compared to the way you crushed me under your boot for a month. People don’t treat each other like that.”

His gaze mocked her. “You’re naive. People do far worse.”

“Maybe. But I trusted you.”

That seemed to get through to him. He took an interest in the ground, hiding behind the dark locks of hair that had fallen across his face. “Let’s focus on making it to the next outpost,” he said, and tugged at an earlobe. “Then we never have to see each other again.”

“Fine by me.”

They didn’t exchange another word until the cart stopped outside the fairgrounds.

The auxiliary shuttle landed beside them, and Kane disconnected the towline while Cassia skipped—actually skipped—away to collect payment. Their smiles helped lighten Solara’s mood. She reminded herself of why she was here: spiced berries and sunshine.

Not even Doran could ruin that.

Hopping down from the cart, she turned to survey the fairgrounds.

The familiar setup of white tents and wooden booths brought a grin to her lips, reminding her of a hundred fish fries and carnivals where she’d sold tickets to raise money for the group home. At this early hour, the festivities hadn’t begun, but the mouthwatering smell of fried dough began to sweeten the air. The scent reminded her of Sister Agnes’s funnel cakes, fried golden brown with extra powdered sugar. Wards of the diocese weren’t allowed many treats, but that was one of them, and Solara looked forward to it all year.

A sudden prickling of heat stung her eyes. She never thought she’d miss the nuns, but it hurt to know she would never see them again. They had cared about her, in their own way. And in all fairness, she hadn’t always made it easy on them.

“Are you crying?”

Doran’s voice jerked her back to the present.

“No,” Solara said, dabbing at her eyes. She led the way into the maze of tents and called over her shoulder, “Let’s get this over with before the fair starts. Then you’re on your own.”

It didn’t take long to find the com-booth. She removed a fuel chip from her necklace and asked the attendant to exchange it for one minute of transmission—more than enough time for Doran to tell his father that he was safe. The attendant gave her change in local currency and unlocked the booth’s fiberglass door.

Doran peered inside the closet-sized enclosure and frowned. “It’s tight in there.”

“You should’ve thought of that before I paid,” she said, and stepped inside.

The compartment resembled an old-time photo booth, with an adjustable seat facing a small screen. Doran sat down while Solara stood with her back pressed to the opposite wall, out of the camera’s view. The screen powered up, and Doran entered his father’s contact number.

But nothing happened.

“‘Transmission failed,’” he read aloud. “‘Number not in service.’” He entered the data two more times with the same results. “That’s weird. I’ll have to try Ava instead.”

“Who?” Solara asked, but then the answer came. “Oh. Pink hair, black soul.”

Doran glared at her and tapped the new contact information. The second transmission connected almost instantly, followed by a breathy “Hello?” Solara craned her neck to glimpse the screen just in time to see Miss DePaul’s eyes fly wide.

“Dory!” the girl cried, then lowered her voice to a hiss. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”

That wasn’t the reaction Solara had expected, and judging by Doran’s parted lips, he hadn’t seen it coming, either. His girlfriend didn’t seem worried about his disappearance, or particularly happy to hear from him.

“I, uh,” he stammered. “I need you to send a message to my father.”

“Where are you?” she asked, instead of Are you okay?

“On Pesirus, but I’m going to Obsidian.” He leaned forward and stressed, “I’ll be at the next outpost in three days. Tell my father to have a ship waiting so I can do my job. He’ll know what that means.”

Miss DePaul acted like she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. “What happened to the girl you hired?” she asked. “The homely little indenture with the dirty clothes. You didn’t”—she gulped—“kill her, did you?”

“What?” Doran jerked back. “Of course not!”

Solara clamped her lips together, trying not to laugh at the idea of Doran using his perfectly manicured hands to kill her. He’d never do it. He might break a nail.

Miss DePaul didn’t look convinced. “Then where is she?”

“Right here with me, very much alive.”

“She came with you? Of her own free will?”

Doran cast a cutting glance at Solara, and she brought a finger to her lips as a reminder to keep their arrangement a secret. “I didn’t kidnap her,” he muttered darkly, “if that’s what you’re asking.”