Starflight (Starflight, #1)(31)

Settling for another sponge bath, he made his way to the washroom. When he returned to his chamber, Solara was sitting up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

She greeted him with a gravelly “Mornin’,” then must have remembered they weren’t on speaking terms because she immediately scowled. But with a pillow crease embedded in her cheek and a halo of loose hair sticking out from her braids, the effect was more cute than menacing.

“This is the last time we’ll ever wake up together,” he said. “You should be happy.”

Stretching both arms above her head, she told him, “I’m smiling on the inside.”

He found a knapsack and filled it with a handful of toiletries and two changes of coveralls. Since all his luggage was still on the Zenith, there was nothing else to pack. “Talk about traveling light,” he muttered while tossing his bag in the corner.

Solara picked at a loose thread on her glove. “You can still change your mind.”

“I know,” he said. But if he wanted to keep his heartbeat steady, he couldn’t start second-guessing himself. “My mind’s made up.”

“Good luck, then.” She kept her face turned down as she spoke. “I know we’re not friends or anything, but I hope it turns out okay for you.”

Doran watched her for a moment. It couldn’t have been easy for her to say that, and despite everything she’d done, he felt a stirring of respect for her. “Same to you,” he said, and meant it.

They spent the next few minutes avoiding each other’s eyes until the captain’s voice came over the intercom. “Passengers, report to the bridge.”

Doran glanced up. “Guess he means us.”

“Hand me my pants?”

He tossed them onto the bed and waited outside until she’d dressed. Then they strode quietly through the ship to the bridge, where the whole crew was waiting for them.

Right away, the silence sent up a red flag.

Cassia and Kane sat with their backs to the pilothouse door, each studying the bolts in the wall. The first mate had taken a seat on the edge of his navigation table, polishing his glasses over and over while the captain stood nearby, leaning on his crutch. No one was smiling—not even Renny.

“What happened?” Doran asked.

The captain gave a terse nod. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I won’t blow sunshine up your trousers. You’ve been made.”

“Made?” Doran asked. “Into what?”

Solara moved close beside him and stood on tiptoe to whisper, “It means your cover’s blown.”

Pulse hitching, he glanced around the room and checked for weapons or rope—signs that they meant to hold him hostage. When he saw nothing to that effect, he released a quiet breath. “So you know who I am?”

“We’ve always known,” Renny said. “Since the first night, when the Enforcers hailed us. They were looking for a missing Zenith passenger called Doran Spaulding. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

Doran cocked his head in disbelief. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“None of our business,” the captain replied. “But that’s not why I called you here.” He pulled a data tablet from inside his jacket and handed it over. “This just broadcasted on the emergency frequency. When I said you’ve been made, I meant on a galactic level.”

Doran took the tablet while Solara leaned in to read over his shoulder. It was an all points bulletin with his name and senior picture at the top, the cheesy one of him leaning against a tree with a football tucked under his arm. Beneath his smiling face were the instructions ARREST ON SIGHT.

He read the charges—conspiracy to defraud the government, theft, industrial espionage, obstruction of justice, resisting arrest—but they made no sense.

“I didn’t do any of this,” he said.

The captain told him, “Keep reading.”

When Doran continued to the bottom of the page, the real blow came, a bullet to the heart that knocked him back until he actually swayed on his feet.

AN ANONYMOUS CITIZEN REPORTED SPAULDING’S LAST KNOWN WHEREABOUTS AS PESIRUS. HIS DESTINATION IS OBSIDIAN, BY WAY OF OUTPOST #8774.

“I changed course,” the captain said. “Just in time.”

All Doran could do was nod and try to breathe. Ava had betrayed him. She’d said that she loved him, and then she’d told the Enforcers everything. Maybe he’d never intended to move in with her, but he had trusted her. Shared his bed with her. Told her secrets he’d never revealed to his friends, like how he still talked to his mother’s picture at night when he couldn’t sleep. A lump rose in his throat, but no matter how hard he swallowed, he couldn’t push it down.

He couldn’t believe she’d actually turned him in.

“There’ll be too much heat around Obsidian,” the captain went on. “So we’ll steer clear and head straight into the fringe.”

Pressure built behind Doran’s eyes, but he bit the inside of his cheek to ward off tears. He wouldn’t lose it. Not in front of the crew.

Solara’s hand appeared on his forearm. Her fingers bit into his flesh, the steady grip keeping him upright. She told the captain, “Let’s not make any decisions yet.”

“The choice is already made,” the captain said. “When it affects my ship, you don’t get a say.”