Starflight (Starflight, #1)(35)

She tried smacking away his hand, but it did no good. Doran persisted until she let him rest the pack lightly against her cheekbone. The cool contact brought an instant flood of relief she hadn’t known she’d needed. It felt so good she nearly forgot why she was angry with him. But not quite.

“Thanks,” she said, reluctantly moving her hand over his. “I’ve got it.”

“The captain wants a status report,” Cassia said.

Renny blew out a long breath. “We need a new propellant cell.”

“Or…?” the girl prompted.

“Or we’re stuck at snail speed,” Solara said. “Your two-man shuttle could outrun the Banshee right now.”

Cassia turned to Renny. “How close are we to a supplier?”

“At this speed?” he said. “Two months out.”

Everyone in the group exchanged nervous glances, and Solara imagined they were all thinking the same thing. The Banshee was a transport ship, not a military vessel. With no cannons or propellant, they were easy prey for every band of roaming marauders and shipjackers in the quadrant. Or worse. The Daeva might stumble across them.

Solara shivered just thinking about it.

Kane broke the silence with the low voice someone might use to tell a ghost story. “We could go to Demarkus.”

Renny chuckled without humor. “Are you volunteering for the job?”

When nobody responded, Solara asked, “Where’s Demarkus?”

“Not where,” Renny said. “Who.”

“He’s a pirate,” Kane explained. “Runs the black market in this quadrant. But he won’t do business with just anyone. All pirates belong to an alliance called the Brethren of Outcasts.” He tapped a spot on his wrist. “They wear a brand to mark themselves because pirate law favors their own kind.”

“And if you’re outside that circle,” Cassia said, “Demarkus is more likely to rob you blind than trade with you. The captain has enough street cred to barter with him, but they had a falling out last year.”

“Cap’n shot him,” Kane supplied with a grin. “Two slugs, right in the chest. Demarkus didn’t even drop his pistol. Did skew his aim, though.”

“That’s how the captain lost his leg,” Cassia added.

Renny pinched the bridge of his nose and peered at the puddle of propellant like he could reanimate it if he stared hard enough. “Demarkus knows our faces,” he said. “He’d probably sell us into slavery—if we’re lucky.”

Doran sniffed a dry laugh and glanced at Solara. “Except Solara. Not even this guy would mess with someone who looks as scary as she does right now.”

There was a collective intake of breath from the crew, and then all eyes locked on her tattoos. “You know,” Kane said with a cautious expression, “that’s not a bad idea.”

“No, I was kidding.” Doran shook his head. “It’s a terrible—”

“Wait,” Cassia interrupted. She cocked her head, studying Solara with narrowed eyes until her lips curled in a smile. “A sweet, young felon. Cute but combative.” She nodded. “Oh yeah. Demarkus would love her to pieces.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Renny said. “We can’t ask her to get involved. We’ll find another way.”

“And what other way is that?” Cassia demanded. “There’s no salvage yard out here, and we can’t exactly put out a distress call.”

No one argued, because she was right.

Solara didn’t relish the idea of bartering with a bulletproof pirate lord, but like it or not, she would do whatever it took to get the replacement part.

The crew, however, didn’t need to know that.

“Let’s make a deal,” Solara said. “I’ll be your go-between with the pirates if you’ll take me and Doran to the Obsidian Beaches.” Doran made a choking noise, but she silenced him with a glare. “And then to the fringe. Just like we originally agreed.”

Twin lines formed between Renny’s bespectacled eyes as he stared at his shoes, clearly tempted by the offer and hating himself for it. “I’ll have to ask the captain.”

She shrugged. “Go ahead. But I won’t take anything less.”

Not surprisingly, the captain agreed.

An hour later, Solara stood wincing in front of the washroom mirror while Cassia plaited her hair into a facial death grip. The braid’s tightness pulled at the corners of her blackened eyes, resulting in an angry expression that said, Speak at your own risk. A steady rotation of gel packs had lessened the swelling above her cheekbone, but she still looked as if she’d gone ten rounds with a grizzly bear.

It was a good start.

Solara stepped back and studied her reflection. A black holster hung low on her hips, complete with two pulse pistols she had no clue how to use. The outside of her thigh showcased a sheathed blade. Its curved edge screamed menace, but she’d probably sever her own artery trying to draw it.

“Smoke and mirrors,” she said, both palms beginning to sweat.

“You’ll be fine.” Cassia patted her on the back. “Just don’t smile—at all. And say as little as possible. Whatever price they quote for the cell, offer sixty percent of that. Any more and they’ll think you’re a pushover. Any less would be an insult.”