Starflight (Starflight, #1)(39)

“Lara,” he called while standing from his seat. He made a cutting hand gesture, and all the men at the table left without a word. Then he used that same hand to indicate the spot beside him and unleashed an unexpectedly charming smile.

Solara knew better than to underestimate him. She kept her lips in a flat line when she sat down. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m honored to share your table.”

“The honor is mine.” He lowered to his seat while studying her conviction codes. Much like his guards, he lifted an appreciative brow. “Grand theft and conspiracy, at such a young age?”

Tearing off a chunk of bread, she told him, “I take what I want.”

“Don’t we all?”

“Fair enough,” she said. “I forgot my surroundings.”

He delivered a long, silent look. “What did you steal?”

“Bullet tram parts,” she told him, seeing no reason to hide the truth. “To sell on the underground market.”

“You have mechanical training, then?”

She nodded. “It’s what I do.”

“A useful skill,” he mused. “I heard that you fixed the air-lock door. We’ve been wrestling with it for weeks.”

“It was nothing.”

“And clearly you’re a fighter, too.” Using an index finger, he traced the outline of her cheekbone. “Who provoked you, little bird?”

She pulled away and met his eyes. “The last man who touched my face without permission.”

Demarkus laughed in a rolling chortle that might have warmed her heart if he hadn’t trapped her on a ship full of convicts. “I like your fire,” he said. “There’s no reason to fear unwanted attention from me. There are plenty of women on board who do give me their permission.” He speared a hunk of meat with his knife and lifted it for show. “You should know that I take care of my own. Plenty of food, a fair share of the spoils, a private bunk. If you swear fealty to me, you could lead your own team in five years’ time.”

“I’m not looking to join a crew,” she told him.

“What if I sweeten the deal?”

“It wouldn’t make a difference.”

“A signing bonus?”

She shook her head.

“But I need a mechanic,” he said. “Is there nothing I can say to convince you?”

“Your offer is flattering, but I’m happy where I am.”

“A pity.” He took a bite and muttered, “The loss is mine.”

They ate in silence for a while, until two young men approached the table and asked Demarkus to settle a property dispute. The pair testified that their dead roommate had promised both of them his laser pistol, but he’d left no written will. They each laid a coin on the table and asked their chief to declare a challenge, whatever that meant.

Demarkus leaned close to murmur in Solara’s ear. “What do you think, little bird? If you were chief, how would you decide?”

She made a show of studying the men, trying not to let Demarkus see how his nearness made her shoulders clench. “I would take the pistol for my armory,” she said. “Or sell it and use the money to benefit my whole crew.”

He chided her in a teasing tsk, tsk. “Spoken like a Solar League politician. I thought you’d have more imagination than that.”

“How will you decide?” she asked.

“Our law is clear in this case. They’ll compete for the pistol in a battle of my choosing.” Addressing the men, Demarkus announced, “Long staffs in the antigravity room. Last one conscious wins.”

The men bowed and each laid another coin on the table, then backed away.

Demarkus asked her, “You don’t know much about pirate law, do you?”

“Nothing at all,” she admitted.

“It favors the power of individuals over the group. So the fittest rise to the top, and the weakest die out. That’s how we differ from the Solar League. We maintain order, but not at the expense of our strength. When my chief grew weak, I challenged him for control. Now he works in the galley, and I rule the Brethren in this quadrant.”

“Only this quadrant?” she asked. “What about the others?”

“Each has its own chief, and we stay within our territory. It keeps things civil.”

“Civil,” she repeated. “Sounds kind of boring for pirates.”

“Perhaps, but at least our justice makes sense. Can you say the same for the Solar League?” He dragged a finger across her tattooed knuckles. “Among us, your markings are a badge of honor because they prove you’re not afraid to follow your own rules. You would do well here, earn riches most men will never lay eyes on.”

Not wanting to encourage him, she stayed silent.

Demarkus reached behind his neck and unclasped a gold choker that his tunic had concealed. He laid the necklace on the table so she could inspect its craftsmanship, hammered flat and polished to a high shine. She’d never seen real gold before, at least not this close-up, and her fingertip itched to touch it.

“Go ahead,” he said. “It won’t bite.”

She noticed a script of Latin engraved in the metal. “What does that say?”

“It’s one of our oldest tenets.”