Starflight (Starflight, #1)(7)

“Hey,” whispered someone close behind him. “Are you all right?”

Was he all right? What kind of asinine question was that?

“Fan-damned-tastic,” he barked, wincing at his own shouts. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “What happened to me?”

Instead of receiving an answer, he felt delicate fingers probe his scalp. “It’s a good thing your head’s so hard,” the person said, and he realized for the first time that the speaker was a young woman. “Can you sit up?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s try,” she said. “I’ll give you a push.”

She cupped his shoulders and guided him into a sitting position, then helped him lean back against what felt like a metal rail. His head pounded at the change in altitude, but the rest of him didn’t object.

“Better?” she asked.

“Not really. I feel like my brain’s about to explode.”

“It’s no wonder,” she chided as if he’d done something wrong. “After all the Crystalline you drank last night, your liver’s probably begging for mercy, too.”

“Crystalline?” Was he drunk? He didn’t think so, but the waves of nausea roiling inside his stomach forced him to reconsider. “What are you talking about? What happened?”

She didn’t say anything for the longest time. When she finally answered, it was with a question of her own. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

The odd response made him wonder who he was talking to.

He squinted open his eyes to look at the woman, surprised to discover she was a girl about his age. She had a heart-shaped face with full lips pulled into a frown, and a nose that turned up slightly at the tip. He couldn’t tell whether her eyes were green or brown, but they were fringed with dark lashes that matched the color of the intricate braids encircling her head. She wore black pants and a fitted gray top, simple clothes but of seemingly high quality, and peeking out from above her shirt collar was a tiny pink birthmark in the shape of an S.

He knew that birthmark.

“Did you hear me?” she asked. “What do you remember?”

He tried thinking back but couldn’t focus over the pain. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s start with something easy,” she said. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“One.”

“What’s two plus two?”

He shot her a glare. “I’m injured, not deficient.”

“Who’s president of the Solar League?”

“Haruto Takahashi. These are ridiculous questions.”

“What’s your name?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

The answer was on the tip of his tongue, suspended barely beyond his reach. It was like trying to place an old friend he hadn’t seen in a while. The realization was there, but it hadn’t fully connected. It was probably one of those situations where the answer would come to him as soon as he quit trying to force it.

“I know my name,” he insisted. “I just can’t think of it right now.”

She wrinkled her forehead and studied him. “What’s my name?”

This time he didn’t have the foggiest idea. His instincts told him they knew each other, but not very well. Otherwise her name would be on the tip of his tongue, too.

“Remind me,” he said. “How do we know each other?”

Of course she didn’t answer him. He was beginning to think she was doing that on purpose. While she crouched there in silence, he scanned her for clues.

She wore a fingerless glove on one hand and cradled the other against her chest. Something about her glove plucked at his senses, a warning of sorts, but the memory wouldn’t come. A simple bracelet encircled her wrist, thin and metallic with an M-shaped barcode etched onto the surface. He recognized it at once. The M stood for “master.” That meant she had an indentured servant. But people only wore those bands while traveling. He glanced around the room, taking in metal walls and a staircase leading to a small platform and an exterior door.

“Are we on a ship?” he asked.

The girl laughed at him. “You drank more than I thought.”

“It was your bracelet that clued me in.”

She nodded at his hand. “You have the other one.”

When he glanced down and noticed the matching S band, all the pieces clicked into place. “Do I work for you?” he asked, but the words felt wrong when he spoke them aloud. “No, that can’t be right.”

“Yes, it can,” she said. “And I have the contract to prove it.” She gave a scolding shake of her head. “You really do need to lay off the bottle before you kill your last few remaining brain cells.”

He scowled at her. “Why would I indenture myself to you?”

“For a free vacation,” she said with a shrug. “My father doesn’t like me traveling alone, so he hired you to take me to the Obsidian Beaches. You said you’ve always wanted to go but couldn’t afford the fare. It was a perfect match.” She pointed at the platform above them. “In fact, we were on our way to catch our connecting ship when you got dizzy and fell down the stairs.”

The Obsidian Beaches.

He hated to admit it, but her story sounded familiar. He recalled feeling excited to visit the beaches. Everything else was a blur, but at least his memory had begun to return. Just as he’d predicted, full realization would come as soon as he quit trying to force it. However, this didn’t mean he was anyone’s servant. He couldn’t picture himself hauling this girl’s baggage or braiding her hair. Assuming he knew how to braid hair.