Four hours and two solar systems later, they stood in the bottom-level cargo hold and craned their necks to stare at a mountain of storage containers marked PESIRUS FEST.
“A few crates?” Doran remarked. “How much wine can one colony drink?”
Solara had to agree. Judging by the amount of syrup to deliver, the festival must’ve been more popular than she’d expected. In that case, maybe leaving the ship wasn’t a wise move. She bit her lip, peering out the open door of the cargo hold to the rolling landscape beyond.
The view was nearly too gorgeous to believe.
Pure yellow sunlight gleamed above a field of shorn blue-green grass dotted with lavender wildflowers. The terraformed colors weren’t quite right, as if someone had overbrightened the saturation on a telescreen. But after a month of space travel, her body craved fresh breezes and warm sunrays more than her next breath. She caught herself leaning toward the exit ramp.
She was so going.
“The job’s easy,” Kane said, thumbing toward a wheeled pallet parked outside. “We just stack everything on there, then strap it down and use the auxiliary shuttle to haul it to the fairgrounds.”
“Easy,” Doran repeated with a scowl. But he didn’t spend another second complaining. He grabbed the first crate and walked outside, then double-timed it back for another.
Apparently he was anxious for fresh air, too.
Kane pulled off his shirt and tossed it over a nearby railing just as his fellow ship hand joined them. Cassia caught her lower lip between her teeth and stared at the dusting of blond hair across his chest before catching herself. Then with an eye roll, she snapped, “Quit showing off for the guests and put on your clothes.”
“What?” Kane asked, splaying both hands. “Laundry day’s not till tomorrow, and this is my last good shirt.” He shot her a teasing grin and flexed his pecs back and forth in a twitchy little dance. “You think I’ve got something to show off?”
Groaning, Cassia spun around and picked up a box of syrup. Solara moved in to help, but Cassia shook her head. “The captain will flay me alive if I let you do my work,” she said. “Why don’t you wait outside? It’s nicer out there than in here.”
Solara didn’t need further convincing.
She jogged down the exit ramp until her boots met grass. Once there, she couldn’t stop herself from jumping in place to feel the dull thud of soil beneath her feet. She never thought she’d miss something as simple as standing on the ground, but there was no replacing it. Not even the Zenith’s manufactured lawn had come close.
Giddy, she raised her face to the sun and pulled in a breath of air. The breeze smelled sweet compared with the stench of burnt porridge, but the effect wore off the longer she stood outside. Then she began to detect other scents—sharp and acrid, like cleaning products—and her smile faded.
She studied the turquoise grass between her boots. She’d never visited a colonized planet before, but some people claimed the terraforming chemicals caused cancer. Others said that if a planet’s ecosystem wasn’t completely destroyed before terraformation, its elements could mingle with the earth’s to create new toxins. She didn’t know if any of that was true, but she decided to remain standing instead of taking a seat on the ground.
“Not much to look at,” Doran called to her while stacking another box. He flicked a glance at the landscape before marching back up the ramp. “They didn’t even spend enough to bring birds here.”
Gazing skyward, Solara realized he was right.
Since alien life hadn’t been discovered yet, all animals were imported from Earth. And here, not a single creature took to the clouds or perched on tree branches, not even insects. There were no chirps or musical warbles to fill her ears. The quiet was unsettling, and she wondered if her new home on the fringe had imported birds to populate their world. If not, maybe she’d take up a collection to buy doves. And squirrels. Butterflies, too.
She was still making a mental list of her favorite animals when the group finished stocking the supply trailer. They descended the ramp dressed for the festival, Doran in a clean pair of coveralls, and the two ship hands in their usual canvas pants and tops. Kane explained that the auxiliary shuttle only seated two people, so she and Doran would ride on the trailer.
Once they were under way, sitting side by side with their legs dangling over the edge, Doran extended a hand, palm up. “I need some fuel chips.”
Solara eyed him skeptically. “For what?”
“Why does it matter?” he snapped. “They’re my chips.”
“Not while they’re strung around my neck,” she reminded him. For a moment he stared at the necklace as if tempted to rip it free, and she covered it with one hand while delivering a warning glare. “I don’t need a stunner to break your nose.”