The next day, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, a sort of prickly sensation in her stomach that lingered throughout her morning routine. There was no logical reason for it. The ship traveled smooth and steady, only two hours from the next refueling post. Her roommates smiled and gossiped about their onboard crushes while braiding one another’s hair. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
It wasn’t until she reached Miss DePaul’s suite that Solara realized the cause for her unease. Her wristband had remained silent for too long. Doran hadn’t demanded predawn breakfast in bed. He hadn’t ordered her to warm his bath towels or set the telescreen to his favorite news program. He hadn’t even asked her to pull an outfit from his closet.
That definitely wasn’t normal.
She knocked on Miss DePaul’s door and tried to ignore the worries nibbling at the edge of her mind. The girl answered wearing nothing but Doran’s T-shirt—Solara had laundered it enough times to know. After tucking a gleaming pink lock behind one ear, Miss DePaul hitched a thumb over her shoulder.
“Baby had an accident on the carpet last night. Take care of it before you walk her.” She sniffed a laugh and added, “You can’t miss it. Look for a reeking pile the exact shade of your hair. I’ll be in the shower, so lock the door when you leave.”
In that moment, Solara decided to “forget” locking, or even closing, the door. She cleaned up after the dog, then tucked it gently beneath one arm and carried it to the mezzanine, where passengers brought their animals to exercise. By the time she finished six laps around the artificial park and returned the dog to Miss DePaul, the Zenith had stopped to refuel and Doran finally sent instructions to meet him outside the auxiliary engine room.
An odd request, but Solara knew better than to question it.
When she slid open the door to the utility hallway, a chill of foreboding prickled her skin into goose bumps. The passage was empty and cool, illuminated by flickering overhead lights that cast menacing shadows on the floor. All engines had shut down, and without the rhythmic hum, an eerie silence hung in the air. She heard only the creak of her new boots as she strode toward the stairwell to Doran’s meeting place. She saw him in the distance, but he kept his back to her while she climbed the steely stairs. Even when she joined him on the upper platform, he didn’t turn to face her.
Instinct told her to retreat—something wasn’t right—but she crossed both arms over her chest and asked in her sweetest voice, “How can I assist you, Mr. Spaulding?”
He turned and favored her with a glance as cold and empty as their surroundings. Wordlessly, he swept a hand toward the service door at the hull of the ship.
At first Solara didn’t understand. She gazed through the porthole at the outpost station to watch attendants pump fuel into the ship’s massive holding tanks. But then her gaze drifted downward, and she spotted her trunk on the floor. There was no mistaking the government-standard stenciling on the lid: BROOKS, SOLARA. CHARITABLE INSTITUTE #22573.
She was still staring at her luggage when she asked, “What’s this?”
“This,” he told her, “is where you get off.”
She whipped her gaze to his. “You can’t be serious.”
“Have you ever known me to enjoy a joke?”
“But this is an outpost. There’s nothing here. That’s why everyone’s staying on board.”
His casual shrug said that wasn’t his problem. “There are other ships. If you’re lucky, maybe someone less discriminating than me will hire you.”
Solara’s mouth went dry. Would he really leave her stranded at an outpost without a single credit to her name? Surely he knew what awaited her out there. She had never traveled beyond Earth before, but she’d heard stories of what girls like her had to do in these situations. She would be at the mercy of every lonely ship hand and oily smuggler who passed through this hub.
Maybe Doran was only trying to scare her.
“This isn’t funny,” she said in a small voice.
“Who’s laughing?” he asked. “By the way, you can keep the boots and clothes I bought for you. They’re of no use to me.”
She searched his face for a glimpse of kindness, the barest spark of compassion, finding none. As awful as Doran’s constant insults were, she’d never believed him capable of this kind of cruelty. She still didn’t want to believe it. “You’re really going to do this?” she asked. “Leave me here with nowhere to go?”
By way of answer, he brushed past her toward the stairs.
“Damn it, Doran!” she yelled, enjoying a morsel of satisfaction when the echo made him flinch. “We have a contract!”
He spun on her from his place at the top step. “And I warned you what would happen if you disappointed me.”