Solara’s pulse throbbed with fear because she knew what the man was thinking. Slave traders would pay a lot more than one bushel of grain for her, and an even higher price for a strong boy like Doran. She sensed the man sizing them up, calculating how many shots the captain could fire before he succumbed to an attack. She rested a hand on her knife hilt, but even armed, they were no match for a group of sixty.
On a whim, Solara rolled up her shirtsleeve to display her tattoo. “More than enough,” she blurted. “Considering who we are.”
Eyes went wide, and the group leader retreated a pace. As an outcast himself, he obviously recognized the symbol for the Brethren of Outcasts and knew its implications. Anyone bearing that mark belonged to a network of ruthless fighters. To provoke one was to provoke them all.
Doran caught on quickly and displayed his own wrist. He looked down his nose at the group and said in a menacing voice, “You’ve heard stories of Demarkus Hahn, the pirate chief with fists like sledgehammers. I’m the man who laid him flat and took his bride.”
To validate his story, Solara gave a tight nod.
“He may rule the quadrant’s inner circle,” Doran went on, “but the fringe belongs to me. All Brethren in this realm will answer to Daro the Red.” He cracked his knuckles and cocked his head to the side in a flawless imitation of the pirate lord. “Or else challenge me now, before these witnesses.”
Nobody volunteered.
“We have no quarrel,” the group leader said, taking another backward step as he lifted both hands in supplication. “Let’s part as friends…and allies.”
After pretending to think it over, Doran nodded as if he’d done the man a favor. Then they climbed inside the shuttle and didn’t look back.
Late that evening, when the Banshee was locked up tight and the rest of the crew slept in their bunks, Solara stood in front of the bedroom mirror and unfastened her braids with cold, clammy fingers. She couldn’t stop picturing the bones that had protruded from the settlers’ clothes, or the way their hollow eyes had made them look more like scarecrows than human beings.
Would a year on Vega do the same thing to her?
Yes, she realized. If someone doesn’t sell me first.
The captain had warned her about this months ago, but she’d stubbornly clung to her dreams of independence and belonging—of being revered for the calluses on her palms and the grease under her fingernails. There was no freedom here—not really. She’d just traded one form of oppression for another. Whether on Earth or on Vega, her life would never be anything more than a bare-knuckled fight to survive.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away and focused on Doran’s reflection in the mirror. She could tell his mind was somewhere else, too. He sat hunched on the edge of the bed, resting both elbows on his knees and staring at his hands. They were nice hands, strong and rough from months of labor, but she doubted he was really seeing them.
“You okay?” she asked. “You’ve been quiet tonight.”
He flashed an empty grin, all lips and no eyes. “Just thinking.”
“I thought I smelled smoke,” she teased. When the joke didn’t rouse him, she turned around and tipped his chin with an index finger. “What’s wrong?”
He watched her for a moment, then shrugged. “I think I found my purpose in life.”
The flippancy in his tone shocked a dry laugh out of her. “Is that all? Try not to act so excited. You might pull a muscle.”
“There’s nothing to be excited about. At least not yet. Discovering your purpose and making it happen are two different things.”
His message hit home, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. Until today, she’d thought she had a purpose. Now she wasn’t sure.
“I can make a difference here,” Doran told her. “Just by putting an end to the price gouging. Think of the impact that cheaper fuel would have on the fringe—more crops, better technology, the freedom to travel off world. It would be a total game changer.”
She glanced up at him and noticed a passion in his eyes she’d never seen before. Clearly he’d given this a great deal of thought. But his smile was sad when he added, “I could help people.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I can’t do anything unless the Enforcers drop the charges,” he said. “And even if the Spaulding board reinstates me, it could take months before we see changes in the fringe.” He leaned forward and delivered a pointed look. “This place isn’t safe. A lot of terrible things will happen before then. A lot could happen to you.”
She’d managed to forget about Vega for a moment, and the reminder sent needles of anxiety prickling along her spine. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“No, you won’t,” he said. “And neither will I—not if you ask me to leave you here.”
She shook her head. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“Actually, I do. But my motivations aren’t that pure.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” he said, standing from the bed, “that if I clear my charges, I want you to come back to Earth and stay with me. For good.”
“Stay with you?” For a brief second, her heart soared. But then she remembered the reason she’d left Earth in the first place. “And do what?”
“Anything you want.”