Star took a step toward him and tapped the same finger against his heart.
He blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but Star leaned forward and kissed him before he could. Just a peck, but she tried to put every unspoken word into it. It’s me, it’s been me all along, and I may have saved your life, but I would be nothing if it wasn’t for you. I would be just another mech-droid, and I wouldn’t know what it’s like to love someone so much I would give up everything for them.
But when she pulled away, he looked shocked and horrified and guilty, and she knew he didn’t understand. She left the room before Dataran could speak. He didn’t call her back, and he didn’t come after her.
Star fled from the ship and kept going until she was out of the hangar, out of the shipyard, a single lonely android beneath an enormous morning sky, before she reached into her pocket and wrapped her fingers around the locket and a universe that meant nothing to her without him.
*
Unlike the Triton, the launch of the Child of the Stars was a private affair. Some of Ochida-shìfu’s old coworkers and acquaintances had come out to wish them safe journeys, along with the shipyard staff, but that was all. No friends of Miko’s. Maybe Dataran was right and she didn’t have any, which made Star wonder if it was because she was rich and sheltered, or shy, or because she was cyborg.
Star couldn’t take her eyes from Dataran, standing sunken-shouldered in the crowd, his eyes haunting the ship as its engines rumbled and the lifter magnets beneath the hangar floor hummed with life. He was probably hoping to catch a glimpse of Miko through the windows, although all but the cockpit windows were so small, it was an impossible hope. Star wondered if they had seen each other at all since she had stumbled upon them two days before. The words she’d overheard still bounced around in Star’s head, and she ached from the memory, almost as much as she ached from the kiss.
She had not seen Dataran since that morning. She’d been avoiding him. Unable to stand his sorrow over losing Miko, and whatever kind, sensible things he would say to explain why Miko was the one he loved, and why Star would never be, even after Miko was gone.
As she stared, the crowd shifted around Dataran. A figure moved gracefully between the bodies.
Star cocked her head and squinted. Staring. Waiting.
Dataran gave a start, then whipped his head around. His gaze fell on Miko, who was wearing plain coveralls, and he drew back in surprise. Her smile was shy, but bright, as she pressed up closer to him and whispered. She lifted her hand and something small glinted from her palm. Though Star was too far away to see, she knew it was the locket. Her locket. Her galaxy.
Dataran shook his head in disbelief and glanced back toward the ship. Then, on the verge of a smile, he took Miko into his arms and kissed her.
Star pressed her fingertips against her own lips. Imagining.
Her arm weakened and she let it fall to her lap. It wouldn’t be long now. She could feel her body beginning to rebel. It was in the pain that was almost constant now, a stabbing sensation that tore through her legs even when she was only sitting. It was in the frequent loss of control in her twitching limbs. It was in the blackness that clouded in around her vision, and how she always thought this would be the last time, before, after a long, agonizing moment, she returned to consciousness again.
Footsteps thumped in the common room and paused in the doorway. Star turned her head away.
“One minute to takeoff,” said Ochida-shìfu. “Do you want to come sit with me in the cockpit?”
She shook her head, and adjusted the sleeve of the silk kimono so that he was sure to see the metal plating of her arms. The synthetic skin had been easy to remove, and though the proof of her android insides was disconcerting, the limb reminded her of the three-fingered prongs from her Mech6.0 body, and there was a comforting familiarity in that.
Ochida sighed heavily behind her. “I’m doing this for you, Miko. It’s better this way. And he’s just a boy—you’ll get over this.”
When Star didn’t respond, he huffed and withdrew from the doorway.
“Fine. Be angry. Throw your tantrum if you have to. Just put your skingraft back on before you snag that material. Whatever point you’re trying to make, it isn’t working. The reminder of what you are just further convinces me that I’m making the right decision.”
Then he was gone.
Star returned her gaze to the window, the hangar, the crowd. Hundreds of mech-droids lined up against the charging wall. Miko. And Dataran.