Because it would.
Solara had never seen him out of academy uniform, but the boy was easy to recognize. He was Doran Spaulding: heir to the galaxy’s largest fuel corporation, first-string varsity football star, and a complete pain in her ass. Freshman year, she’d won a day scholarship to the mechanical engineering program at his private academy—classes only, no room or board—and he’d done his best to punish her for it ever since. Especially after she’d beaten him for the Richard Spaulding Alumni Award. There’d been other tiffs, too, like the time she broke Doran’s quarterback arm during a bad landing in pilot’s ed class. But that had been an accident, and he’d only had to sit out for half the season. She knew the real reason for his anger had always been the humiliation of losing his father’s award to a penniless girl with no family of her own. As if she’d tarnished his precious name by association.
It was clear he recognized her, too, because the instant their eyes met, he stopped and laughed. “Rattail,” he called. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Reflexively, Solara fingered the squiggly birthmark at the base of her throat, the one Doran had once said reminded him of a rodent’s tail. That’d been four years ago, and she still hadn’t managed to shake the nickname.
“You missed graduation,” he said, though she didn’t know why he cared. “I guess all that free education didn’t mean much if you couldn’t be bothered to take your diploma.”
Solara indulged in a small grin, relieved that he hadn’t heard the news. The real reason she’d missed graduation was because the academy had dropped her like a flaming brick the instant they learned about her felony conviction. “I tested out early,” she said, which technically wasn’t a lie. “With a near-perfect score.”
He didn’t seem to like that. Jutting his chin at the indenture band around her wrist, he asked, “Selling yourself for a glimpse of the Obsidian Beaches? Can’t say I blame you. It’s the only way you’ll ever see them.”
She opened her mouth to fire a witty comeback, but nothing came. Her best lines always arrived an hour too late. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m headed to the end of the line.”
“The outer realm?” Doran drew back. “Why would you want to go there?”
“For a job,” she told him. “The offer came last week.”
In the lawless outer realm, mechanics like Solara were hard to come by. No one would care about the tattoos across her knuckles or the grease beneath her fingernails. She’d be revered as a goddess because settlers on the fringe planets appreciated skill over beauty. That was where she belonged, far from Houston’s overcrowded high-rise slums and the sweatshops that paid a few measly credits to those with the connections to get inside. She was going west, all the way to the edge of the charted territories, to a new terraform called Vega. Her benefits package included a whole acre of land, all to herself. She couldn’t wait to work that soil between her fingers and know that she owned it. Freedom, wealth, and security were right there, waiting for her.
All she needed was a ticket.
“But you can’t afford the fare,” Doran said, mostly talking to himself. “And the next trip to the outer realm isn’t for a year.”
“Two months,” she corrected.
“No, a year.” He smoothed a perfectly manicured hand over his dark hair, then took the opportunity to study his reflection in the nearby ticketing screen. “They’re scaling back because there’s no demand to visit the fringe planets. Only criminals end up there.” Raking his gaze over her, he added, “And vagrants.”
All the blood drained from Solara’s head.
A year?
Where would she live? How would she support herself? The nuns had practically danced a jig when she’d left because it freed up a bed for one of the teens sleeping on the cafeteria floor. Each day more abandoned kids appeared at the front gate, their parents having fled the scene in the world’s saddest game of hide-and-seek. The group home couldn’t afford to keep anyone past graduation. No exceptions. Even Sister Agnes, who’d been like a mother to Solara, had pressed a handheld stunner into her palm and shoved her out the gate. The fringe is a dangerous place, Agnes had said. Keep this in your pocket. Then she’d told Solara to go in peace and serve the Lord.
It was clear she wasn’t meant to return.
Doran brought her back to present company by tapping his chin and peering at her with new interest. “My usual valet is too sick to travel,” he said. “I can see that all the proper servants are taken, but you might do.” His upper lip curled in a way that made Solara want to hide her face. “I’d have to let you in my suite, but I guess I can live with that.”