The third time it had happened, she had considered going back to the market and pleading with Linh Cinder to take the body away, but she had ultimately refused to do that, not before she saw Dataran again. With time, the pain was becoming more bearable, even if only because she was learning to compartmentalize it away from the rest of her sensory input.
Clenching her teeth, she pushed herself to her feet and followed Tam-shìfu out into the shipyard.
She began searching for him the moment she stepped into the massive hangar. Her eyes were darting from human to human, searching for a graceful frame and an easy smile. She’d been worried ever since she’d left, terrified that he hadn’t fully recovered from the fall into the oil, terrified that she hadn’t gotten to him in time.
Though her gaze darted from one corner of the yard to the other as they walked, there was no sign of the young engineer.
“Here we are,” said Tam, gesturing to the space yacht, the Orion Classic. Over the past two weeks, the exterior had been nearly completed, but she could guess that the interior still had plenty of work to be done. “This is for one of our premium clients, and he doesn’t want to spare a single expense. But of course, he’s on a tight schedule, as they always are. I’ll track down some electrical blueprints for you. And—ah! You’ll be reporting directly to Wing-jūn here. Dataran, come meet our newest electrician.”
He came around from the front of the ship, a portscreen in his hand and a stylus tucked behind one ear, and a surge of electricity coursed so fast through her body, she thought for a moment she would experience an actual meltdown. But she didn’t, and when he politely bowed his head, she remembered to politely bow hers as well.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he said. “You’ll be working on the Orion Classic with us?”
She smiled, but Tam was already waving his hand. “That’s right, she says she’s an expert with the classics. Keep her busy. Let’s see what she can do, all right?” He glanced at the port. “I have to check on the racer. Dataran, do you mind showing her the ropes?”
“Not at all, sir.”
Tam was gone almost before he’d finished talking, and Dataran was chuckling after him. “Don’t take it personally. He’s like that toward everyone."
His kind smile made the pain of standing recede almost fully from of her thoughts, and she beamed hopefully back.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
Lashes fluttering, she opened her lips, but of course, there was nothing. Flinching, she patted a hand against her throat. Dataran frowned. “Did you lose your voice?”
She shrugged. Close enough.
“Oh. Then, um. Should I call you…” He frowned, not able to come up with anything appropriate on the spot.
Perking up, she grabbed his sleeve and dragged him back toward the front of the ship, where she gestured up at the name that had been freshly painted on its side. Child of the Stars.
“Uh—stars? Star?”
When she beamed again, he laughed. “That wasn’t so hard. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Star.”
She tried her best to speak through her eyes, her stretched lips, her trembling fingers that had released his sleeve and were too afraid to reach for him again. It’s me, she thought, willing him to understand. I’m the one who rescued you. I’m the one who found your locket. It’s me, it’s me, it’s me.
But Dataran just jerked his head toward the landing gear. “Come on, I’ll show you the engine room and how far we’ve gotten in the wiring so far—which isn’t much. We could definitely use your help.”
Before he turned away, he glanced toward the cockpit windows one level up, and his mouth quirked fast to one side.
Star followed the look.
Ochida Miko and her father were sitting in the cockpit. He appeared to be teaching her something, gesturing at the different controls, but Miko had spotted Dataran outside and didn’t seem to be listening.
Star had a sense that the bashful smile Miko gave him had not been intended for her, or Miko’s father, to see.
Chapter 6
“Oh, it’s beautiful!” said Miko, sitting on Dataran’s other side.
Star knew that she was talking about the ship that was about to leave the hangar—a sleek, flashy thing that had been commissioned for the annual Space Race to Neptune (which everyone knew was a fallacy—the race officially ended at Jupiter, but the sponsors claimed that didn’t have the same ring to it). It was a beautiful ship, with its elongated thrusters and needle-sharp nose. The painters had outdone themselves, creating a very realistic montage of New Beijing’s skyline across its frame.
But Star did not care so much for the ship. Her attention had gone back up to the ceiling as it pulled back to reveal the endless sky. Although her new life as a human had given her the opportunity to gaze up at the night sky as often as she wished, her eyes never tired of it. The sense of vastness and eternity, the yearning to see what else the universe had to offer, even for one as small and unimportant as she was.
Star didn’t think that Miko had glanced up at all since the ceiling had lifted to allow the ship an exit. Of course, she had already been to space countless times. Would be going again as soon as the Orion Classic was finished—another two or three weeks at the most. Ochida-shìfu had been growing more and more impatient, urging them to tighten the schedule, to work longer hours, to finish early.
Miko and Dataran, on the other hand, seemed to become more and more miserable as each step of the rebuild was completed. If anything, Dataran’s pace had slowed as the ship’s deadline loomed.
Star pulled her attention away as Dataran was explaining the different features of the racer, gesturing at the elegant curve of its back, the power behind the rocket boosters, and on and on. Star was more interested in the sound of his voice than his words. The subtle inflections. The careful pronunciation of very technical terms. The way he talked faster when something struck him as ingenious. Listening to him felt like being plugged into a power dock, feeling the gentle current of electricity warm and enliven her.
She glanced over at him, and the contented smile fell from her lips.
Dataran had laced his fingers with Miko’s and was holding her hand on his knee, while his other hand drew explanatory pictures in the air.
Something flashed in Star’s chest—a spark maybe, or a power surge. Her fingers curled into fists, tightening with the urge to reach across Dataran and rip their hands away from each other. To shove Miko aside. To wrap her own fingers around Miko’s neck.