“All I care about is what’s in here.”
He pulled far enough away that he could slide his hand around and place it over a chrysanthemum flower painted onto the silk of her kimono. Right below her collarbone.
Star followed the movement. Felt her own chest, her own hard plating, with the slightest bit of softness from her layer of synthetic skin. But no heartbeat, no pulse.
“You’re perfect, Miko, and beautiful, and I love you. I want to marry you.”
The words, spoken so quietly, were like a gunshot in Star’s head. She flinched and stumbled backward, pressing a hand over one ear. But it was too late. Those words, still smoking, were burned into her database.
Miko gasped and they pulled apart, spinning toward the door.
Dataran was there in a moment, whipping the doors open, and relief crossed over them both when they saw her.
“Oh, stars,” whispered Miko, placing her own artificial hand over her very real beating heart. “I thought you were my father.”
Faking apology, Stars took a step toward them and gestured at the lights that ran around the room, then at the control panel on the wall. She raised her eyebrows in a question.
It was a lie. She had checked all these rooms the day before, and she knew there was a time when she wouldn’t have been capable of the falsehood, even an implied one.
“Oh—yes, yes, everything seems to be working perfectly,” said Dataran, stringing a hand through his hair.
He seemed flustered, while Star felt broken.
“I should finish packing,” mumbled Miko, sounding no more enthusiastic than if she were moving into a prison cell, not the lavish yacht. Ducking her head, she shuffled toward the door. “So many more cases to bring in…”
“Miko, wait.” Dataran grabbed Miko’s wrist, but then glanced at Star. She turned to inspect the electronics control panel. “I have to try,” he whispered, lowering his head toward Miko. “I have to at least ask him…”
“He won’t say yes.”
“But if he did … if I could convince him that I would take care of you, that I love you … Would you say yes?”
Star absently punched her fingertips against the screen.
“You know that I would,” Miko responded, her hushed voice breaking on the last word. She sniffed and cleared her throat. “But it doesn’t matter. He won’t say yes. He won’t let me stay.”
Then her soft footsteps padded out toward the ship’s exit.
Daring to glance over her shoulder, Star saw that Dataran had pressed his forehead against the wall, his fingers dug into his hair. With a heavy sigh, he dragged his palms down his face and looked up at her. She noted darkening circles beneath his eyes and a paleness that seemed all wrong on him.
“Ochida-shìfu … he’s worried for her safety…” he said, as if in explanation, then looked away. “And I am too, to be honest. But if she leaves, I might never see her again. If I just … if I had a ship of my own, but…” Shaking his head, he turned so that he could lean his back against the wall, like he might collapse without its support. “I was actually saving up for one. Have been for years. And I almost had enough, along with this antique holograph locket that should have been plenty to make up the difference, but I lost it in that stupid oil tank.”
Star pressed a hand against her hip, where the locket sat snugly in her pocket. She’d kept it, waiting, expecting there to be a perfect moment to give it back to him, but the time never seemed right. And in the evenings, when she was alone, she would open it up and let herself get swallowed up by the stars, and think about what life would be like when Miko was gone. There would be so many chances, so many opportunities …
“I’m sorry, Star. I shouldn’t talk about my problems like this. It’s not fair, when you can’t tell me about yours.”
He met her gaze again and she pulled her hand away from the pocket, curling her fingers into a fist. Miko would be gone in two days. Only two more days. And then … and then …
Dataran smiled, but it was exhausted and missing all the warmth that had so often interrupted the flow of electricity to her limbs. “Do you have any problems you wish you could talk about, Star?”
She nodded.
“Maybe you could write them down. I would read them, if you wanted me to.”
Dropping her gaze, she shook her head. Out in the common room, the aquarium bubbled and hummed, the sound that was meant to be calming now taking up the entire ship and drowning her.
“I understand,” said Dataran. “I probably haven’t shown myself to be the best … listener, since we met. But I do wonder what goes on in that head of yours sometimes. Miko likes you, you know. I think … she hasn’t said it, but I think you might be the only friend she has.”
Star looked away. Clenched her fists. Then, daring to meet his gaze again, she lifted a hand and tapped a finger against her hollow chest. Dataran was watching, but uncertain. He didn’t understand.
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’s launch, 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 a safe journey, 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’s 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.