Page 1 of Solomon's Ransom

ONE

A single candle burned on top of the cake, planted lopsided in the thick layer of chocolate frosting. The flickering light cast shadows on Loden’s beaming face as she carried the cake into the mess hall.

“Haaa-ppy birthday,” Turel started singing in his deep voice, and everyone joined in, in various keys of drunken bellowing.

“Happy birthday, dear Solomon,” Samae sang at Sol’s side, and Sol elbowed him with a smile. Nobody called him by his full name, not even Loden; not even on his birthday. Even Samae wouldn’t get a pass for that behavior.

“Happy birthday to yooou!” everyone warbled. Sol looked around at the twenty-odd faces seated in the mess and felt his smile tugging at his face. Here was home and family. He was lucky to have these people, and lucky, he thought, to know enough to appreciate them. He hadn’t always, in his adolescence, when the colony felt stifling at times, too small for a teenager who longed for something more.

One face was missing from the crowd. He didn’t notice, though. He wasn’t thinking about that.

“Let’s cut the cake!” someone called out.

It was a big sheet cake, probably enough for seconds if anyone wanted. Joza didn’t like anyone, but he’d made this cake for Sol anyway, and that was more or less the same thing as being liked. Loden wielded an unnecessarily large knife and cut the cake into portions. Sol got up and served the plates, accepting everyone’s cheerful teasing as his due. They had made just as much of a fuss last month for Veraline.

The mess door opened. In came Remma, tablet in hand. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Just in time to eat,” Loden said.

Sol didn’t save Remma for last. That would be petty, and he didn’t want anyone (Remma) to think he cared. He gave Remma the very next piece, with a smile, and when Remma said, “Happy birthday,” Sol only said, “Thank you,” and moved on.

Only once everyone else was happily eating did Sol claim a piece for himself and return to his seat next to Samae.

“Got any wishes for the next year?” Samae asked with his mouth full of cake.

Sol thought about it. “A shipping pod full of something really rare and expensive,” he decided. “High resale value. Easy to fence.”

Samae rolled his eyes. “Something foryou.”

“That would be for me! A good drop has benefits for all of us.”

“How pious,” Samae said. “Come on, you can think of something better.”

Without his permission, Sol’s gaze drifted over to Remma, who was eating cake with the expression of a person who didn’t totally know if he was enjoying the experience. Maybe there were no cakes on Tozra.

Samae was Sol’s closest friend. He was only two years older than Sol, and colony-bred, too. They’d been raised together. Sol didn’t have any siblings, but he’d never felt the lack of them, because Samae was always around. Samae deserved a real answer, but Sol just didn’t have one that he was willing to share. His desires weren’t complicated, but they were private. And kind of embarrassing.

“I’d like another cake just like this one,” he said. “And for Loden to let us adopt a cat.”

“A cat would be nice,” Samae said wistfully. “See if you can talk her into it.”

“I’ll do my best,” Sol said. Across the room, Remma was talking to Joza, gesturing with one big clawed hand. Sol took another bite of cake. It was really good.

* * *

Sol’sknock on the door was more of a tap, a brush of fingertips against steel in the midnight corridor. Remma would hear anyway, if he was awake.

The lock turned. Sol’s pulse throbbed hot and high. He tried to make his face look bored or at least calm, but what was the point, really? Remma knew what was happening here.

Remma knew everything, or that was what it felt like a lot of the time. He understood Sol in a raw, embarrassing way. Like Sol was some microbe in a dish, cultivated for Remma’s scrutiny.

Remma opened the door. He was wearing nothing but thin gray pants. His black eyes fixed on Sol’s face, then dragged slowly down his body. He stared without speaking for so long that Sol’s face went hot as the sun. Then he finally said, “Well, come in.”

The lamp was on beside Remma’s bed. His desk was covered in the usual crap: circuitry, scrap, random parts. Long past midnight and he was still up and working. Remma slept, he claimed, but Sol had never seen it.

Well, Sol was up, too. So what was his excuse?

“What do you need, Sol?” Remma asked, as if he didn’t know.