Starflight (22 page)

“Tell me you have the meds to fix it,” Renny said. “I can’t send her back to my sister like this. I swore not to let—”

“How’d you hurt your ankle?” the woman interrupted, sliding her gaze to Solara’s painted face.

“Turns out,” Solara said, and hiccuped for effect, “I’m a really bad table dancer.”

Renny hung his head. “Your mom’s going to kill me.”

With a barely contained eye roll, the receptionist pushed a data tablet across the desk and nodded toward the area behind them. “Fill this out and wait over there. Someone will call you shortly.”

Renny situated them in the far corner of the waiting room, where Solara drew the gazes of at least two dozen bored patients, gawking at her like they’d never seen a debutante before. She couldn’t blame them. Roles reversed, she probably would’ve stared the hardest. At first the attention made her nervous, but then she heard a familiar name on the news program playing above their heads, and the rest of the lobby ceased to exist.

“
Still no word on the whereabouts of Doran Spaulding
,” a female journalist said from the ceiling speakers, “
the Prodigious Academy alumnus wanted for the same crime that landed his father, president of Spaulding Enterprises, in jail without bond while he awaits trial.
”

In unison with Renny, she snapped her gaze to the telescreen, where Doran grinned at them in high definition, standing alongside an older, slightly taller version of himself in a three-piece suit. No wonder Doran couldn’t reach his father—the guy was in lockup.

“
According to Solar League officials
,” the woman went on, “
both father and son orchestrated the theft of a substance known only as Infinium from a heavily guarded government transport. Prosecutors call the evidence damning, but the lead defending attorney continues to deny the charges on behalf of both men, despite the fact that DNA evidence at the scene has linked Doran Spaulding to the crime.
”

Infinium? What was that, and why was it so heavily guarded? Solara tried to picture Doran sneaking inside a military vessel and pulling off a heist. There was no way. Maybe he’d done something to accidentally implicate himself.

“
The young man is thought to be traveling with an indentured servant, eighteen-year-old Solara Brooks, a convicted felon wanted for questioning in a credit fraud investigation. She can be identified by her permanent tattoos and by the birthmark
…”

Solara didn’t wait to see her mug shot appear on the screen. “Get me out of here,” she whispered to Renny, clutching his arm hard enough to make him cringe. For the benefit of everyone watching, she pressed a hand to her lips and moaned, “Oh god. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

He scooped her into his arms and returned to the sour-faced receptionist, who wasted no time ushering them into a private exam room once Solara started making gagging noises. In less than a minute, Solara was sitting on a padded table with a waste receptacle balanced on her lap. Renny whispered encouragements and rubbed her back until they were alone. Then he raked a hand through his hair and hissed a curse.

“Let’s not panic,” he said, contradicting himself by turning in a nervous circle. “With all the makeup you’re wearing, your own mother wouldn’t recognize you.”

“I guarantee she wouldn’t,” Solara muttered. “Go look for the Tissue-Bond. If anyone asks why you’re wandering the halls, tell them I sent you for Fizzy Ale to settle my stomach.”

“Fizzy Ale,” he repeated, nodding.

“Hurry. It won’t take long for them to figure out my ankle isn’t sprained. I’ll stall the exam for as long as I can, but…”

He left before she finished the sentence.

Alone in the sterile room, Solara tried to calm the butterflies in her stomach by reminding herself that Renny was right. Every blemish that made her recognizable, from her birthmark to her tattoos, was hidden beneath a layer of holographic cosmetics. Her fake identity would hold up as long as she didn’t give anyone a reason to question it.

Several minutes later, she heard the click of approaching footsteps and curled into a ball on the exam table, making herself as pitiful as her tight bodice would allow. The door slid open, and a man asked, “Miss Vanderbilt?”

Whimpering, Solara pushed into a sitting position and froze when her gaze landed on the boy in front of her—because with his smooth baby face and waiflike build, nobody would mistake him for a man. As young as he was, she thought he might be an orderly. But then she glanced at the badge affixed to his lab coat, which read
DR. DEATH
.

That had to be a joke.

“It’s pronounced ‘deeth,’” he said with a sigh, like he made that clarification a thousand times a day. “How are you feeling tonight?” Despite the polite inquiry, the flatness in his tone told her it was just a formality to move things along, clear one room and on to the next. His eyes shifted to a bone scanner mounted on the side wall, and Solara knew she’d have to be creative if she wanted to stall him.

“Much better…
now
,” she said, grinning and lowering the angle of her chin until she peered coyly at him beneath her lashes. She’d never flirted this way before, but it always worked in the movies.

His businesslike mask vanished, and his mouth opened as if he’d glimpsed an alien and wasn’t sure whether to believe his eyes. Based on his reaction, Solara guessed that most girls found him invisible, and she felt a tug of sympathy for the young doctor. She boldly looked him up and down, from his cropped brown hair to the tips of his sensible shoes, then widened her smile to show that she liked what she’d seen.

“You’re not what I expected,” she told him.

He stammered for a moment and cleared his throat. “Neither are you.”

“But in a good way, right?”

A bloom of color spread over his cheeks, and his gaze dropped to the floor. “Of course. You look real nice.”

Real nice?
If that was the best he could do, it was no wonder he couldn’t get a date.

“You think?” she asked, feigning shyness while leaning down to display a deep line of cleavage. As intended, the movement didn’t escape his notice. His eyes locked on her curves and glazed over while his face went dopey. But just when she thought she had him well and truly hooked, his brows lowered and his head tipped to the side.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at her throat while he took a step closer. “Is it a birthmark? Or a scar, maybe?”

Solara touched the base of her neck and felt something sticky. When she pulled her hand away, her fingertips were covered in an oily peach goo. She frowned at the substance before realizing what had happened. The ninety-proof Crystalline she’d dribbled all over herself must’ve slowly eaten away at her makeup. She jerked her gaze to her knuckles, where black ink peeked out between gaps in the concealer.

That didn’t escape the doctor’s notice, either.

She hid both hands behind her back, but it was too late. She could see the questions forming in his mind as his gaze sharpened, refocusing on her throat. There was only one reason for a girl to cover her knuckles with cosmetics, and anyone smart enough to graduate from medical school would figure it out. And unless he lived in a cave, he’d recognize her birthmark, too.

The door slid open and Renny stood on the other side, assessing the mood with a quick glance. Instead of joining them, he patted his breast pocket and thumbed over one shoulder. “I’m stepping outside for a smoke. Hang in there, sweetie. I’ll be back before you can blink.”

Solara exhaled in relief. That was their signal—a message that he’d stolen the Tissue-Bond and would wait for her in the shuttle. Now all she had to do was create a believable excuse to follow him.

“Okay,” she said. “But I wish you’d quit. Those things will kill you.”

“So will drunken table dancing,” he replied with a wink, and strode away.

The young doctor didn’t laugh. He watched Renny disappear into the lobby before turning back to Solara with his brow creased in deep concentration. She didn’t need X-ray vision to see the puzzle pieces clicking inside his head. It was time to get out of here.

Rotating her ankle, she said, “The gel pack must have helped, because I feel a little better.” She stood from the table and pretended to test her weight, limping when her bare left foot touched the floor. “Where’s the bathroom?”

The young man’s eyes widened by a fraction, and there it was—the unmistakable spark of realization that said he’d finally made the connection. He knew who she was.

“Let me find you a wheelchair,” he told her, backing toward the exit. “Stay put.”

Then he darted out and shut the door behind him.

Solara ran after him, but when she tapped the exit panel, the door refused to open. She grabbed the manual lever and tried hauling it aside, but no matter how hard she tugged, the door wouldn’t budge. He’d locked her in.

The bottom fell out of her stomach.

Once he alerted security, the complex would go on lockdown. If she didn’t make it to the docking lot soon, Renny would have no choice but to leave her behind. Which meant her life was as good as over.

Survival instincts kicked in, and she spun a rotation to check for windows or an air duct wide enough to crawl through. There was nothing, not even a heat register. Whirling back to face the door, she studied the exit panel—a thin, steely plate designed to respond to the touch. If she could pry the panel free, she might be able to override the lock.

She plucked a hairpin from her braids and wedged one narrow point beneath the panel’s lip, working it back and forth until it slipped halfway underneath. Then, using a tongue depressor as leverage, she widened the gap between the panel and the wall until there was enough room to wriggle her fingers inside. With a gentle force, she pulled the plate free, making sure to leave plenty of slack for the wires connected to the other side.

Sweat slicked her hands, and she wiped them on her gown without a care for how much it cost. Right now nothing was worth more than her freedom. Squinting, she studied the tangle of electrical tubing and immediately picked out the grounders and hot wires, the ones to leave alone. Of the remaining cables, she began systematically pulling and reattaching them until she found the emergency override. The door slid open, and she didn’t waste another second inside that room.

Hitching up her dress, she sprinted down the hall and into the lobby, rudely knocking aside anyone in her path. She never looked back, focusing only on the double doors leading to the docking lot. She was close enough to smell shuttle exhaust when she heard shouts of “Stop!” and “Seal the exit!” behind her. With only a few yards to go, she pumped her legs harder and faster, head down and barreling through the doors just as they began to close.

She made it into the lot, but the instant her feet met concrete, an invisible force jerked her backward, and she slammed into the sealed fiberglass doors. Whipping her head around, she discovered that half her skirts were trapped on the other side. She tugged the fabric in vain while her heart pounded a frantic staccato. A glance through the glass showed two security officers pointing at her and shouting orders at the receptionist. When her gown refused to tear, Solara reached a trembling hand behind her and jerked down the bodice zipper. She pushed the dress over her hips and stepped free, then ran like hell toward the shuttle, wearing nothing but a pair of government-issue underpants and the long strips of linen she’d used to support her breasts.

Renny must have seen her coming, because he’d already fired up the shuttle and opened the rear hatch by the time she reached him. She sailed inside headfirst, screaming for him to “Go, go, go!” and the craft lifted off the ground before the door had even shut. She sealed the hatch and scrambled on her hands and knees toward the cockpit, then strapped in beside him.

“You forgot your dress,” Renny said, staring straight ahead while he white-knuckled the control wheel and jettisoned toward the security checkpoint.

“Never let anyone tell you,” she panted, “that I don’t know how to make an exit.”

He laughed for an instant before his features hardened. When Solara followed the direction of his gaze, she understood why. Red alarms flashed all around the guard station while security officers scrambled like ants behind the wraparound glass. A billboard message flashed
NO EXIT
, and the line of shuttlecraft waiting to leave the complex jerked to a stop, nearly causing a pileup.

“Renny…” she said, then went mute.

Instead of slowing down, he pushed the accelerators to the limit, sending Solara jerking back in her seat. As they zoomed toward a single shuttle halfway through the exit point, she began to understand Renny’s intentions. He was going to try to follow the craft out before the shield closed behind it. But if the shield caught their back end, the energy surge would destroy their circuitry, leaving them drifting right outside the satellite. They’d be easy pickings for the Enforcers, assuming the surge didn’t electrocute them first.

“Hold on,” he warned. “I’m gonna have to ram them to get out.”

She gripped the armrests and held her breath, watching in horror as they approached the rear of the shuttle with dizzying speed. The guard station buzzed past her periphery, and she braced for impact. Instinctively, her eyes clenched shut. The scream of steel on steel tore through her ears as she slammed against her harness. Her head flew forward and back just as quickly, and the next thing Solara knew, they were outside the security shield with a chorus of alarms blaring inside the cockpit.

Renny’s glasses had flown off, but he didn’t miss a beat. He veered right, separating them from the other shuttlecraft and away from the cannon’s line of fire. An energy blast nicked the port hull and forced them into a barrel roll, but he corrected quickly and hit the boosters. The shuttle rocketed toward the nearby moon, and an instant later, they were out of the cannon’s range.

But that didn’t mean they were safe.

Renny was too busy hugging the moon’s gravity field for a slingshot of acceleration to tend to the dashboard, which lit up like a Christmas tree. The buttons and switches were unfamiliar to Solara, and without her diagnostic equipment, she couldn’t tell which systems had failed.