heavily armed and armored security guards surround him and the glass case he’s leaning on. A shrill electronic voice spills out of the PA in a dozen different languages.
“Please do not touch the exhibits.”
“Sorry,” the guy says. He picks his greasy StellarBurger up off the glass case and the priceless alien relic inside. “I didn’t—”
He yelps as the security goons hit him with a sickstick, drop him to the ground in a puddle of vomit. Grabbing him by the armpits, they haul the groaning man to his feet, dragging him through the crowd toward the exit. Our walking information booth follows the drama with a small scowl.
“Your security takes things seriously around here,” I murmur.
“They’re not ours,” the Betraskan mutters, looking at the guards with distaste. “Mr. Bianchi has put on extra personnel for the masquerade later this week.”
“Masquerade?”
The woman points to a projection on one of the walls. “It’s the fiftieth anniversary of the World Ship. There’s to be a grand celebration. Mr. Bianchi will be throwing one of his parties. Very exclusive. Very exciting.”
“Oh, riiiight.” I nod. “Of course. The masquerade.”
She blinks, looks me up and down. “You don’t have an invitation, do you?”
“Um, no,” I say. “I just arrived.”
“Pity.” She purrs. “I look amazing in a backless dress.”
I let my dimples off the leash, and with a flirty smile, she turns away, moves off to help more lost visitors in the crowd. I watch her go, the words backless dress echoing in my head. It’s only when I look around that I realize I’ve lost Scarlett.
My twin is almost six feet tall with bright blue eyes and flaming orange hair—it’s not as though she’s easy to misplace. I stand on tiptoes, looking around the throng, finally catching a flash of fiery red near the entrance. I realize Scar’s talking to the two security guards, laughing and smiling as the blonde leans in, one elbow on the wall above her head in that classic Intergalactic Romeo pose. She grins, toying with the secure-coded ID badge hanging around his neck.
I walk over behind my sis, clear my throat.
“Hey, Bee-bro,” she says. “This is Declan and Lachlan.”
“Hey,” Blondie says, not looking at me. The other simply nods.
“They just transferred here,” Scar explains. “This is only their fourth day on the World Ship. Declan came all the way from the Martian colonies, isn’t that amazing?”
“Scar, we gotta go,” I say. “Remember we got that thing?”
Blondie whispers in Scar’s ear and she laughs, smacking his armored chest. I rub my temples, try not to let too much frustration creep into my voice.
“Scarlett?” I sigh.
She shoots me a death stare, turns back to Blondie, and bumps her uniglass against his, transferring her contact details. “Don’t be late.”
“The Great Ultrasaur of Abraaxis VI couldn’t keep me away.” He smiles.
I wait patiently as they whisper a little more, then Scar takes my arm and, with a final wink at Blondie, walks me out of the Bianchi Museum. We wander along the promenade, back in the direction of Dariel’s flat. The colors and sights and sounds of the World Ship wash over us like a rainbow, and I wait till we’re well out of earshot before I speak.
“Hot date tonight?” I ask.
“Seven o’clock,” she replies. “Right after he gets off shift.”
“That means he’ll still be dressed for work. And still carrying his ID badge.”
“I told him I have a thing for guys in uniform.”
“Clever girl.” I nod.
“I am a Jones.” She smiles, squeezing my arm.
I squeeze her back, suddenly grateful all over again that she’s with me. She might never miss an opportunity to give me a hard time, but I know my sister would follow me to the edge of the galaxy if I asked. If blood is thicker than water, Scar and I are practically concrete.
“I’m surprised you didn’t have an ex working on this station already,” I say, stepping into a turbolift down to the hab levels. “You seem to run into one every other place we go.”
“Are you passing judgment about my number of relationships, Bee-bro?”
“Maker forbid.” I grin.
“It’s not my fault I get bored. Or that boys get boring.” Scar pouts, taps her lip. “There is one tiny problem, though. More of a six-foot-seven problem, actually.”
“The other guard?”
“Yeah. Declan’s buddy asked if I had a friend.”
“I hope you said no.”
“I needed to sweeten the pot. I said I knew a girl just Lachlan’s type.”
I fold my arms as the lift begins to descend. “Scar, you can’t take Zila on a double.