of tailoring that looks like it’s about to fall apart, yet somehow conveys with perfect fit that it’s worth a fortune. Or at least, it did once Scarlett made a few alterations.
He’s in big, black stompy boots, a pair of tight black pants (the tight was what had him joining Cat in a chorus of you gotta be kidding me) with black straps buckled around his left thigh, like a hint at a gun’s holster, and big silver zips cutting across his right hip. His black shirt and jacket are equally fitted, and his mask is a swoosh of black material right across his eyes. Jones Twin No. 2 looks as amazing as his sister.
“Hey, Stowaway,” drawls Fin over the team channel as we move up to second in line for the door aliens. “I’m just reading up on the significance of red in Chinese culture, and—”
“Wait a minute, you can read?” I ask.
“Oh, now you’re throwing sass to cover up your feelings for me, too? Is every female on this team planning to fall in love with me?”
“Can it,” Ty mutters. “We’re almost in.”
As the couple in front of us makes their way through the huge double doors and into the swirling mass of color beyond, I breathe a small sigh of relief. I’m pretty sure Fin was about to point out that red’s a traditional wedding dress color. With Cat right behind me. And Ty’s arm in mine. Even unarmed, she could probably pull my head off and bounce it like a basketball. I have no idea if Ty knows how she feels about him, but if I’ve noticed in just a couple of days. …
The alien reaches down with one spindly finger to touch Ty’s invitation. The flexible plastic surface turns blue under its touch, then fades back to cream. I force myself to breathe slowly, then realize my arm’s so tightly wound through Ty’s that he’s leaning sideways to make up for the difference in our height. I release him with a blush, and that’s distraction enough to pass the next couple of seconds.
The alien waves us on, turns to inspect Scarlett and Cat’s invitation.
Ty and I step through into the archway, where another alien—this one a bulky Betraskan with a white ceramic mask and black contact lenses—points to instructions for the security sweep. We both halt at a line on the floor, and lift our hands. A network of red light beams start at our heads and trace over our bodies, maybe registering our faces, or searching us for weapons, I don’t know.
Fin’s talking in our ears again as we wait for the girls to follow us through for their scan. “Just remember, I’m going to need as much time as you can give me to snatch the signal. Ideally, start a conversation with Mr. Bianchi.”
“And try not to get eaten,” Ty says quietly, turning his head as though he’s speaking fondly into my ear.
“The sooner he touches the key,” Fin adds, “the sooner I can get to work. Remember, I need one of you within a meter of him when the code changes.”
His tone sounds calm, but I saw his face as we worked through the plan back in Dariel’s cramped quarters.
He’s not even sure he can do this.
I should be terrified, but as we wait for Scarlett and Cat to come through security, I discover that somehow … I’m not. I’m a weird kind of peaceful, like I used to be before orienteering comps, or track meets. I’m nervous, but I’m moving toward my purpose.
I’m not the girl who set out for Octavia, who worried about things like whether there’d be anyone my age to date when I got there, or whether I’d be fit enough to handle my Exploration and Cartography apprenticeship with Patrice.
I’m not the girl who mourned the loss of her social life as she stepped into her cryo pod, or shoved her stuffed toy squirrel into her one small crate of personal belongings.
I’m something else now. And if I don’t know what, that doesn’t make it any less true. I can feel it, more every day—every hour.
But my old self has a part to play here, too. I trained in exploration because I want to see everything, and I’m sure getting a load of that lately. And as my parents prepped for the Octavia mission, I spent half my life changing schools two, three times every year. I know how to walk into a room full of strangers. And