Page 14 of Last Chance to Save the World (Chaotic Orbits #3)

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E xcept Fetor doesn’t stop. A small woman with long twin braids framing her face rushes up, and Fetor leans down to hear something from her. As soon as she’s done speaking, he turns on his heel, walking the opposite direction, cam drone floating behind him.

The woman turns to us, braids whipping around. She strides forward with purpose, glaring. At me.

“You have to go,” she says.

“Fantastic; I hate it here.” I turn to the door, but Rian grabs my wrist. He really is possessive. I’m going to have to do something about that.

“Why?” he asks.

“You can stay, Mr. White,” the woman says. I’m assuming from her stance that she’s some sort of assistant to Fetor. “But your guest is wearing an article of clothing with flare threads.”

My sun shield. It worked to mess with the internal security of the server room, but it’s also affecting the cam drones.

Fetor only cares about the nanobot program because he wants credit. He also wants to be paid in the back end when they fail, but he doesn’t know yet that I completely fucked over that agenda. There’s a part of me that’s pretty thrilled with the idea that I also could mess up the publicity and distract from his little vanity show, but . . .

But I saw the way Rian’s spine straightened when the drones were coming. Even now, just being here—there’s pride in the way he stands, honor in his pulled-back shoulders.

Mixing a governmental program with private investing rarely works, mostly because of men like Fetor. But doing something this big of scale, something that will truly benefit others...that rarely happens. And it’s only going to work now because of men like Rian.

And women like me. Funny how there’s always someone who does the most but gets no credit, and how that’s usually a woman.

“She can take the sun shield off,” Rian says.

“That would be fine.” The woman nods.

“No, I can just go,” I say, mostly to Rian. “I’d rather see the launch from outside. With everyone.” Because these are not my people.

“I’ll go with you,” Rian offers.

“You can stay; it’s fine.” But I can tell from the way he surveys the room, these are not his people, either.

The woman looks increasingly impatient.

“We’ll both go,” Rian says, finality ringing in his voice.

“On the one hand, I am going to miss that chocolate fountain,” I say. “On the other hand, being in the same room with Strom Fetor is actually putting me off my appetite, so this is for the best.”

The woman cracks a smile before she reminds herself to be professional.

“I cannot imagine how you put up with him every day,” I tell her.

“He does pay well,” she allows.

“Come on ,” Rian says.

He escorts me past security—always easier to get out than in—and to the golden elevators. We drop rapidly and without interruption; this lift doesn’t deign to stop on other floors just because some common person pushed a call button.

“So,” I say, watching the numbers flick by on the screen as we descend.

“So.”

I glance at Rian. He looks almost as nervous now as he did before I stepped into the server room.

“What’s next?” I ask. Quiet.

He doesn’t meet my eyes.

I know an arrest wasn’t likely to happen in Strom Fetor’s party office with dozens of live feeds being recorded. It wasn’t just the publicity of the event; Rian wouldn’t want to taint his triumph with...well, with me.

The golden doors slide open, depositing us in the lobby. We have to scan through again, our ident sequences registering our departure.

We step out into the bright, sunny day and are immediately assaulted by noises and smells and vibrancy . Fetor Tech was remarkably soundproofed, and the tinted glass dulled the reality outside. Chocolate fountains are great, sure, but steps away I can see fresh fruit being hawked, hover cars full of frozen concoctions, a fry station that’s doing something decadent with peppers, and people walking around with sticks holding wrapped treats, sweet and savory—slices of halva, skewers of meat dumplings, bags of spiced nuts. A myriad of voices wrap around everything—not everyone speaking in Standard, but real languages, the stuff people use at home, the words steeped in culture and experience. There’s laughter and music and life.

And thousands—millions—of eyes all point up at the countdown holo projected in front of the skyscraper.

I whirl around to Rian.

He looks...sad.

I grab his hands. “Right, okay, you’re going to make an attempt to arrest me,” I say.

“I’m going to—”

“You’re going to try,” I give him that much. “Meanwhile, there’s less than fifteen minutes left before the nanobots are released. There’s a whole party down here. And we’ve both of us worked too hard not to take advantage of it.”

He hesitates.

I press my luck. “So—just for the next fifteen minutes—can we pretend this is all normal? That we did a good thing and we can both celebrate?”

I think he can tell what I’m really asking for: Can we pretend that the countdown won’t end with the end of us?

He stares into my eyes and finally, finally nods.

“Excellent!” I clap and dive into the fray. “Let’s also pretend this is a date.”

“Better than our first date,” Rian says. He has to shout to be heard over the crowd, so some of the impact is lost.

“I still maintain that kidnapping is memorable!” I call back cheerily. “Also, if this is a date, that means you’re paying.” I wave over a person selling blocks of imqaret and force Rian to scan his cuff for a pair.

Rian reaches for the second imqaret, but I bat his hand away. “Get your own,” I tell him, but the person who was selling them has already drifted into the crowd, disappearing. I see Rian connect that to me—how easy it would be for me to fade into this chaotic crowd. He takes two big steps closer, ignoring me when I reluctantly offer him a bite of the date-filled pastry.

He’s not going to let me out of his sight.

There are uniformed officers sprinkled throughout the crowd—quite a few, actually, more than normal. I wonder if Rian enlisted them or if they’re just here because a crowd is here, and crowds on festa days aren’t always peaceful.

When I try to push deeper into the throng of people, Rian stays right beside me. I swing into a chaotic dance with strangers, and he stubbornly refuses to move from his position right in the way.

It’s not just him.

I thought I was merrily skittering through the crowd, but it takes me only a few minutes to realize I’m seeing the same faces. The woman with bushy, curly red hair. The tall person in the navy-blue tunic. The man with painted designs on his bald head, a swirl of rainbow colors.

Every time I turn, I see them. Their faces are tilted to me like sunflowers soaking up the sun.

Watching.

Waiting.

These are Rian’s people.

And all around me I can see the net closing, tighter and tighter.

In a crowd this large, I shouldn’t recognize anyone, but—the middle-aged woman wearing holo glasses, the couple by the view ring, and even Phoebe, whose hat doesn’t block her identity.

I whirl around, spotting more faces. And when I turn again, Rian fills my vision.

The crowd is so loud, I can barely hear him, but I see him pointing up at the holo countdown.

All around, the people start chanting, caught up in the moment.

Ten! Nine!

I take in a breath.

Eight! Seven!

Let it out.

Six! Five!

I pull Rian’s face to mine. This kiss isn’t hungry or needy.

Four! Three!

It’s a goodbye.