Their Fractured Light (Starbound #3)(3)
What I need is a diversion.
My eyes fall on a loud, red-and-gold striped shirt. Whoever the boy is, he’s not from LaRoux Industries, and he’s not supposed to be here either. And while I can’t be sure that keystroke of his is what took down the holo-projectors, I do know that if we get grabbed together, he’s the one who’s going to look far more suspicious than I am once they realize he’s got an LRI uniform sewn into his clothes. I mutter a curse under my breath and rush forward to the guard’s side.
Sorry, Handsome. I’m pretty sure you want to be center of attention just about as much as I do. But if there’s one person here in more trouble than me, it’s the guy with the fake LaRoux Industries uniform on under his shirt.
“That boy there,” I say, keeping my voice low, forcing my eyes wide. “I think he needs help.” With any luck, they’ll go check on him and I can slip out once they discover he’s not supposed to be here.
The guard’s gaze swings around immediately to rest on the boy in the striped shirt, who’s watching us with a slight edge to his nonchalant air. His smile dies away entirely as the guard takes two steps toward him, and I ease my weight back, the first step toward the door the man was guarding. Slowly, slowly, don’t draw attention.
As if my thought was spoken aloud, the guard reaches out to wrap a hand around my arm. “Show me,” he orders. I freeze, and, to make matters worse, he lifts his hand to signal to one of the other heavies over in our direction. Now I’ve got two guards watching me, and the door’s about to be blocked again. Damn it. If they make me go with them, they may well assume I’m with him when they discover his fake LRI shirt. Now I have to get us both out of here.
Good work, Sofia.
My mind throws up a flurry of possibilities, and in a split second I sort through them, discarding the impossible, left with only one way to divert both of them to the boy.
“Please hurry,” I gasp, focusing the muscles in my face until my eyes start to water with tears. “He’s my fiancé—he has a condition, stress makes it worse.” In the confusion, with so many people to process, I can only hope the guard doesn’t want to ask too many questions.
The guard blinks at me and, when I turn to indicate the boy in the striped shirt, follows my gesture. The boy stares back, openly wary now, eyes flicking from the guard to my face. Please, I think. Just don’t say anything until I can get past them.
“You were both fine a minute ago.” He exchanges glances with his colleague, who’s standing by me now. “I’m sure it can wait.” His voice is even, giving not an inch, but his hand strays, shifting from the weapon at his waist to tug at his sleeve.
I double my efforts, forcing my voice to crack. “Please,” I echo. “I’ll stay, I’ll answer any questions you want. Just go check him and you’ll see, he needs a doctor or else he’s going to have an episode.” I just need both the guards to turn toward the boy long enough for me to slip through the exit, uncounted and unescorted.
The nearer guard’s weight shifts, making my breath catch, but he doesn’t move as they exchange glances again. “I’ll call for the medtech on duty,” he says finally. “But he looks fine.”
My mind races, scanning the guard for anything I can use. He’s in his forties—too savvy, probably, for me to flirt my way out, especially when I already used the fiancé cover. No signs on his clothes of pets or children, nothing I can use to establish any connection with him, any appeal to his humanity. I’m about to go for my last resort—the little-girl wail of hysterics—when, without warning, the boy with the lapscreen sways and drops to the ground with a moan.
Both guards gape, and for half a second, I’m as stunned as they are. The boy on the ground twitches, limbs quivering, looking like he’s having exactly the kind of fit I’d been warning them about. For a quick, searing moment I wonder if somehow my lie stumbled upon something like the truth—but I can’t afford to find out. I’m just about to bolt for the exit when the nearest guard sticks his hand between my shoulder blades and pushes me forward. “Do something!” His own eyes are looking a little wild.
Damn. Damn. DAMN. Still, if I end up in an ambulance with this guy, it’ll be better than ending up in an interrogation room at LRI Headquarters. The EMTs will scan the ident chip in my palm pad, but the name they’ll get from that is Alexis. And they won’t be looking for genetags. I drop to my knees at the stranger’s side, reaching for his twitching hand and curling my fingers through his as though I’m used to touching him. One guard’s talking hurriedly into a patch on his vest, summoning backup, doctors, some kind of support.
The guy’s fingers tighten around mine, making my eyes jerk toward his face—and abruptly, all my simulated tears and panic come to a screeching halt. He’s actually starting to foam at the mouth, eyes rolled back into his head. He can’t be that much older than I am, and there’s something definitely, dangerously wrong with him.
One of the security guards is trying to ask me questions—has he eaten anything recently, when did he last take his medication, what’s his condition called—in order to brief the EMTs on their way. But his voice trails off as another sound rises from the center of the room, quickly growing in volume and causing the other nervous conversations in the room to peter out. The metal ring, the one the holo-projectors had been concealing, is turning itself on.