“Vesper? Are you okay?” Tivona asked. “You look like you’re about to snap that model in two.”
My fingertips had dug into the Velorum miniature, and the dull white plastic was creaking in protest. I loosened my grip and tossed the ship down onto the table. “I’m fine. I should get to the lab.”
“What are you working on now?” Tivona asked. “A dozen ways to improve your latest brewmaker design? Even though it’s already perfectly perfect?”
I forced myself to smile at her teasing. “That is tomorrow’s project. Today I have a few final things to wrap up with the Velorum crash report.”
Tivona toasted me with her mug. She took another sip of her espresso, then focused on the gossipcaster again.
I gathered up the loose plastipapers from the table and stuffed them into the crook of my arm. I hesitated, then grabbed the Velorum model. As soon as my fingers closed around it, magic pricked my skin again. A faint silver glow shimmered around the tiny cruiser, even as a cold finger of dread tickled my spine.
Normally, I would have dropped everything, sat back down, and studied the model from all angles. My seer magic often highlighted things, but it was always up to me to puzzle out exactly what my power was trying to tell me. My mother’s harsh voice was still ringing in my ears, though, and the ache of her abandonment was still spiking through my heart, so I glared at the light gilding the miniature spaceship.
Go away! I hissed in my mind.
The silver glow snuffed out, although that cold finger of dread kept tickling my spine. Somehow, even without my seer magic, I knew that my plans for the model ship were going to cause me a whole lot of trouble—and maybe even get me killed.
CHAPTER TWO
VESPER
I went into my bedroom and dumped the plastipapers onto my desk. I considered leaving the Velorum model behind too, but that would be akin to chickening out of my corporate espionage scheme, yet again, so I stuffed it into my gray backpack, along with the rest of my supplies. Then I said good-bye to Tivona and left the apartment.
By this point, it was creeping up on eight o’clock galactic time. The twin suns were shining brightly, the warm rays soaking into the solar panels that adorned the walls and roofs of the low, squat concrete buildings like the green scales of the enormous dragons that lived on Tropics 5. People were pouring outside to head to work or school, and I fell in with the flow of human traffic.
Three blocks later, I reached the transport station and squeezed into the last car. I gripped a strap dangling from the ceiling and tried not to bump into the other people swaying around me. Just about everyone in this part of Stahl City worked for Kent Corp, so most folks were wearing some combination of the House Kent colors of light gray, dull beige, and dark brown.
Some people were bopping their heads, listening to the music blasting out of their earbuds or implants, but the lucky few who’d managed to snag a seat had their heads down and their eyes fixed on their handheld tablets. Some were reading books, but many were tuned to the same channel Tivona had been watching, and faces and fashions flickered across the small screens as the gossipcaster continued talking about the Regals’ upcoming ball. More disgust rolled through me, and I stared out the grimy windows and watched the solar-panel-crusted buildings zip by for the rest of the high-speed ride.
Fifteen minutes later, the transport zoomed into the main station at the edge of the Kent Corp campus. I followed the crowd of people streaming toward the security checkpoints manned by guards wearing dark brown uniforms. The guards sported matching polyplastic helmets with clear face visors that constantly fed them information, as well as letting them communicate with their comrades. All of them had a blaster and a shock baton dangling from their belts, but the guards didn’t really need the weapons. Their bodies bulged with muscle, and many of them continually shifted on their feet, ready to dart forward and tackle someone in an instant.
Everyone who worked for Kent Corp received some sort of physical or technological enhancement. Supposedly, the enhancements were a bonus, a perk, a reward for loyal service, but really, they were designed to help us lowly worker bees perform better and faster—and to keep us from being killed so easily while on the job. The guards were given enhanced strength and speed, while the negotiators like Tivona were fitted with watches, contact lenses, and other devices that let them access thousands of corporate documents just by saying certain keywords or blinking their eyes in particular patterns.
Me? Like most of the other lab rats, I had been given an oxygen optimization—or O2—enhancement. A special liquid had been injected into my lungs that greatly increased their capacity and functionality. Basically, I didn’t need as much clean air to breathe as other people, and the oxygen that was already in my lungs and blood would continue to circulate—and thus keep me alive—for far longer than normal.
Most folks snickered when I told them about my O2 enhancement. Admittedly, it wasn’t as visually impressive as bench-pressing another person with your index finger or running a mile in less than two minutes, but it came in handy more often than you might think. Accidents happened all the time in the research and development lab, and you never knew what toxic chemicals might be released. The O2 enhancement gave me a fighting chance of not having my lungs melt inside my chest before I was able to escape a contaminated area. Statistically speaking, it was also one of the best enhancements to have outside the R&D lab, since forty-two percent of all deaths in and around spaceships and ports were due to a lack of oxygen.
I advanced through the checkpoint line, ran my ID card through the reader, and let the biometric scanner sweep over my body. Then I placed my left hand on the metal turnstile and waited for it to check my fingerprints as a final confirmation of my identity. The light turned green, and I pushed through the turnstile. None of the guards so much as batted an eye at me, but that cold finger of dread tickled my spine again.
So far, no one had any reason to suspect that I wasn’t toeing the Kent Corp line along with everyone else, especially when it came to the Velorum crash. That might change in a heartbeat, but for now, I was free and clear, so I tucked my ID card into my lab coat pocket and strode forward.
With more than ten million people, Stahl City was one of the most populous cities on Temperate 42, although you wouldn’t know it from walking through the Kent Corp campus, which had been carved out of the manufacturing district. Lush lawns covered with real grass and dotted with equally real hedges and trees rolled out in all directions, along with red-clay tile paths lined with rust-colored polyplastic benches that clustered around matching fountains. The only things that ruined the view and the illusion that this was an actual park were the chrome-and-glass skyscrapers that loomed over the campus like giants about to lift their legs, stomp their feet down, and crush all the workers scurrying around like ants below.
Scores of people dressed in business suits, lab coats, and maintenance coveralls were hurrying along the paths, most with their heads down, eyes focused on their tablets, and earbuds blaring music, but I tilted my face up toward the suns, enjoying the growing warmth of the day. I drew in a deep breath and was pleasantly surprised when the earthy scent of grass briefly overpowered the stench of exhaust that always polluted the air.