Page 38 of Last Chance to Save the World

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.

“Comeon,” 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 andvibrancy. 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.

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