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I almost winced at the harshness of her voice.
Even though I willed them not to, my eyes filled with tears.
She moved away and picked up a mahogany pipe. It was a traditional fluted pipe that had a well for tobacco at the end, an older model that had gone out of fashion many years ago.
As she parted her lips, I glimpsed the hint of slightly elongated fangs grazing her bottom lip.
Oh, a hybrid.
They were rare on Royal One. I’d learned about them, but I’d never seen one before, save for pictures. I couldn’t help staring longer than I should’ve.
The people in Royal One were Pure Bloods, otherwise known as humans descended from Old Earth whose DNA hadn’t been outwardly altered. Only the rich could afford such expensive procedures.
Those of modest means had to opt for a range of less expensive DNA alterations in order for them to survive on other solar planets. These usually left an “imperfection” in their DNA, as the geneticists called it.
I clasped my hands in front of me to keep them from shaking.
“You need help here, don’t you?” I asked, my throat tight.
A plume of smoke emerged from the easy-light pipe.
“I needed a service bot to help, not a teenage runaway.”
I lifted my chin. “I’m twenty-two, I’ll have you know, hardly a teen. Um, ma’am.”
Cedra Holloway smiled as though I’d said something amusing, softening her otherwise harsh features and pulling up a dimple in her left cheek.
“I’ll call a hovercraft for you. You’re free to take it wherever at your own expense.”
I felt the swoop of anxiety pull at my stomach.
I had no credit.
The only thing of value I had on my person was the thick, indecently expensive gold chain I’d been wearing for the party. Now, it nestled against my breasts where I’d stuffed it under the tube-shirt.
On the journey here, stuffed in that incredibly uncomfortable coffin-like box, I’d begun to make plans for the future. The first step would be to pawn the chain and find a place to settle down somewhere far from Royal One...perhaps start a school on a Star where young kids could learn a trade.
I’d always been good at sewing—especially working with fabric, creating beautiful pieces of unique clothing, just like the beaded skirt I was currently wearing.
When I was five or six, one of my nannies had taught me how to stitch my teddy back together after an unfortunate mishap involving a drinks cart that left the bear torn apart. With a nose full of snot and runny eyes, I’d mimicked her movements until the teddy’s belly was stuffed back the way it was supposed to be.
After that, I’d tried my hand at sewing anything I could get away with. This little hobby had kept me out of trouble as a child and proved very popular in my all-girls finishing school where rips and tears in designer clothes seemed like an everyday occurrence.
But I certainly never thought I’d be using those skills for survival one day.
My elaborately designed skirt was probably one of the reasons why Cedra Holloway hadn’t believed I was a bot—all bots wore a certain white pinafore with a company nameplate—but I simply hadn’t had time to change if I wanted to be in the box before the delivery droids left.
Getting into this heavy skirt before the party had required patience I didn’t possess. I couldn’t imagine the effort and dexterity required to get out of it, especially when my freedom hung in the balance.
“What would convince you to let me stay here?” I asked as I watched her take another puff of her pipe.
She shrugged, despite the tension in those lean shoulders.
I pushed on. “At least give me a try. Please? You paid 200 credits for a bot... I’m a human telling you I’ll work for free.”
She said nothing.
“I just need a chance. Please.”
