“What on earth is going on?” Priya’s bunk door slid open. The gold BeatBix headphones slung around her neck were genuine, BB logo righted, snatched and gifted by Far for their six-month anniversary. She’d worn them to sleep ever since. Indeed, she looked like she did most mornings: hair mussed, eyes misty with dreams as they peered into the common area. “Oh—”
Imogen snatched her hands back. Far had never seen his cousin so pink: hotter than bubble gum, deeper than coral. He wished they’d sort things out and kiss already. The Invictus was small enough as it was. There simply wasn’t room for so many unaddressed pheromones.
“Saffron ran off with Eliot’s hair.” Gram stepped off the couch, clearing his throat. “I mean, wig.”
Far could pinpoint the moment his girlfriend went into Medic mode. Her stare went sharp, then soft as she examined Eliot’s baldness. “Alopecia universalis. Right?”
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a Medic worth her salt!” Eliot’s voice held a showmanship boom—all the ship’s a stage. “You’d be amazed how many don’t know the proper name without a med-droid beeping it in their ear.”
“Alopecia universalis.” Imogen considered the Latin, face aflame. “Universal foxsickness?”
“A fancy way of saying my immune system isn’t such a fan of my hair follicles. Every single hair on my body fell out when I was six years old and never returned.”
“It’s rare,” Priya remarked. “Rarer than rare in Central time. I’ve only ever read up on cases.”
This was yet another sign that Eliot was out of her era. But if her condition was rare in Central time, wouldn’t it be almost nonexistent in the future? Was it possible she was from the past? More questions, endless questions. The spinning feeling from looking out the Invictus’s vistaport hadn’t faded the way it usually did. Instead, Far felt himself winding tighter. This girl. This smirking, roundabout riddle of a girl. She was impossible to get a handle on, and it vexed him….
“I’m so sorry about your wig, Eliot.” Though none of this was Imogen’s fault, she apologized. “I’ll go out and buy you another one before we hit the town. What color do you prefer? Blond? Brunette? Fire-engine red? You’d sport peacock green excellently.”
“No need,” Eliot told her. “I only use wigs when I need to blend in. No one in Vegas is going to bat an eyelash at the lack of mine.”
“You’ll turn heads with that dress, though,” the Historian pointed out. “The year 2020 wasn’t really known for floor-length frills.”
The Invictus fell back into its pre-expedition ritual. Priya disappeared to change out the fuel rods. Gram returned to his console to find a parking spot, while Imogen weeded out any dollars printed post–landing year from their US cash stash. Afterward, she printed age-appropriate false IDs for the five of them, then reprinted them when Gram pointed out that her math had made them all twenty instead of twenty-one, and what was the use of that? Eliot helped sort bills and clothes alike, making piles of swimsuits and clubwear under the Historian’s sporadic direction. Above it all, Saffron nibbled the wig with happy squeaking noises.
The scene felt so… normal. Eliot had Recorder training, no doubt. How else would she sync with the rhythm of the ship so fast? Far settled back into his captain’s chair, eyes never leaving the thief. She watched him, too. Her glances weren’t subtle or sly or pointed. They just were. Straight on, unabashed. Nothing like the don’t blink duels he held with Lux. He had no idea what game Eliot was playing, much less how to win it. He needed answers. There was more than one way to collect DNA. Skin, blood, spit. All were a good means harder to procure than hair, especially now that Eliot was onto them, but Far was up for the challenge.
He’d figure out who this girl was.
He’d take his future back.
16
WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS…
INVICTUS SHIP’S LOG—ENTRY 3
CURRENT DATE: APRIL 18, 2020
CURRENT LOCATION: VEGAS, BABY!
OBJECT TO ACQUIRE: FUN TIMES. PEACE OF MIND. PRETTY, PRETTY BOOK STILL AT LARGE.
IMOGEN’S HAIR COLOR: NUCLEAR-GLOW GREEN WITH NEON-YELLOW TIPS
GRAM’S TETRIS SCORE: 354,000 (ON PAUSE)
CURRENT SONG ON PRIYA’S SHIPWIDE PLAYLIST: “LIGHT UP THE BRIGHT” BY AURORA WINTERS
FARWAY’S EGO: DO NOT FEED. MAY BITE. HAS BEEN SEVERELY WOUNDED BY APPEARANCE OF JUST-ELIOT ANTOINETTE, AKA BLACK OPS FUTURE MAGICIAN.
ELIOT: ????????
IT WASN’T THE MOST VACATIONY OF vacations, with a blackmailing stowaway in tow, but Imogen was determined to enjoy Las Vegas until she dropped. Or flopped. Or got lost in a sea of sparkles. That seemed the most likely outcome. Vegas was so bright. Even at midafternoon the place was blinding. LED billboards blazed with adverts: OVER HERE BLING BLING. Women walked by in sequined cocktail dresses that could’ve seconded as mermaid tails. Tourists toted drinks even taller than themselves, neon straws flitting into a different color every two seconds. It was too bad, Imogen mused as she sauntered down the Strip with the rest of the Invictus’s crew, that flash leather hadn’t been invented for another century. Her iridescent moto jacket would have fit right in….Though, to be honest, almost anything would. Las Vegas was one of the few sites in history where the entire crew of the Invictus could be unabashedly themselves. Glow hair, no hair, dark skin, light—all of it melted into anonymity here.
Anonymous or not, they walked with swagger. Imogen congratulated herself on a crew well dressed. The boys she’d fitted into button-ups and charcoal jeans. Gram had consented to sporting a leather vest and a fedora, though Farway would only accept aviator sunglasses as an accessory. It wasn’t often Priya traded in her scrubs, but the emerald-green wrap dress was stunning on her. Eliot wore a long jumpsuit, so white it almost disappeared against her skin. Anyone else so pale would’ve been swallowed, but Eliot looked regal. Little wonder she’d convinced Farway she was the queen of France.
For herself Imogen had selected silver palazzo pants—the ones that made her feel as if she were riding a sleigh through fresh snow—and a white top. She’d started off the day with cat-eye sunglasses but had removed them in favor of a better view. And what a view it was! There was a Ferris wheel! Over there, the Eiffel Tower! To her left, the Bellagio fountains had started their infamous show. Oh, this city was delightful…. Never mind the drunk emptying his guts at the base of a palm tree, despite the fact that it was 3:00 PM. Historical accounts were right—this city never really stopped partying.
“What should we do first?” Farway paused to wipe fountain mist from his sunglasses.
“The Bellagio is a logical start,” Eliot pointed out. “We could work our way down the Strip.”
Farway didn’t flinch. It was as if the suggestion had bounced off. “Imogen, Vegas was your idea. What do you think?”