Starflight Read Online Free PDF Page B

looked like. Rows of luxuries spread out before her: delicate candies, silken robes, insulated spacesuits, medicines, tools, and even Spaulding fuel chips. She’d hoped to find the chips here, because those slow-burning ore coins were the most useful currency in the galaxy. She was going to buy as many as she could carry.
    After she peeled Doran off her.
    She helped him to the medical pod in the far corner, a computerized chair behind a thin metal screen that offered patients the illusion of privacy. He lowered to the seat, and she strapped a belt around his chest and lap, making sure to position the buckles behind the seat, where he couldn’t reach them. If his memory returned, at least he’d be trapped here for a while. Attached to the chair was a small screen that read, TOUCH HERE TO BEGIN TREATMENT .
    “Let’s see,” she said, scrolling through the medicinal offerings. “Custom-made tonics.” She tapped the corresponding button and asked Doran to describe his symptoms. As he spoke, she clicked HEADACHE, NAUSEA , and DIZZINESS .
    A computerized voice droned, “Please provide one hundred credits.”
    Doran looked at his wristband. “Do I have that much?”
    “Probably not.” Solara lightly patted his cheek while scanning her bracelet. “But lucky for you, I take care of my employees.” When the pod dispensed a cup of clear, fizzy liquid, she chirped, “Bottoms up.”
    She stepped out from behind the screen and headed straight for the fuel chips. It wouldn’t take long for Doran to finish his seltzer, and then they needed to go. Each second they spent here was a risk.
    She bought the sturdiest shoulder bag she could find and told the computer to fill it with chips. As she watched the tiny coins drop into the sack, an idea came to mind. She fed the machine a leather cord and instructed it to punch a hole in a set of chips to string a necklace for her to wear. She’d seen traders do the same—it kept their currency close.
    While her fuel order was being filled, she wandered the aisles and purchased a practical wardrobe and enough boots to last five years. She guessed Doran’s size and ordered a set of generic coveralls for him, the kind she’d worn at the group home. It put a bounce in her step to imagine how he’d look as a ward of the diocese.
    Next she loaded up on standard medications like pain relievers and antibiotics. She’d heard those were hard to find in the outer realm. After buying a precision tool kit and a set of toiletries, she was ready to have her order boxed. But then a twinkle of light caught her eye, and she saw something that sucked the air from her chest.
    It was a dress. No, not a dress—a gown fit for an empress.
    Made from the most opulent fabric she’d ever seen, it hugged the mannequin’s curves to the waist and flared out to the floor, shimmering like a million dying stars. The effect was mesmerizing. She couldn’t identify the dress’s color. It was simply made of brilliance.
    Solara knew she’d never wear anything so lavish. A gown like that was for people with more money than IQ points. But that didn’t stop her from drifting forward and allowing the computer to take her measurements. A moment later, the screen showed her size in stock and offered the dress for five thousand credits.
    She gulped and scanned her bracelet.
    TRANSACTION APPROVED.
    “Thanks, Doran,” she whispered. “You shouldn’t have.”
    A shaky laugh escaped her lips. She’d better wrap it up before she completely lost her mind. She returned to the med pod, where Doran pounded a fist against his chest and released a belch.
    “Better?” she asked him.
    When he glanced over his shoulder, she noticed a difference in him right away. His brow was smooth and his eyes were clear of pain. “Much.”
    “Good, because you have a lot of packages to haul.”
    Annoyance flashed behind his eyes, but he clenched his jaw and mumbled, “Yes, Miss Brooks.”
    It was music to her ears.
    Ten minutes later, he