Free Prodigy by Marie Lu Page B

say.
    “Sorry,” Razor replies as he turns away. “We have an airship to catch. Don’t push that leg too hard just yet.”

THE PATRIOTS DISGUISE ME BEFORE WE HEAD OUT.
    Kaede cuts my hair so it stops right below my shoulders, then she tints the white-blond strands a dark brownish red. She uses some sort of spray to do it, something they can remove with a special cleanser if they need to strip the color out. Razor gives me a pair of brown contact lenses that completely hide the bright blue of my eyes. Only I can tell that it’s artificial; I can still see the tiny, tiny specks of deep purple dotting my irises. These contacts are a luxury in themselves—rich trots use them to change their eye color—for
fun.
They would’ve come in handy for me on the streets if I’d had access to them. Kaede adds a synthetic scar to my cheek, then finishes off my disguise with a first-year air force uniform; a full black suit with red stripes running along each pant leg.
    Finally, she equips me with a tiny flesh-colored earpiece and mike—the first embedded discreetly in my ear, the second inside my cheek.
    Razor himself is decked out in a custom Republic officer uniform. Kaede wears a flawless flight outfit—a black jumpsuit with silver wing stripes wrapped around both sleeves, matching white condor gloves, and wing goggles. She’s not a Pilot in the Patriots for nothing—according to Razor, she can pull off a split-S in the air better than anyone he’s ever seen. Kaede should have no trouble posing as a Republic fighter pilot.
    Tess is already gone, whisked away half an hour ago by a soldier who Razor says is another Patriot. Tess is too young to pass as a soldier of any level, so getting her onto the RS
Dynasty
means dressing her in a simple brown collar shirt and trousers, the outfit of workers who operate the airship’s hundreds of stoves.
    And then there’s June.
    June quietly watches my transformation from the couch. She hasn’t said much since our last conversation over my recovery bed. While the rest of us have our various getups, June is unchanged—no makeup, her eyes still dark and penetrating, her hair still pulled back in that shiny tail. She’s dressed in the plain cadet uniform Razor gave us last night. In fact, June doesn’t look all that different from the photo on her military ID. She’s the only one of us who isn’t equipped with a mike and earpiece, for obvious reasons. I try to catch her gaze a few times while Kaede works on my appearance.
    Less than an hour later, we head down the main Vegas strip in Razor’s officer jeep. We pass several of the first pyramids—the Alexandria dock, the Luxor, the Cairo, the Sphinx. All named after some ancient pre-Republic civilization, or at least that’s what we were taught back when the Republic actually allowed me in school. They look different during the day, with their bright beacon lights off and edges unlit, looming like giant black tombs in the middle of the desert. Soldiers bustle in and out of their entrances. It’s good to see so much activity—all the better for us to blend in. I go over our own uniforms again. Polished and authentic. I can’t get used to it, even though June and I have technically been passing as soldiers for weeks. The collar scratches at my neck, and the sleeves feel way too stiff. I don’t know how June could stand wearing this stuff all the time. Does she at least like how it looks on me? My shoulders
do
seem a little broader.
    “Stop tugging on your uniform,” June whispers when she sees me fiddling with the edges of my military jacket. “You’re messing up its alignment.”
    It’s the most I’ve heard her say in an hour. “You’re just as nervous,” I reply.
    June hesitates, then turns away again. Her jaw is clenched as if to keep herself from blurting something out. “Just trying to help,” she mutters.
    After a while, I reach over to squeeze her hand once. She squeezes back.
    Finally, we reach the Pharaoh, the