Page 19 of How to Steal a Galaxy

Fetor shrugs. “Think of the headlines. Early feeds are focused on the protests, not whatever designer made Luxa Ng’s gown. Leads right into our announcement tonight.” He spreads his hands out, envisioning the headline: “Strom Fetor Leads Way to Cleaning up Sol-Earth’s Broken Climate. And then we can open with a quote about how generous of a donation I gave.”

There it is. The reason he’s doing this.

The credit.

Earth needs saving. And he’ll do it.

As long as he gets the credit.

8

So, about this announcement,” I say.

“Ada—” Rian starts.

“Hush. So, you’re going to let everyone know about the climate cleaners tonight?”

Fetor nods. “We had a bit of a hiccup with them earlier.” He punches Rian in the arm, and while it seemed to be a genial gesture, that punch had weight behind it. Dick. “Which is why the government enlisted the aid of the private sector.”

The nanobot prototype and the coding for the climate cleaners were secured on theRoundabout, and it was absolutely not the government’s fault that the ship crashed into a planet.

It was mine.

(Partially, anyway. Unlike some people in the room, I don’t try to take credit foreverything.)

“Did you know,” Fetor continues, “that some anarchist group tried to steal the data? What kind of monsters would steal data that’s meant to aid the billions of people on such a desolate planet?”

“What kind of monsters, indeed,” I say, smiling at Rian innocently. “I bet they would do something horrible, like try to exploit the people of Earth, make them pay for their own survival.”

“Which is why the government is funding the project,” Rian interjects, glaring at me.

“Because you canalwaystrust the government to handle large programs like a climate-cleaner system that will affect an entire world. If there’s one thing we can say about the ol’ UG, it’s that it’s efficient.”

Fetor snorts, his eyes raking over my dress. “Oh, I like you.”

“The feeling is very much not mutual,” I say pleasantly. “So, anyway, you’re going to buy this room?”

Rian’s jaw is tight. He doesn’t like that Fetor can—and will—buy a piece of history. But he can’t protest. Yay, capitalism.

Fetor opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up my finger. My heart’s racing. I love this part of a con. “But I thought,” I say, the boiling anticipation within me making my words bubble out, “you would buy something from the Skye Martin display.”

Rian glares at me.Don’t give the trillionaire ideas,he says with those razor eyes.

I ignore him.

“What makes you think I want something from that room?” Fetor asks.

He doesn’t, and I know he doesn’t. Here it is, though. The tricky play. I don’t need Fetor to go to the Skye Martin display, but I do need him to get out of here. Just long enough for me to make sure that domino falls in the right direction when I flick it.

I’m so excited I almost want to throw up, but I am not going to waste all that good food from earlier.

“I’ll confess,” I say, grinning sheepishly at Fetor, “I did a little reading up on you when I found out I was going to be attending the gala.” It goes without saying that Fetor would be here; he attends every year, even when he’s not the guest of honor, and every year, he makes a splashy show of wealth. Sometimes, he bids on an item in the auction, but only if there’s something for his collection. The man has well-known affinities for certain items. “I scoped out the items downstairs.”

“Nothing of note,” Fetor allows.

Tell that to Tutankhamun.

“So I figured, where would a man like Strom Fetor be? Definitely in the early-space-exploration rooms.”

---