Until this afternoon, she hadn’t known there was a medical unit in the Port of Armstrong, let alone that the medical unit had a waiting area. It was hodgepodge of colors—gold walls, orange and green chairs, a pale blue couch that had seen better days, several scarred tables, and signs that popped up on the blank surfaces, warning her that she could be asked to leave if she violated this rule or that rule or some other behavior. Getting in here had been surprisingly easy, but then, her father had made certain she had access to Detective Zagrando. She had to refer to him as Isamu Vidal, because that was the name all of his official identification used. A lot of port security guards and several rookie space traffic cops guarded the medical unit. Two higher-ranked space traffic cops stood near the surgical part of the wing, clearly guarding Detective Zagrando—or Vidal, as she needed to remind herself to call him. Vidal without the Detective in front of it. She felt safe, despite the fact that her father went over and over the escape plan with her should anything go wrong.
