“Because,” I say, “we have an idea.”
34
Thirteen days until eruptionday is a lot of time. And no time. We start to work on turning our idea into a true heist, breaking off into groups to discuss strategy. Lament offers to contact Beckly Van from the Fifty-Seventh, because apparently Lament has his personal number. The one that’s not linked to his Legion-issued handheld.
I’m irritated to learn this. And irritated by my irritation. Because a planet is under attack and people’s lives are at stake and what does my jealousy matter? As Lament steps into The Bargainer’s kitchenette to make the call, I tell myself I will not follow him and will not ask, because it’s immature and inappropriate and definitely none of my business. Only then I find myself sort of… casually sliding into the kitchen for some water. Because I’m thirsty. When I see Lament dial Beckly’s number and press the call button, my mouth opens to ask something about network security, but what comes out is, “Did you two date or something?”
Lament holds the handheld to his ear, frowning at me as it rings. “Really, Hartman?”
“It’s relevant background info,” I try half-heartedly. “For the mission.”
“It most certainly is not.”
I throw my hands in the air like he’s making a big deal over nothing,when in fact I am the one making a big deal over nothing. “It was just a question.”
“Why do you care?”
“You have his number.”
“I have your number, too, and Vera’s, and Jester’s—”
“Hispersonalnumber.”
Lament’s eyes are twin glaciers. “I don’t see how this is relevant.”
I want to scream. The galaxy is on the brink of ruin, and everything’s going to shit, and we still never talked about the kiss.
“You’re right,” I mutter. “Sorry. Not my place.”
Lament’s expression falters. “Keller…”
“Hello?” comes Beckly’s voice over the line.
Lament’s eyes dart to his handheld. He hesitates, gaze flipping from the device to my face and back again.
“Hello?” Beckly asks a second time.
Lament returns the handheld to his ear. “Van.”
“Bringer?” I can hear Beckly clearly through the speaker. “Is that really you?”
“Who else would it be?”
“An AI impersonator,” he supplies immediately.
Lament frowns. “Why would I be an AI impersonator?”
“Because of everything that’s—” Beckly cuts himself off. “So, you’re not?”
“No.”
“Prove it,” he demands, with surprising vigor. I wonder, suddenly, what exactly is going on over on Skyhub to make Beckly so suspicious. “Tell me something only I would know about you. Something personal.”
I suck in an insulted breath, like I have any right to take offense to that. It’s just, even thesuggestionthat Beckly might know something about Lament that I don’t makes me want to peel off my skin.
I must make some sort of noise, because Lament glances at me, his jaw pulling like he’s biting his cheek. He gives me his shoulder and presses the handheld harder to his ear.
“In our debrief room,” Lament starts slowly, cupping the receiver to his mouth as if that’ll do anything to block his words, “I asked for your advice…”
