Oh, suns. Jimmy is in Mighty Minions delusional heaven right now and nothing I say will pull him out of it unless I get some evidence to the contrary.
“Sure,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’ll try that too. But I’m gonna run to the restroom real fast. Be right back, OK?”
“Don’t take too long,” he says, squeezing my hand. “I’m not sure I like the thought of you going off on your own.”
I point up to the drones. “Security, right? I’ll be fine. Be back in a minute.” I give his hand a squeeze, then let it go and turn around, searching for the nearest restroom.
Weaving my way through the now burgeoning crowd, I slip away to a little alcove between a drinking fountain and a little bay of day lockers.
Then I turn on my wristband and mentally prepare myself for Queenie. Because I just don’t trust her and if I stay out of communication any longer I’m one hundred percent positive that she’ll do something drastic to get my attention.
“You sneaky little bitch,” she says, once I’m back online and connected.
“Hey,” I say, forcing myself to be cheerful. “Good news!”
“You have Jimmy sedated and you’re on your way?”
“Nnn-nooo,” I stutter. “But I am with him. And he likes me so I think I’ll just need one more spin and—”
“One. More. Spin?” she growls. “No. We’re on a deadline. We should’ve been out of here last night and we’ve been out of contact with The Loathsome One way too long. She is probably out of her mind and ready to send a legion of warships to come kill us. Get him here. Now.”
“I can’t,” I say, so frustrated. “The security here is tight. I think the station AI blocked us from leaving last night on purpose.”
“Oh, nice excuse.” Queenie laughs. “But I know better.”
“What do you mean?”
“Delphi, I scanned the station AI before we ever docked. It’s rudimentary at best. It’s not the station stalling us, it’s you. Now what is the fucking problem?”
“The fucking problem is… the fucking problem is that he’s smart, OK? He’s suspicious.”
“You just said he likes you.”
“He does. That’s why we’re still together. But maybe… I think he likes me too much. He wants me to spend the day with him doing… you know. Rides and shit. And we’re sharing a room. But we’re not there right now. I was going to drug him at breakfast, but he insisted that we go out.” She sighs and I know she’s got another objection coming, so I keep talking. “But we’ll have to go back to the room eventually, right? So I’ll drug him then and I’ll call you when it’s done so you can help me move him to your docking bay like we planned.”
“You’re lying,” she says.
“I am not! I swear, this is the plan.”
“Mmmm-hmm. And where, exactly, are you getting these drugs?”
“There’s an autopharmacy in the room. I’ll fake… I don’t know. An ankle injury and get an approval for pain meds, then I’ll slip some into his drink.”
I roll my eyes at myself, that’s how lame this plan sounds.
But Queenie doesn’t immediately respond, so maybe… possibly… could she be buying it?
“You have until dinner.”
“I’ll get it done.”
“The curfew—”
“I know,” I say. “I’ll get it done and call you back when I’m ready for transport. You have bots or something? So we can move him?”
“I’ll send an anti-grav shipping crate to your room. Which one is it?”
“I… don’t know for sure. I’ll have to look when we go back there.”
“You don’t know which room you’re in?”
“It’s a penthouse, OK? By the Demon Coaster thing.”
Silence from Queenie. She’s not buying it. Not one bit.
So I say, “Queenie, listen. I’ll check in in a few hours, OK? I promise. And if I don’t you can do it your way. Just give me a chance to get us out of here without alerting security. Trust me. The AI isn’t rudimentary. You can’t see what I’m seeing inside the resort. There’s hundreds of security drones buzzing around. The escape—if we escape—could get very messy. We need to do this right.”
More agonizing silence.
“I gotta go,” I say. “He’ll get suspicious if I’m gone too long. I’ll message you in a few hours.”
Even more silence.
“OK?” I ask, trying not to sound desperate. “Believe me, I want to get this job done as much as you do. Tycho’s life is at stake. Just… let me do it my way so we have the best chance at success.”
“I need that room number.”
“I’ll send it the moment we get back. I promise.”
“Do not fuck with me, Delphi. I have a mean streak lurking underneath this calm demeanor.”
Which almost makes me laugh. Because lurking? Please. Her mean streak is the most obvious thing ever.
“I won’t,” I say.
And then she cuts off the transmission, so I never really get an answer, but I assume she’s agreed and I’ve got until this afternoon to come up with another plan.