Текст книги "Declassified "

Автор книги: David Mack

Соавторы: Marco Palmieri,Dayton Ward
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

5

I had not intended to be stealthy as I crossed the metal-walled hangar bay toward the squat, discolored Mancharan starhopper that had pulled my fat out of the fire several times over, but any noise of my footsteps had been effectively neutralized by the clanging of tool on hull plating as the craft’s owner and pilot, Cervantes Quinn, sat cross-legged on the ship’s port wing and undertook what I could only assume was some sort of repair work near one of its warp nacelles.

“Baaah!” Quinn let out his exasperation physically as well as vocally by putting a little too much energy into tossing the tool he held toward a handled tray of other implements perched on the ship’s wing behind him. The impact of the tool slid the tray just enough from its somewhat precarious perch to send it off the wing’s edge and clattering to the deck.

“Quinn!” I decided to announce my arrival as soon as the din subsided so as not to startle the man. He turned, his brow and white hair showing the first signs of sweat from his labors, and on seeing me it seemed some of the tension left his face.

“No scoop here, newsboy,” Quinn called out as I closed the gap between the Rocinanteand me. “Just a rogue and a ship and they’re both pretty beat to hell this morning.”

“Differentiating the morning from your typical routine precisely how?” I swung my left arm to lob in his direction the small white paper bag I had been carrying. If he had been drinking the night before, something I had assumed from his remark, his reflexes showed no ill effects as he snatched the bag from the air with ease.

“What’s this?” He opened the bag without waiting for a response and squinted to peer inside. “Oh, look. It’s a biscuit.”

“It’s a proper scone, you damn savage. Thought I would bring you breakfast.”

“He brings me a biscuit without any coffee,” Quinn said to no one, “and I’m the savage.”

“I’ve seen you drink coffee a grand total of once. I bought it for you, and for my trouble you punched me in the jaw and chipped two of my teeth.”

“Things change.” Quinn bit down on the bag and it swung from his mouth as he made his way down from the wing and onto the deck. He spoke again through clenched teeth. “Thanks for this.”

“Enjoy,” I said as he tugged the bag from his mouth and grabbed its contents. “How goes it?”

“You’re looking at it,” he said between bites. “Just getting her ready for the next run.”

“What have you got lined up?”

“A couple of prospects, nothing certain.” Quinn squared his shoulders against the Rocinante’s hull and leaned back. “You’re not asking to tag along, are ya?”

“As much as I might enjoy another opportunity to nearly get killed, it’s probably in my best interests to stay behind and get some work done.”

“Suit yourself. That’s probably the better idea, anyway. Quit resting on your laurels of fame and get back to the job of digging up stories to write.”

I laughed despite myself. “I’m resting. Right.”

“What’s the latest with the commodore? Talked to him?”

“I should think not. Starfleet has him locked away in a cell under limited access. Even if Reyes himself said he wanted to see me, I can’t imagine I would have a chance to talk to him until the court-martial proceedings conclude. And should things go bad for him, I doubt I’d get a chance at all.”

“Hmm. Guess you’ll be asking someone else about him then.”

“That’s a brilliant idea, Quinn,” I said a little too sharply. “And I don’t suppose you have any suggestions who.”

“Damn,” he said. “I hit close to the nerve?”

“Sorry. I’ve been getting pressure from the boss about following up my Jinoteur report as well as my Reyes report, but no one is talking to me. It’s a bit of a surprise if I get even the courtesy of a hello from someone in a Starfleet uniform who just happens to pass me by.”

“That’s no good. I would think someone out there would be willing to at least point you in a direction for a story.”

“Not that I’m aware.” I paused and looked at Quinn. “But maybe you are?”

“Maybe.”

Quinn simply looked at me and took another bite of the scone.

I waited what I assumed was long enough to get an answer before filling the silence. “But maybe you don’t want to tell me?”

“Because that’s how I do things? Dangle something out in front of you to tease you when I know you’re struggling?”

“What makes you think I’m struggling?”

“Damn, this thing’s dry.” Quinn paused to chew and swallow. “Fine. So you’re not struggling. But I haven’t seen ya coming around for a while, so I figured something was up. And I hadn’t seen anything big on the news about the station with your name on it, so . . .”

“Wait a minute. You look for my byline?”

“What of it?”

“No, it’s just . . . I’m flattered,” I said. “You look for my byline.”

“And I’m not seeing it.”

I paused for a moment and drew a breath. “Okay, yeah, I’m struggling.”

“And maybe I can help.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t go thanking me until something breaks loose,” Quinn said. “I know a guy who owes me a favor. I can’t guarantee that I can call in my marker for you, but I don’t mind asking. I’ve been calling in a few lately, anyway.”

That gave me pause. “Something going on?”

“Simmer down, newsboy. I said there were no scoops here. Give me a little time and I’ll let ya know.”

“I didn’t come around looking for handouts, but I’ll take this one,” I said. “Thanks. Sincerely.”

He waved his hand at me as if to brush aside my appreciation as he got the final bite of his breakfast down. “Been to the hospital?”

“Why?”

“I figured you were keeping an eye on T’Prynn.”

“Oh,” I said, my mind snapping to the last time I had seen the Vulcan intelligence officer who arguably was the person most responsible for the shattered state of my career at that point. She had witnessed, as had Quinn and I, the explosive destruction of the Starfleet cargo ship U.S.S. Malaccawhile it was docked at Vanguard. But in that moment, and either as a result of the sight or merely coincidentally, T’Prynn suffered a completely debilitating psychic collapse, one that I imagined could yet prove fatal to a being with her cultural mastery of emotional control. I had even captured the entire event on my recorder, but chose not to keep it. “Well, no, I haven’t been following her case. I’m a little surprised to know you thought I would be.”

“I get that she’s not your best friend and all, but I thought you would at least be curious.”

“Curious as you are.”

“Sure.”

“So why not stop by and check on her yourself?”

“I’ve got no business poking around up there,” Quinn said. “And it’s not hard to guess what her reaction would be to my doing anything that might connect her to me personally. No, I won’t be making a visit.”

“So, is this your fee for trying to connect me with a source? Asking me to pay a visit on your behalf?”

“I won’t ask you to go for me,” he said. “I want you to think about going for yourself. The two of you have some unfinished business, and I don’t think you would want it to end that way.”

“To be truthful, I hadn’t considered it. I also can’t deny that part of me might have wished this on her.”

“Not the part of you that deleted the vid you made,” he said. “I’m just saying that you might want to wander past the hospital. When you get there, you can decide whether to go in.”

“If it’s any consolation, you do have my curiosity piqued about one thing.”

“Okay.”

“How something got into your system to reactivate your compassion program,” I said. “Maybe there are more risks in being exposed to the Shedai than Starfleet is telling us.”

“Well, look at the time,” Quinn said. “Someone needs to be moving along.”

“Evidently, I do,” I said as I started back across the hangar. “You know how to find me. And for what it’s worth, Quinn, you look good.”

He squeezed his eyebrows together at the unexpected compliment, almost as if he did not believe me.

“Okay, maybe that’s generous. You look . . . better.”

I actually managed to get a smile out of the man. “Now that I’ll buy, but only because I’ve looked a lot worse.”

6

“Damn you, Quinn,” I said under my breath as I passed through the main doors of Vanguard’s medical center. I promised myself in that moment I would not divulge to him how I walked to the central facility directly following our conversation. I needed to maintain some sense of pride.

In my time on the station, I had made relatively few visits to the hospital, and when I did, I happened to be the one in need of care. The last time, I had come for a brief scan to follow up on the injuries I had suffered on Jinoteur, and as I walked into the main reception area, I hoped my visit had been recent enough that I might look a little less conspicuous as I breezed past the admissions desk. I was following one of the most useful pieces of advice from my days in journalism school: if you look like you belong somewhere and know what you’re doing, no one will ask you any questions. I gave a sideways glance to the desk, and to a woman seated there wearing a loose-fitting nurse’s uniform whose attention seemingly was on the desk-mounted viewer before her, and turned the back of my head to her just as I passed.

“Sir? Can I help you, please?”

I sighed, knowing it would be too unbelievable had I pretended not to hear her. “Oh, hello. Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt. You looked busy.”

She looked up at me with her slender face framed by straight blond hair and what may have been the widest pair of hazel eyes I had ever seen. “You’re very kind, but I’m fine. Now, what can I do for you?”

“I’m wanting to check on a friend. She would have come in about a week ago with what I suspect was brain trauma.”

She returned to her desk monitor. “Can you tell me her name?”

“Yes, it’s T’Prynn, and as you might suspect, she’s a Vulcan woman.”

“Ah,” she said, looking back at me. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid she is not allowed visitors at this time.”

I leaned a bit onto the desktop. “I’m just trying to ease my concern, Ms. . . .”

She lowered her eyes and softened her posture a bit, almost as if she had been hoping I might ask. My hope for getting past the desk buoyed a bit, so I offered a smile as soon as she looked back up. “Braun. Jennifer Braun.”

As I offered my hand, I had considered keeping my name to myself, or even giving a false one, but when she took my grasp, I could not help but play straight with her. “I’m Tim. And I assure you that I would not stay if I could only look in on her. I was with her when she fell ill, you see, and I’ve heard nothing about her condition.”

Jennifer withdrew her hand. “And going back into the isolation wards will ease your concerns?”

“Is that where she is, Jennifer?”

“I’m not able to release any information about a patient, or even confirm that someone is a patient,” she said. “But the isolation wards are where you might have ended up, had you kept going.”

“I see. And I do understand. You’re sticking to policy and you should, given that we’ve only just met.”

Jennifer smiled. “But as we get to know each other, I’ll certainly relax my approach to hospital policy. Is that what you’re hoping, Tim?”

“Well, hospital and otherwise.”

She bent her smile down into a frown and snorted as she nodded her head knowingly. “Ohhh, but you’re good. So why are you trying so hard to look like you’re trying so hard?”

“Damn, I knew I should have gone with the sincere approach.”

“It might get you further next time.”

“Further than what?”

“Well, further than a discussion of hospital policies with me,” she said. “If I were to talk with someone on staff about a medical condition concerning a Vulcan, I would start with Doctor M’Benga.”

“Would Doctor M’Benga be able to let me see her?”

“That is up to him,” she said, allowing another smile. “But I can assure you that were your friend under his care, then once you spoke to him you would not need to see her. You would realize that she is in good hands.”

“That’s good to know,” I said. “And maybe for now, that’s all I need to know. Is there a way I can contact Doctor M’Benga?”

“You can leave a message with me and I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“Or I can take it back to him myself.” The gravelly voice snapped my gaze from Jennifer and up to find a dark-skinned, gray-haired man wearing a white lab coat over a blue satin, low-collared version of a Starfleet uniform tunic and cradling a coffee mug. Evidently, I had been engaged enough with my bantering that I had not noticed his approach.

“Doctor Fisher!” Jennifer’s voice let me know she had been equally startled.

“I’m not meaning to intrude,” he said to her, “but I should be able to assist Mister Pennington here without having to interrupt Doctor M’Benga.” Then he looked back at me with the expression of someone who seemed as interested in talking to me as I might be in talking to him.

“Of course, Doctor, thank you,” she said as Fisher stepped away from the desk and tilted his head toward a grouping of chairs in a corner of the reception area. I took it as a suggestion to follow him.

“Thank you, Jennifer,” I said as I joined him. “I hope to see you again.”

“Mister Pennington,” she replied, widening her eyes and raising her eyebrows a bit as if she might be warning me of the conversation to come. I winked in reply and caught up with the physician, whom I knew to be the space station’s chief medical officer as well as a personal friend of Commodore Reyes.

“I appreciate your help, Doctor,” I said.

“There’s no guarantee how helpful I might be, but it’s nice to hear your optimism.”

“I’m not asking you to speak on the record about anything—”

“Then we’re off to a positive start. Sit down, Tim.”

I laughed a bit in midsentence as we each sat. “Well, thank you. I admit that this is a personal query, so I’m asking your indulgence. I’m curious as to the condition of Lieutenant Commander T’Prynn.”

“Then allow me to be curious as to the personal nature of the discussion.”

“I happened to be in the thoroughfare near the hangar observation windows when she collapsed. I witnessed the whole thing.”

“I see,” Fisher said. “I can imagine that would be rather unsettling for you.”

“Well, yes,” I said, finding myself quickly at ease with the man owing to the nature of his voice and presence. As must be the case with the most seasoned physicians, he seemed to have a way of gaining my trust and confidence in a matter of moments. “It’s all a bit . . . haunting, I suppose.”

“I’m told there was more to the onset of T’Prynn’s condition than her simply dropping to the deck,” Fisher said. “Any insight you could offer might be helpful.”

When I looked up into Fisher’s eyes, it was easy to sense his interest was hardly prurient. I could sense the care he had for T’Prynn, and in that moment, I grasped that her situation might be more dire than I had thought. “In the moment, she was obviously emotional. Her face was twisted . . . anguished. She was crying, I’m sure of that. It was as if she had been startled . . . well, no, it was more. She looked shocked, almost as if she had snapped under a sudden realization, or had learned something that she did not want to know.”

“Yes.”

“And then, her face just wiped blank. It simply . . . reset to looking no different than usual. But she just crumpled. Truthfully? I thought she was dead.”

“Just as truthfully? She soon may be. It’s pretty clear that she suffered some sort of trauma. From our scans, there is no physical evidence of an injury relative to a concussion. We can find no bleeding nor any blockage of blood to the brain, so she hasn’t had a stroke. And yet, here we are, witnesses to the mysteries of the psychosuppressive wonders of the Vulcan mind. I’d be fascinated by it all . . . if I were a Vulcan.”

It was easy for me to tell from the physician’s face that his quip was more to mask his frustrations than to dismiss himself as disinterested in the neuroscientific studies of an entire race. “I’m confident you’re doing all you can, Doctor.”

Fisher regarded me quietly and nodded, then took a sip from his mug. “She’s not my patient, she’s Doctor M’Benga’s. And I will be sure to tell him you stopped by with your concerns.”

“Any chance that I might be able to see her?”

“Not this morning. That’s his call to make, and he’s not available right now to make it. Try later, and we’ll see what we can do.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” I said. “As long as we’re here, might I ask as to the condition of another of your patients?” I paused as Fisher’s eyebrows rose in anticipation of my words. “Diego Reyes.”

Fisher smiled slyly as he stood up from the chair. “And now you’re pushing, Mister Pennington.”

“No, sincerely,” I said as I rose to meet his gaze. “Well, professionally, too, but sincerely. We’re still off the record.”

“I’ve always been curious how this whole on-the-record-off-the-record thing works for a reporter,” Fisher said. “I would venture to guess that your real determination of what stays off the record is made afterit’s told to you.”

“Well, would you prescribe a course of treatment for a patient before considering the results of your own examinations?”

Fisher nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

“But in this case, I’m not asking for a story. I’m, well, I’m concerned.”

Fisher paused before speaking. “If I have the opportunity, I will send the commodore your regards. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough,” I said, extending my hand. Fisher met it with a firm and noticeably warm shake. “I appreciate the chance to talk.”

“I’m usually around,” Fisher said. “I’m even usually agreeable, if I’ve had my coffee.”

7

“You’re that journalist, aren’t you?”

With a bite of my eggs poised on my fork and almost in my mouth, I stopped myself before being forced to respond to the question with my mouth full. I also had to mentally revisit a few personal mantras upon which I relied in moments like those, the ones when what I would like to do is answer no and keep eating: the next story can come from anywhere and anytime, be polite, and when I don’t want to be interrupted I don’t eat at Tom Walker’s.

“I can’t be certain I am thatjournalist, but I am one, yes.” I looked up to find standing next to my table a young man wearing a Starfleet uniform with a red tunic, which told me he was in some area of operational services. From the look of his chest and upper arms, I assumed he was in security. At least, I hoped someone of his size was in security.

“The one who wrote the reports about what we’re doing out here. That’s you, right?”

I could sense from the man’s tone of voice that his intensity was rising, but I could not imagine he was there to pick a fight. I hoped that my being in a public restaurant at a time of day that one was not likely to be drunk—Quinn’s example excepting– might be my saving grace. “Yes, sir, that’s me.”

“I thought I recognized you. Hey, I have a story for you.”

“Really? Then let’s hear it.”

“Get the hell off the station. There’s my story.”

“I see,” I said, noting that the scowl now on the man’s face had done an effective job of checking any condescending remark that might have tumbled from my mouth in reply. Instead, I ventured to think that some civility might defuse the situation. It certainly was not the first time I had been approached by an upset reader and I doubted it would be the last. Such incidents typically worked to my advantage. “You seem anxious to talk about it. Would you like to join me?”

“No, I’m fine where I am. You must feel pretty good about what you wrote.”

“Well, I feel as though I presented a fair story about activities here, yes. I won’t lie about that.”

“Fair,” he said. “Is it fair to put a Starfleet mission at risk? People’s livesat risk?”

I set my fork down onto my plate. “My personal observations on a planet that now no longer exists as we comprehend it should not put lives at risk, sir.”

“It’s more than that and you know it. The more people who know about what is happening here, the more of them will get interested in what might happen next out here, and the more of them will show up.”

“Well, I do appreciate there might be some sightseeing interest out here.”

“It’s not just civilians. It’s traders, anyone who thinks there are ancient ruins with advanced technology just waiting to be discovered and turned into credits from the highest bidder. That’s just the kind of circus Starfleet doesn’t need at a time like this.”

“I can understand your frustration and concerns about keeping people in line, but look around you. Starfleet didn’t build simply a collection of laboratories, refueling stations, and supply storerooms out here. There’s a hotel, restaurants, shopping, a theater, a full-fledged terrestrial area that feels closer to being back on Earth than you can get for hundreds of light-years around. Vanguard is practically a resort at the rim of the quadrant with some of the most spectacular views of space that I’ve ever seen. Regardless of what I might report, word is going to get around that it’s an interesting place to be and people are going to come.”

“Oh, people will come, and not just people inside the Federation. The Klingons are already here, trying to figure out what’s going on, and nothing good can come from that. You think they don’t monitor our news reports to decide what military actions they want to take here? You keep telling everyone what there is to see here and find here, and the Klingons and everybody else will push in and we could have a war on our hands.”

My adrenaline surged a little at this point, but I did my level best to keep that from creeping into my voice. “If war were to break out between the Federation and the Klingon Empire, it would be the result of a great many more circumstances than a reporter’s accounting of events.”

The man glared at me. “And we are in the perfect position to defend ourselves with our commanding officer in the brig.”

“Ah, so that’s what this is really about. You are upset about what has happened to Commodore Reyes.”

“It’s your fault he’s in there.”

“I disagree. Commodore Reyes is facing charges brought by Starfleet Command for actions he took that violated the code of conduct for an officer. I may have made people aware of his conduct, but the decisions he made to do the things he did were entirely his own.”

“Part of what he’s being court-martialed for is because of what you put in your story. You can’t deny that.”

“His charges include releasing information to me that was deemed confidential by a higher authority. I did not force the commodore to tell me what he did. And the information I reported came directly and completely from him. I did not steal classified documents and shoot them across subspace channels without a care as to how that information might put lives at risk, as you put it. I take my responsibilities as a reporter very seriously, Mister . . .”

“You don’t need to know who I am. I’ve said what I wanted to say.” The young man tugged at the hem of his red tunic, pulling it taut across his chest, almost as if he wanted to make sure I was aware of just how defined his musculature underneath it might be. “Maybe you’ll think about it the next time we have a ship blow up inside a docking bay or when we watch this station rubbed right out of space like what happened to that planet.”

The man left the table and I picked up my fork again to poke at my eggs. From the looks of them, I could tell without needing a taste that my breakfast had cooled beyond the point of palatability for me.

“Now that was worth getting up to see,” came a voice from across the table. I looked up and into the deep brown eyes of Amity Price.

“I didn’t notice you come in,” I said, offering a small smile as I felt the tension start to leave my body.

“You were a little busy,” she said, sliding into the chair opposite mine. “But you sure sounded convincing.”

“I sure as hell ought to. It’s the same discussion I’ve been having with myself several times a day for a week. First time I’ve heard it out loud, though.”

Amity nodded. “My grandfather was a reporter.”

“No kidding?”

“Mm-hmm. Not for the FNS directly, but I suppose his stories got picked up once in a while. He moved around a lot and just wrote for the newsfeeds about whatever colony or outpost he lived in at the time. When I told my dad that I wanted to go into the news like Papa did, he told me about when he was growing up and how he remembered very clearly seeing people stop Papa and give him hell for something he wrote. Didn’t matter whether they were having lunch or shopping or just walking someplace, and he never knew when it might happen but it just happened. A lot, from what he said. And the rule was that if they got stopped, my dad had to stand perfectly still and quiet, and let whoever was talking say their piece.”

“Ah, so you were just following the rule.”

Amity smiled and gestured to the water glass on the table. “That one yours?”

“Yes, but I’ve not touched it,” I said, pointing my thumb toward my half-drunk glass of tomato juice.

“Thanks,” she said before taking the glass and sipping from it. “And I talked to Papa about it and he laughed and laughed. And you know what he said? ‘Amity, a colony is a small place. And you can write up when someone is born and when he scores a touchdown to win the big game. You can write when he gets married and has a boy of his own. You can write about his accomplishments or his discoveries or his travels, all of it, and you won’t hear a word from him. But you write about something he did wrong, even if it’s little, and you’re that son-of-a-bitch with the news service and you always have been and you always will be.’ “

I laughed, and that appeared to satisfy her. “Your grandfather is an insightful man.”

“He is . . . he is. And inspiring, too.”

“I can see from your writing that you’re getting inspiration from somewhere.”

The bright smile I recalled from our first meeting returned to her face. “You read my work?”

“I did, and you’ve got good stuff. Thank you for sharing it with me. But I’m still a little puzzled why you did.”

“How did you get started with the FNS?”

“Well, I do things pretty much the way you described your grandfather’s work. I just happened to catch someone’s attention at the FNS a few years back with a story I did about a Starfleet officer who had just gotten promoted to fleet captain. The editor said it sounded like I had a good rapport with the officers and that I knew my way around explaining missions and what they really meant for the Federation at large. So she asked me whether I had ever considered a Starfleet beat. And here I am. It was probably more luck of the draw than anything.”

“You might get away with saying that to a lot of people, but not to me. You’re a great fit. You’re creating quite a record of this place with what you’re getting that actually makes it into the feeds. I can only imagine what you’ve got that you’re keeping for your book.”

“My book.”

“Absolutely! What, you haven’t thought about that?”

“Frankly, no,” I said. “But you’re straying from the point. What’s got you here and with me?”

“Things are happening out here. I want to tell a story that gets me some attention from the FNS just like you did. It sure seems like a big enough beat for the both of us.”

“Big enough and dry enough,” I said, taking a drink of my juice. “I hate to disappoint you, Amity, but right now even I can’t squeeze a story out of this place. Nothing seems to be happening and no one is talking.”

“No one is talking to you.”

“So that’s your angle? Slip in and talk to my sources while they’re freezing me out?”

“Not your sources. I want to talk to the people you’re not talking to—people you can’t talk to, at least for a while.”

“What’s stopping me from talking to people?”

“You. That smiling face of yours,” she said as she reached across the table and patted my left cheek several times. “Right now, people recognize you. You’re part of your own story, and that’s going to work against you with sources you don’t really know—people like your new friend I just met. If anyone has something to say with any real merit, he’s not going to come up and just offer it.”

“But he might offer it to you?”

“Didn’t say that, either. But he sure won’t recognize me while I’m eating my eggs.”

“Right,” I said. “So what are you proposing?”

“I want to work together. You dig up your stories and I’ll dig up mine. I’ll do my own reporting and my own writing. But if I come up with something that you think is worth putting on the feed, you vouch for it with your editor and it goes with my byline.”

“And you want to work totally independent of me.”

“Well, it kind of defeats the purpose of my being an undercover reporter if everyone sees me just tagging along with you, right?”

“Very true. And I’m not responsible for you, and neither is the FNS. So don’t go poking around into things that might get you into trouble. If you end up incarcerated, there won’t be much I can do about it.”

“I’d never dream of it.”

“Well, fine, then. You’re on. So, what is your first idea?”

“I’ll tell you tonight, late, if you’re up for meeting me.”

“Okay, I’ll bite.”

“Perfect,” she said, sliding from her seat and stepping over to me. “And thank you. This means more to me than you might imagine.” She leaned in without warning and planted a soft, quick kiss on the same cheek she had patted earlier.

“So, where are we meeting?”

“The Omari-Ekon,” she said. “Heard of it?”

“Well, of course I have. Everyone on Vanguard has. Are you telling me you have a propensity to gamble?”

“We’ll talk there,” she said and smiled. “Maybe roll some dice, if you like.”

“Amity, I believe I may be rolling the dice with this agreement already.”