Chapter 87

Chapter Eighty-Seven

The idea came to Connor when he turned away from the piloting console, right into a soft blast of cool air from the overhead vent. His sneakers made a chirping noise when he stopped abruptly, mouth open slightly.

Martienne’s head came around. “You have that look—an idea, yes?”

Of course she would see it in his face; they’d worked together for years. She probably knew from his hyperactive behavior rather than the smell of alcohol coming off of him that he was coming off a hangover.

But would that familiarity serve him or hurt him with this idea?

“Maybe.” He hopped into his chair and powered on his own console.

Amber lights welcomed him, reminding him that there were things that required his attention. But there would always be things that required his attention. What mattered at that moment was the Lucky Sevens’s core functionality, and that was flashing green.