She slaps my hand away. “You know very well what happened to me. Either you or that asshole,” she nods toward the cockpit, “put something in my drink last night.”
At close range, her breath smells of vomit with overtones of coffee. I scoot back into the corner of the booth in self-defense. It doesn’t help much. “For God’s Sake, brush your teeth. If nothing else, you’ll smell better.”
I pull a data pad closer to me, plug my earbuds into the auxiliary port and tap the screen. A blueprint of a grand Tudor residence displays and the accompanying audio narration buzzes in my ear. “The following schematics are the blueprints of Greenwich Palace during the reign of King Henry the Eighth. The Tudor court was in residence at Greenwich from Twenty-Seven November of 1532 through early February of 1533. The first floor—“
The sound abruptly stops. My hands spring up to my face as the earbuds are ripped from my ears.
“What the hell is your problem?” I shout, snatching the dangling audio wires from Trevor’s grasp. “I don’t care who you are, don’t you dare put hands on me like that again.”
“I’m not done talking,” Trevor says. “You think you’re so bloody clever. Trying to derail this mission by knocking me out.”
Fagin and Nico both emerge from the cockpit. Nico gives me a questioning look. Fagin just looks perturbed.
“What’s the problem, ladies?” Fagin asks, her voice tinged with weary annoyance.
“She thinks we drugged her last night to keep her out of the action,” I say. “I have no idea what she’s talking about. Do you?”
“That’s a pretty serious charge, Trevor,” Fagin says. “We can do a blood test to see if you ingested any toxins in the last twenty-four hours.”
“Excellent idea.” Trevor face brightens, and she leans on her forearms on the table as she stares me down. Her gaze is pure panther.
“You’re serious,” I say, shooting Fagin an exasperated look. “Are you really going to indulge this fantasy?”
“Best way to put this accusation to rest is by testing her hypothesis. If there are illicit drugs in her system, blood tests will confirm it.”
Fagin retrieves a medical kit. She dons a pair of latex gloves and sterilizes the area behind Trevor’s left earlobe with a handheld sterilizer. Then, she presses a small blood and tissue sample extractor against her skin.
“Ow. Ow ow ow ow OW!” Becca says, whimpering like an exhausted toddler overdue for a nap.
“Christ,” Nico mutters under his breath.
Fagin places the extractor on the table and we watch a series of abbreviations and numbers cycle through the panel of blood gas values. Nico shoots me a brief, wide-eyed look. Fingers crossed that the drugs really are undetectable. He seems to say. A sentiment I return with a discreet shrug. The numbers flash green on the display panel for several seconds before one of the test values hits red.
“See!” Trevor says, her voice drops into a dark I-Told-You-So tone. “There is something.”
“Sure is,” Fagin replies. “Your blood alcohol content is .07.”
“So, Lieutenant Lightweight is still drunk,” I say, allowing myself a satisfied smirk and a small sigh of relief. “Looks like she needs to learn how to hold her liquor a better.”
“Screw you, Dodger,” she replies, venomous. She turns to Fagin. “Someone on this crew drugged me. Run the test again and feed the report to the ship’s main computer. Maybe there’s something wrong with the extractor unit.”
“All equipment was calibrated before we left base, per regulations, and we’re very thorough in our work.” Nico says. “There’s nothing wrong with the extractor.”
“I. Am not. DRUNK,” Trevor bellows.
“You need a little more time to sober up after your bender last night,” Fagin says. “Sleep it off and you’ll be just fine.”
“It wasn’t a bender. There’s been a mistake.” Trevor snatches the unit from table and squints at the display panel as she scrolls through the test result list in clumsy, rapid-fire sweeps. She runs through the test results at least twice before shoving the panel across the table in frustration. Fagin catches it before it plummets to the floor.
“Careful with the equipment,” Fagin says.
“The only thing those test results prove is that you gave me something that left my system fast or can’t be traced at all.”
“Why would we drug you?” I say. “Fucking with the Benefactors’ informant would complicate our lives in a million different ways. We want to acquire the acquisition list items so we can finish this job and get home in one piece.”
“Speaking of acquisitions,” Trevor jumps to her feet and we stand nose-to-nose even though the stench of her breath is overpowering. She sways on the spot; it seems the sudden head rush of standing too quickly is making her woozy. She leans her backside against the table’s edge and grips it with white-knuckled fingers. Her eyes cross and she blinks to refocus. “After I realized one of you is trying to sabotage me, I made two changes to the mission parameters beginning with the acquisitions list. You might want to take a look.”
Nico pulls the file up on the Comm Panel and scrolls through the list. “What the hell?” he says, bristling. “You’ve added a full page of stuff to the inventory.”
“Twenty-Five new items added, to be exact,” Becca says. “For now.”
“For now?” Fagin and I repeat, in unison.
“I have a rather extensive list of items that can be added at any time, depending on your level of cooperation. The more you fight me the longer the list gets.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding-”
“You want more? That can be arranged.”
We’re toe-to-toe and as much as I want to remind her how much she reeks, the reality of her self-promotion is sinking in. Not wanting to blink or look away, I reluctantly take a small step backward.
“That’s what I thought.”
Her smugness is unbearable; beads of sweat pop up on the nape of my neck in response. Fagin places her hand at the small of my back and whispers
