“They sell weapons,” Hit answers at once. “Increased revenues.”
“But to achieve that,” Vel continues, “they need to discredit Sirantha, not execute her.”
“If you do that again, I will
kill
you.” Hit glares at him. “I’m not kidding.”
My eyebrows feel like they’re shooting off the top of my head. “She can do what now? How?”
Hit smiles. “If I told you that, I’d have to kill you.”
“That’s all behind me,” she says quietly. “I’m a mechanic now.”
“I’m going to go see what Hit’s up to.” The way she leaves makes me sure I’ve struck a sore spot.
After a brief pause, the bot answers, “Vel.”
Well, that doesn’t tell me much. Thankfully, it doesn’t matter.
“If it contains citric acid, I will become ill. Thus, I must decline.”