Dash’s tablet beeped at her as the document Chance had flicked popped up. She studied it for a moment. “Custom Med Bays by Dash,” she muttered. “I am afraid to ask what this is.” She looked lower on the screen. “But whatever it is, you seem eager to give me a lot of money for it.”
Dmitri roared with laughter. “The med bay you forced me to put on the Buccaneer is magnificent. Not only is it wonderful, but it was wondrously expensive. I’ve been telling my other friends with mega-yachts about it, and they all want one. Except, of course, they want one that’s even better than mine.”
Chance picked up the story. “So Dmitri came to me with a business proposition. He figured it would be hard to get you to sign up. And you have too much other work to do, anyway, not the least of which is a saving
