Frank clears his throat awkwardly. “You alright, Ms. Hunter? ‘Bout gave me a heart attack there.”
“I’m good,” I promise, wiping my hair out of my face. “Just, y’know, genetically clumsy. Sorry. Proceed.”
“Right.” He squints at me for another second before turning and lifting up a curtain of plastic sheeting. “Uh, the station is just through here.”
We form a half-circle in front of the truffle oil station. It’s like a giant church organ, insanely complex, pipes and wires running every which way.
I glance at Bastian, but he’s saying nothing and gazing strangely into the distance, so I take the lead. “Pretend I don’t know anything and tell me what’s going on,” I instruct him.
With a cough, Frank launches into his explanation. “So basically, the original specs called for a standard commer
