John Ringo - Cally's War

“Oh yeah! They’re really good. The lead singer was in my unit at basic. They got special permission to wear civvies for their shows. It’s, like, a revival of classical heavy metal, but with all their own music. They never do more than one cover song in a show. So, do you like music?”

Yes, which is why I suspect this is going to be painful. Not to mention trashing my hearing before a mission when I’m not going to be able to have it fixed on the slab. So, call it a wash and go, or try to get laid? Damned midlife hormones. It’s as bad as being a seventeen-year-old boy. But most women would object if rejuv turned the clock back too far on their hormones. Damned idiots. “I love live music! Heavy metal, huh? Classical martial music is so cool.”

She absentmindedly sank the nine in the side pocket not blocked by the four.

“I’m glad I didn’t bet you money, milady.” He eyed the thirteen sitting behind the two and six, and the ten against the bumper.

“Yeah, I’m having some really good luck tonight. I was sure I wasn’t going to make that bank shot, and now I’ve got to bank again. ” She waved a hand casually, walking around the table and settling her hip on it to get the cue at the necessary angle behind her back.

“Do you need the bridge?”

“I should, but I can’t use one worth a damn,” she lied, knocking the cue ball off the side so that it banked back towards the other balls, missing them by at least an inch each way before leaving him with a nice straight shot at the six. I deeply doubt he can drop five balls in one run, but, hell, he’s got a sporting chance. At this game, anyway. “ Oops, air ball. Your turn.”

She curled around the cue and fluttered her eyelashes at him, making a little moue of sympathy as he tripped slightly on the way to the table. Yes, that was your tongue you tripped over. Good boy. She walked around the table to be almost next to him, but not in the way.

He licked his lips, hitting the cue ball just a bit too hard and watching it follow the six into the pocket. He grimaced and put the ball back on the table, placing the cue ball into her outstretched hand.

“Another bank shot,” she pouted. “I think I’m going to have to knock it off the two into the corner pocket.” She placed the ball and made her shot, catching the thirteen from behind and grazing the two with it just enough to correct the trajectory and sink it easily with a nice setup for the ten in the side pocket, which she sank easily. She gestured to the eight ball. “Side pocket.” Endgame.

“Play again?” He gave her a slightly pained good-sport grin.

“Sure.” She grabbed a bite of sashimi and started racking them up. Behind the stage a pair of young men in jeans and T-shirts, one of them shaved bald, were unrolling a banner that proclaimed the group to be “The Awesome God.” Cally suppressed a wince. Definitely painful, if that says anything about their originality…

His break dropped the one and the thirteen. “So, what kind of music do you listen to, Marilyn?”

“Depends on what mood I’m in. Mostly a mix of organic and antimatter fusion. I’m pretty eclectic, though. You know, sometimes I’ll throw in some old Urb jam or some classical.”

“What kinds of classical?”

“Plain old martial, mostly. You know, Nirvana, Van Halen. Anything but some chick named Alanys something. What a whiner!”

“Oh, I think I’ve heard her. My ex-girlfriend had some really weird cubes.” He made a nice shot, except for scratching.

It could be worse. I could be sitting in the hotel staring at the walls. She knocked three balls in before throwing a shot to go back to her beer. She was just reaching her chair when the first loud wave of distortion that might have very generously been called a chord assaulted her ears. Ow.

Evidently the bald guy was the lead singer and lead guitar. The bassist and drummer had added a pair of rather unconvincing “metal” wigs to their ensembles. Oh, gag, she smiled grimly, hang him up by his thumbs… no, too trite… his big toes. Over a bubbling vat of molten limburger cheese. With his own personal headphones tuned perpetually to the whiny chick and sappy elevator music. Unroll his guts and put fire ants on them, one at a time. Really pissed-off fire ants. And the bassist… um… the weird sappy Canadian chick for him. And breaking on the wheel. I’ve never done that to anybody. Yeah. That’ll work. And the drummer. Naked in a vibrating vat of sand and poison ivy. And mosquitoes. Texas mosquitoes. To strains of the guy who sang that lame song about the dove. He oughtta last a gooood long time —

“Isn’t it great!”

Cally jumped about a foot in the air, looking back as he leaned over her shoulder, and nodded at him cheerfully.

My god, he actually came up behind me? I must really be pissed off. Awesome God? God awful is more like it. She suppressed a sigh. Okay, boring, repetitive, ear-splitting music is not sanctioned grounds for homicide. But dammit it should be. They should change that rule. Screw it. The damned hotel is better than this.

“It’s fabulous , but I’ve got to go.” She hunted around frantically for an excuse. “I just remembered it’s my grandmother’s birthday and I promised I’d call her.” She smiled apologetically and stood, taking her beer with her as she edged through the crowd towards the door and away from that god awful noise.

Of course he followed her out.

“It’s too bad you have to leave. We were having so much fun together. So, can I walk you to your car or something?”

“I’m taking the train.”

His face fell slightly, then brightened a bit. “It’s just across the street. I’ll walk you over. Pretty girl like you, you don’t want to be alone in a base town after dark. Especially on a weekend. I mean, I’d hope nobody would bother you, but, you know, sailors…” He trailed off, falling into step beside her as she walked to the corner and checked for traffic.

The parking lot of the train station had several dark areas here and there where a lamp had burned out and not been replaced, including one by a moderate-sized island of trees and bushes. She looked at him speculatively as they were passing close to it, taking his hand and pulling him into the shadows.

It was some time later when they stepped back out and resumed the short trek to the train. He had his arm around her shoulder and kissed her hair gently, seeming to want to make the walk last as long as possible.

Cally just concentrated on trying to walk normally. Well, that was a complete waste of time. Still, she leaned into him and smiled sweetly. No point in being a poor sport about it. About a four and a half on a scale of one to ten. That odd metallic smell to his sweat is… not erotic at all. Neither was his mouth left flopping open like a dead fish half the time. This is just not my night. He looked cute enough…

“So, uh, if I had your phone number we could, you know, keep in touch,” he offered hopefully.

“Sure. Got a pen?” She rattled off a random number that could plausibly be from Chicago and kissed him passionately before putting her token in the box and walking through the turnstile. She could hear the screech of the rails from an incoming train, as she walked to a good place on the sparsely populated platform. It came rattling in and pulled to a stop, and when the doors opened she boarded and found a seat. She didn’t look back.

She looked at her watch. Only ten-thirty. I’m definitely not turning into a pumpkin tonight. Oh well, sleep is good.

The three a.m. trip out to squeal a download from her cameras was not fun. Somehow knowing she was just driving near enough to get a line of sight download and then going back to the hotel to bed made it harder. It wasn’t even worth grabbing a cup of coffee from a convenience store. She crawled back into bed a bit over an hour and a half after she left it and then tossed and turned for another two hours on the too-soft hotel pillow and saggy mattress before finally getting back to sleep.