John Ringo: Cally's War

She felt a bit guilty. She’d been having herself a good mope, but Tommy and Granpa had obviously been worried sick. She was going to have to at least, well, talk and things, so that they could go get some sleep and do whatever they needed to do.

After all, she had a whole rejuvenated lifetime to look forward to. Oh, joy. She pulled her mind back from the pit by main force. One day at a time.

She peeked out the door. She wasn’t supposed to be seen by the crew, but she didn’t really care at the moment. Fortunately, none of them were around. She grabbed a laundered jumpsuit, a clean towel, and a few of the jumble of toiletries Tommy had gotten her. She wrinkled her nose at her own stink. She needed a shower. She really needed a shower.

Fortunately, freight crew who didn’t have the night shift weren’t exactly early risers. Well, this crew wasn’t, anyway. Good. No underwear, but it couldn’t be helped. She could buy some stuff down on Selene Base. If she didn’t get some fresh underwear, she was gonna kill somebody. Okay, well, not literally. She sighed. It was going to be a hell of a long road back.

Granpa didn’t wake up until almost nine thirty. She only got him to go off to his own cabin for some real sleep by faithfully promising to say more than two words a day to him when he came back.

“I’ll… be okay eventually, Granpa. Well, mostly. Just, not yet. I can’t be okay yet. Go get some real sleep. I need to catch the shuttle down and buy some stuff.”

“I’ll go with you,” he said.

“Granpa, I need some shop time alone. Call it retail therapy if it makes you feel better. Look, I promise the very first thing I’ll do is buy myself a PDA and call you and give you the number, okay?”

“If this is what you need, but Cally if you do anything stupid or dangerous I swear I’ll hunt you down and haunt you.”

“I’m… not even thinking about something that dumb. I just need time. Uh, Granpa?”

“Yeah?”

“Could I borrow a credit card?”

It had been a hard day of shopping. She had dropped most of her packages off at the freight loading zone. The shuttle pilot had asked about her injuries. Fortunately, she’d been able to explain them away as injuries from the mugging — mostly sprains and bruises that had looked worse than they were. They hadn’t seen her at all in over a week, so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

Granpa had quit worrying so much once she checked back in and he had her back on e-mail and knew her plans.

She had set herself one firm homework assignment for this evening. She had never been less in a partying mood in her life, but by God she was going to sit in a bar and take one full drink, without chugging it, before she found quarters for the night. The freight shuttle wouldn’t be taking its next load up until early afternoon tomorrow.

Hell, she might just stay dirtside for a few days. Or not. One day at a time.

She was standing in front of a bar the new buckley said was commonly frequented by freighter crews and others on the way from here to there. Her black catsuit was likely to get her quite a bit of attention, but she had seen it in the shop and hadn’t been able to resist it for sentimental reasons. This one fit a little better than the last one — she’d lost weight over the past two weeks, between one thing and another. One day at a time. Hell, one minute at a time. I will go in and order a drink. One drink in a social place. Then I can go find some quarters to hide in for the night.

It wasn’t the happiest drink she’d ever had. She found herself ditching the occasional pest who tried to pick her up and desultorily sipping at the strawberry margarita in front of her, resisting the temptation to guzzle it just so she could leave. I should have known it was too good to last. No, dammit! One day at a time.

She heard another damn pest walk up to interrupt her drink and sighed.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked.

“It is unless you can lick your own eyebrows!” Oh, God. Why did I have to say that.

“How do you think I do my hair?”

Her sudden grip on his hand was white-knuckled for a few moments before softening. There had to have been a good reason. After all, there often was for this kind of thing.

The base seemed empty with so few Indowy in it. Aelool’s clan was quite small by Indowy standards, and he hadn’t been able to afford to bring enough inside to replace the losses. Clan Beilil had sided with Aelool’s clan, their debt to the O’Neal clan was vast beyond measure, but the absence of the rest of the Indowy Bane Sidhe was palpable.

It made Cally appreciate even more that Aelool had made time to come down to talk to her. It had taken some doing to arrange this. The owner of the Irish Bar at Titan Base’s shuttleport had no doubt wondered why someone had wanted an order of the bar’s promotional T-shirts and shot glasses shipped all the way to Earth, but her FedCreds spent just as well as anyone else’s. That the shipment really was T-shirts and shot glasses would never occur to anyone who might check up on her later.

“For what it’s worth, Miss O’Neal, I think you’re doing the right thing in taking a sabbatical to have children. I’m sure we all understand that in the circumstances of your loss you would prefer not to add a mate to the mix. Besides, Clan O’Neal, though small, is more than capable of providing you all the social support human children need to thrive.” He paused delicately. “Have you selected a donor?”

Cally stuck a hand in her purse and came up with a handful of field issue biosample cubes.

“I had learned to cache anything I might need someday by the time I was eight.” Her smile was bittersweet. If he mistook the reason, that was just perfect for their purposes.

“Oh.” He looked nonplussed for a moment, before recovering. “I’m sure that will be a great comfort to you.”