Love and Rockets Part 16

"Just because I'm in the military doesn't mean we can't be together," she said.

"And just when are we going to see each other?" Seth said. "Your drill sergeant's not going to let you leave campus every night to hang out with me."

"What's your problem?" Chloe said as she blinked. "I can't believe you're not happy for me." She crossed her arms and scowled. The look of determination in her eyes chilled him. She really meant to do this. "I guess all that talk yesterday about me getting into another school was bulls.h.i.+t?"

"That's not fair and you know it," he said.

"Whatever," she said. He had never seen such cold fury in her eyes before. "You didn't want me to get into another flight school because you knew it'd take me away from you. You wanted me to follow you to Billsken the whole time."

"Last I heard, the casualty rate of flight schools were less than one percent. What's it in the military? Thirty? You do the math." His voice shook and he looked away. He didn't want her to see the tears in his eyes. "What's wrong with worrying about your girlfriend? What's so bad about wanting to be together forever?" Seth said.

Chloe's features softened. "Nothing." She grabbed his hand and intertwined her fingers with his. "But I have to do this. I would really like your support."

"You could have waited until you heard from the other schools," he said.

"I don't think it would have changed my decision." She squeezed his hand. "Signing the paperwork felt right."

Seth shook his head. "I don't want to lose you."

"Don't think about that," she touched his face. "Promise me you'll focus on the bright side. Okay?"

"Okay," he said even though he couldn't see one.

Chloe checked the time. "Dad's going to be home soon. I need to start fixing dinner."

Seth nodded. "I'll call you later."

"I'd like that," she said as she kissed him good-bye. He watched her dance around the living room as the door swooshed closed between them.

Seth managed to make it to the middle of the s.h.i.+p before his thoughts caught up to him. Chloe's joining the military. She could get maimed or killed. I could never see her again. Helpless anger welled up inside him and he punched the wall. The impact reverberated all the way up to his shoulder as pain exploded in his hand. He welcomed it; he could deal with physical pain way better than watching Chloe throw her life away. He rubbed a b.l.o.o.d.y knuckle as more thoughts tumbled inside him. This can't be happening. This shouldn't be happening. She should have gotten into Ithaca. She had the grades, I know she did, I don't care what Mom says.

Seth's breath caught in his chest. He'd said it himself: his mother was on the board of trustees at Ithaca. What if she'd kept Chloe out of the school? If she had done that, it wasn't too far to think she could pull strings and keep Chloe out of all the flight schools. His body tingled and he forgot about the pain in his hand. He needed to know the truth.

By the time Seth barged into the executive offices of Genesis and walked toward his mom's office, his anger had gone from supernova to black hole. He intended to find out exactly what his mom had done to Chloe.

"She's in a meeting," his mother's a.s.sistant, Linda, called from her desk.

"I don't care," he said.

"She can't be disturbed," she said. She sounded-not scared, exactly, but tense-and Seth stopped.

"I don't care," Seth said again.

Linda blanched. Apparently, she'd been on the receiving end of his mother's tirades enough to know that this interruption wouldn't go unpunished. Seth felt sorry for her, but not sorry enough to schedule an appointment. Lords, it was only his whole life. His mom could stop working long enough to answer his questions. He scanned his thumb on the pad by the door. It opened to reveal her flipping screens on her desktop.

"Thought you were in a meeting," he said as the door whooshed shut behind him. The air felt cool against his skin, and he could smell his mom's cup of hot tea from across the room.

"I didn't want to be disturbed," she said. She didn't look up.

Her distraction flared his anger even more. "What did you do to Chloe?"

She looked up, her face unreadable. "What do you mean?"

"Chloe's joining the military to become a pilot."

She gave him a cool look. "What are you suggesting?"

A muscle in Seth's jaw twitched. "I think you know."

She turned her attention back to the desktop. "If you have something to say, say it. I can't listen to your yammering all afternoon."

Seth clenched his fists and opened the scab that had begun to form on his right hand. "Did you keep Chloe out of Ithaca?" He said as his knuckle throbbed.

"It sounds like you're trying to blame me for a smart decision on Chloe's part."

Seth threw up his hands. "What part of Chloe getting killed is a smart decision?"

She flipped a screen on the desktop. "Are you saying she's not smart enough to stay alive in the military? I expected you to think more of her."

Seth took a deep breath to collect himself. Don't let her goad you. "Answer the question."

"Does it matter?" She flipped another screen and shuffled a few others around.

He seethed. He should have known better than to try and direct this conversation. The only game his mom played was her own. "You know it does. You never liked Chloe and you don't want us to have a future together."

"It doesn't," she said again, a faint look of smug superiority on her face. "Let's say for the sake of argument I did. You should thank me for showing you who Chloe really is."

Seth's heart beat hard. So she had made a call. This is as close as an admission his mother ever gave. "Thank you? For what?"

Mom leaned back in her chair and ran a hand over her severe bun. "Girls like that don't have as many choices in life as you do," she said. "She held you back."

Seth gaped at her a moment before saying, "Girls like her."

Mom's eyes flashed. "Girls from the back of the s.h.i.+p. The ones that attach themselves to rich boys and expect that life will be full of beef and champagne."

"Chloe's not like that," Seth said through gritted teeth.

"She's not?" Mom said as she smirked. "Then I suppose it's a coincidence that this mechanic's daughter who wants to be a pilot just happened to fall in love with a boy whose mother owns the biggest fleet of s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps in the quadrant? A boy who will, also coincidently, one day own that business?"

"Chloe's not like that," he said again, this time with even more venom. She's not. She loves me. She wouldn't have used me like that. Mom's playing her usual mind games. "I told you I wouldn't listen to you disparage Chloe. Don't ever talk about her like that again."

"Besides," mom continued, "if she really loved you as much as you loved her, she'd have stayed here for you."

"Don't make her the bad guy in this-"

"She'd have followed you to Billsken. Do you really want a woman who puts her career before you?"

Seth anger turned cold. "Sounds like you, Mom," he spat before turning and walking from the office.

He seethed as he left her office. The events of the past few days tumbled in his mind. Billsken, Ithaca, Chloe, his mother, his ch.o.r.eographed future. Seth knew two facts for certain: he loved Chloe, and he wouldn't allow his mother to run his life any longer. He looked at his Messenger. If he hurried he'd make it. He jogged to the business district of Genesis and arrived at the recruitment office just as an officer turned off the lights.

"Excuse me, sir," Seth said, his heart pounding. "I'd like to talk to you about joining."

The man weighed Seth with his eyes. He must have seen Seth's resolve, because he spoke a code word and the lights came back on. "Come on in, son, and let's talk about it."

Resolute tranquility enveloped him. "Nothing to talk about," Seth said. "I want to join." As he spoke the words, he knew what Chloe had been talking about. This felt right. If Chloe loved you she'd have followed you, his mom had said. Maybe. Maybe not. His mother hadn't bargained on Seth loving Chloe enough to follow her.

MUSIC IN TIME.

Dean Wesley Smith.

The bright light from the Benson s.p.a.ce Station sundeck made the inside of Scott's Tavern as black as the insides of an ore carrier. The thick musty smell of the bar, comfortable herbal smoke, and, rich odor of beer wrapped around me like a wh.o.r.e's arms, dragging me into the dark. It was cool inside, making sweat break out on my forehead.

A whole lot cooler than that stupid sundeck. Whoever thought of putting a station tube made of mostly windows open to the closest sun on a s.p.a.ce station should be shot. Idiots in bathing suits actually laid on lounges, more than likely frying what little brains they had left.

I let the door slam behind me, closing off the sundeck heat, and stood there for a moment, fighting for my eyes to adjust, letting the cool air relax me. I knew Scott's Tavern wasn't really dark, but until my eyes adjusted, it sure seemed that way.

"Yo, Danny," a voice said from the shadows in the direction I knew the bar was. "Bright out there, huh?"

The voice was Carl's, the owner of Scott's Tavern. Carl had bought the place after Scott died in a shuttle accident a few years back.

"Like walkin' on the d.a.m.n sun," I said.

My eyes had adjusted enough for me to see the tables and chairs, so I started toward my normal bar stool. Carl was already sliding a beer onto a coaster just like he had done for me hundreds of times over the last few years.

I could see the shadows of a couple at a table, and one woman bent over her drink at the bar, two stools down from mine. Steve usually sat on that stool later in the night. Steve actually had a real job on the unloading pylons. Middle of the afternoon was too early for him.

I had no job, hadn't found one in a year of searching, and had basically given up at this point. I was going to die on this stupid s.p.a.ce station orbiting a star with a name I can't even p.r.o.nounce. This morning I hocked my old guitar. I used to think I was going to take the Old Earth Country Music world by storm. I dreamed of selling millions, having fans want my autograph, be in demand by women, the whole deal.

Fat chance that was going to happen. I couldn't even find a d.a.m.n job flipping burgers or cleaning up shuttles or mopping the stupid hallway floors.

I had used the money from the guitar to buy enough food to last for a week, and I had enough money left over to drink myself into a blind drunk tonight. What I would do for tomorrow's drinking money I would worry about tomorrow.

d.a.m.n, I was going to miss that guitar. It had been like a best friend to me for twenty years. My first and only wife told me I loved the d.a.m.n guitar more than her, and the b.i.t.c.h had been right about that toward the end of our marriage.

Man, how had I gotten so low as to hawk my guitar for food and drink money?

I shook the thought away, ignored the twisting in my stomach that I had made a fatal mistake, and climbed onto the stool. Coming to this stupid s.p.a.ce station had been my fatal mistake. The promise of a gig here fell through twenty minutes after my s.h.i.+p arrived and I've been stuck ever since.

I grabbed the beer and held on for dear life. The gla.s.s was cool and wet and felt d.a.m.ned good after the heat on that sundeck. Actually, it felt good for a bunch more reasons than just the heat. I downed half, letting the wonderful taste wash away some of the regrets like I had taken a big-a.s.s pill.

I then took out the fifty station credits I had on a chip and slid it across the bar toward Carl. "When that's gone, kick me out of here."

"You got it," Carl said.

He started to pick up the credits when the woman two stools over said, "Hold on a minute."

Both Carl and I glanced at her. Even with my eyes still not completely adjusted to the dim light yet, I could see her well enough.

She had on the traditional s.p.a.ce wear business jacket, dark s.h.i.+rt, no tie. Her pants matched her jacket, and I could tell she spent far too much time on her short, blonde hair.

I couldn't get the color of her eyes, but I was betting blue.

She was shorter than I was by a distance and looked to be athletic, not extra hyped up like some women were today. She seemed natural and aging normal, just like I was. I liked that.

She didn't look the type to be in Scott's place at this time of the afternoon, let alone picking up some loser like me. I hadn't had a real woman look twice at me in longer than I wanted to think about.

More than likely that was because I had nothing to offer any woman, hadn't cut my brown hair in half a year, and didn't have a non-wrinkled s.h.i.+rt to my name.

"That one's on me," she said, indicating my half-finished beer. "And you may not want another after what I've got to say to you."

Carl and I both just stared at her, then finally Carl just shrugged, as any good bartender would, took the price of my beer from the chip in front her, and turned away.

"And why would something you've got to say stop me from having a few drinks?"

The woman shrugged. "I got a job for you if you're up for it."

My stomach clamped tight at the idea of getting a job, earning enough to get my guitar back. Could something like that actually happen? Could I actually get so d.a.m.ned lucky?

I stared at the woman, her thin face, and faint smile. I had never met her before, that I could remember, and I couldn't imagine what kind of job she might have. Or what type of job that would need a drunk from a bar to do.

But d.a.m.ned if she wasn't good looking. Even a loser like me could notice that I suppose.

I turned back to my beer and took another long drink, almost finis.h.i.+ng it. My fifty credits still sat on the bar in front of the beer, waiting for me to drink it away. And I had no doubt I was going to do just that, even with a nut case sitting two stools down from me. But it was nice of her to buy me the first one.

She scooted her stool back with a sc.r.a.ping sound, then reached down into the darkness below her and pulled up a guitar case. She put the case up on the bar between us. "I think you lost this."

I stared at the old case, the once-broken upper latch, the faded sticker from a trip I had taken to the New Mexico Star Cl.u.s.ter for a gig ten years ago. I had figured when I walked out of that p.a.w.nshop this morning I would never see it again.

My stomach felt like someone had kicked me.

"My guitar," I said, my voice soft. I wanted to reach out and clutch it like a long lost child, but instead I just turned to stare at the woman. "How did you get it?"

"I bought it out of hock for you this morning, on the a.s.surance to the man in the shop I would take it to you." The woman laughed to herself. "I had to pay him a little extra to let me take it though."

She slid the guitar another few inches toward me. "It's yours. All I ask is you consider doing one job for me in return."

I looked at the case, then back at her. "A few answers first. How did you know I had hocked the thing? And how do you even know I want it back?"

She sort of shrugged and smiled, the smile of an insurance agent.

I was right. Her eyes were blue. I wondered if any of her appearance was actually real. It looked real, unaltered. But with enough money, looking natural could be bought these days and she looked like she had enough money to do just that.

"I happened to see you coming out of the p.a.w.nshop, so I went in and asked what you had sold. When I heard it was your guitar, I knew you could help me."