Till the Conflict Is Over by Michael A. Hooten

Author:Michael A. Hooten [Hooten, Michael A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-06-29T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

I tried not to be bitter about it, but I did fight it. Even though it may have been the fleet admiral who said it, there's always a technicality that can get around things.

But not this time. I even had my Grandpa inquire through all of his connections, but there was no special out for me. I was stuck. They cut the orders, and I left the Lincoln and boarded a fast transport from Mars to the moon.

A month-long nap should be refreshing, but it just leaves you disoriented. Katy had missed me, but I hadn't been able to miss her, and it made things awkward for a bit. Same with all the other people in my life, though I spoke to few of them as regularly. I emailed Meyers as soon as I could, and his response was as terse as I expected: Glad you made it. Good luck. That made me miss him pretty intensely.

But I got to Port Houston without much problem and checked in with the base. The Niagra was out and wouldn't be back for two weeks; they put me on Temporary Assigned Duty, told me where to find my bunk, and gave me a contact for the next day: OS1 Ballun.

I found my bunk, got my stuff somewhat arranged, and headed out to see if I could find some chow. An older woman in the common room stopped me by saying, “Petty Officer Wright?”

“Yes ma'am,” I answered.

“Oh, you don’t need to be formal,” she said, holding out her hand. “My name is Kathleen Sanderson, but you can just call me Kathleen.”

“My friends call me Pete,” I said, shaking her hand. She wasn't wearing any kind of uniform or badge but had an air of being in charge. “Are you some kind of ombudsman or something?” I asked.

“Oh, heavens no,” she said. “I just take care of the newbies and such that end up here.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, still not sure what to make of her. “I just was on my way to get something to eat. Can you recommend someplace?”

“What do you like?”

“It's probably a long shot, but are there any Tex-Mex places?”

She smiled. “In a place called Port Houston? We have a dozen or more. Come on, I'll take you to my favorite.”

As we left the barracks, and throughout our walk to the restaurant, it seemed like every other person said hello to Kathleen, and most of those addressed her as Mom. I wondered about it, but I also scanned the people we passed for potential threats—and the security personnel I knew still watched over me. Fortunately, I saw none of the former, but I did pick out several of the latter. Which meant there were perhaps a dozen I didn't see.

It only took about twenty minutes of walking to get to the big food court, but Kathleen led me through it down a side passage to a little place called Amigos. I kind of expected her to leave at that point, but the hostess greeted her and asked her if she wanted her normal table.

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