3
It was Saturday afternoon before Lon got to look Bascombe East over. Lieutenant Shaesel Ourf drove him.
“My platoon sergeant can handle anything that comes up,” Ourf assured Lon. “Doesn’t really matter that we’ve got R&D people in. They pretty much stick to themselves, unless they want something.” Ourf wore civilian clothes. Lon had to make do with a khaki staff uniform. He had not brought civilian clothes along.
“It’s not as if they can’t get hold of us if they really want to,” Lon said. Both officers had pocket radios to connect them to their platoon sergeants and the research people.
“Well, it’s not too likely that the R&D people will show up in town. If we see them, they’re as likely to pretend they don’t know us as anything. The civilians are booked at the hotel for the weekend, but the ones I’ve seen here in the past tend to stay with their abracadabra machines pretty much all the time.”
“I couldn’t wait to get away from it.” Lon shook his head. In two days, only six tests had been run, with mixed results. One capsule had gone completely haywire when the retros were fired, and the shuttle had been forced to shoot it down before it could stray from the airspace over the proving ground. The other five had all been maneuvered in, but the time spent getting them in had been marginal—according to Deradier.
“I’d offer you the full tour of Bascombe East,” Ourf said as they reached the town, “but you can see it all from here. My suggestion is that we head straight for the pub.”
Lon laughed. “Sounds good to me. What are the locals like?”
“Peaceful sorts. Life runs a lot slower in Bascombe East than in the city. Like I said, a couple of hundred people live in town. Farmers come in from about twenty miles around, those who don’t want to go as far as Donnelly or Jameson.” Those were the nearest sizable towns—though neither could boast more than fifteen hundred residents. “Saturday and Sunday are the big days, even when there aren’t soldiers in from Nassau. Folks come for dinner and maybe a drink or three. Later on, in the fall, they have a theater group, amateur stuff. Put on their shows in the hotel ballroom.”
“Sounds like more fun than fancy balls at headquarters,” Lon said. Ourf laughed but didn’t argue the point.
The pub was The Winking Eye. Its sign was holographic. The eye did appear to wink as a person moved. Inside, there was an amber cast to everything. The lights were a dusty yellow. After the brightness of the clear afternoon outside, it seemed almost dark. Lon noticed the smell of beer as soon as the door opened, and felt warmth pouring out through the opening.
“That’s one thing I’ve noticed,” Ourf said softly. “They keep the place too damn hot for comfort. I guess they think folks’ll drink more to cool off.”
“Bet it works,” Lon replied.
They headed directly for the bar. The barman grinned when he saw Ourf. “Afternoon, Lieutenant,” he said in a loud, cheerful voice. “Didn’t realize your lads were back at the Boomer. What can I get for you, beer?”
“Beer for both of us, Mr. Pine,” Ourf said. “My friend here is Lieutenant Lon Nolan. He and his men are out at Nassau to help with some tests.”
“Good afternoon, Lieutenant Nolan,” Pine said. “First round’s on me. Drew the short straw for guinea pigs, did you?”
Lon smiled. “I guess you could say that. Makes a change though, and welcome at that. Pleasant place you have here.”
“I like to think so.” He drew the beers while he talked and set them in front of the lieutenants. “If you’d like to eat later, we have a ripping good pot roast, with all the trimmings.”
“Sounds good.” Ourf turned to Lon. “Mrs. Pine does the cooking, and you’d have to travel a far piece to find better.”
“My mouth’s watering already, Mr. Pine,” Lon said. “One of my best childhood memories is Sunday pot roast. I expect it’ll taste every bit as good on a Saturday.”
“Just give a shout when you’re ready to tuck in,” Pine said.
Shaesel and Lon exchanged glances, then both turned back toward Pine. “Now seems as good a time as any,” Ourf said.
“Find yourselves a table.” There were two vacant. The other three had one or two people each, and there were four other customers at the bar. “I’ll have Sara bring your supper out.”
“Sara his wife?” Lon asked as they took seats at the table nearest the rear of the room.
Shaesel chuckled. “His wife’s name is Mildred. Sara’s his daughter. And something else!”
Lon had started to raise his stein but stopped before it reached his lips. “That good, huh?”
“Just wait till you see her.”
“You’ve definitely piqued my curiosity.” Lon took his sip of beer, then adjusted his chair so it gave him a better view of the door that appeared to lead to the kitchen. He leaned back and drank casually over the next few minutes.
A young redheaded woman came out of the kitchen, carrying a tray. She wore a long white apron over a pale green dress. Even from across the room, she appeared strikingly beautiful. Lon’s impression grew stronger as she came toward him. He set his beer down, almost missing the table.
“Two pot roast dinners,” Sara announced when she arrived. Her voice was cheerful, light, and she was smiling. “Good to see you back, Lieutenant Ourf.” She gave Lon a sidelong glance.
“Sara, this is Lon Nolan. He’s in at Nassau for the next week or so. Lon, this is Sara Pine.” Lon didn’t notice Ourf’s grin. Neither did Sara. She was looking at Lon.
“Good afternoon, Lieutenant,” Sara said. “A pleasure to have you here.” She set the plates, napkins, and silverware on the table in front of the officers. “I hope you’ll both enjoy your dinner.”
“I’m sure we will,” Lon said. He hoped he wasn’t stammering but he wasn’t sure. His eyes were too full of the view.
Sara smiled even more broadly, then turned and headed back to the kitchen. Lon stared after her, and was not even embarrassed when she glanced over her shoulder just before she reached the door and saw that he was still looking. She winked, then disappeared through the doorway.
“That,” Shaesel said after a half minute, “is Sara.” Lon was still looking at the door, as if hoping that she would come back for a curtain call. “Don’t let your food get cold, Lon. And quit drooling. Officers aren’t supposed to drool.”
That took a few seconds to register. Lon turned back toward the table, shaking his head slowly. He looked at the food—ample portions of meat, browned potatoes, and carrots—then glanced at Shaesel. “Is she married or anything?”
Ourf had already started to eat. He paused with his fork in midair. “Not that I know of, but it’s been a couple of weeks since the last time I was in here. Go ahead, eat. You don’t want to insult her mother’s cooking.”
That seemed to penetrate. Lon started eating, but he had difficulty concentrating. He kept looking for Sara. When she came out with a tray for another table, Lon’s head turned and he nearly missed his mouth with a forkful of food. He set the fork down and gave Shaesel a sheepish look.
“I don’t usually get so distracted by a pretty girl,” he said. “Never like this.”
“At least it shows you’re not dead. How’s the food?”
Lon looked startled. Food was the last thing on his mind. “Good,” he said after a hesitation. “Excellent, I guess.”
“And you’ve been going at it like cold leftovers from the worst mess hall in the Corps,” Ourf accused. “Take a deep breath, take a drink, and pay attention to what you’re eating. You won’t find better even in the senior officers’ mess at headquarters.”
It was difficult, but Lon did manage to focus on his food for a couple of minutes. It was good, the best he could remember, and it deserved to be savored. “I’m really not like this most times,” Lon said after pausing to take a long drink of beer. Sara had gone back to the kitchen.
“I’d almost say that she seems quite taken with you, too,” Ourf said, catching a hint of Sara looking out through the kitchen door, holding it just barely ajar. “Too bad you’re only here for a week.”
Lon blinked twice, then looked directly at the other lieutenant. “Have you always had this trace of sadism?”
“Always,” Ourf said, laughing. “My greatest failing. I guess that’s why I joined the MPs.”
Sara came out to ask how the meal was. “Excellent, as always,” Shaesel Ourf said.
“The b-best I can recall,” Lon stammered, feeling his face flush, and feeling even more embarrassed at the way Sara grinned at him in reply.
“Can I get either of you another beer?” she asked then.
“I think we could both use one,” Shaesel said, sparing Lon the chore of another reply.
“Right away,” Sara promised, heading toward the bar.
“You ought to get out more,” Shaesel said, leaning closer to Lon. “A pretty girl always get you so tongue-tied?”
“Not like this.” Lon took a deep breath. “Never like this. Is it just me, or does she affect everyone the same way?”
“More or less, at least the first time.”
“What about you? You have designs on her?”
Ourf laughed. “My wife would kill me. That’s something else about being a military cop. There’s no pressure to stay single until you’re over the hill. MP companies go out on combat contracts only a little more often than pigs fly. Long contracts with a lot of time in between, mostly. My company hasn’t been off-planet in fourteen years. But if I were single….” He didn’t bother to finish the thought. He didn’t have to.
Lon hurried to finish his beer before Sara arrived with its replacement. “I’ll be back to clear your plates away when you’ve finished,” she said, smiling but looking only at Lon.
“I swear, you must have affected her the same way she affects you,” Shaesel said after she left again. “I see her quite a bit, see her smile and then forget a new lad, except for normal courtesy, but she’s going out of her way. Maybe you ought to chat her up, even if you’re only going to be here a week.”
Lon nearly choked on the food he was attempting to swallow. He coughed a couple of times into his napkin, then washed the food down with beer. “I don’t know if I’d remember how to act,” he said. “Back in the city, there are the girls of Camo Town and the princesses at the formal balls, and I don’t think Sara fits either category.”
“You’re right there, but then, officers are supposed to be resourceful.”
Lon looked at the kitchen door, then toward the bar, where Sara’s father was busily wiping the counter. “I should have a word with Mr. Pine, tell him that my boys will be around for the next week, that sort of thing.”
“He’s a good sort. Anyone from Nassau gets a little rowdy, he gives me a call and we come and slap a killjoy on the lad’s arm and make sure he pays for any damages and apologizes. Then it’s all been said and done. Never had the same lad get out of line twice here—mine or visitors in like your lot.”
“Still …”
“Finish your supper. Then you can compliment him on his wife’s cooking, too,” Shaesel said with a chuckle. “This is a real homey place, not like anything you’ve ever seen in Camo Town—unless it’s changed a lot since the last time I was there.”
“Probably not,” Lon said. Two minutes later he had finished eating, and he started glancing toward the bar again.
“You should talk to Sara instead of her father,” Shaesel said, looking unconscionably amused. “I know I would be, were I unattached.”
“One thing at a time,” Lon said, well under his breath. He pushed the chair back and got to his feet.
“Take your beer,” Ourf advised. “Talking’s thirsty work.”
Lon almost managed to knock the glass over trying to pick it up without looking. He went to the bar, and took up a place near the end where Mr. Pine was standing.
“Sara could have brought you a refill, Lieutenant.”
Lon glanced at his beer. “I wanted to have a word with you, sir,” Lon said. Pine nodded. “As Lieutennant Ourf said, I’ll be at Nassau for the next week. With my two platoons. I imagine that most of the men will be in, when they get a chance. The first probably sometime in the next hour or two.”
“Always happy to see ’em,” Pine said. “I did five years in uniform myself, back when I was a lot younger, and single. Might have stayed in if I hadn’t met the missus.”
“They’re good lads, but … well, some of them aren’t used to quiet, respectable places like yours. I don’t think that any of them are likely to cause trouble, but if any of them do get a little too … boisterous, just let me know and I’ll get them straightened out in a hurry.”
“Not to worry, Lieutenant. If I can’t keep ’em quiet, I just have a word with Lieutenant Ourf and he handles it. Never a ruckus. I do know what it’s like.”
Lon nodded, took a drink of his beer, then said, “And please tell Mrs. Pine that the food was the best I can recall. It was absolutely delicious.”
Pine grinned as if the compliment had been directed at him instead of his wife. “She’ll be pleased to hear that, Lieutenant. She sets great store on her talents in the kitchen—and they are considerable.” He patted his stomach in emphasis. “But why not step back into the kitchen and tell her yourself. Come along, lad. I’ll introduce you.”
Lon felt an instant of panic, but he followed Mr. Pine to the far end of the bar and into the kitchen. Sara was just coming out, carrying food for one of the tables. They did not actually come close to a collision, but Lon felt all sorts of warnings going off in his head as they passed within inches of each other. Sara Pine was two inches shorter then he. She looked up and smiled, and from such close range, the effect was devastating. Lon felt his heart fluttering. And then she was gone, through the doorway and into the public room.
“Mildred, here’s a young man I’d like you to meet,” Mr. Pine said, not quite shouting to his wife, whose back was to him. She was working at the stove.
Lon could see the resemblance between Sara and Mildred Pine. In her time the mother might have been every bit as beautiful as the daughter. She was still comely, in a matronly way, with a little more weight; her hair was darker than Sara’s, more brown than red; the face was fuller, and showed a few lines. She wiped her hands on her apron as she turned.
“Mildred, this is Lieutenant Nolan. He and his lads are out at the Boomer for the next week. Lieutenant, my wife.”
“Mrs. Pine.” Lon nodded. “I told your husband that the pot roast dinner was the best food I could recall. It was.”
“Why, thank you, Lieutenant.” She beamed at the compliment. “It’s nice to be appreciated.” She paused for a second, giving her husband a look that Lon could not decipher. “You say you’ll be around for a week?”
“I’m afraid that’s all,” Lon said, surprised that he felt regret. “We’re to go back to Dirigent City next Friday.”
“A pity,” Mrs. Pine said. “Still, I guess a lad in uniform can’t pick and choose where he gets to serve.”
“Not unless he’s the General himself,” Mr. Pine said with a chuckle. “I hope you’ve got plenty of food on hand, Mildred,” he added. “The lieutenant says his lads will start coming in fairly soon, and if I know soldiers, they’ll be hungry.”
“We can feed more than a couple of platoons, as you know full well,” Mildred said. “You’d best make sure you’ve got a couple of fresh kegs ready to hook to the taps. Soldiers will be more thirsty than hungry.”
“There’s plenty of beer, and everything else,” her husband said, feigned indignation over her suggestion that he might not be prepared. “But I’d best have my own supper now, before they arrive. I’ll have Sara watch the bar for a bit, while I eat.” He turned toward the door, turning to Lon at the same time. “Perhaps you’ll keep her company, Lieutenant,” he said as he led Lon to the public room. “I know she’ll enjoy that.”
Lon could not even stammer a reply.
“Well, Lieutenant, how are you enjoying our quiet little town?” Sara asked when she arrived behind the bar and went to where he was standing—a little numb.
“What I’ve seen, I like fine,” he managed. “But please, my name is Lon.”
“And I’m Sara.” She giggled, and Lon felt as if his head would explode from the surge of blood that rushed to his face.
“It is a nice town,” Sara said, seemingly oblivious to Lon’s predicament. “But, well, one of these days I’d like to live in Dirigent City. See a little more. Here, everyone knows your business, and everything else about you. It’s like being on display twenty-five hours a day. Nice folks, but still …”
“There’s a lot to be said for a place like Bascombe East,” Lon said. “Always a friend close by if you need a hand. People who know you and care. A big city can be a lonely place.”
“Oh, sure. I know all that. But it would be nice—for a change at least, a few years maybe. Be on my own. Work at a job where I actually got paid, except for the occasional tip.” She was smiling, even through the implied criticism.
There was a brief gap in the conversation, which Lon filled by taking several short drinks of beer.
“There’s one thing I’ve wanted to ask,” Sara said, appraising him openly. Lon set down his glass and met her gaze.
“Your accent,” she said. “You’re not originally from Dirigent, are you?”
He shook his head. “I was born and raised on Earth. I’ve been here more than three years, though. Closer to four.”
“Earth? Really?”
“Really,” Lon said with a smile, not surprised at her reaction. He had encountered that response quite often. “Eastern North America.”
“My family was originally from New Zealand,” she said. “Came here centuries ago.”
“I’ve seen pictures of New Zealand, but I never got there,” Lon said. “I didn’t do a whole lot of traveling.”
“I’ve looked at just about everything on the nets about Earth, especially New Zealand,” Sara said. She shrugged. “There’s a lot of time for stuff like that here.”
Lon was unaware of the slight sigh he emitted before saying, “I don’t expect I’ll ever get back. Dirigent is my home now, and better—in a lot of ways—than Earth. Not nearly so crowded.”
Mr. Pine came out of the kitchen and moved behind the bar again. “Thanks, Sara,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “You both look as if you could use a breath of fresh air. Why don’t you take the lieutenant out for a short walk, Sara. Show him around. Your mother and I can handle things around here for fifteen minutes or so.”
Is everyone trying to set me up? Lon wondered as he fought a sudden surge of something that felt a lot like panic.