Read Online Starfist: Wings of Hell by David Sherman & Dan Cragg - Free Book Online
Authors: David Sherman & Dan Cragg
Tags: Military science fiction
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along the fjord’s pebbly beach, or bantering with the fishermen. A few might even have gone out as day crew on one or another of the fishing boats. Bronnoysund was more than just Camp Ellis’s liberty town; it had been a long-established fishing village before the Confederation put a military presence next to it.
It was fine with Claypoole that none of the other Marines were available in Big Barb’s; at the moment, he didn’t want the company of his fellow Marines anyway. What he wanted just then was a strong drink—and Reindeer Ale wasn’t anywhere near strong enough. He chose a table from which he could see both the door and the stairs leading to the rooms above.
“Hi, Marine. What can I get for you?”
He looked up and didn’t recognize the face that went with the voice. Before answering, he gave a quick look around and what he’d seen when he entered finally registered on him; Big Barb’s was almost empty. Four serving girls were preparing the common room tables for the lunch crowd and a bartender busied himself with bottles and polishing glasses; Claypoole was the only customer.
He looked up at the girl. “I thought I knew everybody who works here. What’s your name?”
“Gina. I’m lunch shift. What’s your name?”
He studied her face for a moment: pretty, broad, dark, but the darkness looked more like genes than exposure to the sun. He gave himself a shake. “Call me Rock,” he said.
“All right, Marine Rock, what can I get for you?”
“Get me a double, a double…” His voice trailed off. He couldn’t think of any liquor because he almost always drank beer. “I want something strong. What do you recommend?”
Gina raised an eyebrow at him. “Bad night?”
Claypoole opened his mouth to say, “Yes,” but reconsidered. “No, I had a real good night. It’s the morning that was bad.”
“Umm-hmm. I’ll ask Rhon,” she said nodding toward the bartender, “what he recommends as forget-it juice.”
“Whatever he recommends, I want a double.”
“You got it.” Gina’s hips swayed as she headed for the bar. Claypoole squeezed his eyes closed and turned his head away. After the unexpected and incomprehensible way Jente had kicked him out, he really didn’t want to even look at another woman. What on earth had set her off? Had he said something wrong? He ran the conversation through his mind for what must have been the tenth time since he left her farmhouse, and couldn’t think of a thing he might have said that was out of line.
Gina was back quickly with a tumbler of something deep amber. “Rhon says it’s his own concoction and he hasn’t given it a name, but it begins with a base of strong rum and gets stronger from there.” When Claypoole went to take the glass from her hand, Gina snatched it back. “Rhon also said to tell you that it’s deceptively smooth, so you should take it easy.” She placed the glass on the table in front of him, and stepped away, glancing over her shoulder at him.
Claypoole’s gaze followed Gina for a moment as she busied herself preparing other tables, then he turned to the tumbler of deep amber liquid and lifted it to his lips. He took a sip and his eyes widened; the fluid flowed easily over his tongue and down his throat. It barely burned when it hit his stomach. He took a mouthful, swished it around, and swallowed. In a moment a comfortable warmth began to suffuse his body. He smiled for the first time since Jente had slugged him. Relaxed, he sagged back in his chair, and languidly raised the glass in salute to Rhon the bartender, then tipped the glass and drained it in two or three gulps.
Head lolling like a puppet with a broken string, he looked around for Gina, beautiful Gina, Gina who had brought him this wonderful ca-ka-concoction that made him feel so, so—so good when he’d felt so, so, so— bad ! Gina, the marvelous woman who didn’t attack a man for no reason out of the blue. Blue? Tha’s right, outta the blue. Gina! the
It was fine with Claypoole that none of the other Marines were available in Big Barb’s; at the moment, he didn’t want the company of his fellow Marines anyway. What he wanted just then was a strong drink—and Reindeer Ale wasn’t anywhere near strong enough. He chose a table from which he could see both the door and the stairs leading to the rooms above.
“Hi, Marine. What can I get for you?”
He looked up and didn’t recognize the face that went with the voice. Before answering, he gave a quick look around and what he’d seen when he entered finally registered on him; Big Barb’s was almost empty. Four serving girls were preparing the common room tables for the lunch crowd and a bartender busied himself with bottles and polishing glasses; Claypoole was the only customer.
He looked up at the girl. “I thought I knew everybody who works here. What’s your name?”
“Gina. I’m lunch shift. What’s your name?”
He studied her face for a moment: pretty, broad, dark, but the darkness looked more like genes than exposure to the sun. He gave himself a shake. “Call me Rock,” he said.
“All right, Marine Rock, what can I get for you?”
“Get me a double, a double…” His voice trailed off. He couldn’t think of any liquor because he almost always drank beer. “I want something strong. What do you recommend?”
Gina raised an eyebrow at him. “Bad night?”
Claypoole opened his mouth to say, “Yes,” but reconsidered. “No, I had a real good night. It’s the morning that was bad.”
“Umm-hmm. I’ll ask Rhon,” she said nodding toward the bartender, “what he recommends as forget-it juice.”
“Whatever he recommends, I want a double.”
“You got it.” Gina’s hips swayed as she headed for the bar. Claypoole squeezed his eyes closed and turned his head away. After the unexpected and incomprehensible way Jente had kicked him out, he really didn’t want to even look at another woman. What on earth had set her off? Had he said something wrong? He ran the conversation through his mind for what must have been the tenth time since he left her farmhouse, and couldn’t think of a thing he might have said that was out of line.
Gina was back quickly with a tumbler of something deep amber. “Rhon says it’s his own concoction and he hasn’t given it a name, but it begins with a base of strong rum and gets stronger from there.” When Claypoole went to take the glass from her hand, Gina snatched it back. “Rhon also said to tell you that it’s deceptively smooth, so you should take it easy.” She placed the glass on the table in front of him, and stepped away, glancing over her shoulder at him.
Claypoole’s gaze followed Gina for a moment as she busied herself preparing other tables, then he turned to the tumbler of deep amber liquid and lifted it to his lips. He took a sip and his eyes widened; the fluid flowed easily over his tongue and down his throat. It barely burned when it hit his stomach. He took a mouthful, swished it around, and swallowed. In a moment a comfortable warmth began to suffuse his body. He smiled for the first time since Jente had slugged him. Relaxed, he sagged back in his chair, and languidly raised the glass in salute to Rhon the bartender, then tipped the glass and drained it in two or three gulps.
Head lolling like a puppet with a broken string, he looked around for Gina, beautiful Gina, Gina who had brought him this wonderful ca-ka-concoction that made him feel so, so—so good when he’d felt so, so, so— bad ! Gina, the marvelous woman who didn’t attack a man for no reason out of the blue. Blue? Tha’s right, outta the blue. Gina! the
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