''I had an uncle who wasn't too thoughtful once he got a touch of the drink taken. I didn't know what you'd do.''
''I came up here to get some dollars, then decided it wasn't worth going back out in the rain. There, you happy?''
Tommy settled onto the floor next to the door. Kris rolled over on her stomach, propped her chin on her hands, and stared back at him. ''Shit of a day,'' Tommy said.
Kris was ready to mutter a nice nothing, like, ''Wasn't it,'' but that wasn't what she felt. ''How would you know?'' she snapped. ''You just did what you were told.''
Tommy eyed her without flinching. ''I guess I wasn't much of a backup.''
''Didn't feel like much of one out there.''
''Doc says Shirri will live.'' Tom changed the subject.
''That her name?''
''Jeb thinks we'll have fifteen trucks ready for tomorrow's run. Colonel says we can't do any more runs. We've got to share the fun with those other ensigns.''
''Yeah.'' Kris wished she had more of the Colonel's whiskey.
''So when you going to share the pain?''
Kris blinked twice. ''What pain?''
''I was trying to give Courtney all the support I could,'' Tom said, eyes locked on Kris, ''but they just kept running at her side. Ignored mine, but all of them seemed to hit her. I slipped folks over to help, but there was just so many of them and so few of us.''
''God, there were a lot of them,'' Kris said, eyes seeing the mud, the rain, the bodies. ''How many did we kill?''
''I don't know.''
''Nelly, how many did we kill?''
''I do not know, Kris. I have not analyzed the final Sky Eye take for bodies. Should I?''
Kris took in a deep breath, stared at a paint blemish above Tommy's head where the cleaning crew had scrubbed away paint as well as mildew. She shrugged. ''It doesn't matter, does it, Tom? They'll still be dead and I'll still be alive and I'll never know if they did something that deserved dead or were just poor dumb slobs who were hungry.''
A sigh rattled out of Tommy that would make any Irish mother proud. ''No, we'll never know.''
''I always end up alive. Someone else always ends up dead.''
''Like Eddy,'' Tom didn't flinch as he used the banned word.
''Like Eddy,'' Kris whispered.
''So you're alive and wondering if you should get drunk, and they're dead and not all the whiskey you can drink will give Eddy a moment more of life,'' Tom lowered his gaze to the floor. ''Won't help one of them out there rotting in the rain either.''
''My, aren't you full of poetry tonight,'' Kris said.
''It's the truth, Kris. You're alive. I'm alive. They're dead. It happens that way. When a shaft blows out to vacuum, it kills some, and others live. The guy who stayed home sick lives. The gal who went for a new drill bit lives. The kid who slapped his faceplate down lives. The old-timer who took his helmet off ‘cause he was sweating and knew it was safe… he dies. And there's nothing that anyone can do about it. Maybe we raise a glass to them tonight, but we're all glad that we're alive. That it was them who died and not us. And if it had been the other way around, they'd be raising glasses to us.''
Tom shrugged and looked Kris in the eye. ''It's always better to be raising a glass than not.''
''Is it? Is it better to be alive? What makes you so sure? You ever tried dead? I think I will have that drink,'' Kris said, throwing her feet over the side of the bed.
Tom didn't stand, but shook his head. ''You've had enough.''
''There's no such thing as enough.''
''The dead have had all they need. And the living have had enough.''
Kris stared at him, sitting across the room from her. He didn't tense, didn't make any show of getting up. Still, she knew if she made for the door, he'd be there to stop her.
For a moment, she wondered if she could take him. Would he really fight to keep her sober tonight? She sat back down. ''What are you feeling, Tom?''
''I don't know what I'm feeling. I'm wishing I'd stayed back home on Santa Maria. I'm wishing I'd never come someplace where people shot at me and I had to shoot back. Where there were people that I really wanted to shoot back at. You Longknifes make for a very confusing world.''
Now it was Kris's turn to sigh. It was a genteel one. Ladylike. Mother would be proud. ''I've read so many of the histories, so many books. They always tell of Grampa Ray and Trouble's battles. They never tell what it felt like afterward.''
''How did they handle it?'' Tom asked.
''I don't know. I just don't know.'' Kris rubbed her eyes, found herself suppressing a yawn. Maybe the drink was finally kicking in. ''Now, why don't you just go away and let me sleep.''
Without so much as a backward glance, he left her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Kris awoke to no memory of dreams and only a slightly bad taste in her mouth; there were advantages to staying sober. Showered, dressed, and feeling painfully alive, she made her way to the mess hall. Maybe it was just her, but the troops seemed to have more spring to their step. Were their heads really held a bit higher? A glance out the window showed the same gray rain; that hadn't changed. The Colonel waved her to his table.
''You sleep well?'' he asked. Kris took inventory and nodded. The Colonel measured her nod and found it satisfactory. ''I checked on your wounded. All three are doing well.''
''I'll drop by sick bay after breakfast,'' Kris said as she found herself hungry and dug into her meal.
The Colonel leaned back. ''I hate to tell you, but I've got another difficult mission for you today.'' So why was he smiling?
''It can't be harder than yesterday.''
''Much harder, but safer.'' If possible, the grin got wider.
''Colonel, has anyone ever complimented you on your wonderful sense of humor?''
He managed a bent frown for a moment. ''No, don't recall any.''
''Something you might want to think about,'' Kris paused for a protracted moment, then added the required ''sir.''
''Just for that, you get no more sympathy from me, Ensign. We've got a visiting do-gooder today, come a long, long way to see all the nice things we are doing with his donations. I want you to escort him around the place, show him what's going on, while I take a nice drive in the country.''
Sounded like a thoroughly boring way to waste a day. ''Who is this old nanny?''
''Not so old. You might find him cute. A Mr. Henry Smythe-Peterwald, the thirteenth of that name,'' the Colonel said. ''Bad enough to saddle a kid with the same old same old, but to make him the thirteenth.'' The Colonel shook his head.
Kris managed to swallow what was in her mouth and to smile at the Colonel's attempted joke. Oh Mother! All my dodging of this nice young man you're throwing at me, and now I've got to spend a day with him. The fact that his father was at the top of Aunt Tru's list of people wanting Kris dead really shouldn't complicate the relationship, should it?
And you thought today would be safe, Colonel.
Kris saw to the trucks' load out, while Tom did a final check on their ready status. As the three convoys got ready to roll, she kept a smile on her face at the prospect of being chained to a desk while most of those who had been with her yesterday faced more muddy roads, swamps, and bandits. Kris stretched the laugh of offering to trade jobs with anyone about as far as the lame joke could go.
When the trucks headed out, she turned to her office. Jeb was waiting; they quickly went over today's schedule of drops to be unloaded, stored, and made ready for tomorrow's road runs. Spens was at his workstation outside her office; one trip out had been enough for her accountant. As an operations specialist, he brought order out of the information flooding battle boards. He was doing the same for her. He shook his head as she walked by.
''Something bothering you?'' Kris asked.
''It's this junk they're shipping us. Twenty-year-old combat meals are just a bit harder to chew. But I have half a warehouse full of medical supplies past their expiration' date. Look at this,'' he waved a printout. ''Raw vaccine feed a month past its due date. Can we use that stuff?''