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“This is the
canteen.” John opened a very human
looking door and stepped over the slight rise of the frame.
Lilly took in the dark
paneled walls, the dim lighting, close packed chairs, and general cozy feel of
the place. “Looks more like a pub to
me.”
He seemed to consider
this while leading her to the bar. “I
suppose that’s a better definition. I’m still getting used to eating in a room
not called a “mess”, though.” He nodded to the attractive human woman behind
the bar. “Evenin’ Callie. Bowl of Texas
Red and a stout, please. Oh, and,
whatever Agent Diaz here wants. Throw it
all on my tab until we get her a line of credit, k?”
Callie had dark auburn
hair pulled back in a ponytail, without bangs.
Her hazel eyes were framed with crow’s feet to match the laugh lines
around her full lips. She flicked a
glance over Lilly while she filled John’s beer from the tap. In a voice hinting
of Eastern European roots, she said, “What’ll it be? I’ve got a bit of that pumpkin bisque left,
some fried chicken, borscht, and chili.
Hold one.” She turned her head
and yelled, at an impressive volume, “Georg!
That bread out yet?”
If Georg answered, Lilly
couldn’t hear him. Callie ladled chili
into a bowl and pushed it toward John.
“So, no bread yet. About anything
you want for drink, 'cept I’m critically low on bourbon.” This seemed to be a point of contention
between her and John, since she shot him a nasty look. He shrugged while juggling his beer and
bowl.
“I’ll be over there when
you’ve got your grub.” He jerked his
head in the direction of a back corner.
Lilly wanted to ask how
a pub on a space station—an alien
space station—could make pumpkin bisque and fresh bread, but Callie appeared to
be short on patience. “Uh, the bisque
and a coffee please.”
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