Starfist FR - 03 - Recoil by Dan Cragg Read Free Book Online Page A

your tailor?” Her voice carried clearly throughout the room. A hush washed over the men, who turned their heads to the women anew. The quiet was broken by the women Marines, who burst out in delighted laughter. Realizing the laughter wasn’t directed at them, the waitresses joined in. All the women were laughing except for the two gunnery sergeants. One of whom not only looked like she used ten penny nails for toothpicks, she looked like she was chomping on one right now!
    Gradually, the noise level in the room returned to the way it had been before the “Who’s your tailor?” remark. The tables weren’t big; round and designed to seat four comfortably, six if they were very friendly and didn’t order too much to eat or drink at one time. The men sat three or four to a table, eating and drinking—mostly drinking—while the women grouped five or six to a table, huddled close together, talking in low voices over their food and drink—mostly food. After a time, Lance Corporal Ellis got up and went to the MusiKola, slotted some credits, and made several selections. When the melodious strains of the HekKats “I Sit and Watch”
    filled the room, Ellis began solo dancing with his back to the room. He slowly turned around and, feet, shoulders, and arms moving to the music, wended his way to a table where five women sat watching him. At the table, feet, shoulders, and arms still moving to the music, where the women still watched him, some expectantly, some nervously, one with glowing eyes and parted lips, he nodded at them, looked each of them in the eye, and said, “Excuse me, ladies, but would one of you care to dance?”
    “I would!” said the one with parted lips and glowing eyes. She was on her feet and leading Ellis to the small dance floor before any of the others had found their voices. The Snoop ’n Poop didn’t have a real dance floor; it wasn’t that kind of place. But the small space in front of the MusiKola would do. Back at Ellis’s table, Corporals Nomonon and Jaschke gaped at Ellis and the woman dancing with him. Sergeant Kindy leaned over from the adjacent table at which he sat—he had to stretch to reach—and rapped both of them on the back of their heads with his knuckles.
    “What are you doing, letting him get away with that?” Kindy demanded. The two corporals, rubbing the backs of their heads, glared at their squad leader.
    “He didn’t ask permission!” Jaschke snapped.
    “He didn’t even say what he was doing; he just got up without so much as a by-your-leave and did it!” Nomonon declared.
    “You can’t let the junior man get away with that, you know,”
    Kindy told them.
    Nomonon and Jaschke looked at each other.
    “He’s right,” Jaschke said.
    “Watch me,” Nomonon said back. He got up and swaggered over to another table of women.
    “Hey, babes, who wants to dance?” he boldly said. They laughed at him, and a couple said, “No thanks,” while the rest simply shook their heads. Red-faced, Nomonon marched back to his table. Gail got there with a fresh pitcher of beer just as he resumed his seat.
    “What did I tell you, Mikel? You should take lessons from Hans on how to treat a lady.”
    “What?” Nomonon squawked, looking offended.
    “Hans asked politely, in the manner of a man who just wanted
    to dance. You strutted over there like you expected them to rip their blouses off and spread their legs for you. Not the way to win a woman’s heart.” She spun about and flounced away.
    “Don’t say it,” Nomonon snarled at Jaschke. “Don’t say anything.” He made sure the squad leaders at the next table knew he was talking to them too. In another part of the room, Corporal Harv Belinski wasn’t about to be outdone by a mere lance corporal. He got up and walked, not strutted, to a nearby table, bowed to the six women seated there, and asked, “May I have the pleasure of this dance with one of you?”
    Four of the women gave him skeptical looks, but the fifth,