be paid for if she still needed treatments beyond the length of one year. That was good to know. She was also assured that they were getting copies of her medical records, which they’d use to go after New Worlds for additional monies if they were found to be at fault.
New Worlds would also have to immediately reimburse her for any and all costs while she was a guest of the fleet, until they could arrange travel for her to be taken back home to Earth.
There was a thump of something being set down on her table.
“Thanks,” she mumbled without looking up. She blindly reached out, but her hand bumped into a thick mug instead of a wine glass.
She lifted her head. A beer had been placed in front of her. The server had also forgotten her food.
“Hey!”
The guy at the table nearest her booth turned his head, staring at her.
Vera forced a smile. “Sorry. Not you. My server brought me the wrong drink.”
He glanced at the beer. “You don’t want it?”
“I can’t stand the stuff.”
“Do you mind if I have it?”
“Go for it.” Vera motioned for him to take it.
“Thank you.” He leaned over and grabbed the beer, taking a sip.
Even if the bar billed her for it, Vera didn’t care. New Worlds would be paying.
The server didn’t come back right away with her food so she could tell them of the mistake. She sighed, returning to reading what the representative had to say.
New Worlds had sent a shuttle to connect with Defcon Red, to retrieve her. A few company representatives visiting a nearby space station would be her ride back to Earth. They would arrive within a few days.
“Great,” she muttered. “I get to fly with corporate interrogators looking to pin the blame on anyone but themselves.”
She finished reading the rest of the communication and then began to scan her other messages. Another caught her eye.
“God. What now?” She hesitated before tapping on the message.
It turned out to be a vid. Her flesh-and-blood biological father, not the hallucination, glared at her.
“You need to contact your building security. They’ve refused me entry into your apartment. I know you’re gone, and you’re not using it. I need a place to stay. I only have enough money to sleep in a hotel for a few more days.” He leaned in closer, until his face took up the screen. “Don’t fuck with me, kid. It’s not like I’m asking to live with you. I’ll be gone before you get back. You don’t want me standing in front of your building telling everyone that you left your dear old daddy homeless. I’ll fucking do it. They’ll all think you’re a horrible person. I’ll even―”
Vera ended the vid, since there were a few more minutes left. He’d just make more threats.
She opened a new document and tapped out a message to the management of her apartment building, asking them to have him arrested if he came back. He did not have her permission to be there.
She hit send and slammed the pad down. It looked like the last thing she needed was about to happen anyway. She’d have to move again.
Where was her food and wine? She really needed a drink.
Vera slid to the end of the booth to wave her server down but before she could, the man at the nearby table suddenly slumped sideways in his seat. Then he hit the floor and flailed, grabbing at his upper chest.
She was stunned, but she recovered quickly, jumping out of her seat. “Help! I think he’s having a heart attack!”
The man in the next booth shoved off his bench, bumping into her, and she watched as he crouched next to the fallen customer. More fleet people rushed over. One of them dragged the table and chairs away to make more room. She sat down again in her booth, hoping they would be able to help the poor man.
“Coming through,” a woman yelled. “Clear a path.”
Vera recognized the dark blue uniform and patches the woman wore, identifying her as someone who must work in the Med Bay. She had a kit with her.
The poor man on the floor began to convulse, still clutching his chest, and she got a glimpse of his face…his sickly pallor. His eyes were bulging wide and his mouth hung open.
She scooted deeper into the booth as more medical people arrived, shoving patrons back. Three people worked on the man on the floor. She felt guilty for watching, but one glance