Homecoming - Christie Golden [75]
[222] B’Elanna Torres almost broke.
Then she summoned courage she never knew she possessed, and forced her head up. She straightened to her full height, and heard murmurs of approval behind her. Unsteadily, deliberately, B’Elanna Torres moved first one foot, then the other, walking into the unknown with her head held high.
Chapter 18
LIBBY WAS FURIOUS.
Harry had been supposed to meet her outside of the Green Dragon well over an hour ago. It was one of the few restaurants still in business since the fiasco of the HoloStrike, as the wags were calling it, and she’d had to pull some strings to even get reservations.
She stood outside in the driving rain because she wouldn’t be able to see him coming if she waited inside, and she wanted a piece of him. Badly. She’d never been stood up before in her life and wasn’t taking it well at all.
Li Wu, a flesh-and-blood waiter and therefore as rare in San Francisco as a flying horse, cautiously stuck his head out.
“Miss Webber?” he called, looking apologetic. “Boss [224] says he’s going to have to open up your reservation in five minutes if Harry doesn’t come.”
Shivering, she turned and glared at him. Wu shrank back from her anger and she tried to compose herself, shoving back her sopping hair with one hand.
“Sorry, Li. It was awfully nice of Mr. Wang to hold it for me so long. Tell him that won’t be necessary. I don’t think Harry’s coming, so I’m just going to head on home.”
He looked embarrassed and sorry for her, but merely nodded. “Maybe sometime next month,” he offered.
Libby grimaced. It would take about that long to get a reservation, if the HoloStrike didn’t end soon. The Green Dragon had always employed humans as waiters, busboys, and cooks, a tradition that had always made it quaint and endearing in Chinatown and now made it one of the most popular places in the city. Wang’s vision, a gamble when he had started, had certainly paid off.
“Maybe,” she said.
“Wait!” exclaimed Li. He ducked back outside and reappeared a few moments later with a small, enclosed cup. “Got some egg drop soup for you to sip on the way home. Your favorite.”
Libby almost cried. She would have hugged Li had she not been soaking wet. Instead she gave him a big, runny-makeup smile, and waved good-bye.
Of course, she had to walk. In the rain. Finding a public transporter that actually had a human to operate it was difficult, and because of safety reasons, any that didn’t have an operator had been shut down. On a [225] balmy night it was a pleasant walk despite the hilliness of San Francisco’s terrain, but tonight Libby soaked her nicest pair of shoes splashing angrily through puddles. She paused occasionally to take cautious sips of the hot soup, which warmed her enough to continue.
At one point she turned a corner too fast and twisted her ankle on the rain-slicked pavement. The half-finished carton of egg drop soup went flying. She went down in an ungracious heap and landed hard on her knees. When she tried to rise, her foot behaved strangely, and for a dreadful second she thought she’d broken her leg and was not feeling anything due to shock. It took her a moment and a few steps to realize she’d merely snapped the heel off her shoe.
She wanted to shriek, but instead took a deep breath, removed both shoes, and walked to the transporter site in stocking feet.
Libby was shaking violently by the time she materialized in her small cabin in Maine. Rowena rubbed up against her and then stalked off, insulted by Libby’s soaking-wet leg. Indigo didn’t even bother. Libby stumbled over to the computer, expecting to see at least an apologetic message from Harry, but there was nothing. She muttered dark curses against Harry’s name and shed clothing on the way to the sonic shower.
Finally, wrapped in a thick robe, she replicated a mug of hot cocoa and took a few warm, soothing sips. She was hungry, but that could wait. She tried to contact Harry, but there was no response. She left a very curt message