Page 92 of Space Cowgirl: Houston, All Systems Go
“Yes.” Luke’s nod is terse, all jolliness gone. “And as a military woman, you should know to report such things to your superior.”
Not liking the atmosphere, I take a deep breath, ready to make a joke and downplay the whole stalker thing but stop when Jackie takes off her glasses to rub her watery eyes.
Shit. She’s crying. And this time it isn’t from overwhelming happy emotion from me planning her wedding. It’s because she’s mad. At me. A sick feeling rolls through my stomach.
Jackie’s never been upset with me before. Not when I blackmailed her into going to a Texas saloon. Or threatened to set her up with a co-worker. Or even when I joked about exposing her closeted, cowboy romance novel addiction to her co-workers.
But she’s upset now.
“I’m sorry, Jackie,” I say softly, not even recognizing my own voice. “I didn’t think… Well, I just didn’t think it was a big deal.”
She scoffs, reaches up to push up glasses that aren’t there, and flushes when she ends up poking herself between her eyes.
“Well, Ms. Starr, I can say for certain that it is now, most definitely, abig deal,” Luke says, leaning back in his chair. “The next step is to call in the police and open up an investigation so we can catch this dipshit.”
“No. First a full blood panel,” Rebecca says, eyes narrowed at me. “Whatever it was probably has already passed through your system, but we’re double checking.” She glances down at where I’m rubbing my sternum. “And we’ll make sure to fully re-evaluateeverything.”
Ugh. “Fine.”
Luke nods at Doc. “You can do that while we call the police.”
Police reports and stuff. Time spent giving this asshole my attention. Time sent away from work. “Is that really necessary?”
“Yes!” Jackie surges to her feet, this time pounding the table with her fist, making everyone jump. “Yes, it is very necessary, Jules!”
Wide-eyed, I nod.
Of note? Don’t mess with Jackie when she’s upset. She’s scary as fuck.
“Okay,” I draw out, nodding while easing back from my friend with her bonafide crazy eyes. “Then that is what I’ll do.”
Appeased, Jackie sits down again. Luke and Emily share an amused look before wiping their expressions when my best friend glares at them.
Jackie takes a deep breath and somehow, in one blink to the next, unearths a legal pad and pen as well as dons her glasses. “First things first,” she declares to the room in a prim manner, like she hasn’t just had a mini-tantrum. “We need to put together an order of operations. Steps for finding this stalker and ensuring Jules’ safety.” When no one talks, she narrows her eyes at the room. “Agreed?”
Not wanting to feel the wrath of the nerd, everyone nods.
* * *
“I knewthat illness excuse was bullshit at the airfield.” Bodie’s voice echoes in the cavernous Neutral Buoyancy Lab as he exits the dive suit room. We’re about to train for a new EVA, one Ian has planned that will move the exterior wires to the inside of the International Space Station walls. This will minimize the possibility of our main computers getting hit by space junk, like they had a few months back.
Bodie looks like a weirdo wearing LCVG. But then again, we all do. They’re basically white mesh bodysuits with various tubes strapped on.
The liquid cooling and ventilation garment performs the vital functions of regulating our temperature, both here and in space. In addition to a cooling system, the suit also acts as the air return, drawing in atmosphere from near my extremities, circulating breathing gas and equalizing pressure in the suit. In space it’s done through our extra modular unit (EMU) backpack, but here at the NBL it’s supplied by pool-side equipment that runs through an umbilical hose connected to our suits.
“Yeah, yeah.” I slide forward on my butt, threading my legs into my dive suit pants that the EVA trainers laid out for me, already in my thermals and LCVGs. The process of getting into my dive suit, which is an astronaut’s suit worn for spacewalks but modified for water, is a time-consuming process.
“Seriously though,” Bodie says, sitting his ass down in front of his suit. “You okay? You need anything?”
Yesterday it was decided that NASA would keep the existence of my stalker in a “need-to-know” capacity. People whom I’m working with directly, like Bodie, need to know.
I lie back on the mat by the pool, the smell of chlorine tingling my nose, while the crew adjusts my boots. “Yeah,” I say, serious. “I do need something.”
He nods, his expression determined. He took the news of the return of Whipple well. Well in that he didn’t freak out and threaten me like Jackie. Bodie’s a great guy to have at my back, and since informing him of the stalker situation, he’s been almost overly considerate. “Name it.”
“Make sure to give me adequate light down there while I work, flashlight.”
Bodie’s brow lowers as his eyes narrow. But the dude is smiling. “Hardy har har.” Then he sticks his legs into his suit while I laugh in earnest.
