Howard
November 2217
Vulcan
I sat, slowly sipping my coffee, and watched the people go by. The mall was busy all the ti, it seed. But then, Landing didn’t have a whole lot of shopping malls. Okay, one. Original Bob had never had ti for people-watching, and wouldn’t have been caught dead sitting around, doing nothing. Being immortal apparently put a different spin on things.
Clothing shops, electronics shops, specialty shops selling things like bath products; it all made feel both at ho and nostalgic for ho. The familiarity kept bumping up against the simple fact that I was seventeen light-years from Sol, in a solar system that was originally the ho of Mr. Spock. And on a planet that was destroyed in the movie reboot, but who’s counting?
Still, there was sothing about sitting at a table drinking coffee that made it all seem, well, mundane.
Bridget would be along soon. I’d elected to wait for her here rather than tag along to the office and be underfoot. anwhile, I was enjoying the sensation of being just so random Joe.
On my way now.
I smiled as I read the text in my heads-up. We’d made a point of not planning anything specific today. Lunch, walking around, no big deal.
Bridget showed up just as I finished the coffee. I stood, and we exchanged a quick kiss. She gave my hand a squeeze then sat down.
“I’m starved. Want to try the food court for lunch?”
“Food court?” My eyebrows rose. “A liquor baroness should have more refined tastes. Let’s splurge. How about the BrontoBurger? Or we could go for actual food.”
Bridget gave the evil eye. “I happen to like bronto burgers, I’ll have you know.”
“Brontos, it is,” I declared. I stood, offered her my arm. Smiling, she stood and took it, doing a small curtsey.
As we aid ourselves in the general direction of the desired eatery, I heard a comnt from a few tables away. “Make sure you hold hands with mommy.” The comnt was offered sotto voce, and may not have been intended for us to overhear, but the speaker, a zit-faced teenager, had miscalculated.
I dug in my heels and turned to glare at him, and Bridget put her other hand on my arm. “Howard, really? Consider the source.”
I looked at the twerp, who was grinning back at . About 140 pounds soaking wet. Against an android with several tis the reaction speed and strength of a human being. Not really a fair fight. I made a point of looking him up and down, then I laughed and turned away. I hoped he got the ssage.
Bridget, anwhile, was dragging by the hand. “Food. This way.”
“Right you are. Let us go forth and dine on the flesh of the alien bronto-like thing.”
We exchanged smiles and continued on our way, but the encounter bugged . Bridget was now in her late fifties, biologically—the ti spent in stasis during the voyage didn’t count. I, on the other hand, was built to look like Original Bob at thirty-one—his age when he died in a Las Vegas intersection. The mommy comnt was, unfortunately, mathematically plausible.
But there was no way I would let Bridget be subjected to that kind of crap a second ti.
* * *
Age hadn’t dulled Bridget’s appetite at all. She dove into her burger and fries as enthusiastically as any teenager. I ate at a more refined pace, enjoying the flavor but not needing the sustenance. Technically, it was a waste of food, but I did this so seldom, it hardly seed worth worrying about.
“How are the kids?” I asked her, as much to slow down the carnage as out of a desire to know.
Bridget swallowed, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and glared at . “You’re not fooling , bucko. You always wait until I have a mouthful.” I grinned, unrepentant, and she continued. “Rosie is…well, you’ve t Rosie, you know what she’s like. She’s entitled to her opinion and you’re entitled to her opinion, as well.”
Bridget took another bite of bronto, frowning as she considered her next words. “I think it’s fair to say she doesn’t like our relationship. It’s not that she dislikes you personally, Howard. No more than she dislikes most people, I an. But I think she’d prefer to stay within my species. I’ve tried to talk to her about it, but, you know…”
I grinned at her. “There’s Rosie’s opinion, and then there’s…well, no, actually, there’s just Rosie’s opinion.”
“Yes, like that.” Bridget chuckled. “Well, I wanted my children to be self-reliant. Mission accomplished, I guess.”
“I’ve talked to Howie a couple of tis, lately,” I replied, nibbling at my fries. “He’s a little more distant than he used to be, but I was ascribing that to him growing up and losing the hero worship.”
“There’s probably so of that, Howard, but there’s a lot more of Rosie. She won’t give it a rest.”
I shrugged. “Look, Bridget, I’ve made it clear any number of tis that you co first. If I create problems for your personal life or your professional life or your family life, I’m gone.”
Bridget put down the pitiful remains of her burger and leaned forward. She looked straight in the eyes, my cue to shut up and pay attention.
“Howard, my relationships are my business. No one else gets a vote. I loved Stéphane, and I’ve mourned him fully and properly. Now, I enjoy your company. And will continue to do so, despite a bitch of a daughter and so zit-faced mouthy mall-rat. Do you have sothing you’d like to add?”
“No, dear.” I grinned at her, and she rolled her eyes.
“Fine.” She cleaned up with the napkin and tossed it onto the mangled remains of her al. “Then let’s go. I promised to get you so better clothes to drape on that android fra of yours.”
“Threatened.”
“What?”
“Threatened to get better clothes.”
Bridget laughed and grabbed my hand to drag off. Clothes shopping. Even death apparently wasn’t an escape.
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