Lana's Comet (Outer Settlement Agency) by Lyn Brittan Page B

couldn’t this party have been yesterday? She had to be up in a few hours and that meant not drinking nearly as much as she’d have liked. Still, the night was young.
    Youngish.
    And she could have something. “A Martian Summer please. Heavy on the vodka. Sir? How many credits? Hello?” She gestured to the barkeep, but he’d already turned away.
    “None,” answered the guy next to her. “All drinks are covered by Mrs. Yoshisumi.”
    “Oh? And who’s that?”
    The blond head finally lifted and nodded to his right. “She’d be the one dry humping the chair in the corner.”
    “Ah, I see.” Her drink arrived, a swirling, bubbling glass of red liquid. She lifted it in salute to the oblivious mess of a woman. “She’s really getting into it.”
    The man snorted and turned, looking down at her with a face that could only be described as striking. Hard, but not beautiful. Tough, demanding and looking every bit the stereotype she had of OSA Agents.
    She checked his hips for handcuffs and let out a little sigh of disappointment at their absence.
    “What was that for? Too good to talk to clones?”
    “Actually, I was thinking you were kinda cute until you opened your mouth. And don’t ever use that slur around me.”
    One bushy eyebrow shot up. He took another swig of his drink, eyes locked on her over the rim of his glass. After pounding the counter, he waved his hand and signaled for another. “Are you appropriating my outrage? I’ve had too many of these to have this conversation.”
    “It’s called decency. Let me guess.” Her hand shot to her face, she squared her shoulders and locked her heels in place. “Super Serious Soldier reporting for duty, sir!” She’d be damned if the smirk on his face didn’t grow into an actual grin. So much cuter. “I’m Lana, by the way.”
    “Cyprus.”
    “Cyprus? There’s a place on Earth...”
    “Fuck, you’re not from there, are you? No, you can’t be, talking to a clone and all. So what do you do?”
    She was not in the business of clearing up people’s prejudices. Least of all to someone who’d probably endured more than anyone’s share. Perhaps not the best time to divulge that she was both an Earthling and a Meash employee. Or used to be. A rogue Meash wing had been at the head of clone creation and it’d gone madly out of control. If not for the works of Giancarlo and Solia Sable, genetic enslavement may have gone on for years. But that didn’t have anything to do with her. Or him.
    “You’ve said ‘clone,’ twice since I met you. You’ve got issues, soldier.”
    “No, I haven’t.”
    “You do.” She threw back her glass and let the spirit warm her. “Big issues. I should know. I’m a doctor.”
    “So uppity, then?”
    “Class A physician, medical, mental and surgical. So very uppity and hopefully soon, very tipsy. But not too tipsy,” she said and took another swallow.
    “Is that what ‘not too tipsy’ looks like?”
    “You’re being Super Serious Soldier again. Knock it off.”
    “You’re very...casual...with strangers.”
    “I talk when I’m nervous. Would you like to dance? See? Casual. Let’s dance.”
    But the blond only shook his head.
    She slid over her drink, refusing to give up with a solid try. “You’re not loose enough. Here. Finish this.” To his credit, he did as well as another two. By the fourth, he was stringing together full three sentence statements and laughing like it didn’t cost him a kidney to do it. The hunk was well and truly drunk.
    Without any warning and in the middle of a terrible joke, he wiped his chin with the back of his hand and pushed away from the counter. “I should go before I make an ass of myself.”
    “It’s okay to do that.” He started to stand but she stopped him with a hand to the shoulder. “Let me clarify. It’s okay to make an ass of yourself. It is not okay to go. I didn’t give you permission to do that.”
    Plush, full lips parted in open laughter and something