Page 22 of Badass Alien Boss

“Oh, yeah.” He chuckled.

As he’d once told her, he didn’t get a lot of holograms and interruptions, but she screened what he did get to keep up appearances.

“Let me finish a couple more things, then I’ll be ready to go. Ten minutes?” he asked.

“Ten minutes,” she agreed. He didn’t appear concerned by the impending storm. “Does this happen often?” she asked. This was her first solar flare disruption.

“Often enough that buildings have radiation filters and manual locking devices. I haven’t been in a solar storm since I joined the military. We should grab some food on the way home, before the restaurants close. We won’t be able to use the flash cookers. Electronics have to be powered down, or they’ll get fried.”

He paused. “On second thought, let’s go now. I can finish up later. I’m not worried about getting caught in the solar flare, but everyone will be rushing to the restaurants. There will be lines.”

* * * *

Like a dense flock of migrating birds, hovercars darkened the sky as people rushed home. “They’re not going to glitch and fall, are they?” She hunched her shoulders, imagining getting crushed to death under a thousand kilos of metal. The alert had given them a safety window of two hours before all hovercars had to be grounded.

“They’re not going to fall. They would if they were still in the air when the flare hits, but the government has a handle on timing.”

“Is this the same government that can’t figure out how to fill out a death certificate?” As she’d witnessed people rushing around, reacting to the impending storm, her trepidation had grown.

“Same government. Different department. It will be okay. I promise.” He surprised her by taking her hand and giving it a quick squeeze.

Her senses and nerve endings glitched like she’d been zapped by radiation. Her heart raced, and heat rushed to her face. She stumbled. He grabbed her arm to steady her. “Careful.”

His touch caused another power surge, but she handled it with more aplomb. “I’m okay.”

Somebody charged by and knocked her into him.

“It’s crazy out here,” he said. Walkways were as crowded as the sky, like rush-hour traffic on Earth. He stopped in front of a shuttered eatery. “Closed,” he said.

They’d deviated from their route to find an available restaurant. At least half had closed already; the others had lines snaking for blocks to get a preprepared take-out box. There was no eat-in this evening.

“Let’s try Mama’s,” he suggested. “If she’s not open, we’ll have to eat whatever we have at home. We’ll have to cook it right away.”

They picked up the pace, weaving among the hurrying crowd. As they neared Mama’s, they passed a man with a take-out container. “That’s a good sign,” Ruyn said.

But when they reached the café, it was closed.

“Shoot! He must have been her last customer.” Michaela tried to recall what she had in her food-saver unit. Not much.

“Wait—look!” Ruyn waved at the window.

Inside, Mama Murta hurried toward them. She unlocked the door. “Come inside, quickly!” She grabbed Ruyn’s arm and pulled him in.

Michaela followed, and Mama manually secured the door. Electronic locks had to be disengaged and switched off or they would be fried when the solar storm hit.

“We’re late, but do you have anything left?” he asked.

“Ah, Ruynko—I saved you both a dinner box.”

“You did? How did you know we’d be by?”

“I know things.” Mama smiled serenely. “Wait here, and I’ll get your dinners.” She disappeared into the kitchen, returning a brief time later with two boxes, their names printed neatly on the cartons. “I included some silverware. You can return it the next time you come.”

“Thank you.” Michaela peeked inside the box. The meal looked and smelled delicious. “It was very thoughtful of you to save us a box. We won’t need table service; we’re going right home.”

“You never know what you’ll need until you need it. Off with you now. The storm is coming.”

They said their goodbyes and left the restaurant. Foot and air traffic had begun to thin. “People aren’t wasting any time getting home,” she observed.