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“W here’s my tent?” Sophia asked, looking at their empty hands.

“Set up in an empty staging area,” Con explained. “Which won’t be empty for much longer. Eugene said that the base is expecting a bunch of electronics, parts, and body armor from the States sometime later today. So, if you want to check out how we did and make any changes, now is the time.”

“Good idea. I can come now.” She walked toward them and made to go around, but Con caught her arm and pulled her to a stop. “I’m sorry for being an ass earlier.”

“It’s fine.” She tried to pull away, but he wasn’t letting go.

“It’s not fine. What’s going on?” He studied her face so hard she was afraid he’d see everything. “You don’t look so good.”

She sighed and glanced at Smoke and River. They had the same expression on their faces as Con did. Concerned. “After you guys left,” she said, feeling her way through the words, hoping she didn’t say the wrong ones, “I tried to keep my mind on work, but found it difficult, and I had a little bit of a cry.” She straightened her shoulders. “I’m okay now, though.”

Con raised one eyebrow.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I said okay, not great.”

“You should talk to someone,” Con said.

He was right. The events of last night would probably rate a few conversations with someone. Friends were acceptable if the soldier decided to talk to them.

“Could we talk? Later?”

“Sure, my therapy rates are very reasonable,” he said with a smile. “All it’ll cost is an hour or two at the shooting range.”

He was trying to be funny, but she just couldn’t find the energy to be more than sarcastic. “I keep telling you, shooting paper people isn’t therapy.”

“It is if you shoot enough of them.”

She stared at him. Was that supposed to be a joke?

“I prefer explosives,” Smoke said after an awkward second of silence. “Boom.”

“I’m a knife man, myself,” River said.

“You guys are nuts,” she told them with a twisted smile. She cleared her throat and ordered, “Now take me to my tent.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Con led the way. Inside the large storage area was the level three tent. She walked all the way around it, inspecting every seam, grommet and pole. Then she went inside and inspected it again.

It wasn’t round or square or oblong. Rather, it was shaped more like a star, with several narrow working areas that could be enclosed and isolated from the rest of the tent. The tent itself was composed of a tough canvas covered in a non-breathable plastic-like material that was stretchy, resisted tears and had some limited ability to reseal even if cut.

The initial idea for the material had come from studying spiderweb silk.

She checked the internal room separators, zipping them up to see if there were any places on the tent that were too tight or too loose. There were special holes in each working area so power and air purification connections could be made from the outside. Each hole had to be sealable and resistant to air movement even when something was in them.

She couldn’t find a single thing she’d change or adjust. They’d done a perfect job.

How long would she have to do her job before her misfiring body took it all away from her?

Took everything from her.

Despair hit her with a sledgehammer to her gut and she had to bend over to breathe through it.

She wiped her face again and made herself stand up straight. She couldn’t let her thoughts dwell on the negative. She’d never get anything done that way.

She pinned a smile, a small one, on her face and exited the tent. “Great job, guys,” she said to the three men waiting for her assessment. “It looks and functions as it should. Would it be possible for you to write up a short report on the assembly procedure?”

“There were a few steps where more details might make things less confusing,” Con said, staring at her with a frown. “The shape was a pain in the ass to figure out at first.”

“So far, that’s the biggest problem we have with the design.”

Con walked up to her, his gaze never leaving her face. “Crying again?” he asked softly.

“You can tell?” Did she have a neon sign on her forehead?

“You have tear tracks on your face.”

“Damn it.” She wiped her face again, but it probably didn’t help. “I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

Con turned to Smoke and River. “You two dismantle the tent and bring it back to Sophia’s office. I’m taking her for a little therapy.”

“Shooting? Really?” she asked.

He looked at her with one side of his mouth turned up. “A hot shower and something to eat.”

“Meet you in the food court,” River said as he and Smoke walked past them to the tent.

Con put a hand on the small of her back and urged her toward the door. As soon as they were outside, the sun hot on her face, he said quietly, “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to someone, you know, official?”

He said the word official like it tasted bad.

She grunted. “No. That just creates a ton of paperwork and usually results in the Army sticking its nose somewhere it doesn’t belong.”

“Don’t I know it,” he said, his gaze roving the area like he expected an attack.

“What did you do after your...you were blown up? Did you talk to a psychologist?”

“Yeah, I didn’t have a choice.”

“Will I have a choice?”

“You’re the doctor, what do you think?”

“I’m not that kind of doctor.”

“A doctor is a doctor. Don’t you all go through the same training for the first few years?”

“Yes, but I was never very good with people.”

“Makes sense I suppose. You seem to like your tiny things a lot.”

“Not everything I like is tiny.” She said it under her breath.

Con stopped walking. “You did not just say what I thought you said.” He shook his head.

“What? You’re unhappy because I like the size of your—”

“Do not say the next word.”

“Hands.”