Mootoa's Moons: The Other Woman

By Susan Quilleash

When Earth discovered a way to travel among the stars they were approached by the Mxtel and a trade and protective society, now known as the Confederated Sentient Peoples or CSP. To expeditiously travel between stars space ships need three engines, at the opening of our story the Lorili lost two of them, and both engineers as well. Mootoa is the

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: Jul 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781648950810

Susan Quilleash

Susan Quilleash, a retired army sergeant living in Colorado Springs, when not writing spends her time in volunteer work for her church and the local GLBT community. Also retired from 19 years in the public schools as a high School math teacher and substitute. She has lived and worked on four continents. A boy until she grew up to be a woman, she has worked as a cowboy, cook, soldier, carpenter, teacher, politician, and writer.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Memorial

The Lorili was a boat. Anyone who hadn’t served in the Confederated Fleet still called it a spaceship—no such word as spaceboat—so the person in charge was still called captain, but Commander Jacob Grimm knew better even though he was addressed as Captain. Old water navy had called any vessel that could be operated by one person a boat; of course, the one person who could operate the Lorili by herself was dead. The closest thing Captain Grimm had to an engineer, Cadet Zachery Thomas with the assistance of the navigator, Lieutenant Nicole Chin, were trying to find out why.

They were six months out of Earth, a fairly routine mission of mapping supraspace paths. When traveling faster than light, avoiding stars is important and difficult; there is no such thing as a straight line in supraspace. The only engine still working was the supraspace and some small maneuvering rockets, but all the other main engines had exploded.

Rachel, what did you do? Jake thought in anguish.

Looking like a twentieth-century marine recruiting ad, Lieutenant Commander David Wilson came on the bridge.

You’re off duty. Jake looked at his executive officer. Why aren’t you with your husband?

Butch can take care of himself. He’s sleeping. David smiled at the thought of his young lover, his husband. Then looking at the captain, he remembered why he had come to the bridge and lost his smile. But can you? How are you?

Jake glanced at the communications chief, an Angofarian named T’Cha, who was on duty as station keeper. T’Cha, you have the comm.

Aye, Captain, the treelike crewmember answered.

Let’s go to my ready room, the captain answered his oldest friend on board.

The captain’s ready room was actually his private office. The captain of a ship, or even a spaceboat, did most of his work on the bridge, but the powers that be felt he had to have a private office even with living/working space at a premium. Jake’s office had the usual computer access and a nice two-century-old metal desk bolted to the floor along with three comfortable swivel mounted chairs, of the style called captain’s chairs, arranged around the desk. Jake had them installed when he took command; the captain still got to decorate his own ready room. Besides the view screen that usually defaulted to a screensaver cityscape of Manchester, home, Jake had also installed artwork, including an oil of James Cook’s landing at the Sandwich Islands. For all that, his hero, was an eighteenth-century British explorer; Jacob, with his hooked nose and dark hair, looked more like his banker father, not surprising for an English Jew, than a British sailor.

David followed him into the office and sat in one of the chairs facing the desk.

Jake was, of course, behind the desk. What would you have me do? We are in the middle of nowhere with two crewmembers dead. Other than their spouses, I have no way to notify next of kin.

You and Brian need more than an investigation. Zach and Nickie are doing what we can on that. Surely this isn’t the first time you’ve had crewmembers die. David wasn’t really sure what he wanted. His old friend, and boss, had just lost his wife. The captain took care of these things, but the widower was the captain. There are other things that should not be postponed.

Jake frowned, thinking of all the losses through the years. He’d spent his entire career on scouts, and scouts went to the unknown, the most likely place to die. This is the first time I have lost my own crew—his voice quivered—the first time I don’t have someone or something else to blame.

It wasn’t your fault, David spoke. No one’s fault. We don’t know what happened yet. It’s not your fault.

I am the captain, Jake said. It is always the captain’s fault.

This is my first tour on a scout. The patrol ships are not usually manned by couples as the scouts are. What would the captain do on a scout when someone dies? David knew the answer to his question. The fleet ships were not that different—patrol, packet, or even trade from a scout—but he wanted his old friend to find the answer himself without his telling him.

The bodies were radioactive. If we had a funeral, we would have exposed the rest of the ship. Sadie was Catholic. I’m not real familiar with those rites, and the oldest Catholic aboard was her spouse.

Funerals are not the only thing. Rachel wasn’t Catholic. Oldest isn’t necessary to Christian rites.

They are to Jewish.

David realized that the only other Jew aboard didn’t really practice that faith, but he knew what would be necessary and would have done it as needed. As good a captain he is, his thoughts would be for his wife, not his crew. I was thinking about a memorial service, sort of nondenominational, one we could all attend.

Jake’s eyes went wide. Of course! That was what was missing. David was exercising the duties of a good XO. He’d reminded a befuddled captain of a memorial himself once. I don’t know if I can conduct it. Can you?

I’m honored. Should we do one or two ceremonies?

Two. I’ll officiate for Sadie. Rachel—he grabbed David’s arm in an embrace—Rachel is too close. Thank you.

Cadet Thomas—David keyed the intercom—how soon can we enter the engine room without protective suits?

The intercom crackled with the youngster’s voice. Maybe an hour more. The regs say twenty-four hours for clearing an engine. It’s only been twenty, but I’m not getting any readings now.

Jake looked at the ship’s clock showing 16:20 hours. Sadie’s memorial will be at 19:00 hours in the engine room where she worked—he took a breath—and where she died. Looking at the man who with the death of his wife was now his best friend, he said, Can you honor Rachel at twenty hundred?

Chapter 2

Wake

I guess that makes up your mind for you?

How do you mean, sir? Cadet Zach Thomas asked as the captain looked over his report on the engine disaster.

You’re our chief engineer now. Captain Jacob Grimm couldn’t afford to show all the pain he felt. Losing two crewmembers was bad enough, the fact that one of them was his wife and that the reason for the loss appeared to be her fault could be devastating. Rachel was a good engineer; he was sure of it, but the report in his hand said differently.

I… I… Zach stuttered. I can’t be!

Why not? Jake knew that the cadet had been trying to decide between a career in engineering or security. Had the accident turned him away from engineering?

I don’t have enough training.

You’re right, and we don’t have enough engine anyway. The captain handed the report back to him. At least according to this, we don’t. T’Cha, what’s the closest federated port or known port if we can’t make it to a federated one?

The navigator on duty wasn’t human. His-its eyestalks swiveled to look at the captain as the Angofarian said in a voice that sounded more human than anyone else’s on board, Mootoa is a member of the CSP. They have a full shipyard and is the closest system at only twenty-four light-years.

Looking at Cadet Thomas, the captain asked his new temporary chief engineer, Can we get there? The Confederated Sentient Peoples were a protective trade group that spanned the galaxy. The commission of the Lorili was CSP, so a federated planet was the best and cheapest place for repair.

I don’t know. It’s the maneuvering engines that blew so we can jump, but getting into position for a light jump is going to be tricky. Zach didn’t what his training cruise to be cut short, nor did he what it to be longer than the two years that it should be, but if they put in at a federated port, he would either ship home for his final year of school before commission or be placed on the Lorili for the full mission length. Scouts run long missions from the edge. If it hadn’t been for the accident, they would have looped for two years to chart the supraspace paths, but dropping abruptly from supraspace changed the loop and so would change their mission.

Nicole and I could probably help with aim sir, T’Cha, who was actually the communications officer, offered the assistance of the sleeping navigator. We should be able to fill the roster on Mootoa as well as get the engines repaired.

The captain keyed the intercom. Lieutant Chin, report to the engine room. Lieutant Myers, to the bridge. Sorry to interrupt, guys, you can thank T’Cha for volunteering Nickie.

T’Cha’s at the helm, Mike Myers’ voice crackled from the intercom. How can he volunteer Nickie for the engines?

I’ll tell you when you get here. The captain chuckled as he cut the intercom. You two, go on down to the engine room and get it set. I’ll keep the helm till Myers gets here.

Aye, sir. T’Cha left silently as Zach saluted.

***

It wasn’t as shattering as their last drop from supraspace but still not as smooth as it should have been. With the astronomer at the helm, it would take a bit longer to verify their position.

Well? How’d we do? Jake asked as Mike moved to his usual astronautical post.

T’Cha answered him, We have a broadband welcome in FedStandard with a comm frequency. Do you have a message?

The captain had anticipated the welcome and waved a disk at his comm officer. "Give me a mic and prep this log to send. Federated world Mootoa, this is the federated scout Lorili out of Earth. We are in need of engine repairs and crew replacements. We have no real or subspace maneuverability and will need a tow into your yard. What is your HQ packet turnaround, and can you take my log for transship to HQ?" He handed the mic back to T’Cha.

We’re ten light minutes out, Captain. Good shooting, Nickie, the astronomer reported.

I think Zach and T’Cha had a little to do with it as well, Mike, chuckled the captain as he acknowledged Lieutenant Myers’ pride in his wife. The tall African’s first name wasn’t really Mike, but that was the name he used with the English-speaking crew.

Message away, Captain. If we’re ten minutes out, we won’t get an answer for twenty.

Affirmative. Go ahead and prep that log to send. We are actually closer than I thought we’d be. Jake flipped on the intercom. All hands to the bridge.

Myers gave him a look.

We’ve got twenty minutes and I have something to say.

Jake’s XO surprised him by being the first to the bridge. Lieutenant Commander David Wilson was supposedly off shift and asleep. What’s up, Skipper? Butch’ll be here in a minute.

I’ll wait for everyone, David, but we’re in system.

Commander Wilson pulled out a jump seat, knowing that everyone on the bridge would try to sit at their station chairs so his usual perches of science or helm would be taken by Hasin and Chin, who both followed the cadet in. Cadet Thomas wasn’t quite sure of the chief engineer’s seat that he did take.

Do you want dinner on time, or is this a battle? Isabella asked as she took her seat next to the doctor. Lieutenant Commander Mohammed Hasin, typically Iraqi in looks, was chief biologist as well as the medic, but Junior Lieutenant Isabella Santiago, again typical for her heritage, a Castilian beauty, was their botanist as well as cook and is good at both.

Well I’m always ready for dinner, even if it is a battle. The small wiry Ensign Miguel Garcia answered his wife as he came in from his office. Steward, clerk, housekeeper, and morale officer, Miguel would have been the youngest of the crew if they hadn’t had a cadet onboard.

Ensign Brian O’Bryan, the ship’s programmer and AI expert, his quiet demeanor at odds with his fiery red hair and clear light complexion and eyes, dragged himself in. Jake knew how he felt; they both lost wives in that engine accident. He wished he could afford the time to grieve, but the captain didn’t have the luxuries of an ensign. The only crewmember still missing was Junior Lieutenant Atchison Tailford. Jake looked over at his exec. I thought you said Butch was right behind you?

Well, we both woke at your call, David said while Lieutenant Tailford rushed in, still tucking his shirttail into his trousers. I guess it took longer for him to get dressed. David nodded at the geologist as Butch smiled shyly at his husband, then self-concisely at the rest of the crew as he realized he was the last to answer the captain’s order.

We’re ten light-minutes away from Mootoa. Excellent job, Cadet Thomas, Lieutenant Chin, Lieutenant T’Cha, he said, nodding at each in turn. Pinpoint accuracy. Jake started right in. Praise should always be delivered publicly, just as reprimand should always be private. Due to our engine problems, I don’t know how soon we’ll make planetfall. Also due the engine, our mission will change. I’ll let you know to what, when I find out. We have a new problem though. Jake had discussed the ramifications of Mootoa’s unique social structure on the crew with Dr. Hasin, as the closest thing to a psychiatrist he had aboard. Garcia was taking correspondence courses in training for morale but wasn’t a qualified psychologist yet and was so awfully young. "We don’t have a lot of info on the Mootoain, but only women go off planet and only those that are considered unsuitable, their word, for family life. A scout ship is a family. Prior to the accident, we had five married couples and a grandfather."

Hasin nodded acknowledgment of his status as the oldest crewmember, although he wasn’t technically a grandfather having never married.

What about me? Cadet Thomas asked.

And a kid. David ribbed the cadet.

And a kid, who isn’t anymore, Jake resumed. Now we’ve got three couples and four single men and have—

I am not single, T’Cha interrupted when he realized that the fourth man was himself. Nor, technically, a man.

Zach stared at the Angofarian. How can you be married on a ten-year separation?

Marriage is a human estate. My species is not bisexual nor is it separated.

Huh?

We’ll explain it to you later, Cadet, the doctor and the botanist said together from the two science stations.

I just wanted to get a full count in, T’Cha. So we have three single men and will soon be joined by a woman considered by her own people unsuitable for family life.

Butch spoke up, It shouldn’t be a problem, should it. I mean the Mootoains aren’t human, so what does it matter.

Actually they are. Dr. Hasin went into lecture mode. He had been a professor of medicine at the University of Baghdad before joining the federated fleet. Not from Earth of course, but the information we have describes the Mootoains as looking like Earth humans, and there is even evidence of cross-species breeding.

So why are they unsuitable to family life?

Most Mootoains aren’t unsuited, just certain women, those who are in a condition called meesch, which has no explanation or translation other than that they are unsuitable for family life. It seems that these Meesch women are the only people allowed off planet. Their own naval vessels and any federated officers they supply are all only Meesch woman.

David, you’ve been on some patrol ships. I’ve never met any, and the doctor hasn’t. Have you? Jake asked his second.

Not that I’m aware of. Still might not be a problem. Maybe it’s just the idea that they’d volunteer to go off planet that makes them unsuitable for families.

Possible, but it does say in our reports that men are not allowed off planet, even if they want to go.

That can’t be healthy, having a crew of all women on a long voyage. Leave it to the young morale officer to bring that up.

T’Cha interrupted, Incoming message, Captain.

Jake picked up his earphones and nodded to his comm officer. He didn’t want a broadcast if there was bad news.

"Lorili, this is Mootoa. We can take your log on digital, 50:1 speed. The packet is due to take off in a half hour. Sorry, that’s a half hour on our clock, about 69 minutes Earth time, a pleasant contralto voice speaking perfect FedStandard sounded in Jake and T’Cha’s ears. The packet has a six-day turnaround, so we’ll have your orders for you then. We are dispatching a tug that should rendezvous with you in 8.67 hours. Sorry again, that’s 19 hours, 56 minutes, and 27 seconds in Earth time. Do you need air or other supplies to carry you through the next couple of days? We can outfit our tug in the three-tenth hour it’s taking to hit the launch window."

Reply, Captain? T’Cha toggled the received and end of transmission switches.

Send the log at fifty to one like they asked, and tell them our life support is fine and thanks. Jake turned back to his human crew as the Angofarian LT busied himself-itself with the communications board and the task of sending electronic data streams to a small target a long way away on a beam of invisible light. Not for the first time did T’Cha wish there was a practical way to send messages through supraspace.

The Mootoains seem to be quite punctual. A tug is supposed to rendezvous with us in 19 hours, 56 minutes, and 27 seconds.

How can they be that accurate? Junior Lieutenant Myers felt that that kind of accuracy was an insult to his only a tenth of a minute accuracy in plotting stars.

The computer will do a countdown for us—O’Bryan turned from his console—we’ll see how accurate they are.

Why bring it up, Captain? Lieutenant Chin, who, unable to navigate without an engine, had nothing to do, asked.

Bring what up?

The unsuitable Mootoains. What can’t be cured must be endured.

Mostly for preparation. The crew is now eight men and two women. I know, Butch, you don’t care about women, but having a ratio of eight to three is going to cause some sexual tension. Best to be prepared.

Dr. Hasin’s compassion prompted another point. I hope the Mootoain is prepared too. The ratio of men to women on Mootoa is one to three. She’s going to have almost opposite here.

What do you mean one to three?

According to the file, there are three women for every man on the planet.

Woo-hoo! Mike yelled. Shore leave there should be lots of fun.

Nickie glared at her husband, Remember, you’re a one-woman man.

I gather the Mootoains aren’t, Hasin continued. The most common marriage pattern is three women with one man. The reports say there can be as many as five women in a marriage, and that men often have two or three marriages in a lifetime.

As many as nine wives! Brian looked shocked.

Actually, if some men have five wives in a single marriage and have three marriages in their life, they could conceivably have fifteen wives in a lifetime.

How could you keep them straight? Miguel exclaimed. I have enough problems with one. Isabelle smacked the back of his head.

OK! Children. Captain Grimm was pleased. The crew was pretty much back to normal, even O’Bryan was engaging in the banter. We want to give as good a first impression as we can, and we only have—he looked at Brian’s countdown—19 hours and 38 minutes left to get shipshape.

And 21 seconds, the astronomer corrected.

So, stations, let’s get ready for tow and planetfall.

As the crew started to disperse to their various stations, T’Cha added, Incoming message, Captain.

Grimm started to pick up the earphones, then realized there couldn’t be bad news unless the Mootoains were totally capricious.

Let’s have the speakers, T’Cha.

"Lorili, this is Mootoa. We have received your log, and a copy is on the packet. Request permission for our yard engineer to review it to see what you need for repair and our counsel to see what crew requirements we can help you with. Will you want planet quarters for your crew while repairs are effected, and if so, how many in your crew? Do you have any non-Earther crew that require special accommodations? The physiology of Earthers and Mootoains is so similar that you can eat, drink, or anything else that we do, so we can even resupply your larder when you get here. Are you sure you don’t need anything on the tug? We’ll have a hundredth hour to outfit after receiving your reply before the launch."

How much can you do in a hundredth of an hour?

One one-hundredth of our hours is about half a minute.

Their hours are longer, the captain stated distractedly. We’ll figure out a conversion later. T’Cha, give them permission to review the log, and thank them for the courtesy. We can billet in the ship, but shore leave would be appreciated. The crew grinned at that. It sounds like they’re used to alien visitors, so if you what something special, T’Cha, let them know.

T’Cha started composing the return message. What about the tug supply?

Jake shook his head. We can survive two days with what we’ve got.

Miguel nodded, Longer than that, we are a scout after all, we can live for five years on what we have.

Just can’t go anywhere, Butch muttered in an undertone.

Actually, we have the materials to repair the engines, mused Ensign O’Bryan, just not the expertise.

Jake felt the bond with his young computer tech. They’d both been married to engineers. Sounds like they do. I guess if you have to throw an engine, you can’t have done it in a better place.

Well, we could have done it nearer to Earth.

Best not to have done it at all. Butch blushed when he realized what he said and stole glances at Brian and the captain, who both studiously ignored him.

That does bring up a point. Captain Grimm did not what to do this but knew its necessity. "Why did the subspace engine explode?

From what investigation Cadet Thomas could do, and he’s the most qualified engineer we’ve got right now, Commander Bourbon was playing with the mix, and it became unstable. A more qualified engineer might find more information or even a reason other than human error, but we’ll have to be content with what we have until we get to the yard. It looks like Rachel screwed up. I’m sorry, guys.

Zach belatedly realized that his report had essentially accused the captain’s wife of blowing up the ship. I... I’m sorry, sir. I’m sure there is something I missed.

You did your job, chief engineer. Why are you apologizing?

She was your wife.

Yes, and had been an engineer on seven different ships, this one for the last six years, but we all make mistakes.

Maybe I made one in my investigation.

Thank you for that, Cadet. Jake shook out of his mood. Stations, we’ve only got nineteen and a half hours now.

Everyone except for T’Cha, Wilson, and the captain scuttled out to other areas of the ship. David moved to the helm and swiveled the chair around to face Jake. How right was he really?

Near as I can see, and Nickie rechecked. His investigation was accurate. He looked as grim as his name. Rachel was probably experimenting with pulling more speed.

Captain. T’Cha had never sounded so deferential.

Yes?

Ensign Pawlak was helping me on a pet project of mine. Commander Bourbon was aware of what we were attempting and probably changed the mix to accommodate us.

The XO turned to communications. What were you and Sadie trying to do? And why didn’t you say something to Zach in his investigation?

I was unaware of his results and conclusions. I am saying something at the earliest convenient time. T’Cha’s dignity was back in his voice as all three of his eyes stared at the Commander.

So what were you and Ensign Pawlak trying to do? The Captain understood T’Cha’s not speaking up till now. He’d been running the comm constantly except for the supraspace aiming since the accident.

Establish a supraspace message carrier.

David was excited. Subspace radio?

T’Cha was haughty. Radio is a light phenomenon and will not work in subspace without a physical field to carry it.

I know it’s not actually radio, but what else should we call it.

Wireless, Grimm, who’d been raised in the British traditions, said dryly.

David ignored the comment. Can we try again? What did you and Pawlak accomplish?

Not on my ship, you don’t try again. I don’t need to lose another engine, or another engineer.

Come on, Skipper, this could be important.

Yes, it is, and, T’Cha, you should write up everything you and Sadie found out, but this ship is not equipped for that kind of experimentation. Jake knew how much a faster communication with HQ could benefit all the fleet and especially scouts. He’d been serving on scouts his entire career, but losing crew to an experiment that would have been better left to a research vessel with heavier engine shields was not an acceptable risk.

Commander Bourbon approved our experimentation, T’Cha offered.

I’m sure she did, Jake nodded, realizing that his wife would have been even more excited about the possibilities than David was. Otherwise, you and Ensign Pawlak wouldn’t have continued.

Actually, Captain, the experiment might not have been the cause of the engine exploding anyway.

True enough, David, true enough. Jake looked at the Angofarian. Any future experimentation must be approved by me as well as the chief engineer and Dr. Hasin.

Aye, Captain.

Why Hasin? David asked. It seemed to be too many cooks.

He’s our chief scientist. Experiments are part of his province.

Fair enough. Switching subjects, the exec asked the real question, Are you all right?

Jake glanced at the comm chief. Let’s go into my ready room.

Walking into the office-like room, Jacob started to go automatically behind the desk and thought better of it and sat in one of the two chairs facing the desk and unhooked the swivel. Coming in behind the captain, David looked at the odd seating arrangement. You want me behind the desk?

Sit down, Willie. Jake used the old academy nickname as he directed his oldest friend into the other chair in front of the desk. The only person on this boat who knew Rachel longer than me was you.

David had introduced them to each other, having dated Rachel Bourbon first and then finding out women were not for him.

Rather than sit immediately in the indicated chair, David went behind the desk and opened a drawer, bringing out a bottle and a couple of glasses. The memorial wasn’t enough. You need a wake. He poured the liquor into the two glasses.

I’ve got a ship to run.

Handing the captain a glass as he sat in the other chair and swiveling it to face his old friend, he said, We’ve got about eighteen hours before we really have to do anything. He clinked his glass against Jake’s. Skoal.

Skoal. Jake drained the glass and poured both of them a new one. But if we both get drunk, T’Cha will be in charge.

You didn’t know? He already is.

Damn, David, what did she do?

Jake, she was an engineer, and a good one. Whatever she did, it took her by surprise as well.

Yes. He lifted his full glass. To the best engineer in the fleet. He tossed the second drink.

David lifted his glass to that and sipped. He filled Jake’s glass again and offered another toast. To the best woman I ever dated.

And the best wife I ever had. Jake downed the third. You’re right, David, I need a wake.

The new widower reached for the bottle.

***

Miguel walked into the galley. Got some time, esposa?

Isabelle turned from the stove. What do you have in mind? She shook her hips and batted her eyes.

Well, that looks interesting, but I was thinking about O’Bryan and Sadie.

Sadie is dead.

Yes, and a quick memorial without even a body to say goodbye to is not enough for a widower.

Her body was radioactive. It could not lie in state.

I do not say it should, but Brian needs more than a few words about service and sacrifice.

So what do you propose?

Bryan is Irish. I propose a wake.

What about the captain?

Off duty time is our own. It will not get out of hand.

This I know! The captain lost a wife too.

The captain is the captain. I cannot do this for him, but for Brian I can.

So what do you want from me?

Miguel started loading a cart with glasses and bottles. Just come with me.

Isabelle, watching him load the tray, said, How about some food with that?

What do you have?

She pulled a bowl out of a cabinet and started putting ingredients in and mixing it. A dip and crackers. Oh, and veggies, she said while going over to the hydroponics tanks and picking carrots.

We don’t have a lot of time. The tug is supposed to be here in ten hours.

Twenty minutes, and we’ll be ready. She peeled the carrots and continued to mix the dip. Is it just the three of us?

I figured Mike and Butch too.

Why not Lieutenant Chin, and Commander Wilson too.

You just answered yourself?

Stopping her chopping, she said, Explain.

Lieutenant Chin and Commander Wilson.

Yes.

We’re junior. They’re senior.

But Mike’s married to Nickie, and Butch and Commander Wilson are together too.

You can’t even call Commander Wilson by his first name when talking about his husband.

She resumed her cooking. Si, but why not the lieutenants.

You got anything for T’Cha?

What’s he got to do with it?

If we invite Nickie without inviting Commander Wilson, we have to invite him. Counting glasses and plates on the cart, he said, Protocol.

Que?

We could invite Nickie as Mike’s spouse, but then we would have to invite the commander as Butch’s, or we could invite the junior officers, the ensigns and lieutenants, which would mean inviting T’Cha. Easier to just invite the juniors and the ensigns.

What about Zach?

Oops, I forgot him. He grabbed another glass and plate and placed them on the cart. Can you bring the cart and whatever you are doing to the computer lab? I’ll get Mike, Butch, and Zach and meet you there in—looks at his watch—fifteen minutes?

Si, why the lab?

It is easier to bring a wake to a widower than to pull a stubborn Irishman away from work, who is in denial. He opened the door and raced down to the engine room to look for Cadet Thomas.

***

What time is it?

Good morning, Captain. David looked too chipper to be allowed.

Is it? Jake got off the floor he was sleeping on and looked around the office. How soon is that tug due?

About five hours, David reported. Lieutenant Chin’s on duty. Everyone else is sleeping for another two hours. Near as I can figure, the Mootoain hour is about three of ours, and they’ll probably contact us with an hour to rendezvous.

Sounds about right. I’m going to head down to quarters and get a shower. Jake looked at his exec. How much sleep did you get?

About three hours more than I’d planned.

How so?

We’ve got a good morale officer.

Jacob sat down at the desk. You’re going to have to explain that one.

While you and I were toasting Rachel, he planned a wake for Sadie.

So when is it?

Over and done. That’s why I got more sleep than planned. Butch was at the wake.

So why’d he go and you didn’t?

Strictly below decks. No command rank allowed, not even senior lieutenants.

Mike without Nickie? We should have had Hasin, T’Cha, and Nickie here then.

Hasin doesn’t drink, and having T’Cha at a wake seems a bit off to say the least.

So Nickie ran the boat instead of partying.

It’s hell, being in the middle.

Set up the shore leave roster with Lieutenant Chin on the top of the list. T’Cha and Dr. Hasin get next choice.

Nicole will want her leave with her husband.

So give Mike fourth choice. Hell, put the four of them on shift together. The captain stood. I’m off to the shower. We’ll work the rest of the roster when I get back.

Commander Wilson followed the captain out of his office and took the command chair as Jake went down the hall.

Lieutenant Chin at comm reported nothing, which was the same report she’d had for the last five hours of her and Lieutenant Commander Hasin’s shifts.

How much sleep have you had, Lieutenant? Commander Wilson asked.

About six hours before coming on duty, sir. Mike was at some party I wasn’t invited to. Commander Hasin was on duty when I came on.

Butch was at the same party. The commander smiled. Welcome to command rank.

I’ve been a senior lieutenant for almost a year now. First time I’ve been excluded from a party because of it.

Actually that was my fault.

Sir?

David shook his head. That comment was not for junior officers, and Rachel’s wake was best left for those who knew her best. Hasin knew her too, but a teetotaler at a wake is an oxymoron. There was no real reason Nicole should have been excluded from Sadie’s wake though. He would have to ask Garcia why he’d done it. He looked at Brian’s countdown clock, 4:45:12. I expect that tug to be calling at about three hours to rendezvous. Let’s wake the crew and get the day started when the countdown is at 3:30.

Aye, sir. I figured a three-hour shift, so I was going to call Cadet Thomas in an hour.

David looked at the ship’s clock, oh six hundred hours. You came on at four?

Yes, sir.

Duty day generally starts at oh-eight-hundred. What are you going to do for an hour?

Shower?

For a whole hour?

Nickie chuckled, No, sir, but Mike wasn’t due to go on duty till eight either.

I’ll watch the comm for a half-hour. When the count gets to four hours, go wake your husband.

Won’t leave much time for a shower.

Take it together.

Jake walked into their laughter.

Captain on deck!

At ease. What’s the joke?

Showers, sir. Nickie giggled from the comm station.

Chapter 3

Who’s on First?

The ship’s clock showed seven fifty-nine when Mike and Nickie walked onto the bridge. The Lorili’s duty day began at eight, and everyone was at their station. Dr. Hasin was in the biolab, which doubled as sick bay. Junior Lieutenant Santiago was in the galley cleaning up from breakfast. Normally, the night duty officer