Sykes raised both eyebrows at the question. 'We were just discussing rest, I believe. What do you do on Sunday mornings? When you're not standing a watch, that is.'
'I usually try to catch up on some work…' Jen's voice trailed off. 'I should be resting?'
'An alien concept to the minds of ship drivers, isn't it? Ponder it long enough, and perhaps the idea will take root. It is officially endorsed, you know. The Navy has provided you with a bed on this ship. You should make use of it every once in a while.' Sykes paused, frowning at the two ensigns. 'Naturally, I mean individual use. I wouldn't want to be accused of urging two impressionable youngsters down the path to unauthorized social interactions.'
Paul covered his face with one hand to cover up his embarrassed reaction to Sykes' joke, while Jen looked pained. 'Suppo, I hope no one's trying to spread rumors.'
'If they are, I haven't heard of them. But one never knows. I'm simply trying to be prudent.' Sykes sighed theatrically. 'Young people these days. Meeting, getting married, having children. Nothing at all like when I was young.'
The absurdity of the statement, paired with Sykes' tone of apparently sincere nostalgic regret, finally forced another smile out of Jen. 'Suppo, just how long ago were you young?'
'It's been a while. Back then you could walk from South America to Africa. Oh, occasionally the land-bridge would flood at high tide, but that just added to the excitement of the outing. The continents have drifted much farther apart now, of course, so that little walk is gone the way of the wholly mammoth. Speaking of which, did I ever tell you about my childhood pet? We called him Harry. Sort of a pun, you see.'
Jen laughed this time. 'Please. No more. Thank you for the advice, Commander. Next time my department head finds me snoozing away, I'll send him to talk to you.'
'My office is always open,' Sykes assured her, waving his hand around the wardroom as if staking claim to the entire compartment. 'Though tomorrow it will be dedicated to Thanksgiving dinner. See the decorations?'
Paul looked around curiously. 'No, sir.'
'Of course not. They're virtual decorations. When the display projector works. Which, at the moment, it does not.'
Jen grinned. 'And it's not going to be working soon. We're remanufacturing the control box to try to fix it. Maybe it'll be done in a few weeks.'
'Take your time, Ensign Shen.' This time Sykes shook his head. 'The officially-approved, nondenominational, interfaith decorations, guaranteed inoffensive to any human regardless of personal mindset, are truly horrible in their bland mediocrity. You may take a moment to give thanks tomorrow that the projector remains broken.'
Paul smiled. Okay. That's one thing to give thanks for. That and the fact that Commander Sykes cared enough about what happened to run Jen down and give her that talk. Like Jen told me, he's a good pork chop. And a better officer than I'd realized. I wonder what they're going to serve us for Thanksgiving? Something special?
'Hey, Suppo.' Jen held up her portion of turkey loaf, which had been so heavily processed and reprocessed that its texture resembled tofu. 'The scuttlebutt was we'd have real turkey for Thanksgiving.'
Sykes smiled. 'Ensign Shen. Ensign Shen. Close your eyes, young lady. How many real turkeys do you see? That's how many we have on this ship.'
'Is it too much to ask that this crap actually taste something like turkey?'
'Yes.' Sykes smiled again. 'When you joined, the Navy promised to feed you, Ensign Shen. But it didn't promise how often it'd feed you, nor how well.'
Carl Meadows swallowed a portion of his turkey loaf with evident difficulty. 'Just be grateful they served us this and not one of those lamb roasts.'
Lieutenant Sindh choked momentarily. 'Why did you have to mention that? Those so-called roasts taste so gamey they ought to be banned under the chemical weapons treaty.'
'Where do they come from, anyway? I can't believe that meat is actually from a lamb.'
'Well, technically maybe not.' Everyone eyed Lieutenant Bristol suspiciously. 'They've really improved the solid waste recycling end products and-' Bristol made a futile attempt to dodge the turkey loaf packets hurled at him. 'It's a good thing there's no bones in that stuff.'
'Oh, I bet there's bones,' Jen groused. 'Ground up along with damn all everything else.'
'Maybe they use something like the turbines, Jen,' Paul suggested. 'You know, feed a turkey in one end-'
'Feathers and all?'
'Feathers and beaks and all, yeah. Grind it all down and package the end product.'
Lieutenant Sindh choked again. 'This food is disgusting enough without you guys making it worse. Serves me right for getting stuck eating with the junior officer shift.'
Bristol smiled. 'You'd prefer eating with the senior officers? Present company excepted, of course,' he added, bowing slightly toward Commander Sykes.
'No. No way. Present company excepted, of course.' Sindh mimicked Bristol's gesture to Sykes.
Sykes smiled in return, unbuckling his seat strap. 'It's nice to receive proper obeisance, but I must leave prior to the dessert course.'
'Why?'
'Discretion is the better part of valor. Please just keep in mind that I was not allowed any input to the menu. It was fixed by the gods of supply, loaded onboard in prepackaged lots, and I am merely the messenger who delivers it.'
'Suppo.' Jen snagged Sykes as he tried to pass her. 'What's for dessert?'
'I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise.'
'Spoil it. Please. Sir.'
'I believe the dessert is commonly known as cannonballs.'
'Cannonballs?' This time Paul choked. They were an infamous dessert at the Naval Academy. Officially an apple baked in pastry, cannonballs were actually small portions of apple locked deep within thick doughy shells. Anyone foolish enough to actually consume one ended up with their stomach feeling as if they had ingested a cannonball in truth.
'Get him!' Meadows howled, but Sykes had already slipped away from Jen and swung expertly out the hatch. 'Never mind. We'll never catch him now. Suppo's pretty agile for an old guy. Is anybody going to eat their dessert?'
'Are you kidding?'
'No. I just figured we could sort of deliver any leftovers to Commander Sykes' stateroom.' Carl looked inquiringly at Bristol. 'Which we could do, if we could get the help of a certain assistant supply officer.'
'Say no more.' Bristol shook his head in mock horror. 'Cannonballs. This is a crime against humanity.' He turned to Paul. 'Correct, ship's legal officer?'
'I'm sure it must be illegal under some provision of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. Or international law. Or something.' Paul spent the next half-hour mostly listening and laughing as his fellow junior officers spun ever more fantastic plots to dispose of the cannonball desserts. So. Happy Thanksgiving. And I am thankful for something. As bad as things can be, at least I've got some shipmates who are literally in the same boat, and together they make things not only endurable, but sometimes even fun. At the moment, the investigation of the incident with the SASAL ship and the threat of whatever awaited them back at Franklin seemed very far away. And that was fine.
The next few weeks passed in the odd limbo of underway time. The ship's interior lighting cycled on and off to mark the passage of human days, but Paul's life remained defined by the hours spent on watch and a ship's workday which seemed to cover most of the time not devoted to watch standing. Sleep fell where possible into the cracks of that schedule. With morale on the ship sinking lower with every kilometer covered on the way back to Franklin, holiday celebrations normally constrained by tight spaces and lack of materials for decoration received even less attention than usual.
One morning, Paul stared at his personal calendar for long minutes before realizing that December 25th ought to have a special significance beyond another processed turkey meal. It's not like I could go out shopping for presents or anything. Moments later his data link beeped, announcing the arrival of a sentimental e-card from one
