'What'd you tell your father?'
Jen sat a little straighter, put an obviously artificial expression of gratitude on her face, and spoke in a lilting little girl voice. 'Why, thank you, sir. I shall certainly give your suggestions all the consideration they deserve.'
Paul coughed, choking on the drink he'd made the mistake of taking just as Jen started speaking. When he recovered enough to speak, he shook his head. 'You didn't really do that to him, did you?'
She was laughing. 'No. I was on my best behavior, Mr. Sinclair. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I'll think very carefully about what you've said, sir.'
'You called him 'sir' that much?'
'Yeah. He knows when I do that he's stepping over the line. But he kept plowing ahead, anyway. Dad's one stubborn guy when he thinks he's right.'
'Unlike his daughter, who's the soul of reason.'
She grinned at him. 'Or his future like-it-or-not son-in-law.'
Paul grinned back. 'What if the kids inherit it from both sides?'
'God help us.' Jen smiled wistfully. 'It's funny to be talking about kids. About having them.'
'Funny? I think it's scary.'
She laughed. 'You're daunted by the prospect, Mr. Sinclair? You've been responsible for an entire Navy warship and all her crew.'
He nodded. 'Yep. But kids, I think, will be a lot bigger responsibility. I've never had to worry about screwing up someone else's entire life before.'
'Really?' Jen came a little closer and slipped her arms around his waist. 'What about my life?'
He looked into her eyes, marveling at the emotion he saw there. 'What do you mean?'
'You know what I mean. You could screw up my life something terrible, Paul. If you left me, if you were unfaithful, if you lied and cheated.'
'I'd never do that. Any of that.'
'I know. At least, I believe that, which is why I've got my arms wrapped around you right now and why I'm going to do this.' Jen kissed him, long and hard, then slowly pulled back enough to see into his eyes again. 'And that's not all I'm going to do,' she whispered.
Roughly half an hour later, Paul looked over at Jen where she lay next to him, awed once again at the emotion in her eyes as she gazed back. I never thought someone would look at me that way. Never really believed it could happen. And there it is. 'I love you.'
She smiled with unusual gentleness. 'I bet you say that to all the girls.'
'No. Only to the one I'm going to marry.'
'Damn straight, sailor.' Jen snuggled close. 'Right now, in here, I can forget everything outside, and just be happy. Forget all about careers and ships and sailing out into space without each other. Oh, that's right. There's something I forgot to tell you.'
'What's that?' Paul asked, unable to prevent a sudden sense of tension.
Her breath was warm against his ear. 'Welcome home, sailor.' Then she laughed.
Commander Garcia marched off the quarterdeck for the last time as if even that was a cause for aggravation. The petty officer of the watch bonged the ship's bell and announced, 'Commander, United States Navy, departing,' then Garcia was gone and the other officers dropped their salutes. Commander Moraine shuffled her data pad and several other items, then lunged off the quarterdeck into the ship's interior as if headed off on a desperate mission.
Paul had come aboard the Michaelson that morning in the highest spirits he'd had for a while. A few more months and he'd be married to Jen and on shore duty here on Franklin along with her. He'd remembered to get a completed and sworn statement from Garcia before his old department head left the ship. They'd be inport for a while taking care of long overdue maintenance, so while the work would still be brutal it wouldn't be quite as brutal. All in all, things could be a lot worse.
He went back to his stateroom and started scanning through all the messages which had downloaded upon the Michaelson 's arrival. While the ship was operating out in space, communications were always kept to a bare minimum to keep anyone from using the transmissions to help locate the ship's general position, speed and trajectory. Anything of high precedence or importance had been transmitted before the ship arrived at Franklin, of course, so he didn't expect to find anything except routine administrative and operational matters.
But Paul's scanning stopped when he saw a subject line with his name on it and the words 'order modification.' What? They're modifying my orders? This close to my transfer? It's probably just adding some training courses before I report in to Franklin's Operations Department.
It wasn't. Paul felt a odd numbness spreading across his body as he read. ' When detached USS Michaelson (CLE(S)-3) report to transportation office, Franklin Naval Station, for flight arrangements to Theodore Roosevelt Naval Base, Mars. Upon arrival, report to Commander for duties assigned… '
Mars? They can't- Mars? How the hell-? Paul realized he was standing up and heading for what he still thought of as Commander Garcia's stateroom. He was knocking on the hatch before he remembered Commander Moraine would answer. She gave him a nervous frown as she opened the hatch. 'Yes?'
'Req-' Paul swallowed and spoke again. 'Request permission to leave the ship, ma'am.'
Moraine's eyebrows shot up. 'Liberty call just expired.'
'Yes, ma'am. But something urgent has come up-'
'It'll have to wait. I won't have one of my division officers absent for the first officer's call at which I'm head of this department.' Moraine shut the hatch, leaving Paul steaming in the passageway and mentally counting to ten to keep from punching the hatch.
The morning passed in a haze. He didn't pay much attention to Moraine's little speech at officer's call. Senior Chief Imari and Paul's fellow junior officers could tell something was wrong, but Paul waved them off, determined to fix the problem before he vented about it.
Knock off ship's work was announced for lunch and Paul was off the quarterdeck in a flash, heading for a phone terminal. It'd cost a mint to phone Earth real time, but that wasn't important right now.
A receptionist answered. 'Naval Personnel Command.'
'I need to speak to my detailer. Lieutenant Commander Braun.' The time delay caused by the need for the signal to travel at the speed of light between Franklin and Earth wasn't too large, but large enough to be apparent and annoying.
'Thank you. Please hold.'
The receptionist was reaching for the switch when Paul interrupted her, having anticipated her move and started talking before he heard her reply. 'I'm calling from Franklin orbital station. I can't afford to hold long.'
'Yes, Lieutenant. I'll make sure Lieutenant Commander Braun knows.'
A screen saver appeared. Thrilling pictures of senior Naval officers giving no doubt inspiring speeches. Paul tried not to look at his watch, not to let anger get in the way.
The screen saver blinked, then gave way to his detailer. Lieutenant Commander Braun smiled at Paul, a gesture that came and went too quickly to have meaning. 'Lieutenant Sinclair. Nice to hear from you.'
Paul spoke with a carefully controlled voice. 'Ma'am, I just received an order modification.'
'Yes?' Braun's face and tone expressed friendly interest but nothing more.
'To Mars. But I'm supposed to transfer off of the Michaelson to duty on Franklin. I had those orders in my hands.'
'Oh. Yes. Sinclair.' Braun spread her hands with an expression of mild regret. 'Yes. A sudden requirement came up and you were judged the best fill for the job.'
'Four months out and I'm the only guy who fits the job?'
'Well, you were the best fit.'
'Fit for what? This order mod doesn't even specify a particular assignment.'
'Ah, well, you'd have to talk to the people at Roosevelt about that.'
Paul tried to keep his temper from flaring. 'That's not too practical. Real-time calls to Mars-'
'Oh, well, yes, it might be a little difficult.'
'Look, ma'am, I'm getting married right after I leave the Michaelson — '
'Congratulations.'
