Bob woke up smiling. Why shouldn't he? He had an excellent position as commander of the pride of the Confederate States Navy, excellent prospects for advancement, excellent health, and most excellently, two beautiful women had agreed to become his wives.
Sort of.
Well, they'd hash out the details. Bob had set himself to win them with his boyish charm, teased them into accepting a proposal that he hadn't actually reached the point of making; now he would have to woo them like any suitor. Backwards, as usual, Bob, he told himself. Just like your football style. See the goal, kick the ball through the goalee's legs, then charge the goal. Backwards.
He was in his tiny shower closet when his steward knocked.
"Begging the Captain's pardon, sir, but shall I remove the remaining clothing and linens to the BOQ, or has the Captain made other arrangements?"
Other arrangements? Great day, last night can't possibly be all over the ship already, can it? The Captain thought about everyone who had actually seen the arrival of Mrs. Harboard, who had seen them in the wardroom, who might have overheard any snatch of conversation. The Pantry cook and Chief Ghirardeli were sworn to secrecy. They'd not talk. So what...?
Bob realized he was overreacting. "No, no other arrangements. The BOQ will be fine."
"Yes, sir. I'll take care of it as soon as Mrs. Harboard's guest is done with your stateroom."
"That'll be fine."
He dressed in the uniform laid out for him, double-checked the locked safes and left them all open, empty. Time for breakfast. He left for the Wardroom.
Siobhan Dorchester scanned her control panel frequently, changing the order each time to prevent herself from becoming complacent with the readings. Even shut down, a reactor plant was never truly shut down. Once brought to initial criticality, the fuel would continue to fission at faster than isotopic decay rates, and each neutron released had at least the potential to cause more fissioning.
The rate was low enough now, with all control rods fully inserted, to be negligible, so long as the conditions of temperature and pressure stayed within their limits. Room-temperature water could reflect many more neutrons back into the fuel than the less-dense hot water could, so she was vigilant to avoid such conditions. Gotta keep the gamma rays outa the people tank, she thought to herself.
She smiled, thinking why that was even more important now. Military-issued birth control was first rate, but no birth control was infallible. This had been her last tour at sea for a few years. Of course, every silver lining had a dark cloud.
Siobhan contemplated clouds and linings while she made a log entry. It'll be wonderful to be at home full time, even with Roy and Cassandra still on the 'Areolee,' and I'll certainly see more of my other husband and wife, Darren and Libby, when the Jeff Davis is in port. She stood and turned to read through a bank of remote Resistance Temperature Detectors (RTDs). Jeff Davis is in port now. The whole family will be together tonight and tomorrow, before they pull out on Monday. She smiled a huge smile.
Her shadow watch showed up just then, and if she chose to believe that smile was for her, Siobhan didn't mind. She began a leisurely turnover with the shipyard Reactor Operator who would assume her duties upon change of command.
Captain John Carter was a clean-limbed fighting man of Virginia. At 25, already a Company Commander in the Confederate States Marine Corps (CSMC) and veteran of two campaigns, he was looking forward to his transfer to CASA, the Confederate Air and Space Administration. Between his Engineering Degree and combat experience, he'd won an appointment for consideration as crew of the manned Mars probe scheduled for 2006.
He knew he'd make the team. Young, exceptionally fit, outstanding coordination, keen eyesight, and an exceptional leader, he'd never failed at anything he'd set his mind to, and this would not be an exception. Not while he breathed and there was a God in heaven.
He planned to stop in Norfolk overnight to let his sister know. And her husband, Nat Forrest. He loved his sister and liked her husband, but there was just that tiny voice itching to tell Nat, "See? Naked Talent and pure ability are as good as a family name any day!"
Not that Nat had ever acted the Aristocrat, but still—he had That Name. John had always felt the need to 'live up' to his brother-in-law's family. This assignment could more than fulfill that need. Maybe if I became famous enough...
John squelched the thought in its tracks. Sisters could be wives. Brothers could be husbands. But Brother and sister could never be husband and wife. Not even if their family name was Ptolemy, not in this day and age. He'd just have to find a wife or wives he could love as much as his sister.
Bob happily joined Deborah and Nancy in the wardroom for breakfast. After he'd 'surrendered' last night, their conversation had turned to the sort of small talk dating people engaged in. Some light and inconsequential, some sniffing around the edges, some serious long-term thoughts. At no time had Nancy displayed the attitude that had spoiled their first date.
Nancy was speaking. "You must let us show our appreciation for last night by inviting you to dinner. A home cooked meal, that is. Are you available Saturday evening?"
Bob didn't waste an instant's thought on why he wasn't invited tonight—Deborah and Nancy's first night alone together in weeks. But, "I'm sorry, I'll be in Washington City tomorrow, at the War Department." He regretted turning down any invitation the Harboard women tendered, but especially one from Nancy. "Perhaps another time?"
Nancy and Deborah exchanged looks. Marital code flashed in head leans, eyebrow motions, and a nod. "Will you be back Sunday?"
"Certainly. I'd be pleased to take dinner with you Sunday, Nancy, Deborah. What time, and what can I bring?"
"Sunday Dinner is early, say 16:00?" Bob nodded. "Bring a hearty appetite."
Bob nodded again, grinning. He'd bring more than that—flowers, of a certainty, and perhaps wine, or sherry. An early dinner might mean, if he hadn't been thrown out, drinks or a snack later.
His lovely guest hadn't commented, but she must have noticed that breakfast was served on disposable plates, with disposable cutlery. Dinner last night would have been similar, had Bob not brought back his personal service, or at least part of it. His steward had already packed and removed that and his other personal items by now. Even the breakfast, tolerable as it was, was catered from the pier. By now the wardroom pantry and the galley were scrubbed down for turnover.
He glanced at the clock. Less than an hour until turnover.
As part of the working party that had off-loaded the last of the personal gear to a waiting shuttle-bus, Seaman Sizeman didn't have to attend the change of command ceremony. She did have to follow the Chief-of-the-Boat (COB) and his Yardbird counterpart as they inspected the berthing spaces to ensure nothing was left behind.
So far, the lucky-bag contained two sets of underwear, a bra, several toothbrushes, assorted combs, several shampoo bottles, about six dollars in loose change and a bible. Nothing anyone would claim, except for the bible, and that had a name in it. Petty Officer Whitehead would owe the COB an hour for that. The change would go into the crew's rec fund and the toothbrushes would end up applying polish to the COB's shoes. The rest was trash.
Susan was already looking eagerly ahead an hour to when the working party would be dismissed at the temporary off-ship crew's quarters. She had leave that started immediately after, and a noon flight out of Norfolk International, home to Salt Lake City. She was even looking forward to being greeted by her husband's silly ditty, the one that went, "Seaman Susie Sizeman sails subs by the sea shore." Her wives would help her tease him back. They always did.
Before they finished with the compartment, four paperback books—two romances and two mystery stories—had joined the bible in the lucky-bag, as well as a dozen magazines of a type that made Susan blush. Slavery had been abolished well over a hundred years ago—she couldn't understand why anyone would want to tie someone up that way and whip them. Especially naked. That would be so... well... humiliating.
And the woman tied up wasn't even dark skinned! Still, the expression on her face...
Susan began to suspect that her upbringing was even more sheltered than she'd realized.
The 1MC saved her from further embarrassment. "This is Lieutenant Commander Paul Darnick, Ship Superintendent, Norfolk Naval Shipyard. I will read my orders..."
Deborah stood at attention. Behind her, five of the crew in dress greys represented the rest for the brief ceremony. The rest of her duty section was below decks, waiting for the magic words that would start their R&R, almost a day behind the rest of the crew. From the corner of her eye, she could see Nancy, behind the Captain and the Ship Superintendent on the microphone. Several other guests attended as well, near Nancy.
But now she was watching the Captain... Bob. For thirty more seconds, he was The Captain. Commanding Officer of The CSS Robert E. Lee. Master before God of the finest warship in the Fleet of Virginia and the Confederate States Navy...
"From: Admiral Jonas S. Sampson, Commander, Submarine Forces Atlantic Fleet. To: Lieutenant Commander Paul Darnick, Ship Superintendent, Norfolk Naval Shipyard. You will proceed on or about 08:00, Four May, 2001 to assume Command of the Confederate States Ship Robert E. Lee on behalf of Norfolk Naval Shipyard for the purpose of overhaul, upgrade, and refurbishment." Lcdr Darnick handed the microphone to a yeoman, who kept the key depressed. He saluted Captain Lee. "Captain Lee, I relieve you."
"I stand relieved." Bob saluted back. The Yeoman unkeyed the microphone. The two officers shook hands, Bob saying, "Take good care of her for me."
The new master of the Areolee grinned back and nodded. He directed one of his personnel, "Strike the colors." All saluted as the flag was lowered. Then he took the mike again. "That is all. Carry on."
...and just like that, Bob was simply 'Officer in Charge, Submarine Cadre Detachment.' The CSS Robert E. Lee was officially 'Out of Commission.' Deborah watched his shoulders slump, slightly. Relief from the burdens of command, she wondered silently, or depression from the reduction in power? Will it change that cocky attitude?
The rest of the duty section poured from the torpedo loading hatch and exited the ship, many boarding the shuttle bus, but others being met by family. The COB was the last one up. "That's the lot, Skipper," he reported.
Deborah had Nancy precede her down the brow. It felt strange not to salute a Quarterdeck Watch or the flag. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Bob twitch when it was his turn. It also felt strange not to hear "Robert E. Lee, departing" announced.
Bob insisted that she and Nancy board the shuttle, and had the driver drop them at Nancy's car in the visitor's lot. There, he bade them goodbye, "...until Sunday."
As Deborah watched the shuttle pull away, Nancy placed an arm around her shoulder. "I felt it too. Almost wanted to take him in my arms and comfort him."
Deborah grinned at her wife. "Grows on you, doesn't he?"
"I guess. Let's go home."
They went home.
"They seemed quite attractive," Caroline said. "Especially your young Lieutenant. I can see why he might bend a rule or two." She and Samantha had watched the Change of Command from the pier, unnoticed, mostly so Sam could point out the woman Bob had turned Caroline down for. The gossip had been every bit as juicy as Bob had promised.
Samantha sighed. "I think I envy her a little." She looked askance at Caroline. "You should have given me more notice that you were going to put a move on Bob. I could have done a little groundwork. Not, in view of the circumstances, that it would have done any good, but I would have appreciated being in the loop."
Caroline tilted her head. "I didn't think that... look, I worried more that you'd be upset with the idea. You've expressed the same reservations about, you know, same-ship relationships."
"How can I put this," Samantha said. "Ah. Let me paraphrase. 'In her professional capacity, Samantha Stuart-Forrest must embrace policies which she abhors in her personal capacity.' How's that?"
"Sounds like delusions of godhood," Caroline said, laughing. "So what you're saying..."
"What I'm saying," Samantha interrupted, "is that I agree with that wise old bureaucrat in the early twentieth century who decided you couldn't legislate morality and got most of the fraternization directives expunged from military regulations. Deal with the problems you see, not the ones you think you see."
"Deal with the favoritism, not with the affair."
"Right. You can document instances of preferential treatment. You can't document the emotions or attitudes that caused them." Sam looked reflective. "When word of Bob's first date with Deborah and her wife reached me through the grapevine, I called her into my stateroom—I couldn't talk to Bob—and lectured her on not accepting any favoritism."
"And?"
"For one thing, she had no idea about Bob's policy. It was so funny watching her realize that Bob had done something extraordinary with her. For another, she was holding details very close, giving up nothing, and I could see that preference was not an issue... militarily."
Caroline laughed.
Samantha's face turned... apprehensive. "I know juggling a military career and a marriage means I'll be 'out of the loop' on domestic matters way too often, but...
"Damn it, Caroline! It was my turn!"
Caroline was startled by the vehemence, and lost as to what turn Sam was claiming. For a moment. Then, "Oh, sweetheart! I'm so sorry. But you need to know, it wasn't planned."
Samantha, holding back tears, sniffed. "It wasn't?"
"Remember back to the night of the alert? 'All military personnel report to your units by 20:00.' You pushed us all into the bedroom, saying you only had an hour before you had to leave for God knows how long. I didn't have time to insert my diaphragm, you were in such a rush. And I thought it was safe enough..."
"Oh my God! I got you pregnant?"
Caroline nodded. "And you were home by midnight anyway, but that's not important." They held one another, laughing and crying, for a long time.
After a while, they pulled apart, wiping cheeks and straightening themselves. "Well," said Caroline, "at least I don't feel quite so bad about being turned down by Bob, now."
"You don't?"
"No. He isn't as perceptive as I thought he was."
"What makes you say that?"
"He said he thought you were too driven and career oriented to want babies. He even made me doubt it myself."
Sam looked into Caroline's eyes. "Have no doubts on that score. I love babies, and I want to make some with you and Nat. I just wanted to time them for shore duty. I love you."
"I love you, too. So you're okay with me being..." She waved a hand over her belly.
"I am now. Let's talk names."
"Yes! Yes! There! Ohgodohgodohgod!"
Collapsed on the bed afterward, Mrs. and Mrs. Harboard alternately panted and giggled. Hands intertwined between them squeezed often. Sweat and other moisture slowly dried in the breeze from a ceiling fan. Eventually, the room became quiet.
Nancy broke the silence. "Welcome home."
Deborah smiled. "It's good to be home."
If, in his temporarily reduced circumstance, Bob rated neither a driver nor a steward, the same did not apply to his cousin, Major General James Ezekiel Lee. The same cousin who, knowing that Bob would meet briefly with his superiors in the War Department on Saturday, sent driver and car to fetch Bob to the family estates in Arlington rather than allow him to use public transportation and military lodging.
Bob wasn't entirely certain the courtesy was worth it. An automobile ride from Norfolk to Washington City, no matter how luxurious the vehicle, was still three hours and more of automobile ride. The air packet from the Naval Air Station would have arrived much later, but with less than half an hour in air travel.
Bob reminded himself any time his legs cramped or his back protested, the cadet branches of the Lee family do not insult the main branch by refusing their hospitality.
He reminded himself again as the driver negotiated the traffic of Washington City. Even in Arlington, where the family still lived, traffic was intense. Bob was already adding an hour to his planned travel time to the inner city in the morning.
Donna Delvechio smiled at Jason LaPaz as his brother seated her. Jason was seating their wife, Belinda, across from her. She smiled at Belinda as well. She enjoyed dating the LaPazes, and not just for the newspaper contacts she'd made for when her enlistment was up in August. They were fun people, and Donna enjoyed their company.
Belinda spoke as the men seated themselves. "Jason tells us you brought him some excellent art from this last trip."
"I don't know that I'd call it art, but I took some photos I was quite pleased with. Sometimes, a photographer just needs to be in the right place with a camera."
"She's too modest," Jason said. "It isn't enough to be there, you also have to have the eye, and the presence of mind to make the right settings to capture what that eye sees. Donna has both."
"Trust his word," interjected Leo, his brother. "Jason is an expert on capturing what the eye sees." He let his gaze linger on Donna with a slight smile.
Donna blushed. What Leo had said was certainly true. She normally dated single men or women, avoiding married groups because such dates tended to become more serious too quickly. But the LaPazes had never proposed anything more serious, or even exclusive. Donna was free to play the fields, and did.
While Jason described some of her photographs, a waiter came and went. Drinks appeared and their orders were taken. Donna was fascinated by Jason's descriptions - he saw critical detail much better than she did herself. She usually took the pictures because they simply appealed to her, making decisions about apertures and exposure almost subliminally.
"So anyway," Jason was saying, "I showed the photographs to Willard in Society, particularly the engagement photos. He asked if you'd be interested in a job. Oh, and he'll insert the engagement announcement in Sunday's page; he had a cancellation."
"A job?" Donna asked. She knew she should be excited for the Captain — neither had expected the announcement to run until the following weekend — but the prospect of post-service employment crowded out the lesser excitement.
Jason nodded. "He liked all your work, but was particularly enamored with the engagement photos. He needs a better society photographer, wants me to set up an interview. If you're interested..."
"I'm interested, I'm interested!" Donna laughed. "I'm not at all sure what I'll be doing when my enlistment's up. I have applications at bunches of electronics firms, since that's what my rating mainly deals with. My hobby and collateral duty as a photographer gives me other options, and I had applications at various chain portrait studios as well. So far all I've received is acknowledgement of the resumes and aps. I'd love an actual interview."
They discussed it a little more before leaving for a dance club. Donna was floating on a cloud, and let it show through dancing. She accepted eagerly when the LaPazes invited her home. It was a wonderful cap to a wonderful date.
Jimmy Lee was laughing out loud. When, after dinner, his junior wife had turned the conversation from military shop talk to Bob's personal life, she'd managed to pry all the details of both dates with the ladies Harboard out of his cousin. The story of the second date, and the engagement—if it was an engagement—reminded him of a younger Bobby he remembered fondly.
But Pricilla was frowning. For that matter, so were Constance and Olivia if somewhat less so. Jimmy calmed himself and leaned back to listen to his wives' counsel on the matter. Donald, his husband smiled, but wryly.
"You do realize that they were only teasing back, don't you?" The doubtful tone in Pricilla's voice gave doubt that she believed any such thing.
"I know no such thing," Bob said, grinning. "They accepted, and I for one appreciate the brevity of the courtship. I've never been particularly good at the dating thing."
"I'd say that's a bit of an understatement," Connie said. Pricilla and Livvy both nodded.
"If you take for granted that this 'engagement' is a fait accompli, Pricilla added, "You're only setting yourself up for a rude awakening." She delivered this verdict in the same tone that she had once informed Jimmy that "Prissy" and "Silly" would not be regarded as terms of endearment.
Bob sat up straighter in his seat. "you really think so." It wasn't a question.
"I know how I would react in their position, and I doubt they'd react much differently. On the plus side, you've been invited to dinner at their home, so there is some interest in pursuing a relationship. But if you even hint at taking that for granted..."
"Okay, I get it." Bob said. He seemed distracted. "I need to call the paper first thing Monday morning and pull an engagement announcement."
Jimmy laughed again. So did Don. Their wives were all but physically beating poor Bob about the head and shoulders for his "insensitivity" and "brashness," not to mention his complete and utter lack of any hint of romance or empathy. Strike that — now they were slapping him on top of his head, like some errant school-boy.
But Jimmy also appreciated Bob's gesture on some levels. His military acumen liked the decisiveness and the flanking maneuver. See the enemy, engage the enemy—and that thought brought fresh laughter burbling to the surface, which earned him a few "you aren't helping" stares of his own.
He managed to restrain himself to merely grinning, and sharing those grins with Don. Poor Bob would be grateful for the reprieve of a visit to the War Department in the morning.
Slap. "If they even hear a rumor that you placed an engagement announcement without their permission..." Slap.
Very, very grateful.
This was more like it, Nancy thought. Awash in the afterglow of making love — again — she felt very comfortable. Her familiar bed, her familiar room, no strange sounds and the currents of air from a ceiling fan, not some vent duct blowing past her head, and best of all, Deborah spooned behind her lying on their left sides. Nude.
Which made her say aloud, "I wonder what side of the bed Bob likes to sleep on."
Only another woman would find such a statement, made at the borders of sleep, completely normal. "He's not The Dick," Deborah pointed out. "Maybe he won't roll away on a side at all."
"You mean he might cuddle up behind you like you're behind me?" That appealed to Nancy. She felt Deborah's nod.
"He might. Or maybe he'll snuggle in between us, and this," she hugged Nancy, "would be his arm, and this," she bumped her pelvis forward, "would be his cock, nestling against your ass."
That image left Nancy… ambivalent. That mixture of feelings surprised her. The thought that Bob might come between her and Deborah, on any level… the thought that Bob might nestle his cock against her ass…. "You chose those words deliberately." Her nipples were hardening.
Giggling answered her, and soft whispering. "Cock. Ass." Deborah's arm left Nancy's ribs and reappeared between them. A thumb wiggled between Nancy's cheeks. "Cock. Ass."
Nancy groaned. Deborah knew all her secrets, all her weaknesses. She felt, despite her tiredness, a certain moisture forming. The thumb began to press gently on her sphincter, and fingers slid across her peritoneum to caress her lips. Her own hand slid up to fondle her tits. Boobs. Knockers.
Deborah slid the thumb past her sphincter, and began slowly sawing in and out. "Cock. Bugger. Assfuck. Cornhole." Her fingers continued to rub and spread Nancy's labia. "Pussy. Cunt. Twat."
Nancy was approaching orgasm rapidly, one hand on her melons—cassabas—honkers, the other bracketing her clitoris—clit—girl-dick, vibrating furiously.
Deborah could tell when she arrived. "Come! Gush! Squirt, fucking squirt!"
Some minutes later, Nancy had calmed, her breathing almost normal. "Okay. Bob can sleep in the middle if he wants to."
Deborah just giggled.