A strapped yacht

As Gerald was brought before Admiral Greir, he wasn't quite sure how to greet him, so he settled on the old standby and offer him his hand.

The Admiral looked at it like it was a venomous snake. "My apologies, my people normally do not greet by touching."

"Oh, that's okay," Gerald said, withdrawing his hand.

"What is he talking about?" one pilot whispered to another. "Just five minutes ago the Admiral had his arm around Lieutenant N'Derson."

Greir cleared his throat and turned to look out the viewscreen.

"I feel I owe you an apology," Gerald said. "I did not take very good care of the ship that carries your namesake."

"It's only a ship," Greir reassured. "Although I suppose it was rather indulgent of me to name her after my daughter. You tend to get a little sentimental when you reach my age."

Gerald looked at the screen as well. The way the stars whizzed past was soothing. Despite the rows of bridge crew working at their stations, the domed room was surprisingly quiet and serene. He took little comfort in it. He felt terrible about the way things had gone with Trahzi. She hadn't come out of her room for days, and it didn't seem like that was about to change.

Usually Gerald tried to keep busy, keep moving. It was a way of masking his thoughts, and a trick to avoid dealing with his own feelings. But out here there really wasn't much for him to do, and so the single thing he didn't want to think about constantly stared him in the face: In trying to help her, he had hurt her, and he hated himself for it.

"Actually, I should be the one thanking you," Greir said, breaking the silence. "We've been hunting the Garan Corsairs for over twenty cycles. Now, thanks to you, they have all either been captured or killed."

"But Lyssandra Bal got away."

Greir flexed his hands. "Yes, she has quite the talent for that. But we'll get her next time. Perhaps even with your help."

Gerald wasn't used to being complimented. "I didn't really do anything."

Greir looked at him oddly. "Didn't you? Interesting. My brother is that way too. Never wants to take credit for anything. It's as if praise is poisonous to him."

"You mean the Emperor?"

Greir nodded. "I was born a Qetimong, but in my wife's culture, the husband changes his surname when they are married. You should have seen the look on my brother's face when I told him I was changing my name to Greir."

Gerald smiled. He found that he liked the Admiral immediately. Gerald had expected a career military man to be quite different than this. He was easy to talk to. He had a kind of casual way about him that was instantly likeable. It was no wonder that his people were so loyal to him.

"What is he like?" Gerald wondered aloud.

"Well, important people often have a mythos surrounding them, a public life that is quite different from their private lives."

"Oh," Gerald said, disappointed.

"...But my brother isn't like that. He is exactly like what you see in the weekly addresses. When he slew the ArchTyrant, he had no thought of reward or power. The only thing in his heart was saving as many people as he could and ending the war. It was quite a shock to him when the mantle of leadership was thrust upon him. I don't think he'll ever really get used to it."

Greir took his cap off and ran his wrinkled fingers through his white hair, revealing a large reddish birthmark just above his right ear. Gerald recalled seeing the same mark on The Emperor during some of his speeches.

"Well, the repairs to the Kalia Greir are completed," Gerald said, doing his best to give a proper salute. "I just wanted to thank you personally before we departed."

Greir nodded. As Gerald turned around to leave, he stopped him.

"One other thing. We also replaced the portside life pods on the Kalia with a captain's yacht."

"A yacht?"

Greir nodded. "We gave you a ship full of spare parts and you broke it in just a few hours, so we'll try something a little more low-tech, we'll just strap a second ship to your ship."

"I broke it?"

Greir turned and gave him a smile. "I'm kidding of course."

Gerald saluted again, just for good measure, and was escorted off the bridge. As the doors closed behind him, a lighting fixture broke free and crashed to the deck where he had been standing only moments before.

"Frakkin kid is like a walking demolition crew..."

* * *

Gerald slid the door open and walked onto the bridge with Cadbury just as they broke moorings and swam out into space. Loud Bertulfian music roared through the ship's sound system. A kind of caterwauling opera that was howled instead of sung. Ilrica sang along, her feet propped up in the pilot's station. Cadbury panicked and tried to hide her head in the sand, but only managed to bonk her head against the deck instead.

"Where is everybody else?" Gerald yelled, covering his ears.

"They're all in their rooms sleeping, I think," Ilrica shouted as she stood up and stretched. "They said something about needing peace and quiet, I dunno, I wasn't really listening."

Gerald caught himself staring at her exquisitely toned athletic legs, and her delectably taught muscular waist. Despite all of the fur, she was extremely attractive. Gerald wondered if he had always found her pretty, or if it was just because he had gotten to know her better.

Cadbury pecked at her long tail as it swung back and forth behind her.

"Gerald, you might want to take a picture, it will last longer," Ilrica said, giving him a wink.

Gerald's face went red at having been caught staring. "How come you're not wearing your uniform when you are on bridge duty?"

"I already told you, I'm on vacation. Also, before I left school, the contents of my room were vaporized."

"Vaporized? How did that happen?"

"I dunno, must have been a gas leak or something."

"I guess I don't know her that well after all," he grumbled.

"What?" she asked over a particularly loud yowling aria.

"Nothing, I'm going to go take a cold shower."

"I'm flattered," she said as she stood up, arching her back to show off more fully her deliciously fit body. "One look at me and the pious man of the cloth is off to take a cold shower."

"Not because of that! The hot water in my room is broken."

Ilrica laughed and slapped him on the back. "Yeah, sure, whatever. Oh, go wake up the princess on your way, we're almost there and she's the senior diplomat-thingy."

"Yeah, yeah," he said as he left, Cadbury wobbling off after him.