laughing at a long improbable story about how Van Zandt had arranged to have a case of caviar destined for fleet headquarters rerouted to his ship’s mess.
“Didn’t the admiral ever figure it out?” she asked.
“Never. My exec is now known around the fleet as the Great Stone Face.”
All of the awkwardness was gone as she laughed again. They were supposed to be reviewing the details of the mission. However, their discussions left plenty of room for war stories.
“I have to say, Garth, that you aren’t what I expected.”
He arched his left eyebrow.
“When they sent for an Earth naval officer to command, I guess I expected some hard driving martinet.”
“A cross between Horatio Hornblower, Captain Bligh and Captain Kirk, perhaps?” he asked.
“Something like that.”
“There’s a kernel of truth in the popular misconception that commanding officers are sons-a-bitches and martinets,” Garth admitted, “but only a kernel. Commanding a spaceship is far more complicated than the challenges those old sea and wind sailors ever faced. The equipment requires a higher level of training, the medium is far more deadly than the ocean ever was, and space crews expect to be treated like the professionals they are. A captain who resorts to the cat-o-nine-tails may find his cabin suddenly vented to space some night. No, people work best when you interfere with them least. Not that situations do not arise that call for a steady hand on the tiller, you understand. On the few occasions I do pull rank, I expect to be obeyed instantly.”
Tory nodded. “I can live with that. Just remember, that I never learned how to salute properly.”
He laughed. “Another old wives’ tale. Have you ever tried to salute in microgravity?”
She shook her head.
“As the arm comes up, torque causes the body to rotate in the opposite direction. Then, if you snap your hand down smartly, you go into a wobbly spinning motion. If your head happens to contact something solid, you can knock yourself out. Any other preconceptions that I can lay to rest for you?”
Tory gnawed on her lip. One subject had been on her mind since she had agreed to go on the expedition. She weighed the consequences of bringing it up now versus waiting. She decided that it was best to get everything on the table as quickly as possible. “Is it true what they say about spacers?”
“Depends on what they say.”
“The word is that things get pretty friendly aboard ship on long patrols.”
Van Zandt stared at her for long seconds. His mouth curled up slightly at the edges as Tory’s ears began to burn. “I presume you’re asking about sexual liaisons aboard ship.”
She nodded, surprised at her own awkwardness. After all, if she was to be cooped up in a vacuum-sealed can with this man for three years, she had every right to know what ‘duties’ he expected her to perform.
He sighed and leaned back. “It is true that space crews on long patrols often form close bonds, and sometimes those bonds involve sexual liaisons. People get together for companionship, or just to have a warm body next to them at night. Such relationships can last a day, a week, a patrol, or a lifetime. There is but a single rule and it is inviolate. Whatever happens, it must be agreed to by both parties. There can be no coercion involved. Does that set your mind at ease?”
“What happens when the spacers have wives at home?”
He shrugged. “Some are faithful, some aren’t. The same goes for the wives. I know of several arrangements where one woman is married to two spacers. It makes for a comfortable relationship unless both ships are in orbit at the same time. Or was your question a subtle way of asking whether I’m married?”
She felt her complexion grow even redder. “It wasn’t. Are you?”
“Divorced,” Van Zandt said. “My wife didn’t like the long separations that go with patrol duty. We ended our contract amicably and are still good friends.
“Didn’t the admiral ever figure it out?” she asked.
“Never. My exec is now known around the fleet as the Great Stone Face.”
All of the awkwardness was gone as she laughed again. They were supposed to be reviewing the details of the mission. However, their discussions left plenty of room for war stories.
“I have to say, Garth, that you aren’t what I expected.”
He arched his left eyebrow.
“When they sent for an Earth naval officer to command, I guess I expected some hard driving martinet.”
“A cross between Horatio Hornblower, Captain Bligh and Captain Kirk, perhaps?” he asked.
“Something like that.”
“There’s a kernel of truth in the popular misconception that commanding officers are sons-a-bitches and martinets,” Garth admitted, “but only a kernel. Commanding a spaceship is far more complicated than the challenges those old sea and wind sailors ever faced. The equipment requires a higher level of training, the medium is far more deadly than the ocean ever was, and space crews expect to be treated like the professionals they are. A captain who resorts to the cat-o-nine-tails may find his cabin suddenly vented to space some night. No, people work best when you interfere with them least. Not that situations do not arise that call for a steady hand on the tiller, you understand. On the few occasions I do pull rank, I expect to be obeyed instantly.”
Tory nodded. “I can live with that. Just remember, that I never learned how to salute properly.”
He laughed. “Another old wives’ tale. Have you ever tried to salute in microgravity?”
She shook her head.
“As the arm comes up, torque causes the body to rotate in the opposite direction. Then, if you snap your hand down smartly, you go into a wobbly spinning motion. If your head happens to contact something solid, you can knock yourself out. Any other preconceptions that I can lay to rest for you?”
Tory gnawed on her lip. One subject had been on her mind since she had agreed to go on the expedition. She weighed the consequences of bringing it up now versus waiting. She decided that it was best to get everything on the table as quickly as possible. “Is it true what they say about spacers?”
“Depends on what they say.”
“The word is that things get pretty friendly aboard ship on long patrols.”
Van Zandt stared at her for long seconds. His mouth curled up slightly at the edges as Tory’s ears began to burn. “I presume you’re asking about sexual liaisons aboard ship.”
She nodded, surprised at her own awkwardness. After all, if she was to be cooped up in a vacuum-sealed can with this man for three years, she had every right to know what ‘duties’ he expected her to perform.
He sighed and leaned back. “It is true that space crews on long patrols often form close bonds, and sometimes those bonds involve sexual liaisons. People get together for companionship, or just to have a warm body next to them at night. Such relationships can last a day, a week, a patrol, or a lifetime. There is but a single rule and it is inviolate. Whatever happens, it must be agreed to by both parties. There can be no coercion involved. Does that set your mind at ease?”
“What happens when the spacers have wives at home?”
He shrugged. “Some are faithful, some aren’t. The same goes for the wives. I know of several arrangements where one woman is married to two spacers. It makes for a comfortable relationship unless both ships are in orbit at the same time. Or was your question a subtle way of asking whether I’m married?”
She felt her complexion grow even redder. “It wasn’t. Are you?”
“Divorced,” Van Zandt said. “My wife didn’t like the long separations that go with patrol duty. We ended our contract amicably and are still good friends.
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