by Peter Grant
“No, that’s all thanks to Steve and Abha.” She smiled at them. “Solveig Soldahl has also been very helpful. She’s visited a lot, and not just for professional reasons. Our kids like her.”
“Yes, she’s becoming part of our circle of friends,” Abha agreed. “There’s also Lawton and Diana Gallegros. They’re really coming through on their promise to act as grandparents to our children, and they’ve sort of adopted yours as well, by extension. The kids love spending time at their house, racketing around and generally creating mayhem. I feel like I should be constantly apologizing for the noise and the mess, but they just laugh, and tell me it brings back happy memories of their own children and grandchildren doing the same thing. They can’t wait to add Peter Junior – if he’s a boy, of course – to the brood as well.”
“Oh? When are you decanting him?” Carol asked eagerly.
“The fetus will be transferred to a gestation pod next week. After that, we wait seven months, and bingo! If it’s a boy, they’ve asked if they can be present for the pod opening. Births have always been a very private moment for Steve and I, but in this case, I think we’ll make an exception.”
Steve nodded. “I think we owe that to them. They’re rapidly becoming part of the family, so let’s treat them as such.”
“You’ll be at Staff College when that happens,” Brooks observed. “You start in early July, don’t you? Will they give you any time off?”
“I’ll probably get a couple of days off for the birth, but no more than that. A big part of the course is syndicate work, so if you’re gone too long, you lose out on points for the joint projects you miss. That can drag down your overall score, which is the last thing you want. Your Staff College ranking has a heck of a big influence on your future postings.”
“So I’m told. Marine Corps HQ is talking about sending me to Staff College next year, while I’m doing rehab and learning to walk properly again. They won’t decide until nearer the time, because they’re not sure yet when I’ll be fit enough to handle it.” His gaze softened. “Speaking of being fit enough, I never did thank you for saving my life, you big lunk. I was asleep in an iron box when you did your thing. They tell me if you hadn’t, I’d probably have died, along with most of those aboard Cavell. Thanks, buddy.”
Steve flushed uncomfortably. “All part of the service.”
“Are they doing anything nice to say ‘Thank you’?”
“I’ve heard rumors, about you as well as me. They’re… they’re a bit mind-blowing, if they’re true. Nothing’s likely to happen soon, though. There was a problem at the Secretariat of State. It seems one of their senior bureaucrats tried to squash Peter Gallegros’ award. That affected our situation, too, because all three nominations are being handled together. That’s been dealt with now, so I guess we’ll have to wait and see what happens.”
“Dealt with? How?”
Abha laughed. “We don’t know the details, and we’ve been careful not to ask, but Lawton Gallegros stuck his oar in. Suddenly, the Secretary of State was getting calls from Commonwealth Senators, and diplomats, and a bunch of high-ranking businessmen. The Board of Admiralty and the Commandant of the Marine Corps weighed in, too. Most of what they said seems to have bounced back on the bureaucrat in question. Rumor has it he resigned one step ahead of the axe, along with a couple of his protégés. There may be more in store on that front.”
“As far as I’m concerned, it couldn’t happen to a more appropriate person.” Steve’s voice was quietly satisfied. “I’ve learned a valuable lesson from it. Don’t try to play office politics unless you’re absolutely certain your opponent doesn’t have a hell of a lot more influence than you think!”
Brooks laughed. “You can take that to the bank! Speaking of office politics, staffs can be full of that. You’ll have to watch out for it after completing Staff College.”
“Yes, I will, but hopefully not for a while. I’ve been promised a crack at the Perisher first. If I pass, I’ll get a combat command hunting pirates for a couple of years. I’ll have to take a planetside appointment after that, as part of our normal rotation, so that’ll be time enough for a staff job. I might become the BuIntel representative at one of our Sectors, or something like that.”
“You passed the Crusher five years ago, and they said at the time that their graduates had a ninety-eight per cent pass rate on the Perisher, so I don’t think you need to worry.”
“We’ll see. I’ve learned not to take anything for granted. Every time I do, something goes wrong, and I have to fight like hell to put it right again!”
Carol grinned. “Speaking of putting things right, I think I’ll have a word with the doctor in charge of cloning Brooks’ new naughty bits. I have some… enhancements to propose.” There was a wealth of suggestion in her voice.
“Oh, yes!” Abha agreed enthusiastically. “Textured?”
“That’s not a bad idea. Maybe ribbed and studded?”
“Uh-huh – with bells on!” They giggled together like schoolgirls.
“Hey, wait a minute!” Brooks objected. “I was perfectly happy with them the way they were!”
“So? When you put a ring on my finger, they became mine, too, remember; so, I’m going to exercise my proprietary interest in them.”
“They’ll be brand-new, so technically, Brooks will be a virgin again,” Steve reminded her.
“Oh, yes! I’d forgotten about that. I get to have a virgin husband!” Carol did her best to squeal girlishly. It wasn’t very successful, because she was laughing too much.
Brooks snorted, “If I’m a virgin, you’re going to have a helluva time explaining to me where our kids came from!”
“Oh, I’ll think of something. Meanwhile, let’s get back to those enhancements. Hmmm… two more centimeters, perhaps? Three? Maybe four?”
“Length, or circumference?” Abha asked.
“Yes!”
Steve was laughing so hard at the expression on his friend’s face that he almost fell off his chair. At last Brooks managed to say, with as much injured dignity as he could muster while sitting up in bed, “Amuse yourselves at my expense all you want. I’m going to make sure all my bits and pieces are reinstalled in the state they were originally designed to be!”
Steve struggled desperately to sound deadpan and keep a straight face as he said, “Carol, just ask them to copy mine. That’ll give you everything you’re looking for.”
This time he did fall off his chair as Brooks grabbed a pillow and hurled it at him, very hard. He lay on his back on the floor, Brooks collapsed sideways onto the mattress, Carol and Abha buried their heads in their hands… and they laughed, and laughed, and laughed until their sides hurt.
It was good to be alive.
About The Author
Peter Grant was born and raised in Cape Town, South Africa. Between military service, the IT industry and humanitarian involvement, he traveled throughout sub-Saharan Africa before being ordained as a pastor. He later immigrated to the USA, where he worked as a pastor and prison chaplain until an injury forced his retirement. He is now a full-time writer, and married to a pilot from Alaska. They currently live in Texas.
See all of Peter’s books at his Amazon.com author page, or visit him at his blog, Bayou Renaissance Man. You can also sign up for his mailing list, to receive a monthly newsletter and be kept informed of upcoming books.