Dry, No Lube Ch. 07c: Afterlife

I was in doubt, when I wrote the end of 7b, whether I'd bring back Pixy. I enjoy her, but frankly there are times that it gets a little tiring writing the same characters.

But it turns out that even for me, she's impossible to ignore.

Forgive the tonal shift in this story. I thought a first-person move into someone else's head would be interesting. If it isn't, I'm sure you'll tell me; I welcome comments and feedback.

* * *

"So, like, I've got her bent over the worktable. We knew our Chief was going to be coming back in, like, momentarily. And I'm railing her, just jamming it in there, you know? And she's screaming, but I'd stuffed her mouth full of my boxers, so it was all muffled, but still I was worried. So I smack her in the back of the head a little, grab her hair? You know?"

I knew.

"And I'm pulling her up off the worktable, still all bent at the waist with my dick in her cunt. Then I... oh. Sorry, sir."

I stirred. "Sorry about what?"

"Like, 'cunt?' That's a bad word, right?" The sailor seemed genuinely contrite. "It feels kind of weird, swearing around you."

I just stared at him evenly and shrugged. "Don't fucking worry about it. Go on."

"Right." He licked his lips. "So, yeah, I choked her a little bit? Just to shut her up? And she's totally into it, both of us about to just explode, right? And then, like, even though I knew Chief Kollman was on her way in, I just couldn't resist, you know? So I jam my thumb up her ass, but only after I ran it through her pussy..."

"Sailor?" I interrupted gently, gesturing toward the chrono, "I have a meeting in ten minutes. Can we skip to the end?" I smiled. "I'm still not sure what your problem is. Like, why you wanted to see me?"

"Oh." He blinked. "Yeah. Well, see, after we came, I wiped up and told her to hurry up and produce the Bump." I drew back, a little bit alarmed. "You know. Drugs."

"Yes, I know," I nodded, "but I have to tell you, if you're involved in breaking Fleet Directives that could endanger the ship?" I spread my hands helplessly. "I mean, I have to tell the captain." Which might be difficult, under the circumstances, but he saw what I meant.

He licked his lips. "Well. Um... hypothetically?" I nodded, encouraging him. The lad had problems, and solving problems is my business. "Hypothetically, we always do a quick line of Bump after we fuck, you know? Sort of like a custom?"

"Mmhmm..."

"Well, she didn't have any!" He rose from my comfy chair, pacing, totally indignant. "I mean, come on! It's a custom!"

I leaned back at my desk and, with my most soothing tone, tried to get to the bottom of this visit. "So," I began, glancing again at my chrono: I really did need to leave, "you're torn, emotionally, because you're not sure whether she's fucking you for the drugs, or drugging you for the fucks." I paused, watching him closely. "Or vice-versa."

He stopped short and glared down at me. "Wh... what?"

"This isn't about sex, eyngl, and it isn't about drugs." I smiled in a way that I hoped looked beatific. "This is about you two using each other. That's got to be bad for your soul, you know?"

He frowned deeply, staring out my small window at the passing stars. "Um. My soul?"

I nodded, all sincere. "Your soul, son. You know you have a soul, right?" It's not easy being a Fleet chaplain. You have to deal with the usual religious crap, then you also have to be a counselor, a metaphysics expert, and a psychiatrist into the bargain. But I loved it. "Look," I told him gently, "nobody knows how to find the right path for their life right away, sailor. But I think you and she are on the wrong one." I shrugged. "I'm not judging. This is just how I see it."

"No, sir, I get it," he nodded slowly. "Like... can you help me? Please?"

"Of course I can!" I beamed, getting to my feet. "But not right now. Because I've got a meeting." He looked like he was about to cry. "Come back and see me tomorrow. Or the next day. And if you want, bring your... your friend? Girlfriend?"

"My fucktoy, sir."

"Your fucktoy, then. Bring her along." I'd done couples therapy many times back at my synagogue. "I can help you. But first off? You two need to stop treating each other like objects."

"Like what?"

"Like things. Instead of people." I pounced on the teachable moment. "For instance? You should try to think of her not as a fucktoy. Not as any kind of toy. She's a person. With thoughts and feelings and hopes, and so are you."

He blinked stupidly. "So... you're saying I shouldn't pull her hair and spit on her anymore?"

I hesitated. This was fragile ground, worth a longer conversation, and I was going to be late for Staff Call. "Does she like all that?"

He shrugged. "She cums, that's for sure."

"Well," I grinned, "there might be room for that. But respectfully. It should feel dignified. Every time you chokefuck her in her asshole, it should reaffirm her basic human dignity and self-worth." I clapped the man on the back. "You know I'm right, sailor."

"Gee." He let me walk him to my door. "I've never thought about that kind of thing before."

"I'm glad you came to see me, son," I told him honestly. "I want you to come back, okay? And, you know, no more transactional sex."

"I'll try." He shook my hand. "Thanks, sir. I appreciate this. You've given me a lot to think about."

I nodded. "Gey mit got, sailor. It was nice meeting you. See you soon?" I pressed.

"Count on it, sir."

"There you go!" I gave him an encouraging smile as he sauntered off back toward Short-Rocket Battery 15 with a spring in his step. I sighed happily; I loved this job. So many on this ship needed me. I could do a lot of good.

I was already doing a lot of good. I knew it. I felt it.

But I knew the XO would have my ass if I was late for another daily Staff Call, so I tottered off toward the wardroom almost as fast as that sailor had probably drilled his fucktoy.

I giggled to myself. Fucktoy. Such a quaint word. I passed the central magazines, the mess deck, the gym, headed aft toward where the wardroom sat outside the XO's quarters, a lovely space with warm wood-grain nano on all the walls and even up on the ceiling, covering up the ship's everpresent maze of ducts and tubing. Tall slot-windows on the starboard wall showed those everpresent stars, giving me their usual sense of nauseated derangement: I'd never been comfortable in deep space.

The others were already there, and I was startled to see that for the first time since the battle on Canidia Prime, Lieutenant Malavongsy was sitting at his old spot halfway down the far side of the table. He'd been running the meetings as Acting XO ever since Captain Pfeiffer had gone down. "Ah. Chaplain! Welcome," came Commander Jatsupa's gravelly voice.

He was the one sitting at the head of the table.

"Good afternoon, sir." I was relieved when Lt Perfaxon came in behind me, and Amaro Nevsky wasn't there either. I wasn't last to arrive. "I had an appointment..."

"Not a problem." He was his usual calm self. Everyone on the ship had been expecting him to explode with stress at some point, but he hadn't yet. He shrugged. "You know your appointments are important, especially after tough operations like this last one. Anything I need to know about, Rabbi?"

"Uh, no sir." Well. Probably, he did. If his gunners were smashed out of their eyeballs on Bump, then indeed he should probably know about it. But chaplains had a certain latitude, informationally speaking. "Not at this point. Just typical kinds of things sailors need to talk about."

"As long as you've got it in hand," he shrugged. Kees Jatsupa was not a man who believed in managing things himself, unless he had to: he had no interest in being a chaplain. So he was happy enough leaving these things with me. "You're late, Nevsky."

"Sorry, sir." The young man sat down. "I was in the latrine."

"Whatever." The XO looked down for a moment, then nodded to himself. "Well. First things first, ladies and gentlemen," he started briskly, "I'll thank Lt Malavongsy for running these Staff Calls over the past week. I've been busy," he pointed out needlessly. I caught glances around the table, everyone wondering what this meant. "I'm going to let the ship's surgeon give his report right away. Dr Reilly?"

Reilly rose from beside me, tapping furiously at his tabslate. "Right," he sighed, "thanks, Commander. So... well, it's good news," he shrugged, not making eye contact. A good surgeon, Reilly, but he was not renowned for what the ancients called bedside manner. "As you know, I've been working on Captain Pfeiffer, and... well, I'll be blunt. She's almost certain to make a full recovery."

I heard nothing but gasps, and one of them was mine. "Hallelujah!" I muttered. This had to be the doing of some higher power; it occurred to me that I had no clue what the Captain believed, religion-wise. But I'd been there when the Army had brought her up to the Hospital Barge. I've seen more than my share of wounds, and hers had been toward the top of the list.

So she must believe in something or someone pretty damn important. Because, truth be told? I didn't know whether my YHWH could have brought her back.

"I..." Lt Laredo, the chief of fighters, looked confused. "She fell from over a hundred kilometers with nothing but a rescue bag," she frowned. "How..." I smiled to myself. Apparently, Laredo didn't believe, either.

"Yes," Dr Reilly nodded, "people often die that way. I can see why you are confused." He gave a smile full of medical condescension, almost the same kind I gave when I talked about YHWH. "Rescue bags aren't really supposed to keep people alive. They're just designed to keep people from dying, which isn't the same thing." He shrugged. "Seems that's what happened in this case."

"Fortunately," Jatsupa put in mildly. "I think all of us know that Captain Pfeiffer's survival and recovery is the best conceivable outcome, and more than we were hoping for." He nodded up at the surgeon. "Thanks, Doctor; I'll want to see you and Rabbi Bermudo after Staff Call."

My ears pricked up. Jatsupa was not typically the kind of man who needed chats with the chaplain. Captain Pfeiffer hadn't been either, come to that. "Aye aye, sir," I coughed. I fidgeted at my seat, the rest of the meeting passing with its usual arcane jargon: the ship was headed for its next operation, at Piso Nebula. Repairs were proceeding on two of the Tygon Interceptors and five shuttles. The organic armor was back on the outer hull. The tender was on the way to the Fleet depot near The Wad.

Et cetera, et cetera. Words of war. I was not that guy.

Staff Call broke up on the decisive note Jatsupa had always struck; he'd made this a daily thing early on, even before we launched. I'm not sure whether Pfeiffer put him up to that, but she definitely approved. I knew a little bit about her past, of course, and it occurred to me this was probably the first time she'd ever served with a competent crew. Daily Staff Call was a matter of course to a guy like Jatsupa. "Go," he intoned now, "and let me know if you need anything further. Same time tomorrow." Everyone nodded, then slipped off back to their duties... most by way of the coffee or bumtab dispensers first.

He waited silently, his fingers steepled before his face, while the last of the stragglers came to the slow realization that he wanted the room to himself, other than me and Reilly. I felt keyed up, bubbly, almost effervescent: I liked the Captain, even though she'd never really had much time for me, and I burned with curiosity to find out what the XO wanted me to do.

Even though I suspected.

And I didn't have long to wait after Wayne Tomasu crept somewhat guiltily out. "Okay," Jatsupa nodded, turning off his tabslate; with a start, I realized he'd been checking status reports while he waited. "Tell us, Doc. What's the Captain's treatment plan?"

"TCR, definitely, but I'm not sure what kind. The problem is that the cochleas have already harvested from that one. We could retransplant them, or go artificial, but it's always best to limit hearing variables where possible." Reilly shrugged. "Her condition indicates the best treatment options are TCR-minus, or TCR-minus H," he rattled off, as though he was discussing the weather. "I'm not certified for TCR-minus, but Dr. Diallo over on the Army side is more than capable of doing it. And I've assisted on several." I felt my heart start to beat a little faster.

This was never my favorite topic of discussion, for obvious reasons.

"Okay." The XO smiled, something he rarely did. "So no need to find a hospital ship."

"No sir." Reilly hesitated. "I, ah, did as you requested and transmitted a priority request to her Clone Farm. I did that on a speculative basis, before I'd had a chance to do a full workup, so I didn't submit a shipping date. But I'll confirm it now and get back to you with the ETA."

"No need." Jatsupa made a note on his 'slate. "I'm sending the Leith to go get the clone personally. They should be more than halfway there by now." We all sat there, doing the math. "They'll be able to meet us at Piso in... four days, probably, depending on how quickly the people at the Farm can get the clone indexed and prepped."

"Shouldn't be long. There's almost no prep on their side for a TCR." My blood was running cold by now; I wanted to be out of the room. "PCR is more complicated, but my initial request covered that too. I think they'll probably already have the thing ready to go, sir."

"Good."

"The basic options are to go full TCR, just take her existing brain and cochleas and drop them in. Or? We could just swap her whole head over. Because the rest of her capital organs are still viable, other than a tongue laceration and the obvious facial scarring." He scratched at the back of his neck. "Usually, we let the patient make the call in cases like this."

"Okay." He swiveled his eyes toward me, and I nearly jumped out of my seat. "That brings us to you, Rabbi Bermudo."

"This is not my favorite topic, sir," I told him at once.

"Not mine either," he replied coolly. "I find cloning ghoulish. But we are where we are. And you've got a role to play in this whole process." His eyes flicked down below my neck. "For reasons beyond the obvious."

I swallowed, reminding myself that I was a professional Fleet chaplain. And I had a sailor who needed me. "Of course, sir. Pastoral care."

"Yes. There are requirements," he shrugged, sending some data across to my tabslate. "I'm spelling them out. Pastoral care. Counseling. Sailors needing TCR are entitled to have their spiritual health monitored, both before and after." He gestured toward my 'slate. "There are forms to fill out."

"Of course." I sighed as I called up the data. "This is Fleet. There are always forms to fill out. I've done this before, a few years ago." I scanned the forms to find out whether anything had changed since the last time I'd had to counsel a TCR. "Looks straightforward."

He raised an eyebrow. "There's a process," he said slowly, "but I've never dealt with it before. Can you explain it to me?"

"Well," I sighed, "some people have issues with TCR. Psychological issues. So a competent official needs to recommend her for further unlimited service."

"Huh."

"It's pro forma. A psychiatrist can do it, or any chaplain. Some other officers, if they have counseling training." I shrugged. "I'll look over my material and let you know if there are problems. When should I start?"

"She's sleeping now. The Captain." He nodded at Reilly. "Doc's got a prosthetic fitting at... 1400, right?"

"1420." He shifted in his chair. "Don't worry about this, sir. We've got this handled. You've got a ship to run."

"Nevertheless." The XO fidgeted with his tabslate. I could see he wasn't sure how much he could say to us, but we're not normal officers. We're the people the skippers can confide in, I hope. "I'm... well, I'm very interested in getting her back to full duty as soon as possible." His eyes met ours, but slowly. "I'm doing adequately. But I feel the ship needs this Captain. Comprehend?"

"I agree," I put in quietly. "She's extremely popular among the sailors, though I don't think she believes that."

"I was able to speak with her, just for a moment," Jatsupa nodded, "and I don't think we'll need to worry about her enthusiasm to return to duty." He looked hard at the surgeon. "When, Dr Reilly?"

He shrugged. "Like I said, sir, prosthetics at 1420. Providing there are no problems with the fittings? I think she should be able to resume command right afterward."

"Amazing," I said softly, "what modern medicine can do."

"Modern doctors," Reilly snapped. "It's about expertise, not technology. I'll be using the stock prosthetics, sir, and they're not as adjustable as most patients wish."

"What are you saying?"

"She'll be taller, sir. Until the TCR."

Jatsupa chuckled. "It'd be tough to make her any shorter."

Reilly's eyes glittered. "Well. She's shorter right now," he pointed out, and I shuddered. I didn't need leg-amputation humor.

"That'll do, doc," I told him stiffly.

"I got that joke from Pfeiffer herself, this morning," he snorted, "so you can peddle your outrage somewhere else, Rabbi. Is that all, sir?"

"Yeah. Keep me updated." Jatsupa pursed his lips. "I'll be in planning conferences with the Army all afternoon."

"Sir," Dr Reilly snickered as he got to his feet, "if everything goes the way it should, you'll hear it from the Captain long before I get a chance to tell you." He nodded. "Gentlemen." The hatch slid shut behind him.

The XO nodded to me. "I want her seen today, Rabbi, either before or after the fitting. Though, if all goes well? You might not be able to catch her afterward."

"I'll go before," I said softly, looking at the forms on my 'slate. "This says three pastoral visitations are needed. One before, then two following up. Shouldn't take long, sir."

"Yeah." He was already bringing his status reports back up. He was a busy man. I wondered whether Pfeiffer would be fit to manage the Piso placer operation, then reminded myself it wasn't my problem. Though, it could be... after all, the XO was one of my flock, too.

I cleared my throat. "Um, sir? I know my duties aren't usually operational, but.. well, I'll just go ahead and ask you: would you like me to encourage the captain to take over the Piso Nebula strike? I know you're working two jobs right now..."

He nodded, considering. "I've been doing the planning, so I'm comfortable doing the execution. I assume the Captain will concur with my judgement there." He shrugged. "Though, I appreciate your concern." I got the sense he was lying about that, but I didn't press. After all, he was right. He'd managed the Canidia operation just fine, after Pfeiffer had gone down.

"Sir." I rose. "I'll meet with her this afternoon, then."

"Thanks, Rabbi." He was already far away, immersed in what looked to me like an inventory, and I passed from the room without him even being aware I was gone.

* * *

I'd never been in the Great Cabin, other than one brief visit when I'd shown up aboard the ship. I'd been confronted by my new captain, eating... of all fucking things... a sheet of matzoh! I'd eagerly accused her of being Jewish, and she hadn't had the faintest clue what I was talking about.

And that was the day I learned that sometimes, Gentiles ate matzoh too.

I stepped in that day, right after Staff Call, because I'd heard scary rumors about the Captain's steward and figured I should try to make friends with her if I wanted good access to Pfeiffer. She had a secretary, Lt Verily, but he was handling the XO's business these days and everyone knows that access to any captain is controlled by the steward, anyhow.