Dry, No Lube Ch. 07c: Afterlife

She was a tiny slip of a girl, really rather plain-looking, a Legal Tech First Class. She frowned at me as I leaned into the Great Cabin conference room. "Yes? Can I help you?"

"I'm Rabbi Bermudo."

"I know who you are. What do you need?" She blinked. "If you're looking to give Last Rites to the captain, or whatever, you're behind the times. In case you haven't heard, she's decreasingly likely to die these days."

"Oh, I know! In fact, that's why I'm here!" I beamed at her. "And, uh, Last Rites? That's not my thing. I'm Jewish."

"That's awesome. I'm from Durtagraha, myself." She glared sullenly up at me. "So, third time: what do you need, sir?"

"I have to meet with Captain Pfeiffer sometime today. I know she's asleep, but I was wondering when would be most convenient for me to stop by?"

"She's a stump, lying there being bored." The sailor shrugged. "It's never convenient. Or it's always convenient: take your pick." She sighed and pulled a datasheet across the table to her. "She's got a medical thing at 1420. I guess you can drop by anytime after, oh, 1700? If that works for you."

"Sure." I had a counseling thing at dinner, but this was more important. "Shouldn't take long. She'll be up on her feet by this evening, huh?"

Her unfriendly eyes narrowed. "For a chaplain," she pointed out, "you suck at small talk."

"And a pleasant afternoon to you, as well!" I rumbled genially.

* * *

My afternoon counseling appointment? Gunner's mate, short, about 23. She needed guidance about her sex life.

"It's just so weird," she confessed, biting her nails. "I've always been sort of out there, sexually. And this new guy thinks he's really edgy, but... I mean, the truth? I'm not really feeling it."

"Well, honestly, you deserve happiness," I began, but she wasn't done.

"Just yesterday, we're fucking in the battery workshop. It was so boring." She sat calmly, legs crossed, her arm up over the back of my chair. "I mean, I could tell he really thought I was into it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Like, at one point, he pushed his boxers into my mouth." I froze, my mouth falling open. "I know, right? So cliché. Then he hit me in the back of the head while he fucked me. I'm like, are you kidding?" She snickered. "I was doing worse than that when I was eighteen. This guy really thinks he's something special."

I blinked. "Well, I'll tell you, libling, every relationship thrives on communication..." But she wasn't really listening, and by now I knew who she was. Next, I reckoned, she'd be telling me about being choked. And a thumb up her ass...

"Dude even choked me," she giggled, ignoring me, "oh! And wait til you find out where he put his thumb!"

"Look, sailor," I broke in, hoping I didn't sound too rude, "I don't need the details. Know what I do need?" She blinked attentively. "I need to know why you're knocking boots with him, when he's not making you happy. Right?"

"Oh, well..." She inspected her nails. "I think I told him I wanted to be, like, super-objectified. Like, sexually." She shrugged. "It feels fake with him."

"Oh," I replied weakly. She wasn't going to like the advice I'd had for her friend.

"But I have hope. You know?" She shrugged. "I like his cock. And he sometimes gets good drugs..." She trailed off, staring at me suspiciously. "Wait. Are you going to rat me out to Lt Velzeboar?" She arched an eyebrow. "I'm only telling you these things because I thought, like, I had confidentiality..."

I held up both hands, like I was warding off a mental patient. "Look, unless it affects ship safety or personal wellbeing? You're fine." I shrugged. "You come to the chaplain when you have something to get off your chest."

"You're talking about my tits?" she asked suspiciously.

"Um. No." I did glance down, though; they were nice. "Just a figure of speech. Well look, sailor," I sighed leaning forward and lapsing into what I thought of as my gotta grow up sometime speech, "you know, life isn't always fair. I mean, it'd be nice if all of us could be happy, all the time, but this is Fleet." I chuckled. "Right? Let's be honest. There's a reason our unofficial motto is 'dry, no lube.'"

She rolled her eyes, savoring the thought. "You know, sir? I love it that way." She giggled. "Know something weird? He actually got his thumb wet before her put it in my ass." She threw her hands out dramatically. "It's like he doesn't even know me!"

I was starting to think she was right about that. "Maybe it was a sign of his regard for you. Of his feeling that he should honor your basic respect and human decency?" I asked it hopefully, but no dice.

"If a guy's force-fucking me in the ass, sir, it's not respect I'm looking for." She gnawed at her lip. "Still. I'll think of what you said."

"Will you?" I smiled. "Please?"

"Sure." She hesitated, then shrugged. "Wanna fuck me?"

"No thank you, libling. I'm married." I often got propositioned during counseling sessions, and it never failed to surprise me. "Look, I hate to kick you out, but I've got another sailor who needs me. Okay?"

"Aye aye, sir." She pondered. "I might enjoy being kicked, actually..."

"Communication," I told her firmly. "Communication, communication, communication. It's the key to happiness in every relationship."

"Thank you, Reverend."

"Rabbi."

"Oh. Sorry. Rabbi."

* * *

When returned to the Great Cabin, it looked as if the bitter little steward had not moved. I started to wonder whether she'd benefit from counseling as much as her boss would. "Hi there," I smiled, slipping in. "I'm here to see the captain? Is she awake?"

"Yeah, I remember, Rabbi." She pursed her lips. "She's awake, and fucking cranky. You're sure you want to talk to her, sir?"

I held up my tabslate. "I'd love to. But even if I didn't? Fleet is making me talk to her." That got a smile out of her, at least. "Just a little chat."

"Sure. Let me just announce you and make sure she's not, like, in the latrine or something." She got an odd look as she rose. "Actually, no. She won't be. So."

"Right," I agreed blandly. Pfeiffer was getting TCR. She wouldn't need a toilet until Leith could get her clone here. "At her convenience."

The steward ducked into the captain's inner quarters, then leaned right back out. "Come on in, sir."

"Thanks!" I wormed around the table, nudging a chair as I went, then put on my most comforting smile as I passed into her quarters. "Hello there, Captain." I'd learned it was best, when dealing with these kinds of situations, not to be too gushy. Just to pretend it was a normal day.

Which was hard, in getting my first look at Pixy Pfeiffer in a week. She'd looked like charred death last time, just after she'd come up off the surface, and now? Well.

She looked better. But she definitely didn't look normal. She was Pixy Pfeiffer's head and spine inside an institutional, medically-useable prosthetic body. I knew those kinds of bodies well, and seeing her that way reminded me of... well, of times past. Darker times. I swallowed. "Sorry to bother you. I'm sure you've had a busy afternoon."

"It's been a boring fucking week, Rabbi." She walked slowly, cautiously, over toward the sink. Dr Reilly would have told her to move around today as much as possible. Her brain needed practice. "If the only distraction I can get is a visit from a surgeon and a chaplain, well, that's better than Juno cloying at me every minute of the day."

"Fuck you, ma'am," the steward replied coolly, but she was pulling up a chair for me. "I'll be just outside," she told us.

"No. You'll be listening at the door, you sneaky little bitch." I pretended not to notice this cute little domestic strife. Pfeiffer tottered awkwardly to her bed and then sat gingerly. I noticed it hadn't been slept in, and she followed my gaze. "I went to pull the blankets up, but then I realized: no fucking point." She smiled grimly, the face injury already healing over. "This kind of prosthetic manages its own temperature, Dr Reilly tells me.

"Yes," I smiled, sitting gratefully. "I'm sure he explained to you that this is just a temp? Like, none of the usual features." I laid my 'slate on her little side table. "I've... dealt with this kind of situation before, ma'am. It's part of the reason I'm so glad to talk to you."

"Even though you're required to," she pointed out archly.

I laughed and spread my hands. "We all work for Fleet, Captain." I hesitated. Usually, this was the part where I asked what they wanted me to call them, but I was getting very strong "captain" vibes here. "Still. I'd like to help you, if I can."

She nodded thoughtfully. I had very little to compare her manner to, but she seemed a little jumpy. I told myself that she was probably on some pretty weird meds. "It's going to take some getting used to."

"No," I reminded her gently, "only a week or so. Then Reilly and Dr Diallo will fix you up, and... well?" I shrugged. "You'll feel almost exactly like yourself. That's what TCR is all about."

"How do you know?" She asked it with a particular sort of intensity, and I thought of coming clean to her right then. But my counseling manuals all agreed that I should avoid cultivating a personal relationship with her. Transference was always a risk. And that meant nothing but a gentle smile and a truthful lie.

"Twice, on my last ship, I had to do this." I leaned forward in the chair, trying not to focus on where the skin of her neck met the creamy polymer prosthetic under her bathrobe. "Two sailors, totally wrecked. This was aboard the Loyola Vincente, after an explosion in the magazine." I let the memories wash over me and through me. "A petty officer named Winleven and a... well, I think she was a gunner's mate? Name of Notman." I spread my hands and told the truth. "They were scared, Captain. They needed to talk. I was glad I was there."

"I'm supposed to talk." She nodded toward my tabslate. "You have a form to fill out before I can return to duty."

"Don't think of it that way. I'd rather we just chat, ma'am."

"I will think of it that way. Because that's the way it is," she said simply. I got the impression she would have shrugged, but couldn't figure it out. "So. Let's get on with it."

I nodded. "No problem, Captain." The form on my tabslate was titled Total Clone Replacement Minus Head, the TCR-H. I filled in a few fields at the top, then nodded up at her. "Just need to make sure you're in the right frame of mind before your Replacement. Any feelings of disconnection or sorrow about... well, about your body?"

"Of course." She did a good job, I thought, not sounding too scornful. "I feel strong disconnection. Because I'm disconnected." She chuckled. "Sorrow? No. I understand I was looking pretty rugged when I was brought in."

I looked up from my 'slate and nodded shortly. "I was there." I paused, then decided she was doing pretty well. Fire-In-The-Hole Pfeiffer, they called her. She had a reputation as a hardass. "You, uh, you looked like shit, Captain."

She nodded, smiling, seeming to unbend a little. "I don't feel sorrow, Rabbi. I feel happy. Happy I've got a fucking clone. Most people in the universe wouldn't be here talking to you."

"Yeah, but I mean, what do you miss? What are you looking forward to regaining once your clone arrives?"

"Tea," she spat at once, and forcefully. "I'm dying for a bowl of fucking butter-tea. I left orders for one just before I left the ship, and I'm still waiting." She raised her voice. "Hear that, Juno, you little bitch? Have that shit ready for me the moment they hook up my esophagus."

I laughed. "You two are like a dysfunctional marriage."

"It works," she shrugged.

"Do you feel weird, Captain, talking about the operation? Thinking about how your lungs and throat and..." I waved a hand at her midsection, "all your innards are going to be back to what they were?"

She stared at me evenly. "Is that one of the questions on the form, Rabbi?"

I let a pause build. "I'll be including all your answers in my counseling notes," I murmured.

"It's not weird at all." She ran a hand through short hair still scorched from the sizzle of reentry onto Canidia Prime. "I view it as plumbing. Parts. Reilly fixing me is going to be like a yard boss fixing a ship." She looked, again, as though she'd like to have shrugged. "Simpler, even. He and Diallo know what they're doing. I'm mostly just looking forward to getting back to work, Rabbi, to be honest."

The next question was the hardest one. The form had it last, but now seemed like better timing. "Do you think you'll feel an urge to meet your clone before the operation?"

"Yeah. Reilly asked me the same thing." She looked down, watching her fake feet dangle off the edge of her bed. "I'll tell you a story. I was an XO. We had a Marine who was TCR." I hoped I kept a straight face. "It was very, very weird, meeting his clone." She sniffed. "A crowd gathered. I think everyone was totally fascinated. I told a midshipmen to disperse the crowd because I guess I figured the clone... well, that the clone didn't ask to be there. You know?"

I waited for more, nodding quietly. She just stared, then looked out the transparent hull. It bugged me, seeing all those stars out there. It made me feel rootless. I had a hard time relating to people who liked quite that much cosmos in their lives, but then I was a chaplain. I'm good at figuring out how to relate to people. "When I was in Service Fleet," she went on at last, more quietly, "we used to do runs to the Clone Farm often. It was... odd, at first. We'd have orders for arms, legs, livers. Partials. Full clones, too, and those usually traveled with their brains intact."

"Their clone brains," I nodded.

"Yes. And our crew never knew how to deal with them." She sighed. "Our captain never told us how. We didn't have a chaplain. So we viewed them as cargo."

I nodded again. "So. You going to tell me another story, Captain, or are you going to answer my question?"

Her eyes grew flinty. "Watch your tone, Rabbi."

"What's tone got to do with it, Captain?" I felt like I was getting somewhere now, but this was my commanding officer. She could make my job much more difficult. So I raised my hands and leaned back. "I'm curious what you're thinking, that's all. Do you think you'll be similarly respectful of your own clone, like you were for that Marine's?" I made sure my voice was soft, mellow. "Or do you think you'll view it more as... cargo?"

She cocked her head, eyes glinting. "Whatever fits more neatly on your form," she hissed.

"Got it." I smiled, silent, letting the tension dissipate. She'd had a rough week, I reflected. "If I could, ma'am, I'd make you some matzoh. I remember you like it."

She looked surprised. "Where the fuck did that come from?"

Nowhere, I knew: it was a standard counseling technique to build rapport, but of course I didn't tell her that. "I'm a Jew, Captain," I chuckled. "I know the joys of matzoh, and I'm sure you're craving it at the moment."

"Jesus H Buddha, yes," she admitted, sighing. She tapped her polymer torso. "This thing has nowhere to put it, though."

"So," I shuffled along my form, almost done, "here's what I'll put down, ma'am, if you concur. You're not hung up on your clone, so much as you are eager to get rid of the prosthetic."

"That's fair."

I nodded, hesitating. "I knew a guy once," I lied mildly, "who was in a prosthetic for over a year and a half, standard Sol calendar." Her eyes widened. "I mean, it was a better version than that one. Custom-fitted," I shrugged, "but yeah. Almost two years."

"Shit."

"He'd been wounded early enough in his service that his clone hadn't up-aged enough to make a suitable adult body." She nodded; these things happened. It usually took ten years for clones to get through puberty on the gene farms. "I don't think he ever did get used to not eating."

"I'd miss fucking," she blurted, glancing down at herself. "It's weird, not having a vagina."

I nodded, glad the tension was broken. "I do it all the time, Captain. Without a vagina. It's not that bad."

She giggled. "What, we have a few more sessions? Post-TCR?"

"Yes," I nodded, recognizing she was ready to be done, "and you're fine, I think. I'm going to certify that you're fit for duty, pastorally speaking." She nodded, expecting nothing less. "Only... if you don't mind, ma'am, were you planning on taking over for the Piso placer mission? I stay out of tactical matters, but I would worry about your stress..."

"No." She sniffed. "Commander Jatsupa is fully able to run that operation. I'll be prepping for the TCR, anyway; my clone should be here the day after, at the rendezvous off Wadlwengulwa. I think."

"Okay." I made a show of tidying up my tabslate, then smiled up at her. "Thank you, Captain. I hope this wasn't too intrusive."

"Nah. It was okay."

"I'll see myself out." I dared to wink. "Guess maybe I'll see you at Staff Call tomorrow."

"Count on it. Take care, Rabbi." She didn't stand up; I could see that she was trying to remember how to plant her feet, so I left her to it.

"Always, ma'am. We'll talk again soon."

Juno the steward gave me that same flat, measuring stare as I moved back through the conference room. I'd heard rumors about her, her with knives. I was happy to stay on the far side of the table.

* * *

My bedwarmer didn't show up that night until well past midnight, but I was still up schlepping through my tabslate. "Hi," I smiled.

"Fuck. Goddamn brutal shift." She was my very first bedwarmer; I'd resisted taking one on my other ship. I had no idea why, now. She was everything I'd been missing, deep in space, away from Pearl and the kids: she was life and warmth and laughter and, yes, she was pussy. "She's back."

"The captain?" I sat up, laying my 'slate aside. "Already?"

"I thought she was coming back tomorrow." She smacked her staytab and arched her back gratefully as her clothes fell off, leaving me to admire what she had: smooth curves, those muscles she'd gotten playing sports at her Academy and hadn't let go of yet. But she would, I knew. She was still only twenty-four. "Nope."

"She's back on you about your certification," I guessed, watching her pert ass lean over my sink as she brushed her teeth. She really was beautiful. I felt my schmedzer stir under the blankets, a welcome development: I'd assumed we'd both be too tired for sex. Seemed I might not be.

And come to think of it, Sublieutenant Sun-li Millipet was never too tired for sex.

"Yep," she sighed. Most of the P/E captains weren't requiring their gunnery officers to qualify as watchstanders, but most of the P/E captains were not Pixy Pfeiffer. "She's such a bitch," she sighed, coming to bed.

I waited until she'd slid in beside me, marveling at the feel of her smooth young flesh against my... well, I suppose I was fairly smooth and young, too. My body was only about 28. It was a strange sort of disorientation. I wondered whether I would end up telling Pfeiffer about it. "I met with her today."

"Yeah?" She sat up in bed, breasts jiggling pertly as she teased her hair out of its braids. "And you survived. Imagine that."

"Stop." I did not resist the urge to reach out and splay my fingers across her back, feeling her ribcage. Her spine. The woman was beautiful in the glow of my light-lizard. I thought of my wife, as I often did when I was with Li. There had been guilt early on. I wondered whether Pearl knew. "She's had a rough week."

"We've all had a rough week," she sighed, her breath toothpaste-fresh as she settled alongside me. I felt her, marvelously sleek and firm, except where the fuzz of her bush pressed against my side. "Hold me."

"I already am," I laughed. "Lights, Kleyner," I ordered the light-lizard, and the thing dutifully left us in the shadow of the few stars I let my hull show. I only let them through because of Li, too. She nestled her face in my chest, smelling my body. "You'll be fine."