Chapter 4 - Start at the Beginning

Eventually we got the seal figured out. The "button" was recessed and would not operate, we were assured, if pressed with gloves. It would only operate with a finger.

It was still possible for your buddy to murder you, but he had to take his glove off in vacuum to do it. If you are out in space and the guy next to you takes his glove off, it might be prudent to move away from him until you see what he is doing.

That led to another paranoia change. For your safety, if you were conscious, your helmet would only release with your finger. If you were unconscious, anyone could poke it to get your helmet off. How did the suit tell? It had an integrated brain, not smart enough to be called an AI, but smart enough for the AIs to program as needed and to know where all your fingers were and whether you were conscious or not.

That led to the next issue; I wasn't willing to put it on, even for a second, until I knew where the air was coming from. Apparently there was a small air regenerator built in to the helmet's saddle. It would sense CO2 concentration and convert it back to O2. Where the "C" part of the CO2 went was not clear, but the AI was confident that the power supply would last for a day or two, depending upon load.

Further, that air regenerator system was completely independent of anything else; if the air in a compartment became bad for some reason anyone could simply put one of these glass helmets on and get reasonably good air for a day or so. They wouldn't get any control of pressure, though, unless they were wearing the rest of the suit. Okay, that's enough for a short test.

We called back everyone who had gotten the suit. We ended up with about a dozen guys plus Diana, in almost as many colors. I thought that the Arctic camo suit was a bit silly, but if no one else cares then I don't either. Meanwhile the replicators had given us about twenty of these helmets and they all looked alike, so we made sure that everyone had one, did a quick training session on how to use it, and started the test.

While we were going over how to use the suits, Frenchy and I also went over what we wanted to do with the AI. We wanted to drop the pressure in increments, waiting a few minutes each time. We started by isolating the mess room from the rest of the ship, then reducing the pressure by 100 millibars for a few minutes while we made sure everything worked.

After everyone was satisfied that we could get up, walk around, sit down, and breathe, we went down to 500 mbar for about ten minutes. That felt kind of weird to me. The suit wasn't clinging to my body any more like a wetsuit; it was more like a normal suit that touched in some places and not in others. I could see that in others, too. The suit was ballooning out in places like our torsos, where there was enough extra fabric to do so.

I called a stop to the test at that point and had the AI raise the pressure back up until it could open the hatches to the rest of the ship again. Partly because of that ballooning, yes, but also partly because I had realized that it was getting harder to talk to each other in the reduced air. How will we tell the AI that we are done with our test, if there is no air in the room? No, it's time to stop until we get some more details worked out, like radios in the helmets.

Of course, when I said that I was quickly reminded by several of the participants that they used to have an implant that allowed them to speak with the AIs but they had been shut down for some reason. We -Frenchy and Diana and I- stayed out of that discussion. No, we don't know anything, either.

It works, sort of. Are we done? No, it needs some improvement. Will it save someone's life? Sure. Will we be able to work in these suits? In an emergency, yes. We have our emergency suits, and we can turn this project over to someone else who will continue developing the suits. Hey, what do I know about space? All my experience is under the ocean, with too much pressure.

Whoever it was that continued this, I was going to push for them to do their own testing. That's another US Navy tradition these people should have. You did it, you test it first before you ask anyone else to. If you don't trust your work with your own life on the line, why should anyone else trust your work with theirs?

I was never directly involved in suit development after that. I made some suggestions from time to time, we all did, but suit development got turned over to a research focus group with nothing else to do. I think that it was run by one of the few NASA people we had. He, at least, knew something about spacesuits!

We knew that what we had come up with needed more work, but we had the bare minimum for what we needed right then which was a way to keep us from all dying when something went wrong. Of course the aliens and their AIs knew all about spacesuits; they had apparently been running an interstellar polity for several hundred thousand years. All we needed was to adapt their solutions to the specific needs of Homo Sapiens.

I remember there was one time that the AIs told us all to get a new, improved suit from the replicators. What was new and better about it? Apparently someone had put some thought into this. The torso didn't balloon as much, it had better "armor" over the torso and all limbs, the gloves and boots were better, and they had done away with the glass helmet. Oh, the helmets were still available at airlocks and some other places, if you decided you needed them, but for simple survival they were no longer needed.

The suit now had a "hoodie" attached to the back collar, and you could simply reach back, grab it and pull it over your head and down over your face. It would seal automatically the way the helmet had, and the regenerator in the collar would immediately put out a little air to puff out the hood. Without that, the hood would be limp and floppy and difficult to see through.

Once you had been wearing it for more than a minute or two, your voice started to sound funny. As near as I could tell from the AIs, the regenerator removed all nitrogen from the air in the suit, replacing it with argon. This would help prevent the bends if there were pressure changes.

We had a scare once when someone who actually dove for entertainment pointed out that argon was also toxic under some conditions, but that turned out to be a false alarm. It is only toxic when the body acts oddly under high pressure, as in deep diving. Since we were only concerned with normal-to-low pressure, argon toxicity wasn't an issue for us.

The improved version also had pressure sensors that would maintain a very slight overpressure to ensure that if there were any leaks in a toxic atmosphere, the leaks went out instead of in. They also allowed the regenerator to lower the pressure if there was loss of pressure or a vacuum, both to make the suit easier to work in and again to help get rid of the nitrogen.

Actually that re-issue thing happened several times, with each version a little nicer, a little sleeker than the previous. One of the upgrades included bands just above each joint; they were supposed to constrict and act as a tourniquet or seal if the suit found itself to be open below that band. Elbows, wrists, knees, ankles, all had bands just above them. I guessed that if we had a problem in our thighs or upper arms we were in trouble. At least there was no band at our necks.

Each time the AI told me there was a new, improved suit I would ask "Has it been tested?" The AI would say "Yes", and that's that. I still did my own private test later, when I had time.

I blamed the nanites for making me hungry again. Thinking of food made me think of Diana, who had been involved one way or another in every meal I had eaten since I retired six years ago. I mean, if I go out fishing by myself, I take the lunch she packed for me. "AI, where is Diana and is she busy?"

<Diana Edelmann is in a meeting with Admiral Kennedy and Mr. Robinson. Should we interrupt the meeting?>

"Probably not, but what is the meeting about?"

<They are discussing your current manning and assignments list and comparing it to the projected manpower needs for the ships we are giving you.>

"Someone mentioned that there are about a hundred of us up here. How many people does each ship need?"

<The required core crew for these freighters is only 4 people, but any specific tasks assigned to a ship will require additional personnel to manage those tasks. Also, your species appears to have higher social requirements than the Darjee crews currently in use. It appears that for your current plan to use these ships as transports, you may need 15 or more people per ship.>

"So, if everyone up here participates, we have enough to man six of these ships. How many are we getting?"

<The Confederacy is sending roughly 200 of these freighters for general use and conversion to transports. Most of them are on what you would call a short-term lease, and after the owner's contractual obligations are completed they will be returning to their previous use. Only about 50 or so will be formally transferred to the Confederacy Navy for human use.>

<In addition, we are sending you approximately 60 ships that were used as patrol and security ships by one of the Confederacy races before the Confederacy was formed and preliminary planning shows a minimum crew of at least 30 for each. We are also sending you 30 of a specialized class of exploration ships which will need approximately 10 crew each, and we are sending you 12 of a freighter design that is specialized to land on a planet. All of the other ships are space-only; they cannot land. We expect you to use the landing-capable ships as troop transports and preliminary planning indicates a crew of about 30 plus a landing force of approximately 120 soldiers.>

"Okay, how many people is that in all to completely man all ships?"

<The total, if the estimates are correct, is 6150 people to man all of these ships. However, it is anticipated that none of these ships will be right for what you need, and in any event they will be too few to fight and defeat the Sa'arm. We expect you to build your own shipyards and then design and build ships that meet your needs.>

Obviously we were going to have to shift to a higher gear. We didn't even have enough people up here to put ONE man on each ship these guys were sending us. Ergo, the "Recruiting Department" meeting. "Can you ask them if it is a convenient time for them to break for dinner? One of our social needs is companionship, and Diana and I are a mated pair. Unless she is busy doing something that cannot be halted or delayed, I would prefer to have her company while I eat."

<They have agreed that this is a good time to break for dinner. They will join you in the mess hall soon.>

I was already in the mess hall, so I started looking over the menu. The "approved" side was pretty small. The 'complete' side was larger, but not by much. Still, I wanted something a bit nicer than another McDonald's burger so I asked for the Beef Wellington. I like it, but it always takes forever when you order it at a restaurant. I added a baked potato with nothing, plus a pat of butter. I didn't see any kind of greens that I wanted, so I just added a lettuce salad and submitted the order.

The AI informed me that previous requesters had specified how well done the beef should be, but that was not yet an available option. Now that I understood replicators, I could see that. The AI and replicator together had two options when something was requested. One was very simple: assemble the object from a previously stored template. As long as we had the template and the raw materials, and the object actually fit inside the work area of the replicator, you would get what you ordered within a minute or two.

The second option was far more complicated. The AI could assemble its "best guess" for what you wanted, doing the design and engineering work on the fly, and produce what it thought you wanted in, often, not too much longer than a standard item. Trying this with the complex biochemistry of a prepared and cooked food item was strongly discouraged. I would settle for whatever it had templates for.

While I waited, I looked around. Every table was completely bare. That was wrong; there should be a collection of various condiments at each table. They couldn't be objecting due to maneuvers; it has to be because they haven't thought of it yet. Hell, even the Navy's small wooden-hulled minesweepers have condiments on their tables, and they come pretty close to rolling completely around in any kind of heavy seas. They just put everything in a kind of small basket and clamp the basket to the table.

I started thinking of things that should be on the tables, and asked the AI to keep the list for me. Salt and pepper shakers, A1 Sauce, Worcestershire Sauce, Heinz 57, Soy Sauce (both La Choy and Kikkoman, people who like one invariably hate the other). What else? All the weird blue and pink and yellow sweeteners? Did we need them, or could everyone here just use sugar? We probably needed them; some people used them for weight control but other people actually liked them.

Texas Pete hot sauce. For some reason every US Navy ship had an endless supply of that stuff. Maybe the manufacturer had some kind of dirt on the Navy's supply people and made them buy it. I wouldn't touch it, I thought it was best used to clean grease off of deckplates, but a lot of people put it on everything from hamburgers to scrambled eggs.

There were a lot of other things that should be handy but needed refrigeration, like ketchup, mustard, and the like, but that may be too much trouble for now.

The microwave "dinged" while I was compiling that list, so I got my dinner and...huh? I forgot my drink? "AI, please show the choices for coffee."

I couldn't tell if the menu was part of the wall, or just in the air in front of the wall, and I decided that I could experiment with poking my fingers at it some other time. "I'll take two twelve-ounce McDonald's coffees. Can I get four creamers with that?" Something else to work on, and, yes, the tables should have sugar and Mini-Moos, too. That went a lot faster, certainly less than a minute, and I had my entire meal.

About the time I was sitting down with my tray, Diana walked in talking with the Admiral and our recruiter. I picked up my tray again and waved it at them. "Hey, honey! I got mine!"

I tried my coffee, but it was too hot so I just abandoned my tray and went to Diana. That suit she was wearing made it pretty clear exactly what was under it, and it looked pretty good. I did not publicly fondle my wife, but I came pretty close. Checking to see how firm her bottom was becoming doesn't count as fondling, does it?

She gave me a hug and a kiss, then asked "What did you order?"

"I'm going to try the Beef Wellington. It just came out, the coffee is too hot."

"Oh, if you are trying that then I'm getting the Steak Diane." She ordered that and a Sprite, and when it came out I carried her tray to the table for her. Dinner was a combination of a half-dozen different conversations: the food, my list of condiments, their manning list, and so on.

I thought my Beef Wellington was horrible, and badgered Diana until she took some and shared her steak with me. She thought my Wellington wasn't that good, certainly not up to nice steakhouse standards, but she didn't want to grade it as horrible. She said the same about her dinner.

Her Steak Diane, on the other hand, was very good as far as I was concerned. Maybe not 'excellent', but far better than just 'edible'. We agreed that the Steak Diane should be moved over to the approved list with a couple of notes about it being maybe a bit dry or re-heated, and my Beef Wellington should be moved over to the approved list with a warning that we could do better.

I brought up my condiment list. Robinson added one to the list, in a terrible fake-English accent: "If you hooligans forget my tartar sauce, I shall scream! A nice piece of fried fish needs a good tartar sauce! Same for my fried prawns!"

"Okay, tartar sauce. Does that stay here on the table, or does it need to be refrigerated like the mayonnaise?" Me.

"Dear, tartar sauce is mayonnaise with some extra ingredients, like chopped pickles. It needs refrigerated." Diana, of course.

"Do we even have refrigerators up here?" The Admiral and Robinson looked at each other. They didn't answer my question. "AI?"

<There are temperature-controlled storage containers available if you need one. How large should this be?>

"Please wait. I must consult with my dietary assistant." With that I made a flourish with my hands and told Diana "This one is on you. What-all should we have out that should be refrigerated? My list was just mayonnaise, ketchup, mustard, and milk/cream/half&half."

Diana talked with the AI about how fast food would spoil in the ship's sterile atmosphere. I heard some discussion about how filthy and parasite-laden us humans were, and how impossible it was to keep a room sterile if humans even walked through it. Meanwhile, I asked Robinson if he ever went to Fuddruckers up in DC.

"George. Now that you've been ensnared in my trap just call me George. No, I don't think so. It's a fancy hamburger place, isn't it?"

"I think it's a chain, but I don't know how big. Anyway, we had hamburgers for lunch here earlier, and they were reheated McDonald's stuff. I asked the AI about other kinds and it said that you could eat at a restaurant and scan in some dishes as they came out of the kitchen. I was thinking that maybe we could do this after work each day."

"Good plan, except that you're dead."

I had to think about that for a minute, but I didn't see any good responses. "Well, hmmm. Perhaps this being dead isn't that great a deal after all." All I could do was smile. "Who do we have who isn't dead?"

"That we trust? Just me, George Smythe, and Randy Everett."

"Doc Sorenson." The Admiral, reminding us about the doctor.

"I don't know if I trust Army guys to get food right. They're the guys who scanned in the cold french fries, aren't they? Well, George, you're a corporate recruiter, aren't you? Maybe that should be next. Hire a couple of assistants who aren't dead."

"I understand that we have basically unlimited funding, courtesy of the UN and the Government. Why can't we just hire an executive search company?" That was Diana.

George jumped on that. "We should do both. Direct hires for specific needs, but also hire a personnel management company to do our general recruiting for us."

The Admiral put his two cents in. "You'll have to recruit at least a couple of people in whatever company you hire, to make sure they keep this quiet. We can run them through Roger's test before sending them back down to continue their day job."

It took some more back and forth and some argument with the AI before someone, George I think, realized what the issue was. All soldiers recruited must leave Earth; that was part of our Master Plan to avoid upsetting the illuminati. Fine, but why weren't George and those other guys included? Because they weren't soldiers.

Huh? Randy and George Smythe weren't soldiers? No, not from the AI's point of view. They may think they are, and the US Army may think so, but the AIs don't. They aren't here to join the fight like I am; they are only here to keep an eye on Admiral Kennedy and report back to the Pentagon. They get to go home at night. Same with the good doctor; he's only up here to steal technology from the aliens. It was embarrassing to hear the AIs report their understanding of this so dryly.

Anyway, none of them were soldiers as far as the AIs are concerned. Those recruiters we were hiring wouldn't be either. They were just working another white-collar government job. As contractors, not really "civil servants". It was even true, as long as no one asked "Which government?"

Diana took charge here, and I realized that with her new position she was George's boss. "I think that's your next priority, then, George. You have far too much to do so your next two or three recruits should be more corporate recruiters like you. Do you know any that you would trust?"

"Some of them are okay. If we make them take that test, and make them forget if they fail it, yeah I know several people I'd like to bring in for an interview."

I butted in there. "You've got to work on your delivery some, and for God's sake come up with a corporate front that can be Googled."

He laughed at me. "Long Term Investments, Inc. is properly registered with the US government as a privately-owned resource speculation firm. We are just dabbling in personnel management, is all."

"Then when you get your recruiters, have one of them set up a website so no one thinks you're a salesman and throws you out on your ear. I only let you in because I was bored."

He laughed again. "Yeah, I get that sometimes. Speaking of which, is there anyone you want brought in? Can I use you as a reference?"

"Can you use dead people as a reference?"

"Sure. I talked to you last week. It was before your accident, so you weren't dead, yet."

I just shook my head and said "Fine. I'll have to get back to you on that list, though."

Something in all that gave Diana another idea. "Does LTI need a corporate buyer? There are all kinds of things that a person can't get, but a company can buy without making people blink."

"Like enough stuff to outfit a cafeteria! Good idea."

The Admiral added "The sooner you get some office space -with warehouse and workshop room- down there the sooner all this recruiting stuff can be moved into it instead of having everyone come up here. Don't forget that we're supposed to be building a Navy up here."

"Can we get back to the important stuff? AI, does the scanner thing have to be pointed at a dish, or can it be set down to work? How small can it be?"

George pulled something out of his briefcase that looked like an overlarge calculator. "Here is my scanner. I tell people that it's a calculator with a built-in printer. It can even do that, if I have to show someone."

<The scanner can be smaller but we have found that when smaller it is difficult to point it at the correct target.>

"Well, is it programmable? Can you tell it what to do and set it down, or do we have to hold it?"

<We will manage any programming necessary, that is our function. All Confederacy equipment is programmable and we AIs manage it for you.>

"Can it be invisible? What if I go to a nice restaurant and set it down next to the kitchen, then eat my meal. Can we get it to scan every dish that comes out of the kitchen until I go pick it up again?"

George leaned over to me and whispered "You're still dead, remember."

I whispered back "Sorry. I thought that being dead would be more of a change and I keep forgetting." Then, back to the AI "Excuse me, can someone -not me- do that? How can we scan an entire restaurant's menu without taking several days to order each item ourselves and getting questions asked?"

<This is one of those areas we discussed earlier. We have specific instructions about the level of technology we may turn over to you. Please wait.>

We discussed other stuff, like what restaurants were more important than my hamburger, for a few minutes. I started looking at the dessert menu. Okay, THAT is more important than some stupid hamburger. George needs to visit a Baskin-Robbins or a Dairy Queen first. It didn't take long for our answer.

<We have consulted with the Confederacy envoys on this matter. Each recruiter will be provided with a small device that will scan its surroundings for food items. It will stay where it is placed and mimic its surroundings to avoid detection but it should be placed where it will not be found. It will not reliably scan organic substances more than seven of your feet away. Will this meet your need?>

"How long will it work? What if George cannot pick it up for a few hours?"

<It will function for several of your years unless it is crushed or incinerated.>

I shrugged. "Only one way to find out if it works or not, right? Where can we get one?"

<A test unit is centered on a tray in the output port for replicator 3.>

We all heard a microwave 'ding' and looked over. One replicator had its "I'm ready" light on. Someone who was walking by, another person I didn't know yet, stopped and asked "Someone ordered an empty tray?"

George raised his hand. "That's ours, thanks!" and got up to take the tray. "Thanks, man! This tray is experimental. Feel how heavy it is?"

I didn't know George that well, but messing with people's minds for no better reason than entertainment is a hallmark of emotional issues. If he'd been a subordinate -or even one of my friends- I'd have called him on it, as in "Man, that's fucked up".

Maybe he had a reason for it. Maybe the guy was one of his friends and they normally messed with each other, but for now I just mentally filed a note to keep an eye on him. Maybe I could talk to Diana about it sometime in private. People who do that kind of thing are often abusive to their families and pets. And, if they carry the joking too far, they can't be trusted to do their work right, either.

We talked awhile about the next step in recruiting, which was to set up a normal-looking corporate office somewhere in the DC area. Once they had some people to man it, that was. They needed a vice-president in charge of that division of LTI, some office people, some warehouse guys, some security guys, everything needed to look normal. Those who passed the test would know the real story; the ones who failed would not.

Diana had a "strong recommendation" for the company's -or at least that division's- purchasing agent. My blood pressure started to skyrocket when she told George her proposed agent's name, though. Ginger Davidson was a widow and one of our oldest friends. I hadn't been that close to Eric, but Ginger and Diana had been close. When a stupid forklift accident had killed Eric on the pier we were moored at, Diana and I had been sent with the chaplain to go give Ginger the formal notification that her husband had died. That was horrible. I don't want to ever have to do that again.

As a human being, Ginger was great. As a woman, though, she was nothing but trouble. She constantly joked about being ready to step in if Diana ever got tired of me, and I didn't think it was funny. She was plenty good looking, but I'd seen too much trouble from people -on both sides- who cheated, and I didn't want to even joke about it.

Problem was, she wasn't joking. She had even gotten Diana to leave me to her in her will, if anything happened to her. I guessed that that was a reasonable thing to do, but Ginger didn't seem to want to wait. If we had people over for dinner or something, it was a foregone conclusion that sooner or later Ginger would corner me somewhere and give me a rather more intimate hug than I needed from someone who wasn't named "Diana".

Yes, I'd pop a woody, she was a looker, but I didn't need anything that Diana wasn't giving me. And, when she finally let me go again, I'd find that Diana was in the hall guarding it, keeping anyone else from seeing what was going on. I guess there was something in it for Diana, because I had some blood pressure issues and I couldn't always perform like I wanted to, but I never had any trouble giving Diana what she wanted after Ginger had rubbed all over me. So, maybe it was Diana's idea.

Anyway, after dinner George-the-recruiter and the three army guys, one of whom was George-the-soldier, got to go home for the night. George-the-recruiter promised to go by an ice cream place on his way home, but insisted that he was going to visit a couple of steak and barbecue places before he went to get my hamburgers. The Admiral, Frenchy, and the two of us had to stay up on the ship, and I couldn't help but wonder how the kids would find out that we had been killed.

Junior was at Annapolis, just starting his second year (they call him a "Midshipman Third Class"), and Josey was starting her first year at Rensselaer. They would both be okay, but neither needed the distraction right now.

Diana and I retired to our pod-apartment for the evening. As she put it, I had chores to do. I agreed, I had a lot of studying and thinking to do, but it didn't look like I was going to get any of that done.

As soon as the hatch was shut Diana asked the AI "How private is this place?"

<Please give us context. We are not sure of your meaning.>

"We are about to do some things that we humans prefer to do in private. Is anyone watching us? Can anyone open the door and come in?"

<This pod has been declared a private residence currently assigned to the two of you, a mated pair of humans. I, as the ship's AI, will continuously monitor all spaces, people, and equipment on, in, attached to, or associated with this ship. No one else can access the video records of this pod without permission from either you or the Captain. Similarly, the hatch will only open for either of you, or another if so ordered by the Captain in an emergency. If I detect an emergency, I will inform the ship's crew. If they order me to open the hatch as a measure necessary to resolve the emergency I will do so. Absent an emergency, the hatch will not open for anyone other than the residents. If the hatch is opened in an emergency, you two as residents are entitled to view the videos taken of the interior of this pod while the visitors are in it.>

I butted in. "Wait a minute. Are you saying that not even the Captain can order the hatch opened? What if he thinks there's a problem and wants to investigate it? The Captain, or his designated representative, must be able to access any part of his ship, or he cannot be held responsible for what happens to his ship."

<We apologize if we are not clear. Please understand that we have been studying your people for thousands of your years, but we have only been communicating with you for less than two months. We are still learning how to communicate with you, and we do not yet claim to understand you or your social standards. What you say is true of a freighter, and if we understand the concepts it would be true of a warship. However, this ship is currently serving as a residence or a passenger ship, and the rules are different.>

<Any space with the status of a 'private residence' is the complete responsibility of the assigned tenants. We AIs will monitor this pod, but the Captain of this ship has no authority or responsibility for what happens inside this pod. If we detect an emergency, we will ask you for authorization to open the hatch so that others can assist you. You have the right to refuse. If you refuse, then after all inhabitants are dead the pod will revert back to the Captain's control and he can order the hatch opened.>

I had to blink while I absorbed that. That would work, and in fact was a lot closer to the personal freedom that the US claimed to strive for than what US citizens actually enjoyed, what with all the secret emergency powers the government had. However... "This set of rules may be something that your Confederacy people grew up with and know, but you will need to make sure that any of us humans who come up here are specifically told about this, including what will happen to them in an emergency if they become obstinate and refuse help."

<We can add discussion of this to the standard orientation sleep-trainer module.>

I guess it was Diana's turn to butt in. "Wait, dear. Can we give you a pre-authorization to open the hatch in an emergency?"

<Yes. That might be best.>

"Very well, I hereby authorize you to allow emergency access to our residence. I do not authorize you to allow access to our residence if there is no emergency."

<That instruction has been accepted.>

"Tell the nice AI that you agree, dear."

"I agree."

<That instruction has been accepted.>

"Wait. Why can't we just declare this ship to be a naval auxiliary under military authority and discipline, and trust the Captain to be competent and do what is right with your assistance?"

<This suggestion has been brought up every time this subject has been discussed, if there were military personnel present. There is a clear correlation between military background and support for your suggestion. All military personnel endorse your suggestion, and all civilians with no military experience disagree.>

"So, everyone who has experience with military discipline recommends it, and those who have no experience with it consider it something to be avoided?"

<There is some variation but to within 3% you are correct.>

"Then why do we not do it anyway? We're all... oh, we're not all military up here." looking at my wife.

"That's right, dear, we're not."

<There is also a jurisdiction or authority question. What organization would grant the commanding officer his authority? The Confederacy does not have any military forces.>

"Well, you do now. Whatever your government is, it must formally agree to its creation and appoint a person to be in overall charge of the force, and all authority from there on out will come from his appointments, orders, and instructions. Call him your Secretary of Unfriendly Relations, if you want, and if he doesn't want to deal with us directly he can appoint an assistant or deputy from us humans, and we'll take it from there. We just need to have a clear chain of authority. Once we have that, we can swear allegiance to the Confederacy and obedience to the officers appointed over us, and we'll go fight this war for you."

<No member of the Confederacy is capable of holding that office. Further, we cannot accept having a human in complete control of the military force that we envision, one powerful enough to contain the Sa'arm. Your species is too competitive and would turn the military force against us.>

"Right, to make sure that that never happens, you need to have a non-human as your Secretary of War, or at least as his deputy. Can you AIs serve in either position?"

<No. This also has been suggested by the humans we have discussed this with. We cannot be in a position where we injure others, or even give orders that lead to injuring others. We will manage your ships and equipment for you, but we cannot act as soldiers or officers.>

Diana tugged on my arm. "Honey, that can wait. I don't want to wait."

I told the AI "Okay, we'll get back to this tomorrow."

We have a custom, more like a private rule, that whoever is the aggressor gets to drive. Or has to drive, depending upon their mood. Diana was the one pushing this tonight, so after we had gotten everything off and played grab-ass for a few minutes I got on my back and let her do her thing.

I don't like being passive, I'm a man and I want to be on top, but when Diana drives I get to lay back and play with her titties while she does all the work so it's hard to complain. Especially when her titties are a lot fuller and firmer than they had been the last time I played with them.

For a long time now, when she is on top she does what she wants, then when she is done if I still have a woody we roll over and I drive until I'm happy, too. Tonight, though, I popped before she was done. That turned out to be okay, though, because after a little while I was back up again and it was my turn. Diana didn't have any more complaints by the time I popped my second time.

I woke up about 3 or so in my 'WTF' mode. That's what happens when you are sound asleep in your bunk and you wake up and start running because your subconscious caught the ventilation fans spinning down, meaning that we lost power, meaning that there's a problem back in the plant, meaning that the sooner we get it fixed the less painful it will be for everyone. You aren't really awake until you are on station, wondering what's going on but ready to help.

You spend a couple of years in Engineering and you'll do it too. The plant burps and the ship goes dark, and before the people on duty have even finished their "loss of power immediate actions" checklists they have help showing up. In their skivvies and shower shoes maybe, but on station and helping.

What woke me up this time was my subconscious realizing that my boat was parked beside the garage, where it always was if we weren't using it. We left the house on George's magic pad, so how were we going to get reported as lost in the Chesapeake, if the boat was still at the house? We weren't dead yet!

Surely this could be handled in the morning. I went to the bathroom, then back to bed, where I got further demonstration that I was returning to my earlier health. Diana woke up when I got back in bed and rolled me onto my back and used me -that's the only way to put it- for her own filthy needs. This time it was more like our usual. I didn't get mine until she had gotten hers a couple of times and we rolled over so that I could be in charge again. I slept great after that, too.