Friday, May 4, 2001

Clear
High—84°F
Low—61°F
Dew Point 56 °F
Chance of Rain—0%
Wind 12 mph (SW) Gusting to 15 mph
Sunrise 5:07 AM Sunset 6:56 PM
Moonrise 3:54 PM, Waxing Gibbous, 90% of the Moon is Illuminated

CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, Captain's Sea Cabin, 06:00

Bob woke up smiling. Why shouldn't he? He had an excellent position as commander of the pride of the Confederate States Navy, excellent prospects for advancement, excellent health, and most excellently, two beautiful women had agreed to become his wives.

Sort of.

Well, they'd hash out the details. Bob had set himself to win them with his boyish charm, teased them into accepting a proposal that he hadn't actually reached the point of making; now he would have to woo them like any suitor. Backwards, as usual, Bob, he told himself. Just like your football style. See the goal, kick the ball through the goalie's legs, then charge the goal. Backwards.

He was in his tiny shower closet when his steward knocked.

"Begging the Captain's pardon, sir, but shall I remove the remaining clothing and linens to the BOQ, or has the Captain made other arrangements?"

Other arrangements? Great day, last night can't possibly be all over the ship already, can it? The Captain thought about everyone who had actually seen the arrival of Mrs. Hubbard, who had seen them in the wardroom, who might have overheard any snatch of conversation. The Pantry cook and Chief Ghirardelli were sworn to secrecy. They'd not talk. So what... ?

Bob realized he was overreacting. "No, no other arrangements. The BOQ will be fine."

"Yes, sir. I'll take care of it as soon as Mrs. Hubbard's guest is done with your stateroom."

"That'll be fine."

He dressed in the uniform laid out for him, double-checked the locked safes and left them all open, empty. Time for breakfast. He left for the Wardroom.

Engineering, CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, 06:00

Siobhan Dorchester scanned her control panel frequently, changing the order each time to prevent herself from becoming complacent with the readings. Even shut down, a reactor plant was never truly shut down. Once brought to initial criticality, the fuel would continue to fission at faster than isotopic decay rates, and each neutron released had at least the potential to cause more fissioning.

The rate was low enough now, with all control rods fully inserted, to be negligible, so long as the conditions of temperature and pressure stayed within their limits. Room-temperature water could reflect many more neutrons back into the fuel than the less-dense hot water could, so she was vigilant to avoid such conditions. Gotta keep the gamma rays outa the people tank, she thought to herself.

She smiled, thinking why that was even more important now. Military-issued birth control was first rate, but no birth control was infallible. This had been her last tour at sea for a few years. Of course, every silver lining had a dark cloud.

Siobhan contemplated clouds and linings while she made a log entry. It'll be wonderful to be at home full time, even with Roy and Cassandra still on the 'Areolee, ' and I'll certainly see more of my other husband and wife, Darren and Libby, when the Jeff Davis is in port. She stood and turned to read through a bank of remote Resistance Temperature Detectors (RTDs). Jeff Davis is in port now. The whole family will be together tonight and tomorrow, before they pull out on Monday. She smiled a huge smile.

Her shadow watch showed up just then, and if she chose to believe that smile was for her, Siobhan didn't mind. She began a leisurely turnover with the shipyard Reactor Operator who would assume her duties upon change of command.

On the Norfolk-Newport News Ferry, 06:21

Captain John Carter was a clean-limbed fighting man of Virginia. At 25, already a Company Commander in the Confederate States Marine Corps (CSMC) and veteran of two campaigns, he was looking forward to his transfer to CASA, the Confederate Air and Space Administration. Between his Engineering Degree and combat experience, he'd won an appointment for consideration as crew of the manned Mars probe scheduled for 2006.

He knew he'd make the team. Young, exceptionally fit, outstanding coordination, keen eyesight, and an exceptional leader, he'd never failed at anything he'd set his mind to, and this would not be an exception. Not while he breathed and there was a God in heaven.

He planned to stop in Norfolk overnight to let his sister know. And her husband, Nat Forrest. He loved his sister and liked her husband, but there was just that tiny voice itching to tell Nat, "See? Naked Talent and pure ability are as good as a family name any day!"

Not that Nat had ever acted the Aristocrat, but still—he had That Name. John had always felt the need to 'live up' to his brother-in-law's family. This assignment could more than fulfill that need. Maybe if I became famous enough...

John squelched the thought in its tracks. Sisters could be wives. Brothers could be husbands. But Brother and sister could never be husband and wife. Not even if their family name was Ptolemy, not in this day and age. He'd just have to find a wife or wives he could love as much as his sister.

CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, Wardroom, 06:30

Bob happily joined Deborah and Nancy in the wardroom for breakfast. After he'd 'surrendered' last night, their conversation had turned to the sort of small talk dating people engaged in. Some light and inconsequential, some sniffing around the edges, some serious long-term thoughts. At no time had Nancy displayed the attitude that had spoiled their first date.

Nancy was speaking. "You must let us show our appreciation for last night by inviting you to dinner. A home cooked meal, that is. Are you available Saturday evening?"

Bob didn't waste an instant's thought on why he wasn't invited tonight—Deborah and Nancy's first night alone together in weeks. But, "I'm sorry; I'll be in Washington City tomorrow, at the War Department." He regretted turning down any invitation the Hubbard women tendered, but especially one from Nancy. "Perhaps another time?"

Nancy and Deborah exchanged looks. Marital code flashed in head leans, eyebrow motions, and a nod. "Will you be back Sunday?"

"Certainly. I'd be pleased to take dinner with you Sunday, Nancy, Deborah. What time, and what can I bring?"

"Sunday Dinner is early, say 16:00?" Bob nodded. "Bring a hearty appetite."

Bob nodded again, grinning. He'd bring more than that—flowers, of a certainty, and perhaps sherry or other wine. An early dinner might mean, if he hadn't been thrown out, drinks or a snack later.

His lovely guest hadn't commented, but she must have noticed that breakfast was served on disposable plates, with disposable cutlery. Dinner last night would have been similar, had Bob not brought back his personal service, or at least part of it. His steward had already packed and removed that and his other personal items by now. Even the breakfast, tolerable as it was, was catered from the pier. By now the wardroom pantry and the galley were scrubbed down for turnover.

He glanced at the clock. Less than an hour until turnover.

Forward Berthing Compartment, CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, Norfolk, Virginia, 07:30

As part of the working party that had off-loaded the last of the personal gear to a waiting shuttle bus, Seaman Sizeman didn't have to attend the change of command ceremony. She did have to follow the Chief-of-the-Boat (COB) and his yard bird counterpart as they inspected the berthing spaces to ensure nothing was left behind.

So far, the lucky-bag contained two sets of underwear, a bra, several toothbrushes, assorted combs, several shampoo bottles, about six dollars in loose change and a bible. Nothing anyone would claim, except for the bible, and that had a name in it. Petty Officer Whitehead would owe the COB an hour for that. The change would go into the crew's rec fund and the toothbrushes would end up applying polish to the COB's shoes. The rest was trash.

Susan was already looking eagerly ahead an hour to when the working party would be dismissed at the temporary off-ship crew's quarters. She had leave that started immediately after, and a noon flight out of Norfolk International, home to Salt Lake City. She was even looking forward to being greeted by her husband's silly ditty, the one that went, "Seaman Susie Sizeman sails subs by the sea shore." Her wives would help her tease him back. They always did.

Before they finished with the compartment, four paperback books—two romances and two mystery stories—had joined the bible in the lucky-bag, as well as a dozen magazines of a type that made Susan blush. Slavery had been abolished well over a hundred years ago—she couldn't understand why anyone would want to tie someone up that way and whip them. Especially naked. That would be so ... well... humiliating.

And the woman tied up wasn't even dark skinned! Still, the expression on her face...

Susan began to suspect that her upbringing was even more sheltered than she'd realized.

The 1MC saved her from further embarrassment. "This is Lieutenant Commander Paul Darnick, Ship Superintendent, Norfolk Naval Shipyard. I will read my orders..."

Topside, CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, Norfolk, Virginia, 08:00

Deborah stood at attention. Behind her, five of the crew in dress grays represented the rest for the brief ceremony. The rest of her duty section was below decks, waiting for the magic words that would start their R&R, almost a day behind the rest of the crew. From the corner of her eye, she could see Nancy behind the Captain and the Ship Superintendent on the microphone. Several other guests attended as well, near Nancy.

But now she was watching the Captain ... Bob. For thirty more seconds, he was The Captain. Commanding Officer of The CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507. Master before God of the finest warship in the Fleet of Virginia and the Confederate States Navy...

"From: Admiral Jonas S. Sampson, Commander, Submarine Forces Atlantic Fleet. To: Lieutenant Commander Paul Darnick, Ship Superintendent, Norfolk Naval Shipyard. You will proceed on or about 08:00, Four May, 2001 to assume Command of the Confederate States Ship Robert E. Lee on behalf of Norfolk Naval Shipyard for the purpose of overhaul, upgrade, and refurbishment." Lieutenant Commander Darnick handed the microphone to a yeoman, who kept the key depressed. He saluted Captain Lee. "Captain Lee, I relieve you."

"I stand relieved." Bob saluted back. The Yeoman unkeyed the microphone. The two officers shook hands, Bob saying, "Take good care of her for me."

The new master of the Areolee grinned back and nodded. He directed one of his personnel, "Strike the colors." All saluted as the flag was lowered. Then he took the mike again. "That is all. Carry on."

... and just like that, Bob was simply 'Officer in Charge, Submarine Cadre Detachment.' The CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507 was officially 'Out of Commission.' Deborah watched his shoulders slump, slightly. Relief from the burdens of command, she wondered silently, or depression from the reduction in power? Will it change that cocky attitude?

The rest of the duty section poured from the torpedo loading hatch and exited the ship, many boarding the shuttle bus, but others being met by family. The COB was the last one up. "That's the lot, Skipper," he reported.

Deborah had Nancy precede her down the brow. It felt strange not to salute a Quarterdeck Watch or the flag. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Bob twitch when it was his turn. It also felt strange not to hear "Robert E. Lee, departing" announced.

Bob insisted that she and Nancy board the shuttle, and had the driver drop them at Nancy's car in the visitor's lot. There, he bade them goodbye, " ... until Sunday."

As Deborah watched the shuttle pull away, Nancy placed an arm around her shoulder. "I felt it, too. Almost wanted to take him in my arms and comfort him."

Deborah grinned at her wife. "Grows on you, doesn't he?"

"I guess. Let's go home."

They went home.

The Stuart-Forrest Home, 10:07

"They seemed quite attractive," Caroline said. "Especially your young Lieutenant. I can see why he might bend a rule or two." She and Samantha had watched the Change of Command from the pier, unnoticed, mostly so Sam could point out the woman Bob had turned Caroline down for. The gossip had been every bit as juicy as Bob had promised.

Samantha sighed. "I think I envy her a little." She looked askance at Caroline. "You should have given me more notice that you were going to put a move on Bob. I could have done a little groundwork. Not, in view of the circumstances, that it would have done any good, but I would have appreciated being in the loop."

Caroline tilted her head. "I didn't think that ... look, I worried more that you'd be upset with the idea. You've expressed the same reservations about, you know, same-ship relationships."

"How can I put this," Samantha said. "Ah. Let me paraphrase. 'In her professional capacity, Samantha Stuart-Forrest must embrace policies which she abhors in her personal capacity.' How's that?"

"Sounds like delusions of godhood," Caroline said, laughing. "So what you're saying..."

"What I'm saying," Samantha interrupted, "is that I agree with that wise old bureaucrat in the early twentieth century who decided you couldn't legislate morality and got most of the fraternization directives expunged from military regulations. Deal with the problems you see, not the ones you think you see."

"Deal with the favoritism, not with the affair."

"Right. You can document instances of preferential treatment. You can't document the emotions or attitudes that caused them." Sam looked reflective. "When word of Bob's first date with Deborah and her wife reached me through the grapevine, I called her into my stateroom—I couldn't talk to Bob—and lectured her on not accepting any favoritism."

"And?"

"For one thing, she had no idea about Bob's policy. It was so funny watching her realize that Bob had done something extraordinary with her. For another, she was holding details very close, giving up nothing, and I could see that preference was not an issue ... militarily."

Caroline laughed.

Samantha's face turned ... apprehensive. "I know juggling a military career and a marriage means I'll be 'out of the loop' on domestic matters way too often, but...

"Damn it, Caroline! It was my turn!"

Caroline was startled by the vehemence, and lost as to what turn Sam was claiming. For a moment. Then, "Oh, sweetheart! I'm so sorry. But you need to know, it wasn't planned."