Chapter 4

I woke up with cotton mouth. Bleah.

I knew that drinking all that alcohol last night would make me get up and piss and so dehydrate me, but I had forgotten that the medical nanites were also at work. I stumbled into the bathroom and drew a cup of cold water.

Better. I drew and drank three more. Better still.

I went back to my bedroom and looked into my closet. My civvies were hanging, cleaned, and pressed, next to my uniforms.

“Alfred.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I need pajamas, Alfred.”

“Are you sure sir? You seemed quite comfortable sleeping nude. Shall I raise the pod’s room temperature?”

“No, Alfred. And yes, I don’t sleep in pajamas, but I want them for lounging around the pod. Like a interstellar Hugh Hefner.”

“Yes sir. And shall I stock the kitchen with Pepsi sir?”

“I’ll remind you, Alfred, to keep a civil tongue in your head. As a Texan, I drink Dr. Pepper.”

“Yes sir. The pajamas will be ready in ten minutes. Will that be all?”

“That will be all, thank you Alfred.”

“Very good, sir.”

Damn. The AI was getting better at the ‘Alfred’ shtick by the minute. Ah well, it was fun.

After I stepped out of the shower, I felt much better. In fact, I felt better than I had in years. My hip was still a bit gimpy, but the aches I had felt in my leg and my back for the last decade was gone. And my hangover had vanished with the water. But my gums were itchy back where my back molars had been extracted years ago. I apparently needed an adult-sized teething ring.

I went over and looked again into the wardrobe. There was a set of Chinese-red satin pajamas with a lizard-green robe. Yeesh. I left the robe, pulled on the PJs and slouched out to the living area.

Phyllis was curled up on the sofa, nude, sleeping; otherwise, the room was empty. She was a plush Latin beauty with dark hair and brows, and eyelashes so long they brushed her cheeks. I remembered that, back on Earth, she had had acne scars. They were gone now. Her complexion was flawless, like porcelain. Her pores were almost invisible.

Her head was cradled on her arm and her large, dark-tipped breasts rose and fell with her breathing. I was enchanted by the sight. I sat down on the sofa next to her and watched her for several minutes, imagining the feel of those hips in my hands and the taste of those dark nipples in my mouth. I felt a surge of arousal. I could take her right here. She was my chattel property. She belonged to me. I leaned forward and inhaled her aroma.

Then I remembered how scared she had been back in that coffee shop, and how hard she had cried herself to sleep that first day. I started gently stroking her flawless cheek with my fingertips. She stretched, yawning and opened her eyes. I could see her momentary confusion and fear as she looked up and saw me. She drew away from me, her hands leaping to cover herself.

“Shhh. Let’s not wake everybody,” I said.

She relaxed as she realized where she was, and then she chuckled a bit sadly. “I was dreaming I was a kid again,” she said, “sitting on the sofa at my parent’s house, in my pajamas, eating cold cereal and watching TV.” Her eyes started filling with tears. “Now I’ll never see them again. And I won’t be there when they get old and need help. And I won’t know whether they are alive or’ or...” The tears started running down her cheeks, splashing onto her breasts.

I moved over next to her and took her into my arms. She hesitated, then relaxed and let herself give in to the tears with soft sobs. “I know, Sweet One,” I whispered, “We’re all losing the people we love.” I patted her back for a moment, and then ran my hand up and down her spine, from her neck to just above the cleft of her ass.

Her tears lasted only for a few minutes. I knew that we would all cry several more times about our loss. I also knew that each time the tears would be less bitter and more healing.

Finally, she was quiet in my arms as I rocked back and forth. I thought that she had fallen back asleep, but she took a deep breath and sat up. She smiled at me with red-rimmed eyes. “And wretch that I am, I’m hungry.”

I laughed, “Blame the nanites!” and she smiled. “Seriously,” I said, “I drank several glasses of water this morning and it really helped with my physical condition. Why don’t you try drinking some water, while we figure out what to have for breakfast?”

I stood up and extended my hand to her. She smiled up and me and took my hand. “Great pajamas,” she said.

I pulled her to her feet. “Thanks. I’m just grateful they weren’t paisley.”

I stood up and rubbed my eyes. I had been working my way through the training material available for sponsors for several hours. If the nanites hadn’t been fixing me, sitting in one position for so long would’ve made me lame for a week. I suddenly realized that I hadn’t used my glasses since the first day aboard ship.

I needed to get out, to get active, and get some fresh air. Of course, I was on a spaceship, so the fresh air options were limited.

“Alfred!”

“You rang?”

“No! Do not do ‘Lurch.’ I won’t have it.”

“Sorry, sir. What may I do for you?”

“Alfred, does this ship have a gymnasium or workout room? I need to stretch my legs.”

“Yes sir. The ship’s workout facilities are open to all sponsors and crew. Generally, few sponsors take advantage of the facilities. They seem to spend a majority of their in-transit time in bed.”

“Alfred, are there any martial arts groups that use the gym?”

“Yes sir. The marines that took part in your pickup and are in transit usually meet for unarmed combat practice three times weekly at 1400 hours. Today is one of the three days. Shall I schedule you to join them there?”

“Yes, Alfred. And please fabricate for me a gi, judo-weight, white, no insignia; a black obi; and a pair of hakima, black.”

“Very good sir.”

I walked into the ship’s gymnasium about 1330 and looked around. There were a couple of weight machines in one corner surrounded on the floor by fluorescent orange stripes and text that warned of heavy gravity within. Mats covered another section of the floor. I walked over to the mats and knelt.

I began with breathing, closing my consciousness down to the limits of my own body, silencing the chattering monkey in my mind that constantly commented on my every thought and action. Breathing in and out. I became conscious of faults in my kneeling posture and shifted to align my weight. My healing hip and leg were going to force me to relearn a lot of my posture. I expanded my awareness to include the mat area. This is where I would exist for now.

I rose and started flexing and stretching, bending to touch the floor, and then rising to my toes. When I felt a slight sweat and felt my joints begin to loosen, I stepped forward and threw myself across the mat, landing in a tuck, and rolling to stand erect. I turned and rolled back. After several more rolls, I threw myself higher into the air, landing flat on my back in a breakfall. I flexed my leg, testing the sensation. Not a twinge of pain from my hip. I slammed myself to the mat several more times.

I felt elated. I hadn’t been able to do that since I was shot in the pelvis, twelve years earlier.

I became aware of voices and my consciousness expanded to see a ring of marines standing around the mat, watching me with amusement.

The Amazon, Jackson, I recognized from the pickup said, with a straight face, “Master Sergeant, what the hell are you doing?”

“Can’t you tell? I’m kicking my own ass!” They all broke up. “And if I’d kick my own ass without mercy, be sure that I’ll kick anyone else’s in a heartbeat.”

There was a stir among the marines. The smallest of them was two inches taller than me, and all were muscled like comic-book superheroes. Corporal Jackson smirked, “Wanna dance?”

I stepped to the far corner of the mat. “Maestro, start up the band.”

Her face split into that sexy grin and she walked light-footed to the opposite end of the mat. “Do you wanna lead?” she said.

Now, I was taking a risk here. I hadn’t truly sparred ‘randori’ for more than a decade, and all of these goons had the weight and reach on me. But it wasn’t a big risk. I had studied mixed martial arts since these kids wore Underoos. Since my hip injury I had focused on Aikido since that art didn’t have sacrifice falls. They were all big, but that meant my center of gravity was lower. They were strong, but I wasn’t stupid enough to pit my strength directly against theirs.

And besides, I hear that they had a really good medical bay on the ship.

We bowed, and then I stepped forward, beyond the middle of the mat, encroaching onto her territory. I adopted the ‘Proud Pose’ and sneered. The Amazon tilted her head as though she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Without warning, she rushed up to me and made a grab for my arms. I think she was trying to be easy on me, poor lamb.

As she reached me, I let her grab my arms and quickly stepped to the side and behind her, pulling my arms down. Her own momentum sent her sailing ass over teakettle, but she didn’t let go. Oh, well. I pulled my hands down to the mat and she hit on her back, stretched out to her full seven feet. Oofff.

I had surprised her and before she could gather her wits, I grabbed her elbow and cranked her arm around, forcing her onto her stomach, then shifted my grip to her fingers, holding her entire body pinned with one hand. Standing carefully out of reach of her other hand I said, “You dance divinely, my dear.”

The assembled marines broke into laughter and applause. I stepped back and let the Amazon up. “Alfred,” I subvocalized, “What’s the story with Corporal Johnson?”

<Corporal Jackson, sir. She is the Marine company’s champion at unarmed combat.>

Ouch. I’m glad I didn’t know that fact before I challenged her.

I bowed deeply to her. “Domo arigato, Corporal, and thanks for the ego-boost, but you don’t have to let an old man win.”

She shook herself and smiled with the delight of a true student who has learned a new lesson. “Don’t get all sorry for me. I’m gonna take you to school, Master Sergeant.”

And she did just that. For the next hour we all sparred, and I worked on reclaiming my timing while remembering how not to get killed.

As the hour ended, I scrubbed my sweaty face with my sleeve, bowed off the mat, knelt and began to ritually fold my hakima. This time allowed me to slow down and reflect on what I had learned that session and how I had acted (or failed to act) within the Seven Virtues of righteousness, courage, benevolence, respect, sincerity, honor, loyalty. Each Virtue corresponded to a fold on my hakima.

The Marines saw my discipline as quaint.

Corporal Jackson (“Cindy, please!”) walked out the gym door with me. “Care to come back to my place, Sarge? I’m sure my roommate can find things to do elsewhere.”

I looked up at her and felt a swelling in my cock. “Cindy, I am flattered. You would be one hell of a ride. I am very strongly attracted to you, but I’ve got, uh’ ... obligations.”

She sighed, “Yeah, I know. So it’s true you’re a preacher man?”

I smiled, “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a man.”

That grin lit up her face and I was tempted more than ever. “I know, Preacher. I’m not sayin’ I won’t ask again, sometime.”

“That would make me very happy, Cindy.”

When I returned to the pod, my sweat was cooling and making my gi feel clammy. I walked through the front door and the girls jumped off the sofa and ran to me. About a foot away from me they stopped as if I had a personal force field.

“Whew!” said Kellie. “It sure smells like it was a good workout!”

I laughed and handed her my folded hakima. “Make yourself useful and put these away. The gi needs to be washed.”

Lizbeth sniffed and made a face. “The gi needs to be tossed into a passing singularity.”

“In any case, I need a shower immediately. Anyone want to scrub my back?”

Diane looked down, blushing. I saw Ruth elbow Phyllis and Phyllis jumped to say, “I will! I need a good shower myself.”

Lizbeth rolled her eyes and Kellie looked a bit disappointed.

In the bathroom I stepped into the shower and let the water pound and pummel me. I heard a small shriek and saw poor Phyllis, trying to shield her tender self from the needle-like spray. I turned down the force of the water and took Phyllis into my arms, sheltering her face in my shoulder. The water ran down her dark hair and across her soft shoulders, dripping off of her breasts.

We stood that way for a while, letting her get used to the feeling of being naked and being held by me. My cock was getting erect and hard, but I didn’t try to hide it, or turn away. After she had had a minute, her arms went around my back, and she hugged back. I waited, running my hands up and down her back as I did when we sat on the couch that morning, not hurrying, not demanding. That would come later.

Finally, I pulled back and looked down at her. “Ready to scrub my back?”

She nodded and picked up the pad. I turned away from her and she started scrubbing. I sighed and leaned my head against the stall’s wall, relaxing all the muscles and joints that were tired and sore from the workout. After a while I felt Phyllis run her hands along my sides, feeling the dip in the side of my hips, pressing her body against my back, and reaching around to feel my chest, running her fingers across my nipples.

Phyllis gradually stopped and I turned to her. “My turn to scrub your back.” She was surprised but handed me the pad and faced away. I moved the pad in long, slow strokes up and down her back, from her neck, over her ass, and down to the tops of her thighs, deliberately mimicking the motion I had made that morning. She sighed and relaxed tension that I think she hadn’t even realized was there. I loved her dark olive skin, her plush ass, and her dark, liquid eyes.

I took a handful of shampoo and started washing her black hair. She leaned back into my arms, turning her face up into the falling water. I gave her hair a good rinse, and before I let her go, I kissed her upturned lips. I kissed her lightly at first, then more deeply, cradling her face in one of my hands.

I pulled back. “Clean now?” She nodded. I hit the controls and we were buffeted dry. I led her out of the bathroom and led her onto the bed. She came willingly. As we lay side by side, I looked into her eyes and asked, “Are you ready now?” She nodded.

We kissed for a long time, our bodies barely touching. Her dark nipples grew erect and grazed my chest. My cock grew erect and pushed insistently at her pubic mound. I raised my hand and ran it as lightly as I could across her cheek, down her neck and down her breasts, trying to touch only the tiny insensible hairs that cover all our skin. I was determined that I was not going to rush Phyllis on her first time.

On the tenth or twelfth time I reached her nipples, she took my hand and pressed it to her skin.

“I’m not spun sugar. I won’t melt if you touch me,” she said.

“I didn’t want you to feel rushed.”

“I don’t feel that way. I do feel as if I’m lying down with a lion, though; a very patient lion.”

“I promise you that when I eat you up, you will enjoy every bite.” I said.

She was breathing faster now. The flush was rising up from her breasts to her shoulders. Her nipples were fat and erect. I took one nipple in my mouth and began a nursing motion on it. Phyllis moaned. I felt her nipple grow harder.

“You are going to give me a baby, aren’t you?”

“That’s one of your new duties,” I answered as I shifted to the other breast. Her nipples were so satisfying; I could suck them for hours.

“Your little baby is going to suck that breast,” she said, breathlessly. “Your little baby is going to suck both my breasts. All of your little babies are going to suck my breasts!” She gave a gasp and climaxed without ever being penetrated.

Well, here was a concubine indeed.

Phyllis caught my face in her hands and pulled my up to her face. “Oh, give me your babies!” she begged. I reached down between her legs and felt her vaginal lips. They were slippery and wet with her arousal. I stroked them lightly, parting them and toying with the opening to her vagina. Phyllis trembled and moaned. I could smell her arousal, a blend of her sweat and breath and lubrication.

I rolled her onto her back and spread her legs. She looked scared but almost hungry to feel me in her most private place. I knelt between her knees and, taking my cock in my hand, I rubbed it up and down her wet pussy lips, mixing her slippery lubrication with my dripping pre-come.

Finally, I positioned the head of my cock at her vaginal opening and leaned forward, placing my hands on either side of her head. I started gently pressing forward.

Phyllis’s eyes opened wide, her mouth made an “O,” and her she spread her legs as wide as she could. She drew her feet up and started trying to push back. I felt her maidenhead pop, but she didn’t even pause pushing. I think that she was in a state of constant orgasm. Her cunnie walls rippled and tugged my cock. She started chanted over and over, “Give me your babies. Give Me Your Babies. GIVE ME YOUR BABIES.”

After very few minutes of this, when I was right on the verge of my orgasm, she leaned forward and bit my shoulder. That sensation triggered my ejaculation. The volume of my ejaculation was something I hadn’t felt in years. I felt like I was pumping both my balls out through my urethra. I groaned uncontrollably.

After an immeasurable time, my pumping stopped and I collapsed, drained, back on the bed, our bodies cooling as our sweat dried. “Lay here,” I told her pulling her into the crook of my arm. We cuddled while our breathing returned to normal. I toyed with her nipples and the obediently grew hard again.

Suddenly, her stomach growled.

“Oh my. I’m sorry!” She started to roll away from our embrace.

My stomach growled. I refused to let her go.

“No need for apologies, we’re each eating for several million nanites.” I looked up at the ceiling. “Alfred, please let Ruth know that we need some sandwiches brought to us.”

Phyllis cringed. “But they’ll find out what we’ve been doing!”

“Baby doll, they already know what we’ve been doing. Now they’ll find out how happy you’ve made me.” She blushed, which, with her dark coloring was a delight to see. I leaned down and took my time with the deepest, most involved kiss I had given her so far. When we separated, she took a second to catch her breath.

“Did I really make you happy?” she asked, her eyes searching mine for sincerity.

“More than you can believe, Baby doll,” I assured her. “I am looking forward to years and years of you making me happy.” She glowed in happiness.

The door slid open, and I saw that Ruth had sent Kellie in with our sandwich tray and a couple of drinks.

“Here you go, folks!” she said brightly. Phyllis grabbed the sheets and tried to pull them over her head, but I held them tightly. She glared at me and slid down so that she could peek over the hem.

“Thank you, Kellie. And would you inform the rest of the concubines that Phyllis carried out the duties of her office in a manner that took my breath away.”

Kellie picked a sandwich off the tray and started to nibble at it. “Oh, I’m no hurry to go back. Tell me Phyllis, was the Boss’s performance all it should be?”

Phyllis pulled the sheet down to chin level and her blush grew darker as she said, “Oh, my, yes!” Kellie saw the bite mark on my shoulder, grinned and winked at me.

“Then I’ll leave you two to alone.” And with that she took her sandwich and left to report to the rest of the girls.

Phyllis started to tell me how mortifying this all was when her stomach growled again. “I never thought I would be reduced to this!” She muttered through the sandwich that was disappearing into her mouth.

“And to what have you been reduced?” I asked.

“To being a complete slave of all my appetites!” she wailed as she reached for another sandwich.

“Sponsor Steward?”

“Yes Alfred?”

“You have received an invitation to dine again with the captain. Shall I accept?”

“As though a mere mortal could refuse. Yes, please accept. What are the details?”

The dinner is today at 1700 and, once again, you are invited to bring along one of your concubines.”

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“Very good, sir.” Was the AI putting on a faintly plummy British accent? I would bet it had been reviewing twentieth-century British cinema.

“Ruth, I’ve been invited to dine with the Captain,” her eyes lit up, “but this time I’m taking Lizbeth.” Her face fell. She nodded.

“That’s a good idea. She’s been going a little cabin crazy and driving us all nuts.”

“I wanted to tell you first and not have it be a surprise.” I sighed. “I guess this is one big downside of polygamous relationships. Or at least polygamous relationships that start all at once. There’s not enough time to properly court all your loves.”

Ruth kissed me and reached down to fondle my cock to reassure me that she understood. I immediately popped an erection, and the erection didn’t sag, but tented my pajamas as it stood proudly at an acute angle to my belly. Huh. It hadn’t done that since I was in my twenties.

Lizbeth was surprised and pleased that I asked her to accompany me to the Captain’s dinner. “Not at all surprising,” I told her, “I want to be seen in the company of beautiful and intelligent women.”

She slapped my arm. “That’s pure flattery.”

I slipped both of my arms around her, not letting her turn away. “Not pure flattery. You are all of you beautiful; and all of you girls are college students, so you all are proven intelligent.”

Lizbeth looked as though she might say something, but instead surprised me by standing tiptoe and giving me a sweet kiss. “That’s for caring enough to ask me.” She kissed me sweetly again. “That’s for getting me out of the apartment before I start gibbering.” She grabbed me by the ears, pulled my face down, and gave me a kiss that curled my toes. “And that’s for caring enough to flatter me when you did ask.” She ran off to get ready. Did I mention that I have a thing about Asian girls?

Lizbeth returned wearing a flowing gauzy something that I didn’t have the vocabulary to describe, except that it was as multicolored as a bed of flowers, iridescent as a hummingbird, and drew my eyes as various bits of her played peek-a-boo with strategically placed openings. Her slim figure promised a delightful night ahead.

The music in the Captain’s cabin that evening was Chopin and the company was different, almost all wearing Navy black. Sergeant Major McCoy, the NCO who ramrodded the volunteer intake my first day was the only guest in Marine Green. The Captain made introductions and I wound up sitting across from Sergeant Major McCoy and next to Commander Rand, who that night revealed himself to be a member of Naval Intelligence. I promised not to make the old joke about the phrase being an oxymoron and he agreed to not make mention of rank at the table. Lizbeth was seated next to the Captain himself. It looked as though the scoundrel was trying to seduce her with good food, good wine, and good conversation. With his pencil mustache, he was a kind of poor man’s Errol Flynn.

Rand took a sip of a wonderful Argentinian Malbec and looked at me with sly eyes. “And how are you settling in, Steward?”

“Rather well, Rand. Thank you. The bunk is soft,” I pointed to the steak on my plate, “And the chow is good.” McCoy chuckled.

“And the company?”

“Well, the darlings are a handful, but twenty years of marriage provides me with a fair head start. The problem is courting them all at once without letting anyone feel overlooked.”

“Are you doing you duty to the Race?” Rand asked.

“My God, man! You make it sound so ... Teutonic! I am working my way through them as quickly as a middle-aged man can be expected.”

“Sorry if I sound too much like ‘Ein Volk, ein Reich ‘“ Rand said, “But we are not kidding about the pregnancy thing. One of the great open secrets of this evolution is that we are never going to get one-tenth the numbers of people off planet Earth that we originally planned. So, we are trying to set up colonies on more than a hundred planets and as many moons, each with enough genetic diversity to survive if everything goes completely to Hell.”

“One tenth?” I asked, “If the crowd I saw in the intake was normal, very few will be useful in defense.”

“Well, to be candid,” McCoy spoke up from across the table, “it wasn’t our best haul. Even the CAP scoring system isn’t foolproof. NATO military wartime veterans are the cream of the crop, but they account for much less than five percent of the population. Our next best military candidates are the fourteen through eighteen-year-olds. If sponsors are above thirty and aren’t military veterans, we try to find them defense-industry jobs or rear-echelon slots,” McCoy looked down at his plate, “or we capture as many pregnancies from them as possible before they go on the line. That accounts for the leisurely pace of this and other extraction cruises.”

Rand broke in, “So let me take advantage of an outsider’s eye. You like the bunk and beans. What weaknesses do you see in the current setup?”

“Hmmm,” I swallowed. “It’s not nice to complain with your mouth full, and all I’ve seen of the Confederacy has been this ship, but if you insist?”

“Oh, do I insist,” Rand said.

“I’ll characterize it by pointing out the body modification your Marines use. They are big and strong, but they got there too easily.”

McCoy snorted, “They might disagree.”

“Oh, they might. And in the large scheme of things, the decision to do things your way may be right. As I said, my knowledge is limited, and my experience is more limited still.”

“But let me quote Reynolds’ Law, ‘Subsidizing the markers of status doesn’t produce the character traits that result in that status; it undermines them.’ If people don’t need to defer gratification, and work hard in order to achieve the status they desire, they’ll be less inclined to do those things.” I warmed to my subject, “Those bruisers didn’t spend the time on the obstacle course or in the gym to get those muscles; they picked them out of a catalog and hopped into a tube. Those people in the pickup didn’t work hard to become Confederacy citizens, they won the lottery.” McCoy was making a sour face. I turned to him. “And what is the Confederacy boot camp like? Your bunk made by a concubine, your weapon cleaned by a concubine, your tent pitched by a concubine?”

I turned back to Rand. “I’ve been sparring with the Marines on board this ship. They’re not bad, but I’ve been winning over one-half of my bouts -- and I’m a gimpy, fifty-five-year-old man.”

McCoy grunted, “If it comes to a hand-to-hand encounter with a Sa’arm, no human could ever win.”

“I know, I know.” I answered, “Unarmed combat is never going to be used on this battlefield, but it trains a soldier to be confident and aggressive. I’m just using physical strength and unarmed combat prowess as a marker for deeper problems.”

Rand scowled. “You’re wrong in ways you can’t know, and right in ways that I can’t currently talk about.” Rand sat up straighter, as though he had come to a decision. “You volunteered with no specified military branch. I must tell you that you have been the focus of some heated discussion. You’re Army, with a Combat Infantry Badge and a full plate of fruit salad. You have been waxing Marines in unarmed combat. They are salivating at the thought of getting you into their training facility.” McCoy grinned savagely and nodded.

“I’ve never worn the Smokey-the-Bear hat, Rand,” I said.

“We know, we know. But your being invited to the Captain’s table a second time and my sitting next to you is no accident. I am now exercising my options and making you an officer in naval intelligence.” McCoy scowled.

My jaw sagged and my fork dropped from my nerveless fingers to ring against the dinner plate. I sputtered, but no coherent words came out.

Rand smirked. “An ensign, I think. We don’t want you to have a marker of status without working for it.”

“You’re making me a spook? A DAMNABLE NAVY SPOOK?” I was too loud. I couldn’t help it. Conversation around the table stopped. Heads craned to see what the shouting was about.

In the silence Lizbeth turned to Captain Clarke, “What’s going on?” she asked.

“Your sponsor has been promoted,” he said, “He doesn’t seem to handle surprises well, does he?”

Later that evening, I found myself walking hand-in-hand with Lizbeth down the ship’s corridors, aimlessly. I had a snootful of the Captain Clarke’s very best Jamaican rum, “The perfect drink to toast a navy promotion,” he said. Damn, now I was in the Navy. I used to pick fights with swabbies when I was young buck.

Damn.

“I guess I don’t understand,” Lizbeth said. “Promotions are good, right?”