Epilogue

When Sweet Georgia Brown dropped into Poesidon’at space with the Krathees ship in tow, Captain LeCroix was back in command. I didn’t envy him the command seat. As soon as our IFF signal front hit the traffic buoys, the messages started arriving demanding he explain why he was three months overdue. After our transmitted action reports made it through channels, the messages demanded that he explain why he was towing a stolen ship full of enslaved Confederation allies.

Thank God that the AIs stepped in and explained the importance of contract law, and its relation to the Human version of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. In the end, we had accomplished the missions and neither LeCroix nor I wound up in the brig. What more could we ask? Riches, you say?

When the presence of the unobtainium was revealed, it was immediately snapped up by the Navy. We were warmly and sincerely thanked. Sic transit divitiae mundi.

I was in demand to provide debriefings to everybody and their committees. I even started getting begging letters from the University of Nuevo Angelino for me to write my memoirs for their history department.

Every member of the Georgia crew got commendations from Commodore Roff and a generous ‘attaboy’ from me and LeCroix. As they say in the Regency novels, ‘They were mentioned in the dispatches.’ I got a generous ‘attaboy’ from LeCroix. He never directly mentioned my attack of cold feet before we engaged the Sa’arm, something I appreciated more than any award I could receive.

And, keeping my word, I stood the entire crew to as much as they could hold at the Civil Service hostel.

Sweetest of all was walking up the path to the three-pod complex and seeing my whole damn family running out to meet me.

The girls smiling, the babies picking up on the excitement and laughing or starting to cry. And Kyle, smiling wearily, as my return had finally freed up his nights after nearly a year of satisfying nine horny women. He deserved a medal in my book.

“Go on,” said Paula, and gave me a shove; “I’ve had you to myself for almost a year. Go give you girls some sugar.”

Two weeks after I had returned home was the night to stand the Sweet Georgians (as the crew had started calling themselves) to drinks at the Civil Service hostel.

“I’m heading out to meet the crew,” I told the girls, “I don’t know when I’ll be back, so don’t wait up.” They all stood around and pouted. A night out at the hostel had been a big hit with the girls. I was less excited. I was hosting a Navy crew to a night out in a joyhouse in a Marine town.

As I turned to go, I saw Paula waiting by the door.

“Uh, Paula, I’d take you out, but this is kind of a crew thing.”

Paula looked at me as though I was a retarded child. “Of course, it’s a crew thing. And I was part of that crew. You aren’t leaving here without me.”

“Uh, Sweetheart, it could get a little rowdy and rough. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

Paula sniffed, “I’m a grownup. If I feel uncomfortable, I’ll speak up or get out. Don’t worry about me, Buttercup, I’ve sung in bars and dives for a living.”

And so, we went. The Civil Service hostel was jumping that night; there was music and dancing. As we walked in, I saw that most of the Georgians were already there. They saw Paula and me entering and raised a cheer.

Looking at Paula, I didn’t blame them. She was star of the night. Her copper hair was up in a chignon, her gown was a shimmery emerald nimbus that clung to various desirable parts and floated cloud-like above her knees.