Jen Rodriguez opened both eyes and felt her body tense for action. Around her was the dark room she had fallen asleep in with only the slow whoosh of the air system kicking in to disturb the otherwise complete silence. She rolled to her side and let her eyes focus on the digital clock of her wall display. It read 0504 in distinct red numerals. Licking dry lips Jen tried to remember what it had read the last time she checked, but could only come up with a vague awareness of zero thirty something. Letting a sigh slip through her lips, she briefly contemplated going back to sleep. After all her duty station was only a ten minute walk from her quarters and she didn't need to be in the office until 0830 anyway.

Although Jen closed tired and achy eyes, her body tested its movement capacity and found that no covers seemed to be hindering momentum or entangling her limbs. Before she could really think about it her legs had swung back over the floor and were dragging the rest of her body with them.

“Fuck this.” Blurred vision greeted her eyes when they opened again and Jen looked around the room as ambient light began to rise from the various displays. On the wall display an image of her ship hung in real time. The camera view was pulled back and allowed a large view of he dry dock and the ship itself. Great holes had been ripped into Indefatigable but after three weeks most of them had been closed. As she watched, Jen could see little lights slowly flitting around the ship. The dockyard always got started early.

“Show system primary full screen. Add GMT Earth time to local time.” Instantly the display changed to show a blue giant star and the time displayed morphed into two times, separated by a slash. Knowing she would stand mesmerized by her ship all day if she let herself stand there, Jen chose a view that she would have the willpower to pull herself away from. The large star would likely explode in another two million years but for now, she could enjoy its beauty.

The clock display was also fascinating. If one watched it you could tell that time in Epirus Dockyard moved differently than on Earth. The disparity could make a person crazy if they stared at it too long and Jen knew she was already crazy enough.

Stepping away from her bed, Jen's left hand grabbed the shot glass from the night stand and pulled it up to her lips as she strode nearer to the wall display. This close to it the pale blue made her dark skin an eerie alien canvas and turned the khaki tank top and shorts into something a little more soft and feminine. So much time in her vac suits, taking injections and pills to keep many of her inconvenient bodily processes at bay, often made Jen wonder if she were female anymore. Long time spacers angled towards an androgyny that was politically and socially acceptable, but made it hard to exist in a society that of late had begun celebrating the differences of its people again. It made it awkward at times for those who spent their lives in space and then tried to fit in among planetary populations. It was a sacrifice of course that they made voluntarily.

On the other hand, the pills male spacers had to take were a lot worse and she didn't envy her brothers in arms. Many of them never recovered fully and had to have surgical implants to repair the damage.

“Here's to sacrifice.” Jen brought the glass to her lips and assaulted her mouth with the liquid whose origin she had not considered until now. It was flat, room temperature, and tasted heavy like swallowing turpentine and mercury.

Shaking her head she looked around for a bottle but did not see one.

“Nelson, what was I drinking last night?”

“Jaegerine Vodka.” The voice was British of course and it comforted her to hear. Nelso traveled everywhere with her and she often had nightmares that a short circuit or enemy laser might destroy his program.

“Ah, that explains the taste.” Jen bent down and fished for the bottle, hoping to find some small bit of the liquor left.

“Aha, target acquired.” She stood up a little too fast and steadied herself on the bed. The captain pushed herself up the rest of the way and looked into the bottle. It was empty. Of course.

“Did we score a hit, captain?”

Jen frowned and set the bottle down on the night stand next to the shot glass. “Negative. Target had already been killed it seems.” She fished around on the floor for her clothes but her toes came up empty. Looking around the room she saw them folded neatly in a chair as if they belonged to a midshipman waiting on inspection.

“Although somehow I managed to fold my dirty laundry.”

“Yes sir. There was singing. Somewhat off key.”

“Singing?”

“Yes sir, I could replay it for you.”

“No and delete from memory please.” Jen walked to the foot of the bed and sat down.

“Yes sir.” Nelson seemed amused at her embarrassment, a trait many of the personal AI shared.

Looking at the time display she noted that it was only 0515 local time. The eleven minutes had seemed so much longer and despite drinking the last bit of horrid vodka, Jen felt that she was sobering up.

“Nelson, put on the news, lower right corner and bring the lights up another twenty percent.” Jen ran her long fingers through short dark hair and then pulled both legs up on the bed.

“Local or Solar, sir?”

“Solar, headlines only please.” At her request a new image appeared on the lower right hand portion of the display screen. Even at only ten percent, it took up a large portion of her wall.

“And pull up my work itinerary for today.” On the display appeared a new screen with times, work flow, and a number of meetings. Fumbling around on the bed, Jen found her headset and placed it over her disheveled hair. Now she could control the display herself with simple eye movements. Slowly the veteran officer began to sober up and she let herself get involed in her work.

When an officer was on the beach, assuming he or she was in good standing, the navy found all sorts of uses for them. Being in charge of your own ship's repairs often created issues and priority conflicts. Instead they let the commanding officer push virtual papers and make sure those papers landed in the right data stacks.

Currently Jen was helping to route convoys to second line bases and units as well as ensuring adequate escort. The navy was using National Guard ships from the various member states of the Republic to beef up the escorts. Inadequate pre-war integration was making it something of a nightmare, but she could do unclassified work from her small BOQ apartment and that made her days in the office a little easier.

When she looked up again it was 0549 and her To Do box was clear, save for two classified convoys she would need to route from her own office computers. Work no longer needing her close attention, her ears perked up as the man on the screen began talking about the separation vote.

“And preliminary polls show that sixty percent of PAR voters prefer the Separation party platform under party leader Embado. This would be the fourth major government change among a member republic in the last six months. Experts believe this could change the upcoming Republic wide referendum.”

Jen watched the man deliver the news and wondered what he was not saying or was not allowed to say. A free press was also big business and if the media bosses thought Separation was a better story, then by god separation they would have. Even civilians had orders and needed to hold secrets. Jen felt little sympathy for the man though, continuing the traditional spacer's creed of hating the media.

“Mute.” Jen turned her attention to some minor repair issues on the Indefatigable, something she could make a decision about. It felt good to part of the process even on so minor a level.

The discussion was centering around the best way to reinforce the flag bridge and Auxiliary CIC compartments without sacrificing efficiency. At first Jen had wanted to avoid making any decisions regarding those two compartments; her nightmares had replayed the death scene over and over. But the base doctor had suggested her trauma might be helped by working on the solution to the basic problem. So far he had been right as her night time terror had lessened of late.

“Incoming AI communication from Admiral Murray, captain.” Nelson's normally stoic British delivery seemed almost perturbed.

“What's wrong Nelson, don't like the LeCarre AI?”

“Admiral LeCarre was the first commander in chief of the Solar Republic Navy and had a long full career before dying peacefully in her sleep, something LeCarre 514 never fails to mention when we communicate.”

Jen chuckled out loud. More than likely Nelson disapproved of having a French imprint tell him what to do. “Go ahead and put her own.”

“Aye, captain.”

“Good morning, Captain Rodriguez.” The AI of those for whom a recording existed were much more lifelike in their speaking than an best guest imprint like the Nelson AI, Then again, Jen preferred her thinking machines to be something less than lifelike.

“Good Morning, LeCarre. Admiral has you working early this morning.”

“Yes sir, the Admiral has been in very early meetings. He sends his best wishes and orders you to report to his office at zero nine hundred local time for a meeting with him. You are excused from normal duties today and Commander Long will sit in for you at ConDiv.”

Jen was a bit taken aback by the sudden summons. “Did the Admiral give a reason for the meeting?”

“No captain, only that it was a formal meeting but that you were not being court martialed.”

That last bit was typical Murray humor: tight orders with a heavy layer of sarcasm. “Inform him I will be there. Thank you, LeCarre.”

“You are welcome. Good day captain.” LeCarre paused briefly and then in a somewhat teasing manner continued, “You will keep your eye on things for the captain, won't you Nelson? You will keep both hands on the rudder, oi?”

Before Nelson could reply, the communication ended.

“You see, sir? Perhaps LeCarre 514 should be sent for reporgramming.”

Jen put both hands on her face to stifle the laughter. “Actually I think she likes you.”

“God forbid such a calamity, sir.”

“Call the steward please, Nelson.”

A moment later a fresh faced chief appeared on the screen. Townsend was young for his rank, but the fleet's experienced spacers were all being assigned to the front lines. It meant a lot of younger faces in ranks and positions that would have taken them a few more years to accomplish.

“Good morning Captain Rodriguez, how can I help you sir?”

“Good morning chief. I need breakfast early please, with lots of coffee.”

“Chicken eggs, scrapple, banana and double coffee, right sir?”

“Make it triple coffee. Also I might need a shuttle.. no scratch that. I will walk.” A shuttle would be fast than walking forty minutes to the other side of the habitats, but the path would lead her past windows looking out on Indefatigable.

“Yes sir, it will be down in fifteen.”

“Good man, Rodriguez out.”

Jen closed down all windows on the display except the time. What in the world did the Admiral want with her? He had spoken to her at length at the mission debriefing but since assigning her to ConDiv he had only spoken to her indirectly. She and Murray were good friends but like many of her friends, he had kept some distance since her return. The boards had cleared her of any wrongdoing in Admiral Finn's death and the admirals had all approved her actions. Why would he even need to see her, unless she was being reassigned?

That thought sent a shiver down her spine. Leaving Indefatigable now would be the worst kind of therapy. She needed to be back on that bridge, making decisions and giving orders and fighting her ship. Admiral Finn had asked specifically for Rodriguez and her ship when assembling the task force and the two women had gotten on famously. Being a flag captain had been a life long goal for Jen, to be surpassed only by making Admiral herself.

“Nelson, display the repair yard please.” The display changed back to an image of Indefatigable, more lights weaving around her like so many fireflies. Her hand moved on its own touching the image of her ship prostrate before the gods of industry and salvage. The yard managers said all the right things of course and she knew they were professionals who were as proud of the ships they repaired as she was of the ships she fought. Still even the idea of parting made her feel cold.

“Nelson, display my clean Class Alpha's please.” The display gave her three choices, two dress grey coat and pant numbers and a traditional black uniform that was normally brought out only for dinners and official parties. It had a skirt instead of trousers and a low heeled pump instead of dress oxfords. Almost no one wore them anymore.

Jen called up the Steward's station again. She was going to need a few more things.