The Infinite Bard – Passed Over

It’s time for another awesome story from The Infinite Bard.

And this time, it’s mine!

So sit back and enjoy, then go over to The Infinite Bard’s site and check out the other great writers who are participating.

Enjoy!

Passed Over

“I’m sorry, XO.”

The Captain’s words rang hollow in Jerry’s ears. He looked at the printed out Naval message in his hands and read it again.

This had to be a mistake.

But the message didn’t change from the last three times he had read it this afternoon, and that lack of change was just as crushing as the first time. The message contained the results of the selection board that convened to select officers who would move up to Commanding Officer next year.

His name wasn’t on it.

Jerry finally looked up from the message and met his boss’ eyes.

They were in the Captain’s Stateroom in the O-2 level of ICS RODNEY JACOBS, moored in Airdock #1 of Copernicus Station, in geosynchronous orbit around New California. The room was large, as spaces went aboard ship, with its own private head compartment. Faux-wood paneling that almost looked like pine, an old-style nautical clock made of brass, pictures of the Captain’s family on the aft bulkhead, and a hand-quilted multicolored blanket on his rack—a gift from his wife and daughter—managed to make it feel almost homey, if you didn’t focus on the ship’s status display panel mounted at the foot of the rack, or the Emergency Atmosphere System manifolds in the overhead.

Or the ever-present, slightly tangy “boat smell” that lingered over everything, the unfortunate residue of the atmosphere scrubbing gear down in the AMR.

Commander Harold Latimer, Icaran Confederation Navy, was five years Jerry’s senior, and mostly bald. He had a noticeable paunch beneath the navy blue fabric of his underway coveralls and deep frown lines around his mouth from years of too many nights spent mainlining coffee instead of sleeping well. But his blue eyes usually twinkled with good humor.

Not today.

“I…I don’t understand it, sir. I thought things were going well.”

The Captain sighed and shook his head. “I don’t either. If it were up to me you’d have your own command tomorrow, and the Commodore agrees. Sometimes the selection boards just,” he spread his hands helplessly, “blow it.”

Blow it. That was one way to put it. Screw the pooch entirely was more fitting. Jerry had seen Sam Frederick’s name on the list! If that jackass had made it and he hadn’t –

Disbelief and shock turned to anger as he contemplated that.

“That’s bullshit.”

The Captain looked sharply at him for a second, but just as quickly as the sternness entered his expression, it left. “It is what it is, Jerry.” He looked away toward the ship’s status display, mostly dark now as the ship was in Airdock. “I’d say you’ll make it next year, but…” He trailed off, not finishing the thought.

He didn’t have to finish it. This had been Jerry’s last look for CO. He hadn’t made it the previous year because of the vagaries of timing. Though his fitrep from JACOBS had been good, it had only spanned two months, and that was not enough of a record for the Board to decide on. But that was not uncommon; most guys got picked up on their second look.

Sure, there was technically a third look, but that was Above Zone, a chance that was almost never used because all of the CO billets for his Year Group were already filled by that point. He’d never heard of someone being picked Above Zone.

So he was done.

The paper printout crumpled in his hands, and Jerry realized he had clenched his fists.

“Look,” the Captain’s attention was back on Jerry fully, and his gaze was compassionate. “Why don’t you cut out early today. You’re still going on leave starting tomorrow, right?”

Jerry nodded. “We’re sailing to Temecula.”

“Good. Go, take some time and clear your head.” The Captain put on what Jerry supposed was intended to be a reassuring smile. “This isn’t the end of the world. There’s still lots of great things you can do in the Navy.”

Great.

Sure.

* * * * *

Wine wasn’t supposed to be rancidly sour, and Jerry knew the pour he was sipping wasn’t. Not really. All the same, the crisp fruitiness—a hint of peach, with a smattering of tart—that he expected from a good Sauvignon Blanc tasted horrible.

He drank it anyway.

The sunlight streaming down through the swaying palms overheard, slightly more red than the yellow-blue he grew up with, felt chilly despite the tropical breeze blowing steadily in from the sea.

The sound of laughter overtop muted music that was heavy on drums, guitar, and ukulele and seemed to express that nothing existed in the world but good cheer and relaxation bounced off of Jerry’s malaise without effect.

Even the aromas of Vincenzo’s kitchen: spiced tomato and garlic mixed into his signature sauce, sausages and pepperonis atop steaming pies, and the bread—oh, the bread!—seemed like ash carried on a charnel breeze.

So why was he here?

Jerry took another drink, not lifting his eyes from the table top in front of him. He sat in the rear courtyard at La Trattoria, probably the finest restaurant in Ventura—maybe in all of New California—and ignored it all. Just let his thoughts swirl and stew, and nursed his drink.

All around, people—locals in their loose, sleeveless blouses and capris-cut pants, tourists trying with varying degrees of success to blend in while they adjusted to the higher than standard gravity well, Navy guys down from Copernicus station—went about their business in good cheer, enjoying with ease the feast Vincenzo set before them.

And Jerry just sat and stewed.

He probably ought to just get up and go home. He’d come here to avoid sitting in that empty space and thinking about what he’d lost—what he’d given up—for his career. For nothing, it turned out. Yet here he was, doing precisely that, and all the worse for the good cheer all around him.

A burst of laughter from across the courtyard forced Jerry’s eyes away from his drink for a moment. A young Navy guy—he was obviously in the service from his haircut and stature—sat with a local couple Jerry had seen here often, though he had never met them. He was very young, probably on his first space tour. Nothing but possibility ahead of him, and the galaxy was his oyster.

Amazing the difference sixteen years made.

“My friend, you look glum.”

A well-aged baritone, with a hint of Veneto in its accent despite New California’s attempt to convert it, pulled Jerry’s gaze away from the group. He knew it was Vincenzo without seeing the man standing across the table from him.

Vincenzo had moved to New California after his wife passed and had quickly become a fixture of life here in Ventura. He certainly stood out from the crowd. Most New Californians were well-tanned and muscled, owing to the deeper gravity well here and the ubiquitous Tropical-to-Mediterranean climate. But in the five years since Jerry first transferred here from Montecino, Vincenzo’s belly had only grown.

Jerry shrugged. “Been a bad day.”

Vincenzo gestured toward the chair opposite him, and Jerry thought about telling him to go away. But Vincenzo had been a decent friend over the years. And this was his place besides, and he had been known to join random people’s parties at will because it was.

They never had reason to complain about it, though. A visit from Vincenzo meant dinner was on the house. Hard to say no to that.

Vincenzo adjusted his blouse, cut in the local style and striped in red and white, as he settled down in the chair. “I know the perfect cure for a bad day.” His bushy eyebrows, grey with some last strands of black like the curly hair atop his head and the mustache above his lips, rose suggestively.

Jerry sighed. “The special?”

Vincenzo grinned broadly. “The special.” He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, and a passing server, a young local man in a red blouse, nodded quickly, then scurried off toward the kitchen.

It was going to be one of those kinds of afternoons, it looked like.

Despite his dour mood, Jerry had to admit that things were looking up.

A little.

Forty-five minutes later, they were looking up a lot. The special today ended up being a creamy leek and potato soup, followed by buffalo parmesan in Vincenzo’s signature spicy sauce atop fettuccini, and finished off by a chocolate lava cake that defied description.

Jerry pushed his plate away and leaned back in his seat, the contented feeling that always comes over a person after a good meal battling hard with the reality of his career prospects and ending up in a draw. He looked out past the fluted stone columns that flanked stairs leading down from the courtyard to the white sand beach of Ventura Bay, and let his thoughts drift.

The sun was getting low in the sky, casting long shadows across the courtyard and turning the lapping waves on the beach a deeper shade of turquoise, and for a moment everything seemed completely peaceful, and quiet.

Vincenzo didn’t exactly ruin that, but he did interrupt it.

“Maybe this is a mixed blessing, my friend.”

Jerry looked back at the restaurateur and snorted. “I haven’t seen my kids in over five years, Vin. I left them behind to come here, and for what?” Talking about it brought the circumstances of his job more fully to the forefront in his mind, and he felt the good cheer that had been trying to creep back into his consciousness fade into the background.

Vincenzo made a little shrug of his shoulders and leaned forward. “We’ve had many conversations before. Do you know how many times you’ve smiled when you talked about the Navy?”

Jerry blinked, surprised. He shook his head.

“Not once.”

“It’s not supposed to be a barrel of laughs, Vin. It’s serious business.”

“That’s true. But it does not bring you joy.”

Jerry opened his mouth to retort, but stopped. Vincenzo had a point. When was the last time he had truly enjoyed what he was doing in the Navy? When had he viewed it as something more than a goal to meet, a duty to uphold?

But it was a necessary duty, and someone had to do it. What was wrong with that?

Nothing. But… He couldn’t really remember when it had been anything else.

He shook his head.

“Why did you not bring your children with you here?”

He and Vincenzo had discussed this before, once long ago. Jerry was fairly sure he remembered the reason; Vin didn’t miss much. All the same, he replied, “Sharon refused to move again. She liked Montecino and she was staying put.” He snorted out a bitter half-laugh. “Pretty sure she’d already started seeing Herman by then. Anyway, the courts agreed I couldn’t have custody on Space Duty….so here I am, and there they are. Four jumps, and three weeks’ travel away.” He shook his head sadly. “I only get thirty days of leave a year; I can’t travel that far to visit. And neither can they with their school schedule and Sharon’s work.” And he was pretty sure she would never have let them, but he didn’t say that.

Vincenzo knew that already, too.

Vincenzo nodded and pursed his lips. “I think, my friend, that you wanted today’s outcome.” He stood then, his chair making a soft scraping sound as it dragged across the courtyard’s stone floor. “At some level.” Vincenzo laid his hand on Jerry’s shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “A change for the better, perhaps.”

Then he left, heading back inside his restaurant and leaving Jerry to ponder his words.

* * * * *

Jerry almost didn’t go on the sailing trip.

He awoke with a gravelly taste in his mouth and the dull headache that spoke of an impending wine hangover, and he really did not want to go anywhere, or do anything. He had just about talking himself into bagging out of it completely when Sami called.

Pure Breeze was Sami’s boat, Jerry had promised to help crew it, and the other guy who Sami had tapped to help had backed out just this morning. So what was Jerry going to do, leave Sami with a boatload of clients and no crew to get them to their vacation getaway?

So he shouldered his knapsack and took the elevator down from his flat. He hadn’t felt like it, but he did it.

An hour and a half later they were underway, running north toward the mouth of Ventura Bay on a ten knot breeze, with the morning sun shining on them and nary a cloud in the sky.

Jerry had to admit, that made him feel a lot better.

Pure Breeze was cutter rigged, fifteen meters long, and fitted out for charter duty with two cabins aft and another in the bow for Sami’s customers, and three more spartan bunks for himself and his crew amidships just off the main salon. Sami had installed every luxury a pampered rich tourist could want, and Jerry had been surprised, during the previous trips he had crewed for Sami, how many of the customers stayed belowdecks the whole time.

You couldn’t have gotten him to do that, especially not at the rates Sami charged.

This group was different, though. They were locals, not offworld tourists, and younger than usual. Two couples and a quartet of single women, they were all lounging on the cabin top, watching the scenery pass.

It was a damn sight better looking at them than the company Jerry usual kept while underway.

Sami came up from belowdecks and looked forward from where Jerry had the helm, and grinned. He was about five years younger than Jerry, muscular of course, with black hair that always looked not-quite kempt and grey eyes. He had doffed his blouse and shoes but kept his capris, as had most of the group up on the cabin top. Jerry had kept his blouse; he needed as much protection from the sun as he could get. Hard to get a good tan on a Naval starship.

“Glad ya could make it, Jerry.” That sounded part statement, part question.

Jerry shrugged. “Didn’t want to leave you hanging.”

Sami rolled his eyes slightly and chuckled. “Yah. Sure that’s all it was.” He raised an eyebrow at him, then meandered forward to where his customers were taking their ease. And in particular to the single women.

Jerry chuckled at that, though truth be told that move was rooted in more than just lechery. In his time on New California, he had seen more than a few fights as a result of someone being a little too forward with a married New Californian woman, and the general feeling among the populace, and in the local government, was that any injuries that came from them were the guy’s own fault for being disrespectful.

That tended to keep men respectfully polite to the matrons of the community.

He thought back to Sharon…and Herman…and wondered how differently life might have been had other worlds in the Confederation had such a civilized view of things.

The boat continued on a good line toward the mouth of the Bay. Jerry figured they had maybe another half hour until they hit open sea when one of the women from the group stood and walked back to him at the helm station. She was tall, like most locals, maybe a centimeter shorter than he, and toned. Her skin was well bronzed and her hair bleached to nearly white. She wore it cut short, nearly shaved, on the back and left side of her head, but long on the right side, the locks hanging down past the front of her shoulder to just cover her right nipple.

Wearing it that way meant she was single; married women wore it on the left. And good thing she was, too, because he couldn’t help but stare at her topless state for a few seconds as she approached.

He had long since gotten used to the New Californians’ casual standards for attire while at the beach, or on the water, or sometimes while laying out on their property, or…

But really, could any man truly not want to take a look at that? Especially on such a creature as she?

He pulled his eyes up as she stepped down into the boat’s cockpit, and nodded in greeting. “Having fun so far?”

She smiled broadly and nodded. Pausing to take a sip from the drink she carried in her left hand, she said, “You the only one not have company. Figured I say hello.”

Jerry returned the smile and shrugged, then looked toward the bow as he adjusted course a might. “I don’t mind. Nothing better than driving a boat on a day like today.”

She turned to follow his gaze forward. “It shows you like it. Your profession suits you.”

Jerry felt a little jolt at that, and his spirits, which had been buoying higher and higher by the minute, wobbled. “I don’t do this for a living,” he said, and the woman turned questioning eyes on him. “Just help Sami out when I can.”

“What you do?”

He pointed toward his military haircut, then up into the sky to the south. From this far out to sea on such a clear day, the anchoring structure for the space elevator up to Copernicus Station ought to be clearly visible. Or at least one of the elevator cars would be as it made its transit.

She nodded understanding. “Navy.”

“Good guess.” He chuckled at his own joke, poor though it was, and she followed suit.

Then followed a moment of silence as the boat plowed through the waves and he adjusted course again. She watched him as he steered in a way that he knew well: the way of a person who thinks it would be awesome to steer the boat but has no idea how and is hesitant to ask.

Most of Sami’s clients got that look at some point.

“What’s your name?” Jerry said.

“Talia.”

“Well, Talia,” he released the wheel with his right hand and took a half-step back, allowing her access if she wished it, “want to take the wheel?”

“That ok?”

“It’s what you and your friends paid for.”

She smiled again and, hesitantly, stepped behind the wheel and took ahold. He slipped to the port side and released control.

* * * * *

Two days later, they tied up at the wharf in Temecula.

As with many towns on New California, it was named after a city in the planet’s namesake state on Terra. But unlike that city, this Temecula was an island. It boasted beautiful beaches, but that was hardly unique on New California, and rugged terrain; some of the most spectacular hikes on the planet were to be found in Temecula’s interior.

It also, like its namesake on Terra, was a great place for growing wine grapes.

Naturally, that was what drew a lot of the visitors to the island, and Talia and company were no different. As part of the package they’d purchased from Sami, they had three days of vineyard and winery tours to look forward to.

It only took a few minutes to moor Pure Breeze, and then the customers gathered on the dock and Sami handed out their passes, and maps of the island.

“We leave 10 o’clock on Wednesday,” he said, and tried to look stern. “You not here, we go anyway, and you swim back t’ Ventura.”

The small group chuckled, and Jerry could tell none of them bought it. They were the customers, after all; he wasn’t their boss. And besides, they could always take a flyer back to the mainland if it came down to it.

Sami grinned at them. “Have fun. Jerry and me be here if ya need us. You got the number.”

With that, the group started to break up, the two couples turning quickly to walk to the head of the dock and then away to their adventure. Talia and her three friends lingered, stowing the last few things in their bags.

Jerry got busy helping Sami secure the boat’s rigging. They were just getting the sail cover snapped in place over the mainsail when Talia called his name.

He turned, and saw that her friends had moved a short way down the dock and were watching her impatiently. He stepped over to the lifelines on the dock side of the boat and raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her.

“We wondering – ” She stopped when one of her friends, Regina was her name and she was generally disagreeable, snorted. Talia began again. “I wondering if ya want t’ come wit us.”

Jerry blinked in surprise. He and Talia had spent a fair amount of time together on the passage across from Ventura. He’d shown her how to conn the boat, the tricks of sail trim, and basic navigation. But he’d done that with the other customers also. And great as she was to look at, he hadn’t really thought things were going in that direction.

This was a turn he hadn’t expected. Too bad he had a job to do.

He shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ve been out there before. And anyway, I’m on the job. I need to help Sami see to the boat, get resupplied.” He smiled gratefully at her. “Maybe another time.”

She seemed to deflate a tad, but she nodded quickly. “Alright. Wednesday, then.”

“Have fun.”

She turned and followed her friends down the dock, and Jerry watched them go for a moment. Sami dragged him back to reality quickly enough.

“Man, you stupid.”

Jerry gave a little jerk and looked back at him, his eyebrow raising. “What?”

Sami rolled his eyes. “You know I can tend Breeze without ya. Why no go with her? I not paying ya for this.”

“Yeah, but you still need – “

Sami snorted. “Bullshit. Ya scared, is what ya are.”

“What?”

Sami jabbed a finger at him. “Long as I know ya, ain’t never seen ya wit a woman.” He glanced left and right, then leaned a little closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Ya swing the other way?”

“No! I don’t have time to – “

Another snort. “Ya not married. Ya spend lot of time wit the Navy, but ya got time, if ya wanted.” Sami’s eyebrows rose. “Why not?”

“You wouldn’t understand. We do things differently off New Cali. It’s – “

“Damn right I not understand. Your wife not dead, you divorced.” His lips twisted in disgust as he said the word, and his tone showed entire volumes about how he felt about the concept. It was not a thing that was done on New California; they considered it blasphemy. “She don’ want be wit’ you anymore. At least she alive. My Zelma – ” He broke off, turning away from Jerry hurriedly as his eyes welled up.

“Sami, I – “

“Took me three years t’ get past it, but I did. You know.”

Jerry did. He had been on Shore Duty here at the time, and he had been at the funeral, watched the pyre burn down to cinders and then helped hold Sami down as the tattoo artist drew his widower’s band around his right wrist, to match the band he had gotten on his left when he and Zelma joined themselves together.

And he had seen Sami come through his grief to start his business, the business that had been both of their dream, and make it thrive.

Sami drew himself up and wiped at his face, then turned back to face Jerry. “If I get past her dyin, why you not get past yours livin?”

Jerry had no answer to that.

Sami gave a jerk of his chin toward the dock, and Jerry hopped over the side as though he had been given an order. And maybe he had, at that.

He was moving as soon as his feet hit the dock, and before he knew it he was past the gate that separated the marina from the rest of the town’s waterfront and onto the main road running through Temecula.

Talia and her friends were nowhere to be seen.

* * * * *

A beeping from his holopad roused Jerry from sleep, and he sat up. He rubbed at his eyes for a moment, then looked around to reorient himself.

It took him a minute to realize he was on the Pure Breeze. He was so used to his stateroom on JACOBS that the more cramped crew bunk he was in now threw him for a loop.

Silly.

He kicked his feet over the side of the bunk and hopped down, then felt around in his knapsack, hanging on a hook near the door, for his holopad. He tapped it to life and saw that he had an email; registry said it was from Montecino.

Jerry’s heart gave a little lurch. Sharon? Or one of the kids? It had been weeks since he’d last heard anything from them. That wasn’t so unusual, right then, with everything that had been going on with him the last few days, he suddenly felt the lack of contact down to his bones.

He slipped out of the crew’s berthing compartment and padded up the companionway stairs to the boat’s cockpit. There, beneath the constellations that were so different from those where the email had originated, he sat down and opened the message.

His daughter’s face popped onto the screen, and his heart gave another lurch. She was fifteen now; last time he had seen her for real she had still been a little girl, all bouncing and joyful and at play. Now she was almost a woman, and care had begun to weigh on her. She had bags under her eyes, like she hadn’t been sleeping or she had just been crying.

He bit back a surge of emotion and tapped the screen.

“Hi Dad,” Carolyn said. He voice was deeper than the last time he had heard it, but it had a harsh undertone to it for some reason. “It’s been a while since we talked. I know you’re busy on your ship and all, but…” She trailed off and looked away for a second as though gathering her thoughts. When she looked back at him—at the camera she had spoken into—she looked, if possible, even more harried. “Things have gotten weird around here. I – ” She leaned closer to the camera. “When are you coming back? Can I come out to where you are?” It looked for a second as though she was going to say something more, but instead she reached up toward the screen, and the message ended.

That was a sledgehammer to the guts. Jerry ran his fingers along the surface of the holopad, unable to put his thoughts in order.

A cleared throat made Jerry jerk upright, and he spun around.

Sami was standing by the mainmast, a lit cigar clenched between his teeth. When Jerry’s eyes met his, he pulled the cigar out and held his hands up apologetically. “Don’t mean t’ intrude,” he said, his tone saying, “Hey man, you came to me.”

Jerry waved the apology away. “You heard that?”

Sami nodded. “Don’t sound good.”

“Seems like nothing is, these days.” He looked skyward, to the Great Crab, the constellation where he thought Montecino lay. It was hard to keep straight which systems were where. Jump points didn’t line up neatly. A system five jumps away could be less than a parsec distant, while a single jump could go to the other side of the galaxy. It came down to the vagaries of the quantum fluctuations of the gravitational field interfacing with the…

Ugh, he did not need to go down that rabbit hole right now.

“I came out here for the Navy, for my career. Threw all of them away, for nothing.”

Sami snorted. “Not for nothing. It what ya love t’ do.” He paused, then added. “Isn’t it?”

There it was again, essentially the same question Vincenzo had asked, in a different way.

Vin had never seen him smile when talking about the Navy, thought it brought him no joy.

“What do you think, Sami? Is it what I love to do?”

“I think ya should have gone after that girl sooner.”

Jerry gave him a flat look, and Sami grinned at him. They had had it out over that earlier, but eventually Sami had conceded that there was nothing really lost; he knew exactly where Talia and company would be in a couple days. And it was better to not look like you were chasing after the girl.

But Sami still couldn’t resist jabbing at him a bit, anyway.

After a second, the grin faded, and Sami shrugged. “Dunno. It what you think you need t’ do. A duty. Can respect that.”

“But not a love.” Jerry looked back up at the sky. “I really don’t remember when it was. There was a time. Then I decided I wanted to be Captain, and it became a goal. But at some point jumping through all the hoops and wading through all the bullshit…” He sighed and shook his head. “I figured it’d be worth it, once I got to command. I could fix all the things I saw that were jacked up, get the mission done and have fun doing it.” He snorted. “So much for that idea.”

He turned back to Sami and held up the holopad so the Californian could see his daughter’s face. “I’m pretty sure it’s not been worth it.”

Sami looked at Carolyn for a few seconds, then nodded. “Why ya not bring her here? She want to come, sounds like.” He met Jerry’s eyes, and he was all serious. “T’ hell with the Navy. Partner up with me. We run Pure Breeze together. Then get a second boat, make double the money.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yah. Why not? You best crew I got, when I got ya. Customers love ya, leave great survey comments. Sometimes leave big tips.”

“I don’t recall you ever passing those tips along.”

“Course not. You Navy. Make plenty money. I struggling to get by.” Sami grinned conspiratorially. “Beside, you get paid in sea time. Which is what ya really love,” he poked the lit end of the cigar toward Jerry, “and ya know it.”

Jerry pondered that for a long moment. He had to admit Sami had a point. Hell, he’d had about six valid points this afternoon alone.

But on this particular one… They had become friends because Jerry kept hanging around the Ventura Yacht club, volunteering to crew in the weekly beer can races. They had been teamed up a few times, and realized they worked well together, so Sami had taken to requesting him for his team. Then Jerry had met Zelma and had become fast friends with her. In the four months from when she was diagnosed to when she passed, Jerry had spent every moment he could get away from work helping out as best he could. When Sami took some of the Life Insurance money and bought Pure Breeze, it had been only natural that Jerry continue to help crew. The fact that he hadn’t been able to do that nearly as much in the year and a half since he took over as XO of JACOBS didn’t change things between them.

Sami was right. Sailing was the cornerstone of their friendship. And he was also right that Jerry could not recall a time in his life when he hadn’t been a sailor; part of the reason he joined the Navy is because of his love for boats and ships. And never mind the galaxy of difference between a sailing vessel and an interstellar warship. A ship was a ship, and the nautical traditions still held.

All the same, it’s not like he could just up and leave the Navy. He –

Jerry froze in mid-thought.

Actually, he could leave. He was not under any kind of contract; he had long since paid back the cost of his schooling, and he served at the pleasure of the President. He could submit his resignation paperwork any time he felt like it.

There would be people who said he was idiotic to do so now, with sixteen years of service under his belt. But those were the same kind of people who scoff at any risky decision, who never stick their necks out.

Maybe…

“I dunno, Sami. I’ll have to think on it.”

“Do that.”

* * * * *

The passage back to Ventura was uneventful, yet somehow so completely filled with meaning that Jerry was shocked when he awoke and went up to take the morning watch from Sami, and saw the mouth of Ventura Bay on the horizon before them.

Had the time really passed that quickly?

Of course, the answer was no. The time had passed at the same rate it always did; Pure Breeze was a fairly face boat, but she was nowhere near fast enough to affect that. But…wow.

It seemed his every waking moment was filled either by spending time with Talia—and the other customers as well but it always seemed to come back to her. Jerry was pretty sure she arranged it that way—and making preparations for his decision.

Although, to be honest, Jerry had to admit he had already made the decision. He was just trying to convince himself that he was mulling it over carefully.

He hardly noticed the miles pass as they tacked Pure Breeze down the length of the Bay, worked in a kind of daze as they struck sails and switched to the motor, and moved with practiced but thoughtless ease as he and Sami, with help from the customers, set about securing the boat at the Ventura Yacht Club dock.

The entire time, he was making plans. And for the first time in a long while, he began to feel excited about the future.

The boat secured, he went below to gather up his gear. It only took a few minutes, but those seemed a small eternity. All the same, when he came back topside little had changed. Sami was still coiling the main halyard in preparation for cleating it off. The customers were still offloading their own gear. And Talia was standing alone on the dock, away from her friends as she dug into her pack.

Jerry hurried over to Sami and held out his hand to his friend. “Thanks, Sami. I’ll get back to you a little bit later, ok?”

Sami shook hands and looked at him curiously. They had not talked about his proposal during the passage, but he knew Jerry had been mulling things over. He nodded, then looked past Jerry’s shoulder toward where Talia was squaring her things away. He raised an eyebrow.

Jerry grinned. “I’m on it.” He released Sami’s hand then turned and walked down the gangway to the dock. He passed Regina and managed to ignore her giving him the stink-eye, and went over to where Talia was working.

“Talia.”

She looked up from her bag and smiled at him. “Thank ya for the help, Jerry,” she said, a perfectly friendly and neutral sort of thing to say. Jerry wasn’t buying it. He saw the uncertain hope there in her eyes, and the way her demeanor changed when he came up.

“My pleasure.” He paused, gathered himself. He was sure of her answer; all the same he hadn’t done this in a long time. “I’ve got a few things to take care of this afternoon, but are you up for dinner tonight?”

She blinked, then her smile grew more broad. “Sure.” She reached into her bag and pulled out her holopad. A swipe of her fingers across it sent her contact data over to his.

Jerry grinned. “Seven o’clock? La Trattoria?”

“I’d love to.”

“Alright. I’ll give you a call.” Then he turned and hurried away down the dock toward the Yacht Club’s main building. As he went, he realized he was whistling to himself.

* * * * *

When he got back to his condo, Jerry tossed his knapsack over into the corner and immediately plopped down at his little desk. His desktop terminal hummed to life at the swipe of his hand, and he set to work.

He wrote out two emails: one to Sharon, and another, longer, one to Carolyn. Once they were on their way, he opened up his text editor.

And he stared at the empty page for a long time.

This was it. If he was going to do it, now was the time. And once it was done, there would be no going back. He’d be cutting loose his mooring lines, sailing out into God knew what.

He was grinning like a fool.

He began to type.

FROM: LIEUTENANT COMMANDER GERALD ROSENTHAL, ICN

TO: DIRECTOR, NAVAL PERSONNEL

SUBJECT: UNQUALIFIED RESIGNATION FROM ACTIVE DUTY

It was time to stop taking the wrong course. Time to right his ship.