Disclaimer: All characters and situations are the sole property and responsibility of the author.

He stared angrily at the small view screen centered in the control console on Iggy's bridge.

"Sorry, Cutter." The image of Chief Warrant Officer MacAffey was saying just before it began to fade and breakup into static.

Cutter gave the console a sharp whack with the edge of his fist. The picture cleared immediately.

"Not good enough, Mac! Iggy's fully automated! She's even a better pilot than me! I've been running this long without help, why send it now?"

Mac shrugged one pudgy shoulder and said simply, "Orders."

"Since when do you take 'em?"

"I listen when they come from up top."

"Since when did that matter?"

MacAffey frowned, pursing his lips. "Way up top."

Cutter raised a puzzled brow. "Why would they care about Iggy and me?"

"Regulations. . .at least two onboard. . .transport, Cutter." The image split diagonally, sputtered, then reformed. ". . .finally got caught."

He made a disgusted noise. "Who're they sending me?"

"Don't know." Mac looked at something off screen. "Shuttle's due to rendezvous with you in sector R-133 at 1900 hours. Be there." Mac's voice took on a note of warning Cutter seldom heard. "Don't make me send someone to look for you. OK?"

"Yeah, right." He grumbled.

"I mean it, Josh."

Cutter visibly startled. His given name, that cinched it, this was serious. "Yeah, yeah. Red 133, 1900 hours. I hear you, Mac." And he punched the disconnect key. Hard.

"Damn bureaucratic assholes!" He griped.

'Please restate instruction." replied the vaguely female voice of the onboard computer.

"You know I wasn't talking to you, Iggy."

"Communication with Chief MacAffey had been terminated. It was assumed you addressed the IGI unit."

"You assumed wrong."

"Current analysis of vocal tones, heart rate and body temperature indicate a highly agitated state."

"That's an understatement!"

"Am I the cause?"

"No, but you're getting there, Iggy."

"You wish to discuss the cause of your aggravation?"

"When I do, I'll let you know."

"Levels of agitations are rising."

"Take a hint, Iggy."

"Perhaps an hour in the gym would work off the present level of irritability. "

"Maybe I should work off my irritability by pulling your vocals? How would you like that?" He waited. The silence stretched into minutes. "That's what I thought."

In service in the Intergalactic's Military Fleet for fifteen years, Cutter was one of the most highly decorated lieutenants in his division, receiving several accommodations in his career and retiring his commission with honors. Then, he wearied of the regiment, the crowds, the hype. Now, he liked the solitary life of shipment consignment and patrol.

"Iggy?"

"You want me vocal now, captain?"

"Don't get cute with me, tin can! I still got a ply wrench ready."

"Sorry."

"Yeah right! I want you to scan the requisition for our new crew."

"Scanning."

"Read the signature."

"Admiral Daniel Eaton."

His old commander. That was a shock. Eaton had tried to talk him out of retiring from active service. "Who'd they send me, Iggy?"

"Whitleigh."

"What does that mean?"

"The crew's name is Whitleigh Stivers."

"What's a Whitleigh Stivers?"

"Crew, captain."

"Iggy, I'm not in the mood."

"Sorry, captain."

At promptly 1900 hours, Iggy was parked at the rendezvous site. By 2021, there was nothing on the com but static, and Cutter was getting ready to leave.

"This is first officer of the passenger shuttle, Austin Sullivan calling the captain of transport IGI-271439-0."

Cutter toggled the link open. "It's about time! You think I don't have anything better to do than hang dead in space?"

"Sorry for the delay, captain. We had a little trouble with a passenger."

Cutter felt the hairs on the back of his neck stir. "What kind of trouble, with which passenger?"

Just then Iggy gave a lurch.

"Docking umbilical attached, sir." Came a voice over the link.

"Wait a minute. . ." reaching for the controls. "I didn't give clearance. . ."

"Passenger disembarking." After a pause, he spoke softly to someone off screen. "Go help him, then." Another pause and the first officer whispered to someone else. "You go help, too. I want them off my ship."

"Austin Sullivan, is there a problem?"

The first officer snapped his attention back to the screen. "No, captain. Nothing we can't handle."

Did he look a little nervous? "Maybe, if you. . ."

There was a muffled commotion off screen.

"Excuse me a moment, please."

And the screen went blank.

"I'm getting a bad feeling about this, Iggy."

"You want me to scan their vessel, captain?"

Just then the first officer reappeared onscreen. "Disembarkation complete. Good luck to you, captain." He said something to someone else off screen. "Umbilical disengaged." The officer's hands flew over his controls. "Austin Sullivan out." And the screen went dark.

Cutter blinked in disbelief as he stared at the retreating ship on his monitor. The entire process had taken less than ten or fifteen minutes.

"Yeah, a real bad feeling, Iggy. Let's go have a look-see."

At the docking bay entrance, Cutter stopped dead in his tracks.

"What the hell! Who're you?" He demanded angrily.

Five feet, six inches of amply-proportioned female stood amidst several scattered pieces of luggage. She wore a civilian tunic over the black, form-fitting slacks of a Fleet uniform. Her beauty marred by the dark, angry scowl she wore. She tossed the tight braid of her raven-black hair back over her shoulder. It landed down the center of her back with a dull thud.

"Who the hell are you?" She demanded in the same belligerent tone.

That did little to help his disposition. "Captain of this vessel."

"Well, that's just great!" She hissed.

"Don't tell me you're Whitleigh."

"I won't."

Cutter's mouth dropped open. "You're Whitleigh?"

She took a step into the room. "The deductive abilities of the Fleet's finest!" She said sarcastically. "Can't get anything by you!"

"Iggy, she's a female!"

"Don't strain your brain there, big fella."

"Iggy, get me Mac."

"One step ahead of you, captain. " Pause. "They say he's not accepting calls."

"Figures."

"I hate to break up this touching emotional conversation, but you finished?"

"Quiet! OK, Iggy, then get me Eaton."

"Admiral Eaton? What do you want with him?"

"I'm not sharing my ship with a woman."

"Why not?"

"The whole lot of you're more trouble than you're worth!"

"Admiral Eaton." Came a disembodied voice.

"Cutter, here."

"Josh. I've been expecting your call. I take it your crew's arrived."

"Only three hours late."

"Just three? I'm impressed."

"Be impressed with the crew of the Austin Sullivan. I'm sure they had something to do with the rush."

"Somehow I'm not surprised."

"I take it the two of you share history."

"You could say that."

"Admiral, I know I owe you a debt, but, can't you think of a better way to collect?"

"You're my last hope."

"Hope?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, Admiral, but I'm lost."

"Whitleigh's already been expelled from every educational facility in this quadrant. I thought the military would help, what a fight that was! Now she's been transferred off nearly every ship in the Fleet.

"I was hoping, with your combat record, you could handle her."

"Handle?"

"A personal favor."

"Personal?" Cutter turned. Whitleigh's expression had gone from angry to down right hostile. "Isn't she a little young for you, admiral?"

"Young?" There was a long pause. "She didn't tell you, then."

Now Cutter's nape hairs were at full attention. "Tell me what?"

"She's my daughter."

"Whitleigh Stivers?"

"Stivers' her mother's maiden name."

"No, admiral." Now it was Cutter's turn to glare. "She neglected to share that bit of information."

The admiral had refused to transfer his "crew" to another ship. An hour of negotiation had only succeeded in leaving him with the urge to wring both of their necks. Whitleigh was there until the end of her six-month tour, or her death. Whichever came first.

"I don't want to be here anymore than you want me here."

"I doubt that." He growled, nose still pressed against the glass.

"Why not drop me off at the next space station?"

"Tempting, but I don't work that way."

"I'd just disappear. Nobody'd know. You could just tell the admiral I jumped ship."

He turned to look at her. "Doesn't that bother you just a bit?"

"What?"

"Lying."

She looked stunned. "No."

"Figures."

"And it bothers you?"

"I try not to lie, if I can help it."

"Scruples?" She made a rude noise. "In a Fleeter? That's a laugh! I thought they cut those off so you'd fit in the uniform."

"You don't have manners either. Why am I not surprised?"

She laughed. "So old fashioned! Where'd the admiral dig you up?"

"I was a lieutenant in his command a long time ago."

"I seems taught you suck-up real good!" She sneered.

He turned back to the window. "Not good enough," he mumbled.

"You must be a loyal son-of-a-bitch."

"Loyal, yes."

"And this is how he repays you, huh?"

He turned again. "You hate him."

"I don't even care that much."

"What'd he do to you?"

"Nothing! He wasn't around long enough to do much of anything."

Cutter gave her an assessing look. "And you think he doesn't care?"

"He doesn't!"

"Why would he go to all this trouble if he didn't care?"

"To get me out of his hair!"

"I don't think that's the reason. . ."

She was on her feet, the spoon clattering to the tabletop. "Hey! Who asked you?! Listen, I might have to serve with you, but I don't have to listen to your shitload psychology!" She screamed at the top of her voice, then stormed out.

Cutter rested his head against the coolness of the bulkhead wall once again. "It's gonna be a damn long six-months." Two hours later Cutter pounded on her locked cabin door.

"What!"

"At least we can be civil to each other."

Her reply was physically impossible.

Cutter counted to ten. "I've posted the duty roster. Since you feel that way, we don't even have to see each other except to change shifts. Yours starts in half an hour. I expect you to pull your weight." He waited. "Did you hear me?"

This time what she suggested was not only physically impossible, but a felony on at least five planets in their present sector. Cutter walked away visualizing the varied and numerous ways to kill.

Forty minutes later he was just about to go looking for her when she stomped onto the bridge.

"You're late."

"And you're ugly." She snarled as she threw herself down in the captain's chair.

He took a deep breath. "Keep pushing it, Eaton," he warned darkly.

"Stivers! My name's Stivers!"

"Keep pushing me and the name won't matter!"

She swiveled the chair around so she'd face him. "Tough talk, grunt, but you're forgetting the admiral."

"What about him?"

"I don't think he'd take kindly to you threatening his daughter."

"I thought you hated him?"

"I don't have to like him to use him." She jeered triumphantly.

"I run a tight ship, Eaton. Don't be late again!"

"The name's Stivers! And you're ship's not the only thing tight around here!" She turned the chair back to face the console.

Cutter spun her back around, stopping the chair's motion by gripping the arm rests. "Did you hear me?"

She tried to push the chair back, but failed to budge him. "Big Fleet man, what're you gonna do?" She screamed into his face.

Cutter stared at her a moment, then shook his head and just walked away.

"That's what I thought!" Whitleigh's voice taunted him through the open door.

"Captain, sorry to wake you, but there's a call on my priority channel."

Cutter grumbled and turned over on his bunk, pulling the pillow firmly over his head.

"Captain." She said louder. Then, "Captain!" Louder still.

"All right, Iggy! I'm up!" He removed the pillow and reached over to punch the 'com' button. "Cutter here."

"This is the fourth time, Cutter!"

The angry voice erased all traces of sleep from his mind. He sat up straighter. "Sam?"

"So, you remember."

"What bug bit you?"

"Four times I requested shipment pick-ups, once even on priority! And four times you've been a no-show! You're costing me money, Cutter! Is this a hint? You want me to take my business elsewhere?"

"This is my first time hearing of it, Sam."

"Then you need to talk to your crew."

"My crew?"

"That's who she told me she was. Every time I've called she's the one I've talked to."

"Why didn't you ask for me?"

"Now why didn't I think of that?," he snarled, sarcastically. "She said you were busy or sleeping or god-knows what else every time I asked! "

"Why didn't you use my private link?"

"Man, are you awake? I tried that, too. She had me locked out! I finally had to get my computer to override her lock and talk to your computer! It's taken days!

"You've got a big problem, Cutter. Fix it, or I'll take my business to another carrier."

The screen went blank.

"Where is she, Iggy?" Cutter asked as he reached for his pants. "And you better say the bridge."

"Sorry, captain. She's in the galley."

"Then tell me she just went there for a cup of coffee." He said as he pulled them on.

"She's been there for most of her shift."

(Could a computer sound gleeful?) "Then who's piloting the ship?" He asked as he shrugged into his shirt. "That'd be me, captain."

He slid his feet in his shoes. "And how long's this been going on?"

"Since her second shift onboard."

Yeah, unless he was mistaken, Iggy sounded downright pleased.
Whitleigh was leaning on a counter, drinking coffee and watching a movie on the projection screen, her back to the door. Cutter took a moment to admire the way the material of her slacks and tunic pulled taut across the roundness of her derriere before walking up to stand directly behind her.

"You lost?" He asked her calmly.

She jumped a foot and spun around, sending coffee flying out in all directions. "Shit, Cutter, you nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Who's monitoring the bridge?"

"We're on automatic." At his look, she justified it with, "The ship's just going in a straight line. I don't need to be up there." And finished lamely with, "There're only stars, stars and more stars! Boring!"

"What if something important happens?"

"Nothing important ever happens around here." She said crossing her arms over her chest sullenly.

The motion brought the material tauntly across them, momentarily causing him to lose his train of thought. He shook his head angrily, 'Get a grip, Cutter! ' "What if a customer needed assistance?"

"A customer?"

"We are a service vessel."

"You've talked to that asshole over in B173, haven't you?"

"If by 'asshole' you mean, a customer, yes I've talked to one of them."

"An asshole's an asshole." She tossed her braid over her shoulder. "What's he need an entire transport to haul a few crates for anyway?"

"It's what we do." He said patiently, as if talking to a small child.

She was becoming annoyed with his condescending tone. "He can tote something that small in a skimmer."

"It's not your job to question him. If he wants to use us as his carrier then, dammit, we're his carrier!"

"Why're you so mad? You getting some kinda kick back? Am I messing with your cut?"

Cutter found himself blinking in surprise. "Now what're you taking about?"

"Why else would you want to play nursemaid to a bunch of cargo?"

Cutter took a deep breath and prayed for strength. "We are a transport vessel." He said slowly, carefull. "We haul cargo. Big cargo. Little cargo. Microscopic cargo. Any and all kinds of cargo. It's what we do. " He wanted to shake her. "You've got a serious discipline problem, kid."

"I'm not a kid! You're just so old it makes me look like one."

"Who you callin' old?" He growled down at her, their noses almost touching.

She snapped right back into his face. "Who're you callin' kid?"

"I take it back, then! You're not mature enough to be a kid!"

"I'll show you who's mature enough!"

Her hand connected with his cheek with a staggering crack that made him see red. Cutter caught her wrist and pulled her up hard against his chest. "You just stepped over the edge, Eaton!" His voice was dangerous and low.

"Let me go, you son-of-a-bitch!" She screeched as she kicked at his shins. "Take your hands off me!"

Cutter dragged her to the chaise lounge in the far corner of the galley. He sat down, pulling her until she was sprawling across his lap. He wrapped his forearm securely around her waist. "Damn if you haven't been beggin' and pleadin' for this!" He said calmly as his hand connected with her firm backside. "First lesson is responsibility. You have a job to do and the Fleet didn't hire you to screen service calls." He administered on solid smack with each spoken word.

"BASTARD!!!!!"

The hand descended again, harder this time. "Your job is to serve . . ." WHACK! "In any way the customer deems necessary."

WHACK!

"Stop it!"

Another sharp blow. "And you don't pick and choose whose calls we answer! I do!" His hand hit dead center and she leaped like a fish on a hook.

"Shit!"

"And you don't question why they need us!"

She frantically kicked her legs as he hit her three times in succession. "Goddamn you!"

"Another thing: you talk like a scow hauler!" He landed four more smacks, rapid fire and hard. "I don't have trash onboard my ship!"

"Asshole! Let me up!"

"When you convince me you've got the message." Cutter paused long enough to push the material of her tunic up to her waist and hook his fingers in the waistband of her slacks, yanking them down to her knees.

"Don't you dare!," she squealed as he fingered her underwear.

"NEVER dare me, kid," he said, with humor, then sent them to join her pants.

"NO!," she screeched in outrage.

"Keep screaming, there's nobody to hear but me and the ship." He said calmly. "I don't care. Do you, Iggy?"

"I'm a machine, captain. I'm not programmed to care."

He smiled because he knew better, then began spanking her again.

After six or seven more blows, she put her hand up to shield her rump from his punishing hand.

Cutter stopped long enough to bark a sharp, "Move it!"

When she failed to comply, he landed several more stinging swats to the back of her thighs. The hand moved so fast it seemed to disappear.

WHACK! WHACK!

The room echoed with the sound of his palm connecting solidly with firm flesh.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Each smack was sharper and more brutal than the last. Faster, until it seemed there was no pause between one and another.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"Ohhhhh," she wailed, "Stop!"

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"What? Where're the colorful metaphors?"

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"Let me gooooo!" She squealed in agony.

Cutter was making certain that no inch of the gloriously rounded mound across his lap went untouched.

He smiled as her hind-end danced to the music his hand was orchestrating as it rapidly turned a fiery-red.

"Enough!"

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"I'm not taking demands, kid."

"Ppppleeease!"

"Better . . ." Three more smacks. "Now, make it more convincing."

"Dammit, Cutter!" She snapped.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"You call that convincing?" WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"Try again."

"Pleeeeaaasssssseee!"

He stopped to take a breath and rested his hand on the fleshy part of her bottom. "Not half bad, kid. What do you have to say now?"

"You wait until my father hears about this, Cutter!," she sobbed, "You'll be piloting a refuse freighter on the other side of Jupiter!"

He shook his head sadly. "For such a smart mouth, you're sure a slow learner." He began applying even more effort to the lesson.

Whitleigh gasped as his renewed blows took her breath away. Now the swats were coming so fast, they seemed to blend into one another, her rear end jumping and dancing frantically.

He stopped again, his arm growing heavy. "Iggy, don't we have some kind of paddle onboard? This isn't loud enough to get through to her, and my hand's going numb."

"There's a tichiong paddle in the starboard cabinet, captain."

"That'll work just fine." He stood, pulling Whitleigh upright. Her clothing slipped down to a heap at her feet. Keeping an iron grip on her wrist, he dragged her, kicking and screaming to the cabinet. She tripped once, nearly pitching herself headfirst to the deck, but he jerked the arm he held her by and she fell into his chest instead. He yanked her to her feet again, out of the tangle of her pants and underwear, dragging her the rest of the way to me cabinet which he opened with his free hand.

After locating the large paddle to a recreational game, he half-carried her back to the lounge and sat back down.

"NO! NO!" The tears had started in earnest now. As she twisted and turned in his lap to keep him from starting again.

"You should've thought of that before you opened your mouth that last time." He caught her arm and twisted it behind her back, pushing her flat across his lap.

If Whitleigh thought the hand was bad, the first time the smooth wooden surface of the paddle connected with her backside she screeched higher than the human voice was meant to go.

"I see I finally have your attention . . ." WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! "Now, maybe you'll take me seriously."

"Yes!," Whitleigh screamed, clearly alarmed by his renewed attach. "Stop! Please! Anything! ANYTHING!!! Just no more!" Her pleas cracked with a sob.

"Total, unconditional surrender? Not good enough, kid, you've got to know what this is all for." WHACK! WHACK!

Whitleigh was crying in earnest and nearly hysterical. Cutter smacked her again.

"What!" she screamed.

WHACK! WHACK!

"ANYTHING!!!!!! Tell me what you want!"

"I wanted to be left alone! What I got was you!" Each word was punctuated by a solid slap of the paddle.

"What do you want me to do! I'll call the admiral! I'll tell I want off!" Her whole body was shaking with her sobs.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"Wrong answer, that's quitting and we're not quitters, are we, Eaton?"

Again, accenting each word with the paddle.

"No! We aren't quitters! Tell me! I'll do it! Just don't spank. . .Me. . .Anymore!"

WHACK! WHACK!

"I'm the captain. I give the orders." He whacked her again.

"Yes! I'm sorry! You're the captain!" She screamed quickly and began sobbing again.

"And you're the crew."

"Yes, I'm crew."

"And crew is supposed to. . .?"

No reply.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"Obey the captain!"

WHACK! WHACK!

"Good answer! What else?"

No reply.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"Take messages!"

WHACK! WHACK!

"Give better service!"

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"Not question the customers!"

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"Keep going, what else?"

She hesitated just a second, then wailed. "I don't know what else you want, Cutter!"

WHACK! WHACK!

"Respect!"

WHACK! WHACK!

"Both me and the customer!"

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"And any body else for that matter!"

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"And watch that offensive mouth of yours!"

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Cutter paused, placing the paddle in the small of her back so he could gently rub the soft mound beneath his hand. He could felt the heat radiating out from it. Her cries slowly became soft, careening wails.

"So, I'm getting through to you? You understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes! Yes!"

"And you'll be the model crew?"

"Yes!"

He snorted. "Sure, now sell me something else." He picked up the paddle again.

She tensed. "I'm telling you the truth! I will!"

WHACK! WHACK!

"Liar! As soon as I let you up, the bitch comes back!"

"No, Cutter! Please! I'll remember? Really!"

"And you'll apologize to Sam and every other person you've slighted during the past two months?"

"Everyone?"

He gave her four solid strokes to the center, most tender part of her rump. Her response was several ear-splitting yelps. "Everyone! Anyone! Cutter! Please!"

Cutter lifted the weeping woman from his lap and stood her between his knees. She swayed slightly as she tried to ease the fire in her butt with her hands.

"Kinda hot, huh?" He asked with a half-smile.

Josh expected a cutting remark, but all she did was nod, the tears still streaming down her face. He blinked in surprise, the little minx was cute!

"After your shift, if you plead your case real nice, I might take you down to the infirmary and give you an ice pack."

She nodded again, watching him. The tears in her eyes seemed to make them even bigger.

He stood, their bodies sliding against one another. She was soft, and warm. "Don't forget to make those calls." He said, his voice suddenly gruff.

She nodded.

"But wash your face and change your clothes first."

She nodded a fourth time.

That had been a little more exercise than Cutter had in a long time. He fell into a deep sleep and almost didn't hear the tapping at his cabin door.

"Come." He said groggily as he sat up, stretching and flexing tired muscles.

The door swung open and Whitleigh stuck her head through. She'd taken her hair down. It fell like black silk around her face and down her back. She'd changed into a soft, powder-blue gown that came to her knees and hugged her every curve.

"What're you up to?" Cutter asked suddenly suspicious.

"My shift was up almost an hour ago. When you didn't come to relieve me, I came to see if you were all right."

"I'm fine." He swung out the bunk. "I didn't mean to oversleep. Iggy, why didn't you wake me?"

"I asked her not to."

"Asked?"

"She asked nicely, captain."

"Thanks, Iggy." Whitleigh said with a smile.

"You're welcome, crew."

"You two're pretty chummy all a sudden."

"We had a long talk." She stepped into the room.

"Did you call everyone?"

"Yes, captain."

"Iggy?"

"She did, captain."

He'd been purposely bating her by asking for verification from the computer. The old Whitleigh would have hit the ceiling by now. "Good." He pulled on his pants. "So, I'll get up on the bridge." He picked up his shirt and started toward the door.

"Captain?"

He stopped to look at her. "Crew?"

"You offered an icepack earlier."

"I said, if you plead your case real nice, I might."

Shyly, she walked up until their bodies were touching. "Define, nice."

"Keep doing what you're doing, I'll stop you when you get to nice."

She reached up and put her hands behind his head. "Is this nice?" She asked as she began pulling him down toward her face.

"It's getting there."

She stood up on her toes so their lips almost met.

Suddenly, Josh dropped his shirt and caught her up by her bottom. Her eyes went wide and she gasped. "Are you doing this just to get the ice-pack?" He asked as he gently squeezed. "Cuz, if you are. . ."

She shook her head. "I'm doing it because I want to. Honest!" She leaned in closer. "Can't you tell?"

"I didn't want to get my hopes up."

Her smile was pure mischief. "That wasn't what I was trying to get up."

He had to smile back.

"Don't you want me?"

His hand moved to her waist and lifted her against him. "What do you think?"

She smiled. "I think we should put Iggy in charge of navigation and discuss it for a while."

"Iggy?"

"Done." A pause. "For how long, captain?"

"Don't bother me unless there's a life-threatening emergency, ship. This may take quite awhile."

"Fleet Headquarters."

"Thanks, Iggy. On screen."

The admiral's face appeared on the small CRT. He looked surprised.

"I thought it was Josh's shift."

The captain walked into view. "Here, admiral. Something I can do for you?"

"I just received a message from Red sector 155."

Josh looked down a Whitleigh. "Is there a problem?" He asked, giving her a stern look.

She shook her head, her face a picture of innocence.

"No, Josh. They called to give you an accommodation. That's the sixteenth this month. What's going on out there?"

He smiled down at her, gentlyt caressing her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "Just good service, I guess, admiral."

"You keep it up and I'll have to re-instate your commission."

"I was thinking the very thing, admiral."

"What?"

"We're coming into your sector later this month, I'd like to schedule an appointment to talk with you."

"About your commission?"

"That, among other things."

"How's your new crew working out?"

"We had our problems at first, but it was nothing I couldn't handle." He put his hand on Whitleigh's shoulder. "Right?"

She smiled up at him radiantly. "Yes, captain."

"Whitleigh, are you all right?"

She looked back at the screen. "I'm fine, daddy. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know, there's something different about you." He paused. "I can't put my finger on it. You look. . ."

"Happy, admiral?"

"Yeah, that's it, Josh. Happy."

"I am, daddy. Very happy. Something else we can do for you?"

The admiral blinked. He couldn't remember the last time she'd called him daddy.

Josh squeezed her shoulder affectionately. "Good answer." He whispered, so only she could hear.

"No, honey, that was it. Talk to you later."

"Soon, daddy." Her smiled was radiant.

"Oh, admiral. Thanks."

"For what?"

"For using me as your last resort."

"Always told you I had good instincts, son."