Free Sex and the High Command by John Boyd Page B

grateful that he was not being asked a question. The admiral had said “Remember Polonius” as he might have said “Remember Pearl Harbor.” Primrose continued, “One must learn to think with nonhuman concepts. Are you listening. Commander?”
    “Yes, Admiral.”
    “Perhaps you are both using what the literary boys call personification: Because a man feeds a dog and the dog greets him with tail wagging, the man assumes the dog feels love. Actually, as Pavlov infers, the tail-wagging is a conditioned reflex that gets a bone tossed to the dog.”
    Hansen followed the admiral’s reasoning up to that point, but he balked when Primrose continued: “Perhaps we err by reading into women the qualities of human beings. Some authorities hold that a woman never experiences an orgasm during intercourse. Her pretended enjoyment is tail-wagging for the bone tossed to her; she is protecting her biological supply line.”
    “Admiral,” the captain said, “I might concede your point except it contradicts my experience. Once, as a young ensign on liberty in Bangkok—aptly named city—during summer, in a period of the full moon, I was seated in a park at twilight, with the perfumes of the tropics around me and temple bells tinkling over the old city. As I sat, a girl, half French and half Siamese, came walking by…”
    For reasons of traffic safety, Hansen had to edit his tale of young love in old Bangkok. McCormick had a tendency to swerve out of his lane at the high points, but the story convinced the admiral. “That was incredible. Captain.”
    After a moment of awed silence, the admiral huddled deeper into his coat, and the voice that came from its folds seemed disembodied. “That was twenty years ago. They don’t need us anymore. Logically, we should be permitted to wither away, but they won’t let us. The Cajun-bourbon erred when he said they would leave us the stars. They won’t. They’ll cancel the Venus landing. Yet, I can understand them. Vita-Lerp is their Declaration of Independence from us.”
    “But, sir,” the captain asked, “if a man can’t believe in American womanhood, what can he believe in?”
    “No longer in God and the High Command,” Admiral Primrose said. “Only the High Command. God’s on their side. He’s joined the opposition.” Now the voice that issued from the coat was an oracle sounding from the depths of a grotto. “He’s correcting His error. I could never understand why He let Himself get involved with the inefficiencies of bisexuality. Monosexuality was His only way to go. Still, we have the Navy, we three. For me, the Navy fills my needs.”
    As the three men drew down their cones of silence and rode over the bridge, lightning glittered and thunder muttered to the northeast. After they arrived at the bachelor officers’ quarters and received their room assignments, the OD reported to Hansen that his wife had called and wanted him to return the call. The admiral suggested that they meet in the bar for an aperitif after Hansen completed his telephoning, but McCormick declined—he was skipping dinner because he had not slept the night before.
    Helga bubbled with pleasant chatter. The mentholated oil of eucalyptus had her cold under control, and she was excited over his DSM, but still disappointed. “Darn the Navy, anyway, Ben. I missed connections last night, and now, this. Do you know it’s been eighteen months, twenty-eight days, and sixteen hours since I carved a notch on my bra?”
    Hansen chuckled. “Now, tell me about your day.”
    “Oh, just a woman’s day, Ben. I went over and helped Anne lay out Ralph. He was forehanded. He shot himself in the chest so he looked perfectly natural with a suit on. Anne and I almost got into a cat fight. She’s planting a rose over his grave to give his memory a little beauty. I suggested an oak tree because a tree could use his calcium, and the oak tree is Ralph.”
    “I agree, Helga. A rose bush is too feminine. Ralph was as