Free Excelsior by Jasper T. Scott Page B

“Another, please.”
     
    “Coming right up.”
     
    “You sure have a way with people,” Korbin said, while accepting a beer from Lieutenant Stone.
     
    “I know. Maybe I should go into the foreign service? Become a professional snot like Max.”
     
    Korbin snorted. “You’d start a war.”
     
    Alexander froze in mid-sip of his second drink. Stone winced and Seth spilled a precious ounce of Scotch on the bar counter.
     
    “I’m sorry, Captain, I wasn’t…”
     
    “It’s all right. We had our orders, and the shots we fired didn’t start anything. Those missiles are well on their way to the Oort Cloud by now.”
     
    Korbin nodded and silence stretched between them.
     
    “Well, shit,” Seth said. “Is this a wake or a wallow? I need to get drunk.”
     
    “I’m pretty sure a traditional wake doesn’t involve getting drunk,” Korbin replied.
     
    “I believe in the Irish wake, not the Hispanic one.”
     
    “But you are Hispanic.”
     
    “Jewish Hispanic.”
     
    “Doesn’t Jewish tradition call for designated mourners that don’t shave, shower, or change their clothes for a week? You’re the ones who invented sackcloth.”
     
    “All right that’s enough,” Alexander said. “We’re getting off topic. This is a memorial plain and simple. Grieve or remember however you like, so long it’s in honor of the dead. You get drunk, you pop a pill to get sober, and get back to your stations as soon as the designated four hours are up.”
     
    Korbin nodded. “Sorry. I’m not sure what’s got into me today.”
     
    Alexander studied his XO. He had an idea about what had gotten into her. Same thing that had her practically demanding they turn the ship around and head back to Earth. Her kids. “They’re fine, Commander.”
     
    “How do you know?”
     
    “Because if they aren’t, there’s nothing you can do about it, so worrying is a waste of time.”
     
    “That still doesn’t mean they’re fine.”
     
    “It doesn’t mean they aren’t either.”
     
    “Easy for you to say.”
     
    “Is it? My wife lives in LA. Out of the top ten cities to target with nukes, LA is number two.”
     
    Korbin took a deep breath and let it out again. “I guess we’ll find out when we make contact with Earth again.”
     
    Alexander nodded agreeably. “Right.” What he really meant was, not likely. Fleet Command wasn’t going to tell them how bad things were on Earth, or even allow two-way contact with their families—not unless nothing actually happened back on Earth. It would be too bad for morale if half the crew suddenly realized their loved ones were dead.
     
    Hell, they pulled a third of the crew and called up the mission reserves instead just to make sure that everyone would have plenty of reasons to go back home. With a sigh Alexander put it out of his mind and turned to Lieutenant Stone.
     
    “Everyone has a drink?”
     
    “Everyone who wanted one.”
     
    “Good.” Swiveling to face the rest of the room, Alexander knocked his knuckles on the bar behind him and whistled for attention. Heads turned. Eyes blinked, most of them red with grief. There were more than a few tear-streaked faces in the room.
     
    “Listen up! Tonight we’re mourning exactly five people. As far as we’re concerned, everyone else is still alive. For those of you who are new here, the deceased are: Junior Lieutenant Sara Martinez, Lieutenant Diana Rojas de Chacon, Lieutenant Eduardo Ortiz, Lieutenant Erika Fabrega, and Junior Lieutenant Angel Montero.” Alexander raised his glass. “To their safe passage from this world to the next. May their sacrifice not have been in vain. Salud!”
     
    “Salud!” the crew echoed back.
     
    Alexander threw back the dregs of Scotch in his tumbler.
     
    “Cheers,” someone said quietly beside him.
     
    Alexander turned and saw that it was McAdams. She downed a martini in one gulp and turned to get another from Lieutenant Stone.
     
    Alexander nodded to her. “Where