Prologue

Commissioned in 2267, the St. Sebastian was not exactly an old ship.

At twenty-two years, and kept in good maintenance, the battleship was in as solid a shape as it was the day it came off the slipways at the Proxima yards. Oh, it had seen her share of action against the Coalition but suffered no damage in those encounters. For those reasons, Captain Cameron Hendry was proud of her, irrespective of the fact the ship was his first command.

So, it was not without a certain sense of satisfaction that he roamed the corridors of the ship on his weekly inspection tour. He came from the aft weapons room where he’d found everything ship shape, cut through officer country, and was about to make an unexpected appearance in the mess room. On paper, he was due to inspect the ward room next, but he always considered it good policy to keep the crew guessing. He smiled. Cookie wouldn’t like it. Even though little was actually cooked aboard ship with concentrates and meals ready to eat being standard fare, ovens were kept somewhat busy with fresher meals served in the officers’ mess. Hendry shrugged. The benefits of rank. Besides, he figured he could use a cup of Cookie’s synth coffee.

“Ten, hut,” called an over eager ensign as he caught sight of the Captain stepping through the mess hatch. Instantly, a half dozen crewmen in their starched overalls stood to attention. “At ease, men,” said Hendry, sketching a salute.

As the scattered men retook their seats at various tables, Cookie poked his head from the galley area.

“Wuzzat?” he said, bewilderedly before spotting Hendry. Instantly, he perked up, saluted. “Sorry, sir. Didn’t expect you in till oh-nine-hundred.”

“So, you’re not ready for inspection yet, is that it?” asked Hendry, hands behind his back and leaning in to take a closer look at the steelite countertop.

“No, sir,” replied Cookie, stepping more fully out from the galley. “We’re always ready for inspection.”

Without appearing to look around, Hendry was aware of the handful of orderlies in the kitchen and standing nervously about the mostly empty tables.

Hendry made a show of running a finger along the counter then pushing through the partition into the galley area itself. There, everything looked ship shape as he’d expected. He knew how proud Cookie was of his domain.

“My compliments, Chief,” said Hendry at last. “But where do you keep the coffee?”

“Right here, sir,” said Cookie, breaking into a smile.

A moment later, Hendry was sipping from the nipple of a vacuum container when he was interrupted by the ship’s warning klaxon.

“Damn. Now what?”

As if in reply, the voice of his XO sounded over the ship’s annunciators.

“Will the captain come to the command deck, please.”

Hendry admired Lemire’s ability to keep any emotion out of his voice when all he likely wanted to do was to shout excitedly for the commander.

Quickly, Hendry stepped through the mess hatch into the relative privacy of the outside corridor calling for the ship’s computer to switch the annunciator to the captain’s channel only.

“Talk to me, Lemire,” he said, as he made his way to the command deck.

“Long range scanners picked up something, sir. Sparks is trying to raise it but so far there’s no reply.”

“Tell Sparks to keep on it,” ordered Hendry as he stepped into the forward up capsule. A few seconds later, he was on the command deck and taking his chair amid the various tech stations. “Kill the klaxon, XO.”

Lemire did so.

“Any reply from the target?” Hendry asked.

“Not a peep, sir,” said the XO. “No call signs either. Looks like this might be it.”

Hendry said nothing, thinking.

The St. Sebastian was ordered to the region of Eta Cassiopeia to investigate the disappearance of two Terran spacecraft in the remote system.  When the first ship disappeared, a freighter hauling ore from M-12, a planetoid dragged in the wake of Eta Cassiopeia as it orbited around its weaker partner, it was a tragedy, but nothing more was suspected than some rare, though not impossible, natural catastrophe or technical malfunction. A search of the area yielded no clues. Piracy was considered but dismissed. Although there had been cases of space piracy in the past, they were strictly small time, local affairs. Anything of the sort taking place over nineteen million light years from Earth was simply not cost effective. A search in the region failed to find any sign of the missing freighter. After that, a second ship also failed to report in and tragedy became an emergency. The odds mounted astronomically indicating the disappearances were not natural or accidental. A more intensive search was required and that’s where the St. Sebastian came in.

“Still no reply, Sparks?” asked Hendry.

“Nothing, sir.”

“Battle stations!”

“Battle stations,” repeated Lemire, his orders being conducted throughout the ship via annunciator. “This is not a drill. Repeat. This is not a drill. Battle stations!”

“Secure for silent running,” ordered Hendry.

Under silent running, the ship’s electronic signature on most wavebands would shrink to almost nothing rendering the St. Sebastian virtually invisible to ordinary sensor arrays. Special planes and flanges deployed around the outside of the hull would soften its configuration, changing the ship’s outline, making it more difficult for standard wave lengths to find it.

As his crew took battle stations, Hendry considered the nature of the unidentified ship. At a final briefing held at Naval Command, it was suggested that if the missing freighters had been victims of hostile action rather than accident, it could be the Coalition.

Despite the recently signed treaty between the Terran Consortium and the Outer Arm Coalition that ended a decades old war, the two sides had not become friendly but simply retreated to their respective corners. On the surface, the peace held, but there was still much distrust by Terrans of the former enemy. Also, it was not unreasonable to suspect the Zhapoologani were behind the missing freighters either officially or via a renegade element who refused to acknowledge the war had ended.

Of course, there was also the other possibility.

A frisson of anticipation ran down Hendry’s spine.

This could be a first contact situation. It was true the only aliens the Consortium encountered in the years since extra solar colonization was made possible had been the Zhapoologani and their associated races but that did not preclude others being out there beyond Terran space. Naval officers were trained in first contact protocol as well as technique against the possibility after all and Eta Cassiopeia did represent the limits of territory claimed by Earth.

“Has the target made any threatening moves?” asked Hendry.

“None, sir,” replied Lemire. “We picked it up at the limit of our sensor range just holding its position.”

“Has it tried to make contact?”

“No, sir.”

“Then let’s break the ice. Open formal communications with the target.”

“Open formal communications, Sparks,” ordered the XO. “Standard pulse.”

“Aye, sir.”

The comm shack directed a signal to the unknown vessel by way of letting it know there was no doubt the St. Sebastian was aware of its presence.

There was no reply.

“Not very friendly, are they, sir?” said Lemire.

“Let’s see what we’re dealing with,” suggested Hendry.

Immediately, an image of the unknown vessel appeared on a number of screens around the command deck including the captain’s own.

“I don’t recognize the design,” said the XO. “Doesn’t match any Coalition battlewagon I’ve ever seen.”

Hendry agreed. The shadowy mass that confronted them a few thousand standard miles ahead bore no resemblance to any ship he’d ever seen. It seemed to be composed of a dark, light absorbing material that was all flat planes and obtuse angles.

“What do sensors make of it EO?” he asked.

“Not enough data to draw any conclusions, sir,” reported the engineering officer from his console.

“Hm. What are you getting from the target, Sparks?” asked Hendry. “Anything at all?”

“No, sir. It’s like they’re on shutdown.”

“Data feed?”

“Standard digitization signals, sir. Nothing else.”

“That definitely eliminates a Coalition ship,” concluded Lemire. “We’d recognize their signature.”

“All stop,” ordered Hendry.

“All stop,” repeated the XO as engineering brought the slowly drifting St. Sebastian to a halt.

The two ships now hung motionless in space each waiting for the other to make a move. At least, that was how Hendry imagined it. Who really knew what his counterpart was thinking?

“Maybe their comm equipment is down,” mused Hendry. “Engineering, try blinking our exterior lights. Standard SOS. Remember that one?”

“Seems I do from my old Trail Life days, sir,” smiled the EO. “Here goes.”

From an angle given him by optics outside the ship, Hendry saw the running lights dim then go on again several times.

There was no similar reaction from the opposing vessel.

“Well, they couldn’t have missed that,” declared the EO.

Just then, there was a flash from the target with beam of light striking toward the ship’s aft spaces.

Hendry felt nothing but a premonition told him the beam hadn’t missed its target.

Then the engineering officer’s board lit up with a dozen emergency lights.

“Sir! Engineering is reporting our sub-photon engines are off line. We’ve been hulled!”

“Damage report,” ordered Hendry. “Weapons hot!”

“Weapons hot,” shouted the XO to the annunciator. Instantly, weapons ports opened around the hull of the ship and units were powered up.

“Sir. The engines are completely down. That particle beam pierced the ship like we weren’t even there. Went right through the sub-photon matrix chamber and continued right on through to the other side.”

“Through a triple layer of military grade tintinabulum?” said Lemire. “Impossible!”

“It’s possible, all right,” replied the EO. “Because someone just did it!”

“Well then, that’s no Coalition ship!”

“Can the damage be repaired?” asked Hendry, ignoring Lemire but knowing the answer to his question even before he had the EO’s reply.

“No way, sir. We can’t repair damage like that on our own. We’ll have to wait for help from Rigel base at least.”

“That means we’re dead in space,” mumbled an ensign from where he was monitoring ship’s life support.

“Belay that,” ordered Hendry.

The young man was right, but it was the job of the captain to keep his crew focused in a battle situation, otherwise he risked panic and destruction of the ship at the hands of the enemy.

Less than a minute passed since the particle beam strike and with weapons on line, Hendry ordered an immediate strike back.

In response, a triple spread of Mark IX photon pulse cannon fire leapt from the St. Sebastian in the direction of the opposing vessel. Everyone on the command deck waited in tense silence as thrusters on the opposite side of the ship fired to counteract the force of the broadside and keep the battleship from drifting out of position.

“A hit!” shouted the weapons officer.

Immediately, there was a cheer from the command deck crew that Hendry quickly killed.

“WO, report!”

“All three volleys hit the target,” said the weapons officer as he studied his instruments. “Can’t tell if there was any damage…no, wait. Optics are showing extensive damage to the target’s hull. Three holes in its starboard side.”

Hendry finally allowed himself a smile.

“Hold it, sir. Sir, I don’t know if my instruments are reading this right but…it looks as though the enemy is repairing the damage…fast! I can actually see the holes we made closing up!” Then, with rising panic in his voice, “Fire the cannons, sir! Fire again!”

“Fire at will,” ordered Hendry.

“Fire at will,” relayed the XO.

Immediately, a full barrage of pulse cannons let go in the direction of the opposing vessel even as Hendry ordered a real time view of the target. The image appeared in time for him to see multiple hits on the enemy craft knocking it off its beam.

Cheering broke out again around him but even as he watched the image, the stricken spacecraft righted itself with the massive damage inflicted by the pulse cannons being visibly repaired. Seeing that, Hendry’s heart sank. The enemy withstood the St. Sebastian’s most deadly attack and was no doubt preparing for a counter strike. In addition, the St. Sebastian had no motive power and stabilizers were not powerful enough to offer defensive maneuverability.

A sitting duck, thought Hendry, before driving the thought from his mind.

Outside, now showing no damage, the still unidentified enemy ship began to close in on the St. Sebastian.

“Continue firing at will,” ordered Hendry and as the cannons opened fire sending shudders through the ship, he swung to Sparks. “Send a hyper-bandwave pulse of all ship’s activity to date to headquarters.”

“Aye, sir,” replied Sparks with no hint he knew what sending such a message meant.

The hyper-bandwave pulse would send every last byte of data from the St. Sebastian of all its day to day activities, internal communications, and soft/hardware status to Naval Command. Also included would be its meeting and final confrontation with the unidentified vessel including everything it discovered about its capabilities.

At least headquarters will know what they’ll be up against, thought Hendry as the enemy ship continued to advance through the hail of cannon fire taking damage no ship had a right to expect and survive.

But this one did.

Finally, as the enemy vessel grew so large as to fill the forward view screens, it let loose with its own weaponry.

As it turned out, the hyper-bandwave message sent by the St. Sebastian was the last anyone ever heard of the veteran battleship.

Chapter One

Science Agents

Victor Conroi.

He repeated the name to himself.

Victor Conroi.

It was still hard to get used to thought Jules as he watched his wife swimming in the lagoon, her long, languid strokes barely disturbing the water’s surface as if she was moving in slow motion like one of those old time flicks they’d seen at one of the resort’s theaters.

Come to think of it, it was hard even to get used to the idea he and Mooney were married.

He sighed and closed his eyes against the artificial illumination ringing the duraglass dome enclosing Artemis Colony. The illumination could be adjusted to simulate a daytime cycle. Right now, it was simulating an early afternoon on Earth. However, the colony wasn’t on Earth, it was on one of Jupiter’s four major moons. In this case, Callisto. He and Mooney occupied one of its posh honeymoon suites complete with multi-level bungalow snuggled in an artificial jungle setting that included the lagoon Mooney was just now crossing.

The honeymoon suite was Mooney’s idea from the start. Ever since passing through the Callistan resort shortly before they were wed, she talked of returning for something other than business. At the time, they’d traveled there on a case for Military Intelligence, tracking down Georg Heintzel, a renegade scientist who planned to exploit forbidden black hole technology ostensibly to give the Terran Consortium the edge in its long running war with the Outer Arm Coalition. Although his intentions were noble, the technology had been banned for a reason. Use of it had the very real potential to unleash forces that could threaten the entire galaxy. For that reason, science agent Jules Santros was assigned to put a stop to the mad plan.

Jules Santros.

It used to be his name before the black hole mission.

Now he was Victor Conroi.

It had been months since he acquired the new identity of Victor Conroi; a physicist who’d graduated from the Institute of Advanced Metaphysics and had been working in pure research for Military Intelligence Science Division which conveniently accounted for there being no history of his comings and goings since graduation. Still, changing one’s identity wasn’t like changing into a new ‘suit of clothes. How could a man throw off his identity so easily? On the other hand, what was in a name after all? He was still Jules Santros inside, wasn’t he? It was what he kept telling himself but couldn’t help feeling his identity was tied up in his name. Without it, was he still the same Jules? Sure, his mind was the same, his body was the same but did he keep his own soul? Or was it split between himself and the other Jules? Did he even have one? But as he’d learned, it didn’t pay to think too deeply about such things because he suspected that someday it might compel him to do something desperate. As he’d done before, Jules made a conscious decision to find something else to think about.

The name change was made necessary due to how the black hole mission had concluded, he reminded himself. Something he couldn’t really complain about as it was indirectly his fault and he’d wound up with Mooney as his wife.

Jules opened his eyes to watch Mooney’s slim form slice through the temperature controlled water. She’d chosen to go swimming sans habillier as the French might say, and he was again reminded he ought to have had no regrets at the way things turned out.

But he did.

Regrets and a lingering feeling of guilt continued to nag at the edges of his conscience because in marrying Mooney, he’d left behind another woman, Joan, whom he’d loved dearly in another life.

Closing his eyes again, Jules thought back to that day aboard the Constitution. He and Mooney had been aboard, having finally run down Heintzel at PER-734, a collapsed star where the renegade intended to prove his theory regarding black hole technology. Luckily, that plan was foiled by Henitzel himself who fired a pulse-pistol at the radical cube he believed could contain the energies generated by the artificial black hole he created. Unfortunately, the structure wasn’t as firm as he believed, and a rupture resulted.

By all rights, Jules should have died there as the ship that housed the experiment began to collapse around him, but a last minute save by one of Heintzel’s colleagues reversed time placing Jules back aboard the Constitution and safe from the eventual disaster. The only drawback was that in being saved, Jules had actually been duplicated. There was now the Jules that existed before the rewind and the Jules that was plucked from that first run through.

After consideration, Jules decided not to let the other Jules know of his existence. That Jules was every bit as genuine as he was and looked forward to returning to Joan just as he did. To avoid complications, Jules chose to deny himself that satisfaction and let the other Jules and Joan go on with their lives. He would follow a different path with a new identity. A path, he had to admit, made easier by the presence of Mooney.

Mooney, ‘Manda Mooney, had been an agent for the Consortium’s Exterior Ministry assigned to keep tabs on him as he hunted Heintzel. At one point, she’d saved his life and was forced to reveal herself. After that, they decided to join forces. Along the way, Jules’ feelings for her developed from a purely professional attitude to a more caring one, so by the time the Heintzel situation was over, he’d definitely felt conflicted over his affections for her and those for Joan. Still, it would’ve been no contest if he’d had to choose between the two. Fortunately, and to this day, he still wasn’t sure if that was the right word, the dilemma was solved when he found himself one of two Jules.

The sudden sound of a splash roused him and when he opened his eyes again, he saw the spreading ripples where Mooney had dived to the bottom of the lagoon. The water was clear as glass and where the light was right, he caught glimpses of her body as it undulated among the rocks.

As much as he understood the necessity of his action in letting the other Jules go to Joan, he continued to harbor feelings of guilt for what his mind told him was an abandonment of his wife. Feelings he hadn’t hesitated in confiding to Mooney who sympathized and worked patiently with him to see through the problem and rationalize his actions. As a result, feelings of guilt greatly subsided allowing he and Mooney to be wed, but he wondered if they would ever completely disappear. Was his still thinking of her as “Mooney” in his mind instead of ‘Manda a result of that guilt?  He didn’t know. He referred to her as Mooney when they first partnered and kept calling her that after they became more than professional colleagues, turning it into a pet name.

“C’mon in, the water’s fine,” called Mooney, temporarily breaking the surface of the lagoon.

“Not right now,” replied Jules from his somno-recliner.

Mooney shrugged and dove beneath the surface again.

In some ways, Mooney is actually a better fit for me as a partner than Joan was. The biggest difference being that Mooney wanted and expected a family some day. Something Joan refused to talk about and Jules quietly disagreed with.

He’d resigned from his position with the Military Intelligence Science Division in order to spend more time with her in the field as a xeno-archeologist. He supposed in the back of his mind, his real purpose was to somehow move her in a more domestic direction. There was no way of telling at this late date if spending more time with each other would have succeeded in moving the needle, so it was useless to speculate. With Mooney, at least, there was no need for such speculation. Sure, he was still connected with the Science Division having returned after successfully concluding the Heintzel mission while she’d since managed a transfer from the Exterior Ministry to the Division, but those associations were definitely tenuous at the moment. Neither of them were on the clock and since their marriage some months ago, hadn’t heard from Henri Leclerc, director of MI.

Which was fine with Jules.

It was Leclerc who came up with the Victor Conroi sobriquet.

Besides not being used to the name, Jules wasn’t even sure he liked it. It sounded too much like the standard cover name it really was. But Mooney got a kick out of it, something she often teased him about. She seemed to take particular delight in using it in public places, putting an inflection in her voice, making it sound lascivious. They’d received more than one disapproving glance from eavesdroppers as a result, something that pleased Mooney no end.

Jules couldn’t help smiling at that.

Another difference with Joan. His former wife could be playful but it’d been a learned response over years of marriage. It came naturally to Mooney who’d taken to him quickly during the Heintzel affair and made their professional partnership a natural precursor to a more intimate one.

Another splash and laughter from Mooney shook him from his mood. Or was it the effect of the somno-recliner? Whatever its origin, he determined to throw it off with quick action.

Leaping to his feet, he shucked off the bathrobe he’d been wearing and joined Mooney in the lagoon by way of a clean dive that knifed through the cool water leaving barely a ripple behind. Arcing his body, he opened his eyes and the clarity of the water allowed him to spot his wife right off. Being red haired, her skin was naturally pale, appearing milky white against the formacrete bottom of the lagoon. At the moment, his decision to enter the water took her by surprise and so his approach from beneath her was still unexpected.

Jules took a moment to admire Mooney’s shapely form as her legs scissored the water and her long hair floated in a red halo around her head. In a flash of memory, he recalled their first visit to Callisto, an outer moon of Jupiter that was about the size of Mercury. Actually, Artemis Colony, located on its crater scarred surface. The colony was notorious, depending on your point of view, throughout the Consortium as a honeymooners’ paradise. With its series of streams fed from an underground ocean and warmed by the reflected light of nearby Jupiter, it was theoretically possible to swim your way through the whole colony, moving from one pool to another all protected under the largest free-standing dome in the Consortium. Altogether, the Artemis Colony covered over a hundred square miles of the moon’s surface, but within the dome, made of the strongest polymers in the duraglass family, visitors could enjoy every kind of entertainment, a list that Mooney fully covered in her sales pitch to Jules.

“Callisto isn’t just any old resort getaway,” she’d insisted. “Ever hear of the jungle pool complex? For the right price, you can spend a week in there without ever meeting another human being. Just swimming and lounging under the foliage with that big colorful planet hanging over you like a huge balloon. And then there’s the nightclubs, the restaurants, casinos, theaters, tours of the inner moons, the fast ‘cars and slow dancing at the famous Jovian Lounge. And I won’t even mention the fully equipped honeymoon suites where I’m told some couples stay and don’t come out for weeks.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sold!” Jules replied but hadn’t needed the hard sell.

Mooney herself would make even the icy barrenness of Pluto a fun place to be. A fact he was quickly reminded of as he reached out to a slim ankle, the one with the little gold chain around it, and gave it a playful tug.

Instantly, Mooney spun around, doubled over, and sped downward, her hands reaching out for him.

Jules pulled back, tried to turn, but he wasn’t fast enough.

Mooney took him by the shoulders and, forcing him down, nimbly climbed upward until she could place her feet atop his shoulders, and used them to thrust herself to the surface.

Floundering amid a school of silvery fish that scattered at his desperate movements to regain his equilibrium, Jules found the bottom of the lagoon and sprung upward, rocketing after Mooney and catching her on the surface. They breeched, laughing, Mooney’s arms pinned in Jules’ embrace. There was silence then as Jules pressed his lips against his wife’s, stifling her laughter. For the next few seconds, they hung there in the tropical waters, as if it was the first night of their honeymoon and not the third week.

“You call this a romantic embrace?” asked Mooney at last, her arms still held helplessly at her sides.

“It’s the only way I could be sure of holding on to you,” smiled Jules. “You’re as slippery as an eel.”

“Oh, I haven’t been as difficult to catch as all that these past few weeks, have I?”

Jules had to admit that she hadn’t.

Taking advantage of his distraction, Mooney squirmed free and ducked beneath the surface. Jules followed and for the next few minutes played underwater tag with Mooney’s white form always tantalizingly out of reach.

Finally, they mutually agreed to call it quits and head for shore.

“You really put me through my paces that time,” said Jules, still out of breath.

“You want some of this, you’ve got to earn it,” laughed Mooney, completely unselfconscious in her nakedness. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t appreciate it as much.”

“I appreciate it, I appreciate it!” laughed Jules, stripping off his trunks and shrugging back into his robe.

“You still object to taking one of these fully equipped honeymoon suites?” asked Mooney, picking up a comb and running it through her hair.

“Well, I was right about it being expensive…”

“MI picked up the tab so you have nothing to complain about. Now, was I right or was I right?”

Jules admitted it was a good idea. Looking around, he admired the enormous expense the investors in the Artemis Colony put into it. The enormous dome placed over a series of million-year-old impact craters was only the most obvious element of the resort. There was also the massive landscaping work that had to be done once the dome was in place; reshaping the craters to conform to architects’ plans, tapping into the subterranean oceans for use in filling the series of artificial lakes in the common areas and pools in the private suites, pumping out the native carbon dioxide that made up the moon’s atmosphere and replacing it with oxygen, importing hundreds of plant species from all over the Consortium to create an incredible jungle environment dotted with hotels, casinos, entertainment complexes all connected with white ribbons of smartways where self-driving vehicles whisked guests from point to point.

Three weeks before, he and Mooney, under the names Victor and ‘Manda Conroi, registered at the resort’s main desk and been shown to their private suite: a quiet lagoon surrounded by impenetrable jungle foliage overlooked by a shaped formacrete “lovers’ bungalow” that climbed up the side of a rocky cliff. The bedroom unit was placed such that if they wanted to, the honeymooners could step out the sliding auto doors and dive into the lagoon, a benefit that Mooney often took advantage of.

“Now, what about tonight?” asked Mooney, finishing with her hair and sitting down to examine a ding in her toenail.

“Well, I thought we could stay in and relax…”

“At Artemis Colony?” demanded Mooney. “Haven’t you heard this is the colony that never sleeps?”

“Seems I’ve been told that before.”

Mooney stood up and came over to him, draping her arms around his neck. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Yes?”

“How would you like to go on a little EVA later on?”

“An EVA? I thought we were on a honeymoon, not at work.”

“It’s not what you think,” said Mooney.

“Since when is anything to do with wearing a spacesuit not a bother?”

“When it involves Lover’s Ledge,” replied Mooney as if she’d succeeding in trapping him into something.

“Huh?”

“C’mon! Don’t play coy with me. You must have gone through the resort info-pads we’ve got lying around the suite.”

“Well, no,” admitted Jules, resting his forearms on Mooney’s hips. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been letting you handle the activity schedule for this trip.”

“Hmph. Well, Lover’s Ledge is only one of the most beautiful experiences the solar system has to offer anywhere…”

“Now you’re sounding like one of those tour guide come ons at the main desk.”

Mooney pushed herself out of his arms. “You’re not being serious.”

“Just joking! What’s on your mind?”

“There’s an EVA walk scheduled for tonight to go out to Lover’s Ledge where there’s a spectacular view of Jupiter as it comes up over the horizon.”

“That does sound interesting.” Jules had to admit.

“Good. We’ll go to dinner at the Starlight first, and then…”

“Uh, mind if we just have dinner here for tonight? I’d just like to relax before going on an EVA.”

Mooney softened and smiled. “Sure, honey. Didn’t know I was wearing you down.”

“Wearing me down, huh?” Jules reached for his wife but she dodged just out of his reach leading him on a chase that wound about the deck furniture, up to the second level of the cottage, and somehow into the bedroom.