Sage strolled hand in hand with Tala through the corridor toward his cabin. They had both dressed, checking each other to make sure nothing was on backward or showed signs of vigorous tabletop activities, and walked past the bridge officers without a word. Korta, who had been muttering to himself about the excitement of exploring a previously unexplored system, hadn’t noticed their passing. Ensign Byqvist, the night-shift helmsman who’d taken Zakota’s spot, had been very attentively studying his console, though Sage had little doubt rumors of his ready-room activities would make the ship’s gossip circuit.

Normally, he wouldn’t openly hold hands with Tala—or anyone else—as he walked the public corridors, but the lights were dimmed, and the ship was quiet. He assumed most people had gone to bed or were contemplating their uncertain future—while blaming Sage for getting everyone into this mess. And could he truly object, if they were? They would be correct.

“I haven’t been in your quarters before,” Tala said as they turned down the stub of a corridor that held the cabins for senior officers.

“I hope you’ll find them comfortable, so you’ll want to come often.”

“Are there things in there that would be appealing to a woman?”

“Uhm.” What would that be? Flowers? A makeup vanity? A bed with a ridiculous number of frilly pillows on the spread? “There are star maps on the walls. An ancient strategy board game on a table. As for the rest of the decor, the, uh, scalps were a gift, so I felt compelled to keep them.”

“Scalps?”

“Of Zi’i. Some of the elite forces soldiers on the ship I commanded the last year of the war thought it would be a good idea to scalp their enemies as they boarded the enemy ships, to prove how many they’d killed. Naturally, they dried some of them and gave them to me when I stepped down as captain. So I would remember them. They were a quirky lot.”

“Is quirky another word for psychopathic?”

“Not really. By the end of the war, we’d suffered a lot of atrocities from the Zi’i. I couldn’t blame the men if they found it cathartic to kill them.”

“I’m glad we escaped them, even if it was to come to an unknown system. This is at least peaceful.”

He kept himself from saying, “So far,” since he didn’t want to destroy her mood. There was probably something wrong with him for dwelling on gloomy thoughts when he was walking beside a smart, beautiful, and wonderful woman who thought he was wonderful too. Or at least appealingly humble.

“Here it is.” The door at the end of the corridor slid open as they walked up to it. “I’ll go in first to tidy up.” He held up a hand and strode into the dim room.

“I hope ‘tidy up’ is code for ‘hide the scalps.’” Tala waited in the corridor, demonstrating her complete willingness to stay there until he’d hidden them.

“You are an intuitive as well as intelligent woman, Dr. Tala.”

“Flattery will get you… an eager and willing bed partner.”

“Excellent.” Sage, hurrying toward the furry Zi’i scalps, which hung from a thong in a corner, almost missed the unexpected object leaning against his desk. He stared at the simple wooden device, which had strings stretching across a long neck and over a hole on the bottom half, perplexed until Tala spoke from the doorway.

“Is that a violin?” She sounded stunned and delighted all at once.

Hierax. When had he found time to research the instrument and produce it? Granted, the printer in engineering could create almost anything, spare parts included, but how had he found out what one should look like? Information off one of the women’s Gaian comm devices?

Promptly deciding he was no longer irked at his engineer for locking him out of engineering, Sage picked up the violin to take to Tala. But she rushed in to meet him before he’d gone a step. Her eyes were wide as she took it gently in her hands.

“How did you… I mean, they weren’t invented yet when your people were taken from Earth. You couldn’t have them out here. Could you?”

“I asked Hierax to find out what violins were and then figure out a way to make you one,” Sage said.

“That’s… when did you have time? I can’t believe you—thank you!” Tala didn’t let go of the instrument as she threw her arms around him for a hug, and it clunked him in the back.

He decided he didn’t mind. He hugged her back, pleased that she was so delighted.

“I like this appreciation,” he said, “but I really didn’t do anything. Hierax did all the work.”

“But you thought to ask him to. That counts.” She lowered her arms and smiled into his eyes. “For a lot.”

“Oh? Will that still be true if it doesn’t produce music and ends up being an elegant doorstop? On my world, musical instruments are usually made by artisans, not fabricated in a workshop, so I can’t make any promises on the quality of it. Though Hierax does usually over deliver rather than under deliver.”

“It still counts, yes. But let’s find out about the rest.”

Tala peered behind him and plucked up a second object that Sage had assumed was some kind of remnant from the creation process. She brought the instrument to her chin, laid the long, narrow object across the strings, and ran it experimentally over them. A variety of notes came off the strings.

Sage watched her face. The notes sounded promising to him, but his musical talents ended at singing off-key marching cadences to troops on the move.

“It’s very nice,” Tala said, smiling at him without lowering the violin. “What shall I play for you? I confess, I’m rusty, but I’m sure I can still play a lot of songs from memory.”

“I—” Sage’s logostec beeped.

He frowned down, tempted to ignore the comm, but it was Orion. Tala had promised him his brother was doing well, but it was always possible there had been complications. He held up a finger for her and answered.

“Yes?” he asked. “Are your intestines still on the right side of your skin?”

Tala’s eyebrow quirked at this greeting.

“They are,” Orion said. “But I have a problem. There’s this great shindig going on in the mess hall, and Juanita isn’t allowing me to eat or drink. Can you have the doc tell her that everything is working fine, and that a couple of week-old donuts aren’t going to hurt anything? The moist gooey ones are still looking quite nice.”

Sage wrinkled his nose at the idea of donuts, week-old or otherwise. “What makes you think I know where she is?”

“Well, she’s not in sickbay and she’s not in here, and your Ensign Byqvist reported seeing her not that long ago. With you. Coming out of a very long and extremely private meeting.” Orion cleared his throat. “With sound effects.”

“That gossip didn’t take long to circulate,” Sage murmured to Tala, who looked faintly horrified, but also lifted a dismissive shoulder.

Sage decided Byqvist was going to be assigned some extra duties, perhaps involving listening to Korta as he waxed scientific about exploring this new system.

Tala leaned close to Sage and spoke toward his logostec. “I would have to examine you before okaying you to eat. I believe we agreed you would fast for three days while only consuming water. To give everything time to finish healing.”

“I agreed to that? Was I drugged at the time?”

“Yes.”

“That makes the contract null and void, right, Sage? Tell her.”

“A stale donut doesn’t sound worth risking your health for.”

“It totally is,” another voice sounded on the comm. Angela? “And they’re not stale. They got better with age. Extra moist. Like carrot cake!”

“I should have known better than to ask you,” Orion grumbled, and Sage had no doubt that you was directed at him. “Despite the fact that you’re likely to do nothing but frown disapprovingly, you are officially invited to the shindig. Both of you.”

“Shindig?” Sage rubbed the back of his head. He’d assumed most of the crew was asleep. Or contemplating their uncomfortable new situation. Had any of them considered yet that the ship had less than a month’s supply of food and water aboard? Donuts aside?

“We escaped the Zi’i and survived the nebula. And my intestines are where they belong again. Of course there’s a shindig.”

Sage had been more interested in having a private shindig with Tala—even if that hadn’t been the case, he generally avoided fraternizing with the crew—but it would be good to see Orion on his feet. Watching him on that operating table had reminded him that the future was always uncertain, especially in this line of work, and he should take any opportunities he found to mend fences with family. Besides, someone had to keep the boy from inflicting donuts on his newly repaired gut.

“Perhaps we could come down for a while,” Sage said. “If Dr. Tala doesn’t object.”

He arched his eyebrows to see if she did.

“Why would she object?” Orion asked. “Zakota dug out some weird black alcohol from his home world. I think it’s made from bantok bones. It’s disgusting and extremely potent. Naturally, everyone is having a good time right now.”

“Yes,” Sage murmured. “Who wouldn’t want bone alcohol?”

“Exactly. Oh, another dance just started up. Zakota is trying to get Ku involved. This should be interesting. We’ll see you soon, Sage.”

The channel closed, and Sage eyed his logostec. “He seemed perky.”

“Surviving certain death will do that to a person,” Tala said.

“Do you want to go?” Sage nodded toward the door. “If not, we can lounge around here while you play me beautiful music.”

“Hm.” She eyed his quarters, which he thought were comfortable enough, but her gaze lingered on the scalps. Oops, he’d been distracted and hadn’t found a place to stick those. “I’d consider playing for you, but perhaps your engineer would also enjoy hearing his instrument in use?”

Sage blinked, surprised she would want to play in front of a bunch of people, especially if she was rusty. But she had mentioned that her musical aspirations had included performing in concert halls. Maybe she liked playing in front of an audience.

“We might have to drag him out of engineering,” Sage said. “He’s not much for shindigs. Unless they take place in engineering.”

“Oh?”

“He likes to be around all his stuff, I think. He usually sleeps in there. Makes things somewhat awkward for the night-shift engineer.”

“Maybe we can stop by then.” Tala smiled, and he judged that receiving the instrument had put her in a particularly fine mood.

“After you, my faithful doctor,” Sage said, bowing her out the door.

She strolled ahead of him in the corridor, playing a soft but upbeat tune that lightened his heart. Maybe things weren’t as hopeless as he’d felt earlier. Maybe Hierax would be able to come up with something, and maybe Sage would be able to complete his mission. Both of his missions. Returning the women to their home world and warning his people of the danger heading their way. If he couldn’t, however would those women—and Orion—acquire more donuts?