© 2026 Duleigh Lawrence-Townshend. All rights reserved. The author asserts the right to be identified as the author of this story for all portions. All characters are original. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. This story or any part thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review or commentary.

This story was written for the 2026 Summer Lovin' contest.

This story is written in the style of classic 1950 science fiction. There were no astronauts or cosmonauts, because those words didn't exist in 1950, and the cold war is still Hot. Computers filled buildings so spacemen had to actually steer their spacecraft with help from ground control. Like the Mercury missions, the math needed for navigation is done by their space traffic controller at their home base or space station. Most space stations are "wagon wheel" design, as in 2001 a Space Odessey. This story takes place 10 years after the conclusion of Captain Scarlett, Martian Envoy. Martian President Scarlett is too busy to appear in this episode.

Summer in SPACE

VT-5150 Spacecrew Training Squadron

McMurdo Naval Spacefield, Antarctica, April 03, 2176

The hatchlings gathered in the crew briefing room. Hatchlings are baby birds that want to stretch their wings, and this is where they took their first flights. The young men nicknamed hatchlings were gathered in the crew briefing room of VT-5150 Spacecrew Training Squadron, McMurdo Naval Spacefield, Antarctica, where they came to learn how to fly in space. They were all atmosphere rated pilots on Earth, but these young men had their eyes on the stars.

At McMurdo, the hatchlings would take their training ships up to fifty miles high where the atmosphere was thin enough to resemble space. There, above the southern ice-cap, they learned to fly in the rarified atmosphere of near-space. If the fliers had a problem, gravity would draw them down to the atmosphere where they could recover and try again.

Crew briefing rooms haven't changed in over two-hundred-fifty years. They contain a speaker's position up front, with a display board behind him. The crews sat in rows facing the speaker, usually grouped by teams, to get the briefings they need. Weather, security, magnetosphere status, and maintenance issues on their ships were all briefed. Usually the unit commander or the chief of training kicked off the briefing with something lighthearted if the guys have been flying well, or a well-earned ass—chewing if they've been fucking up. Today was the day of days for at least one flier.

"Wayne! Dwight T! Front and center!" shouted the squadron commander.

"Crap," muttered Lieutenant JG Dwight T. Wayne. They must have heard about the "buzz job" he gave the Eastern Bloc registered fishing boat off the shore of South Georgia Island. They were hunting penguins and Dwight T. Wayne could identify with penguins. Both he and the penguins cannot fly in space, so he feels a kinship with them. He flashed over the Russian boat at Mach 4 hoping to blow out a few ear drums.

Dwight rose, adjusted his parka and walked to the front of the briefing room and stood at attention in front of Captain Dawson. The commander glared at Dwight. He knew something, and he was making the lieutenant suffer. Then the captain took his clipboard and studied the document on top for a very long series of seconds. When Dwight thought he could take no more suspense, Captain Dawson took a manila envelope and handed it to Dwight. "Lieutenant, here are your orders."

"FIGMO!" shouted the relieved JG. FIGMO stands for "Fuck It! Got My Orders!" He's finally getting off this freezing base. Two years in Alberta, learning to fly in atmosphere, then two years in Antarctica flying 80 to 100 kilometers up, learning to deal with space. It's time to go to a warm weather base like... He slid the orders out of the envelope. "Solo sir?" he gasped in surprise.

"You earned it. You will report to General Rhodes, commander of Armstrong Naval Space Station on or before June twenty-second at oh nine hundred UTC."

"Thank you, sir," said a defeated Wayne, Dwight T. He sat down at his desk while his squadron mates patted him on the back. He looked at the orders again. They said to report to Buckley Naval Space Field. Inspect and test his single seat fighter spacecraft, launch on a ride-share cargo bird, and solo to Armstrong Naval Space Station arriving no later than June twenty-second, and start training in ship-to-ship combat.

"Shit!" muttered Dwight.

"What's wrong?" whispered his roommate, Ensign Preston Smith.

"I wanted to go after Christmas. I haven't seen a real summer in five years. Eight, if you count my time at the academy." The Montreal Naval Academy was considered the coldest of the service academies.

"Fucking ring-knockers."

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Buckley Space Force Launch Facility, June 17, 2176

T Minus 02:14:13

The words "Let's go lieutenant!" rang in Dwight Wayne's headsets as he wriggled his way into the cockpit of his F-724 Slingshot fighter. The fighter was bolted to the exterior of a General Motors R-4 Star Hauler cargo rocket. The Star Hauler was 160 meters high, five hundred twenty five feet tall and his tiny fighter was attached at the five hundred foot mark. From up here he felt like he was looking down on the Rocky Mountains, thirty miles to the west. He could feel the huge missile swaying. That voice in his ear was the flight director and he wasn't happy to be giving a ride-share to a manned Slingshot.

"I'm strapping in now," replied Lieutenant JG Dwight T. Wayne. Two spaceflight boatswain's mates [SB] helped him into the cockpit and locked him into his seat with magnetic locks in the back of his suit while a spaceflight ordnance mate [SO] verified that the main laser was charged and the wing tip slug throwers were cocked and ready, while a plane captain [PC] kept an eye on everything.

"You have four minutes," said the flight director in his angry voice. "If you're not ready in four minutes I will scrub this launch and pay for it out of your estate."

"You're good to power up when you're strapped in, sir," said the plane captain. He was the owner of this little fighter and was going to meet up with it at Armstrong Naval Space Station if Dwight survived and made it there.

"Thanks, chief," grunted Dwight as he wriggled into the small cockpit. These fighters were designed to be climbed into in zero-G. Fighting his way into the cockpit in full Earth gravity while the ship was sitting on its tail pointing straight up was nearly impossible.

"Gotcha, you're locked in, Lieutenant," said the spaceflight boatswain's mate. "We're all so proud of you sir!"

"Why? I'm just a Lieutenant JG going for a ride to Armstrong Station."

"No one's ever done it before sir!"

"Solo flights to Armstrong? It happens all the time," scoffed Dwight.

"Not from earth, sir. All solo flights launch from Camp Schmidt in Geo-synchronous orbit or get launched from a carrier. It takes a lot of guts to do this... sir."

"Thanks sailor," said Dwight nervously. It was too late to worry about it, and he began to power up his little ship. As soon as the instrument panel was showing everything ready, Dwight called, "We're hot, close it up! Hand's clear! Wings coming in!" He retracted the wings and tail into the body and took out his flight plan.

The enlisted men lowered the streamlined fairing in place over the little fighter then dashed for the elevator. "Launch director, plane captain, the Slingshot is ready for flight, fairing in place, we are departing the tower."

"Thank you," said the grouchy flight director. They were less than a minute away from putting the launch of Herminia 27 on hold and there was a storm coming in across the prairies.

Dwight was in the dark with a small reading lamp to review his flight plan, the chatter of Space Flight Control in his ear went on, and he ignored it as he studied his plan. Herminia 27, the big R-4, was taking its load up to Camp Schmidt, the Marine Space Station in geosynchronous orbit above the remains of Camp Lejeune 22,000 miles above the Earth's surface. Dwight would use the thrust of Herminia 27 to lift him to an altitude where he could release from the R-4, fire his own engine, and fly solo to Armstrong Naval Space Station. The big "Wagon Wheel" station was at the Earth-Moon L1 Lagrange point, 223,855 miles from Earth, 85% of the way to the moon.

At T minus one minute he felt the magnetic locks in his suit clamp down, his helmet, arms and legs were pulled into place and he awaited the blast. The only light he had in the cockpit was his instruments on the main control panel. At T minus zero, forty two Vaught-Hyundai Hi-Lux 16 engines burst to life and he was crushed back into his seat with four Gs of acceleration. The chatter between the main ship's crew and flight control continued and in seconds they were at fifteen thousand feet when Launch Control at Lowrey Air Force Base called "Herminia 27 has cleared the Rockies. Navy, it's all yours."

In the post WWIV world, the Department of War was reconstructed. The Air Force was in command of all military flights under 90,000 feet.. The Navy controlled the military ships at sea and military spacecraft. The Space Force was in charge of satellites, space stations, military colonies, and navigation. It also controlled all rocket launches until they reached the highest point in North America then turned the flight over to the operator. The Marines went where they were needed and did what had to be done.

As Herminia 27 roared into space, Dwight wondered if his little fighter was going to be shaken to pieces. Then suddenly the darkness was gone and his cockpit was flooded with sunlight. "Fairing separation," came the call in his headsets and he was slammed back in his seat even harder. "Second stage..." He couldn't hear the rest of the call because everything was shaking so much. He was hit with six Gs of acceleration which seemed to go on forever, then the main engines shut down and he was slammed forward in his magnetic restraints like they hit a brick wall.

He didn't expect the loss of thrust to be so violent. Shaking it off he released his right arm and prepared for separation. "Slingshot Zero One is A-okay, ready for separation."

"Slingshot separation in three... two... one... separation. Have a good flight Slingshot."

"Separation good, next stop, Armstrong Station." Using directional thrusters, Dwight moved the Slingshot away from the big R-4 which looked like a huge grain silo in space. Now it was time for his burn. If the Vultee-Hughes N550 failed to light, his only hope was to drift powerless to Camp Curtis where he might be snagged by a rescue craft.

He needn't have worried. The big N550 fired and slammed him back into his seat and soon he was heading toward the Earth to pick up speed for a slingshot maneuver. The engine stopped and he spent the next ten minutes checking speed, heading, attitude, altitude, over and over. Mathematics in a cramped cockpit was hard work. Finally he was able to make the call. "Navy Flight Control, Slingshot Zero One, I have the attitude and ship set for a one minute burn for a TLI."

"Copy Slingshot Zero One, we roger your settings and you are go for Trans-Lunar-Injection."

"TLI burn in 3... 2... 1..." Then Dwight was slammed back into his seat with a violence he didn't think possible. The N550 roared, converting reaction mass to thrust as the little fighter came out from behind Earth's shadow. It was a one minute burn but Dwight didn't know if he would last that long, but somewhere over Australia they reached escape velocity and shot straight out into space aiming at where the moon would be in three days.

The burn completed and the ship began to roll head over tail. Dwight extended the wings which were covered with photo-cells and oriented the Slingshot so the wings were gathering as much sunlight as possible. As he verified their operation Earth gave him a call. "Slingshot Zero One, Navy Flight Control."

"This is Slingshot Zero One, go ahead Navy."

"We have you on radar and you are on course. We may need a slight course correction tomorrow."

"Roger. Shoot me the numbers when you have them."

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Armstrong Naval Space Station, June 20, 2176

T Plus 02:15:02:13

DAMN! That thing was huge! A double-wheel, triple-ring station. The huge cylinder in the center was the maintenance hub, a massive cylinder where ships land and launch. Then outside of that was Luna ring, which had the same gravity as Luna. The next ring out was the Martian ring, with the same gravity as Mars, then furthest out was the huge Earth Ring. A second wheel with only Martian rings and Earth ring was attached to the central hub. On that second wheel, huge ships were docked onto the eight wheel spokes where the Luna ring would be if it were fitted with one. They were clearly there to bring supplies up to the station.

"Bring it in nice and clean Slingshot," called the Spaceboss.

"Aye sir," said Dwight. Once he matched the rotation speed of the station it was easy. He saw a spaceman standing in the huge open doorway, guiding him in with bright neon orange paddles. Dwight was creeping slowly as he entered the bay, retracted his wings and extended his landing gear. "Paddles" waved him over to another plane captain who guided him with hand signals to a parking spot. He gave Dwight the signal to set it down on the metal deck and engage the magnetic locks, then kill power. The slingshot landed with a jolt that would have been a loud clang if there were air in the hub to transfer that sound.

The plane captain went through the shutdown procedure with Dwight, then warned, "Do not float out of your cockpit when the canopy opens. Wait for me to guide you down."

"I can get down, it's not hard..."

"It's not hard to float out that big open door. No one free floats on my flight deck when the hangar door is open."

"Sorry sir."

"Don't "sir" me, I'm a Petty Officer, I work for a living. The Life Support section is right over there." The petty officer pointed toward the central office where the elevators from the eight spokes converged. Never having walked with magnetic boots before, Dwight clunked along slowly until he got to the central hub and entered the air lock. Inside the hub he floated into Life Support where he turned in his pressure suit and was given a flight suit, underwear, and a pair of running shoes.

"Your personal baggage will be in the Earth Ring, Golf section, suite G-149."

"Thanks," and Dwight went to a small booth where he took a low gravity shower and put on his flight suit. Just as he was getting ready to leave the Petty Officer at the Life Support section called him over.

"You need to report to your squadron commander, Lieutenant Commander Rhett Eaton. He'll be in G-49 right next to the G elevator on the Earth Ring. He will brief you in."

"Ok, but this flight suit you gave me, it has two bars. I'm a lieutenant JG."

The petty officer just smiled and said, "Now ain't that something."

Dwight took the elevator to the Earth ring, and when he stepped off the elevator he felt Earth gravity for the first time in days. He felt like he was being crushed. He looked around then found room G-49, it was marked "Commander, VT-5173 Spaceflight Training Squadron - Seek, Destroy, Repeat." He knocked on the door and a woman's voice from within called "Enter!" and the door opened.

A young looking yeoman was seated at a desk as he entered, she was a cute black woman who wore the rating of a Chief Petty Officer. She looked at his name tag and smiled. "We've been waiting for you. Were there problems?"

"My first rideshare was overweight so I was kicked off the flight with other baggage. I had to wait for another R-4."

CPO Owen pressed a button on her intercom and said, "Lieutenant Wayne is here."

"Thank you, send him in, Sophie."

Dwight pointed to his lieutenant's bars and said, "I'm a Lieutenant JG, they gave me these by mistake."

"Of course they did. Go right in and report, Commander Bennett is waiting for you."

Dwight went to the commander's office door and knocked once, then when the door slid open, he marched up to the commander's desk and saluted. "Lieutenant JG Dwight T. Wayne reports."

The commander returned the salute and nodded. "At ease Spaceman Wayne. It appears that you are wearing the badge of rank of a full Lieutenant."

"Ah, yes, sir. This is what Life Support gave me and I came right up here."

"They look good on you, leave them on. We'll have an official ceremony later."

"Sir, I'm not due for promotion until..."

"Spaceman, are you disputing the wisdom of the Western Alliance Navy?"

"No sir, I'm just..."

Commander Bennett held up a hand to stop Dwight sternly. He picked up a piece of paper and began to read. "On thirty-one March, twenty-one-seventy-six, Lieutenant JG Dwight T. Wayne detected an Eastern Bloc surveillance vessel spying on the secret Western Alliance Army base on Saint George Island, Province of Antarctica. Lieutenant JG Wayne assessed the situation and using his knowledge of listening devices, he performed an extremely risky high-speed flyover of the ship at Mach 4. The sonic boom disabled the entire listening operation without a shot being fired. The actions of Lieutenant JG Wayne reflect credit on... yadda yadda yadda." He put the paper down. "That's why you've been assigned to me. I want smart go-getters. Fighters who don't mind putting their balls on the line. That's why you're here eight months early wearing the bars of a full lieutenant. "

Dwight was shocked. That fishing trawler he buzzed was a listening post? There was a secret army base on Saint George Island? There was only one thing he could say, and he said it. "Thank you sir. I guess I got lucky."

"Now most other young trainees would have just buzzed that spy ship for fun, or spite, but you assessed its danger and passed over that boat at Mach four with only five feet between its antennas and the underbelly of your ship."

"They did appear to be hunting penguins, sir. Anyone else would have done the same."

"Lieutenant, you just flew to Armstrong non-stop from the ground, that's never been done before. Four years ago you submitted a paper while at the academy outlining the mission, so we gave you the opportunity to make history, and you did." Commander Bennett opened Dwight's personnel file. "It says here that you're a direct descendant of General Anthony Wayne, known to history as Mad Anthony Wayne, commander at the battles of Brandywine, Monmouth, and Stony Point." He turned a page and said, "Your mother flew with the Strike Force Berserkers at the Battle of Lake Baikal... then again at the Battle of the Iron Queen " He shook his head in amazement. "Son, I don't need anyone else. I need the spirit of Mad Anthony Wayne, I need the guts of your mom, Yelena Serova. Lieutenant, you flew an antiquated fighter with no navigational system from the dirt to Armstrong Station with only one minor course correction. No one has ever done that before. Even in the days of Alan Scarlett nobody tried it. That's shit hot flying just as much as buzzing a Russian fishing boat. Do you get me Lieutenant?"

"Yes sir."

"Now go, get some rest. There's a huge party tomorrow so most offices will be closed, but on the twenty second you'll report in with General Rhodes, the station commander. The general is Space Force through and through and can spot bullshit a mile away." He handed Dwight a magnetic key and said, "You're in suite G-149. Relax, enjoy the party tomorrow. It will be in Bravo sector."

"What kind of party is it sir?"

"It's one of the biggest celebrations up here," said the commander with a smile. "It's the first day of summer!"

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Dwight found that G-149 was a suite of four bedrooms around a central kitchen and living room. There was a fellow and two women there. The guy and a blond girl were playing backgammon while an Asian girl was watching. They all looked up when he entered. "Hi, I've just been assigned here, I'm Dwight Wayne."

All three smiled and the two players went back to their game; the Asian girl came and shook his hand. "Hi, I'm Ann Sheridan, that over there is Bart Ludlow and Julie Kemp. How did you get here?"

"I flew."

"I mean on what?"

"An ancient Slingshot."

"Bullshit!" said Bart with a cough to hide it.

"No really, I got a ride-share lift on an R-4 and buzzed my way here from Camp Schmidt.

"Bullshit!" coughed Julie Kemp.

"Most people get here on the meat wagon," said Ann. "If not that, then on the garbage truck."

"What's a meat wagon?" Dwight was getting confused.

Julie finished her move and said, "The meat wagon is the passenger ship that flies back and forth between Luna Prime and Camp Schmidt. The garbage truck hauls cargo from Earth to Luna Prime, and hauls the waste back. Both ships stop here."

Dwight looked at the pretty Asian and said, "What do you think? Am I bullshitting? I mean, it would be pretty hard to prove unless you find my bird and dust it for butt prints on the seat."

"I... I think... I think you did fly here."

"Ha—ha, sucker!" said Bart with a sneer.

Dwight handed Ann his orders and she smiled. They were stamped FULFILLED in bright red letters by the commander's yeoman. "Holy shit," she muttered, then walked over to the ice box and grabbed two cans of beer and handed them to Dwight. "Our new suite chief is a top-notch space boy. This is from Bart's stash, and this is from Julie's stash." Academy rules - if you call bullshit it costs you a beer if you were wrong.

"What?" Let me see those orders," demanded Julie and she got up and stomped across the living room, her unrestrained breasts bobbing with every step. She was tall, blond and statuesque with an hourglass figure that gave Dwight an instant erection. To make matters worse she was only wearing panties and a sleeveless undershirt. "Holy squeezing fuck," she whispered as she read the details of his orders.

"That's exactly what I said when I got them. Now, which one of you short sheeted my bed?"

"How? Wait, no... damn it," muttered Ann and she showed him his room. His hold baggage was there, launched up on the "garbage truck" three days before he took off. A quick check and yes, his bed was short sheeted. "Is there anything else I can get you?" asked the cute Asian girl.

"Why yes, a church key," said Dwight, holding up an unopened can of beer.

He popped open a beer with the opener Ann provided and drank it in one long, soothing quench. Then he cracked open the other and replaced the opener in its position of glory, and sat down on the couch next to Ann. She scooched away a bit causing him to frown. "I don't have cooties."

She looked at Dwight and said, "That's not it. I'm seeing someone. A Marine captain. You're new here, I didn't want you to get the wrong impression."

"In space, no one can hear you cum," said Julie without taking her eyes off the backgammon board.

"What?" said Dwight with a laugh.

"Things are looser here than in the Earthside navy," said Bart. "You can fuck anyone you want as long as they're not in your chain of command. If they say yes, you're good to go."

"Really? Julie, are you seeing anyone?"

"She's getting a hot beef injection from her plane captain," said Bart which caused Julie to throw a dice cup at him.

"I take it you're straight," moaned Julie. "I'm going to start wearing a bra."

"You don't have to on my account," said Bart.

"Shit, I know you don't care, but we may not have enough cold water for Lieutenant Hormones to cool his jets."

Dwight finished his second beer and said, "It sounds like I've fallen in with a suite full of true blue, deep space fighter pilots."

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Armstrong Naval Space Station, June 21, 2176

1432 Hours, Universal Coordinated Time

Dwight Wayne awoke with a start, his alarm clock said two thirty. Did he forget to wind it? He held it to his ear and it was ticking. He gave the winding knob a couple of turns and it was wound tight. Then he checked his watch, it was ticking also. He got up and pulled on a pair of dungarees and a sports shirt and stepped out into the common area. Only Ann was there, sitting at the dining table, studying navigational texts. "Where's everyone at?"

"The party," said Ann without looking up from her documents. "The quickest way is to turn right, take the G elevator to the hub, then take the B elevator up and you're there. Oh, and put on shorts."

"All I have is gym shorts."

"That's fine, most everyone else will be wearing shorts and Hawaiian shirts."

"Thanks." He ducked back into his room and soon emerged in shorts and wearing a polo shirt embroidered with the words VF-43 Interplanetary Strike Force. "How's this?"

"Perfect. You look like a plebe on shore leave," she said after giving him a quick glance.

"Thanks Ann. You going to the party?"

"Maybe later. I need to get up to speed on pulsar navigation."

"Tell you what, when I get done with in-processing I'll sit down and see if I can help."

"You know pulsar navigation?"

"I majored in it at the academy. That and hockey." Dwight made sure he had his key then said, "See you at the party." He stepped out in the corridor and, forgetting Ann's instructions, turned left, heading toward H sector. He thought the station was big from the outside, he had no idea how huge it was from the inside. He couldn't believe it; this was the same corridor the space heroes he studied in school had walked. Commander Alan Scarlett, General Pandora Vermillion, Estelle Schirra, and the mysterious double agent Antonina Matrona Markov, not to mention his own mom.

He walked all the way through H sector, the sector of the historic VF-43 Interplanetary Fighter Squadron, the Strike Force Berserkers, the most decorated Navy unit in space. He was lost in his memories of the tales he read as a kid, the stories of space his father told him. He came to a door and he stopped, staring at it. H-44. He reached out and touched it, as if it wasn't real. Suddenly the door slid open and there was a young ensign looking at him. "Can I help you?"

"No, sorry, just lost in thought... My mother was a flier, dad told me that this was her room. It's always been my goal to fly out of Armstrong Station."

"Is her name Yelena?"

"Yeah, Yelena Serova. She was injured at the Babylon Echo incident and was grounded. How would you know?"

"The past leaves its marks," said the ensign and she led him into the room. It was a two-bedroom suite and on the wall was a mural of two smiling spacemen in full space suits with helmets off and tucked under their arms. They were standing proudly next to an F-201 Star Striker, the ship of choice for the Berserkers. On the nose, under the pilot's canopy was their ship's name, Dragon Rider.

"That's my mom..." Dwight sighed. "When I get a camera at the Exchange, would you mind if I came back and took a picture?"

"That would be fine with me, I'm sure my suite mate wouldn't object."

Having found evidence of his mom, maybe he could find more. He continued on walking the endless corridor that curved upward ahead of him and behind him. Occasionally a small group of Marines would jog by. Lost in thought he was in Alpha Sector before he knew it. This was clearly the VIP sector. The sliding plastic doors of the other sectors were replaced by oak doors on actual hinges. This was where the elite lived and worked, where he had to meet with the station commander tomorrow.

The walls of Alpha Sector had the look of class, like a fancy office building you'd find on Earth. There were couches in the hallway to rest on, but unlike the benches in the other sectors, these were upholstered.

Then he could smell it - the smell of a carnival. He could smell cotton candy, grilled Italian sausage with onions and peppers, the popcorn, the French fries. He heard the cheers and laughs of the crowd, the occasional clang of a bell followed by cheers, he heard a band tuning up. It smelled and sounded like the Provincial fair back home in Brandon. All he needed was to hear the rumble of the generators and the screaming of kids on the amusement rides.

His step grew quicker as he hiked through A sector and into B sector. After he passed twenty offices on each side of the corridor, the corridor grew wide, it spread from side to side of the station, and here was the party. He came up behind a stage where a band was playing. A small five-piece band was jamming to some rhythm and blues and a crowd was dancing. Behind the small band were thirty-five bandstands for a much larger band. He walked around the stage and his eyes were filled with a wondrous sight.

The party was huge! There were booths with games and prizes, and lots of carnival food. Signs showed that food was paid for with cash or your ration card. There were two beach volleyball courts set up and the two games drew a huge crowd. Beach balls were being bounced through the air, and everyone was dressed as skimpy as possible because the heat and the lighting was turned up. This was summer in space.

Dwight watched in awe and delight, whoever set this up clearly knew what spacemen who had been in rockets, missiles, and space stations for years wanted. After two years of training in remoteness that only the Antarctic could guarantee, Dwight missed summertime. When he got orders to Armstrong Station, he thought it would be years before he saw a warm summer again, but here it was; hot, sweaty, bright, noisy and as perfect as Armstrong Naval Space Station could make it.

He was thinking of grabbing a young girl and hitting the dance floor, but lunch had to come first, he was starving! He knew right where to go. The brightly lit food stand was calling to him. He could smell it a mile away.

"Do you have hot Italian?" said Dwight as he eyed the griddle that was covered in several coils of sausage and mounds of simmering onions and peppers. The smell was nirvana, taking him back to the provincial fairs he and his folks visited every year. Even though mom was in a wheelchair, she loved every visit to the summer fairs and Dwight's dad made sure that mom had a hot Italian sausage.

The cook pointed to a coiled up sausage simmering on the side of the grill. "Hot Italian, hot enough to light a cigar, buddy."

"I'll have that with onions and peppers and an order of fries."

"Let's see your ration card." Dwight pulled out his ration card and handed it to the cook. The cook saw that nothing was checked off on the ration card, it was pristine. "What's wrong, buddy? You on a diet or something?"

"Me? Huh?" He looked at his card and saw that it was unused. "I just came in yesterday."

"Still, you were given this before you took off, it should have covered your in-flight meals."

"I flew a single seat fighter all the way, eating protein bars and drinking recycled water." Dwight couldn't finish because the chef was laughing too hard. All that Dwight had eaten since landing on Armstrong station was two cans of beer.

"All right, Admiral Scarlett, what else will you have?"

"Just the sausage and fries, and a Coke."

"Pepsi, no Coke."

"Pepsi then."

The cook placed a generous portion of Italian sausage on a bun, smothered it with grilled onions and green peppers, wrapped that in paper and set it in a cardboard serving tray, then filled a paper cone with scalding hot crinkle cut fries and doused it with vinegar. "Here you go, here's your Coke, and here's your card."

"You said Pepsi."

"Coke, no Pepsi."

That's when Dwight looked at the sign which clearly said the cola of choice was RC and the cook was messing with him. "Thanks, pal." Dwight found an empty seat at a picnic table that appeared to be filled with higher-ranking officers and sat down. He looked oddly at his card until a sultry female's voice broke his concentration. "Problem, Spaceman?"

"Oh, the chef only charged me for the French fries, but then he doused them with vinegar." He put his ration card away and looked at who was speaking. It was an attractive middle-aged woman. She was very attractive, with a tiny nose, round chin, high cheekbones, hazel eyes, and long blond hair streaked with chestnut and gray. Immediately Dwight knew that eye contact would be a problem because her breasts were large and sumptuous and barely contained by her brightly colored bikini top. Still, she was easily twice his age. "I still have three protein rations for the rest of the day."

"I take it you don't like vinegar on your fries?"

"It doesn't sound appetizing."

"Try it," she said and she took one from his cone and ate it daintily. Cautiously, Dwight tried one and was startled at how good it tasted. "See? Watch the folks around eating fries. Many drink the remaining vinegar."

"This is my first day on station so everything is new and interesting."

"This is as interesting as Armstrong Station gets, until December for the Christmas party. Same thing as this party but with more holly."

For some reason that struck Dwight as hilariously funny and he couldn't take a bite out of his sausage until he was done laughing. "Excuse me, I'm Dwight Wayne, a direct descendant of General Mad Anthony Wayne. I just got in yesterday." He wiped his hand and extended it to shake.

"Welcome aboard Mad Dwight," she said as they shook hands. Her hand was warm and soft. A hand he wanted to hold a long time. "This is the quadricentennial anniversary of General Wayne's exploits, I'm sure more than a few Navy officers will be expecting the same from you."

"I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

The woman extended her hand to shake again. "My friends call me Dusty. I hope you do as well."

"Dusty? As in Dusty Roads?" asked Dwight as they shook again.

"Exactly. So how did you get here, young Master Wayne? We haven't had a freighter or passenger ship for several days."

"I flew," he said around a mouthful of the best Italian Sausage in space. "Solo in an F-724 Slingshot."

The woman's eyes studied Dwight; she looked as if she was considering eating him. "That's something to be proud of."

Dwight shook his head dismissing her comment. "My folks were real spacemen." He said the word 'real' like it was sacred. "My mom flew fighter escort on the NSS McDivitt all the way from the Asteroid Belt to Mars, fighting back Eastern Block attacks the whole trip in. They called that the Battle of Lake Baikal. Then a year later she flew escort cover for an entire convoy from Earth to Mars... that was the Battle of the Iron Queen." He got a far away look in his eyes. "I wish I could have seen her fly..." Then he shrugged and took another bite of his sausage.

"Sounds like you have a hero in your life. What about your father?"

"He flew also, but both he and mom say they can't talk about it. Over the years I pieced together enough to know what he was doing but I shouldn't talk about it in case I'm right."

"Exactly. You don't appear to be afraid of much Spaceman Wayne."

Dwight just shrugged. "My mom lost a leg and got grounded, most of her squadron mates died at Venus Prime. I know what my chances are, so why do you say that?"

"You flew from Earth to Armstrong solo in a single seat fighter. That has never happened before. Then you get here and plop down at a table with the highest ranking officers on the station and you don't seem to be bothered when someone old enough to be your mother takes an interest in you."

Dwight offered her a French fry. "For one, that flight earned me two cans of beer, so I consider it a worthwhile endeavor. I intend to become one of these fellows, so I should start learning about them," he said gesturing to the officers sitting to his right. "As for you... at best you were thirteen when I was born."

Now Dusty was laughing. "You know how to make an old lady feel good Spaceman Wayne." Her breasts bobbled with each chuckle, hypnotizing Dwight.

"You know about my story, what about yours?"

Dusty looked a bit sad. "Nothing exciting. I was space force, married to a fellow space force officer. He got orders out here and I joined him, and I've been here ever since... he left for home a few years ago. I hear he's doing well... As for me," she shrugged and picked an onion off of Wayne's sausage. "I deal with so much boring crap at work that when an opportunity like this comes up, I'd rather not think about it." She laid the onion on her uniquely beautiful tongue and ate it, which was brazenly erotic to Dwight.

"I'm sorry, I hope I didn't bring up anything painful."

"I don't think you could do that if you tried." Just then the rock and roll band unplugged and left the stage and a big band filled the band stands. "They are the station swing band," said Dusty. "Best band in space and I'm proud of them. Do you play anything?"

"Hockey. Does that count?" Dusty shook her head no. "I play kazoo, but only if they're tuned properly. My only musical skill is dancing. I love to dance."

"Oh? The Twist? The Mashed Potato?"

"Foxtrot, waltz, Viennese waltz, tango, samba, quickstep, two-step, and the Cha-Cha." Dwight ticked them off on his fingers.

"You're kidding."

"No, I needed an art credit, and history of art filled up in six minutes. Ballroom dancing counted as an art credit so I took that and stayed with it. It was nice to be one of the only plebes at Montreal Naval Academy who was allowed to hold hands with the opposite sex."

"Would you care to dance with an old lady?"

Dwight finished his RC and sausage. "I would be proud to do so."

"Go toss your trash, I've been wrangled into introducing the band, and I suppose I'll meet you over by the stage?"

"How long can it take to toss out the trash?"

"Trust me."

It actually took quite a while. The instructions were confusing; each item was handled differently. Even though it was just a serving tray, cone containing vinegar and salt, paper wrapper, and paper cup, each one had to be cleaned first, then unfolded, flattened and slipped into the appropriate slot.

When he finally had everything disposed of properly he wandered over to the bandstand and there was Dusty as she promised. She had put on a Hawaiian shirt that matched her bikini top. She didn't button it up, which accentuated her breathtaking hourglass figure. Her shorts showed off those beautiful long legs of hers, legs that Dwight suddenly wanted wrapped around his waist. Dusty was talking to a man wearing a baseball jersey and shorts. He was standing so straight and tall he either had a ramrod shoved up his ass all the way to his neck, or he was a Marine general.

Dusty saw Dwight approaching and pulled him close to her. "General, here's the young man I was talking about. Lieutenant Wayne, this is Marine General Don Slayton."

As Dwight shook hands with the general he said, "You flew with my mom in the Berserkers."

A look of concern momentarily swept over the general's face, then he said, "Yelena is your mom? How is she doing?" It wasn't hard to figure out his mother was Yelena Serova. She was the only female he flew with in the Berserkers that lived. Yelena was grounded just before Don Slayton was reassigned to a Marine unit. Not long after that was the fateful Battle of Venus Prime.

"She's not well, her health is failing, she misses the Berserkers, but she doesn't understand that they're all gone. I've written to President Scarlett several times, asking him to visit or at least write her, but I guess he's busy with Martian politics because I don't get an answer."

The general nodded sadly. The Battle of Venus Prime wiped out so many good pilots and he still misses every one of them. Survivors were few and deeply scarred from that experience. "I'm heading back to Earth soon. Give Dusty your mom's address and I will visit her. I promise."

"Will do, General. Now, Miss Roads, I believe you promised me a dance."

"Yes, I did. General, if you will excuse me..."

"By all means, and Lieutenant, I do want that address."

"It was good to meet you sir, and before you leave, go to room H-44 and ask to see the mural." Then he led Dusty out onto the dance floor. The band was playing a beautiful, jazzy number that he really wanted to dance to. They started out but Dusty seemed to be fighting something. Was she fighting against him? Against the song? "Relax Dusty, it's just a jazz waltz."

"It is?" She concentrated on the beat and smiled, of course it was. It was just a bit faster than she was used to. Soon they were gliding across the dance floor like old lovers. They danced to most of the songs through the band's set, taking a break only during the more impressionistic jazz numbers.

As they dance they grew closer with each song and Dusty was thrilled. It had been ages since she had a young man lead her so confidently. Dwight was enjoying the dancing just as much as Dusty. When they were done with their set and a highland dance team took the stage for an exhibition, Dwight and Dusty went and checked out the party walking hand in hand going from booth to booth. Dwight squeezed Dusty's hand and said, "That was nice. I hope the band will come back for another set."

"Tell me, what was the best part?" asked Dusty.

"First promise you won't get angry."

"I will not get angry."

"Well... with your breasts pressing against my chest, I could finally look into your eyes to see how beautiful they are."

Dusty was stalled for a moment - did he just say that? Then she laughed. "It has been a long time since someone said something like that to me."

"Then I hate to say it ma'am, but you know a lot of liars."

"That's true, but don't call me ma'am. It makes me feel old."

They walked hand in hand from booth to booth, watching the games and participating in some. There was a game where an air rifle shot a cork at various targets, and no one was hitting anything. He watched over the shoulder of a shooter who hit nothing, then another, and another. Occasionally a shooter would complain that the game was rigged but the person manning the booth used the gun and the cork that the shooter was complaining was rigged and the game operator hit the target every time. Dwight watched over that fellow's shoulder also. Then he turned to Dusty and said, "Which stuffed animal would you like me to win for you?"

She looked at the various stuffed animals; they ranged from pink bunnies to odd green creatures they listed as Martians. "The Teddy Bear," she finally said.

"Ah yes, traditional, comforting. He will be yours in just moments." Dwight stepped up to the game operator and said, "What does it take to win that bear?"

"The Teddy Bear? Six in a row."

"I'll take eight."

"A confident man. Tell you what. I'll make your first shot free and just charge you for seven."

"That works for me." The game operator put a cup of eight corks in front of Dwight and handed him an air gun.

"Just pump it like a shot gun."

"Gotcha." Dwight pressed the cork into the barrel much harder than the previous contestants did, but about the same as the game operator. He pumped the gun and brought it up to his shoulder, then aimed at the left edge of the target and squeezed the trigger. He missed because the cork dropped a full four inches. He aimed at the top left corner of the target with the next shot and Ping! The target went down. Five more shots and Dwight was able to present Dusty with a brand-new Teddy Bear.

She squealed like a teenage girl and proudly walked around with Teddy in one arm and Dwight on the other. "How did you hit the target when everyone else was missing?"

"It's the Coriolis Effect. They failed to account for the station's rotation," said Dwight. "When the cork leaves the gun, it's moving in a straight line, it's no longer rotating with the station. But the target is rotating with the station. The cork is moving in a straight line but the station rotates the target out of the way. Relatively speaking, the cork is moving slowly, so the station moves the target two inches to the left. Also the cork drops, so you have to adjust for the target moving and the cork dropping."

"Really? You figured all that out?"

"Yes. Back at home I was quite good at shooting geese, I know how to lead a moving target. Down in Antarctica I trained on shooting a slug thrower. Most spacemen who fly fighters ignore the M-2 and only shoot the laser because calculating time and distance is a pain on the .50 caliber gun, but lasers are instantaneous."

"So you figured that out all by yourself. I'm impressed."

"My mom helped a lot. She was a Radar Intercept Officer; she set up the shots for her pilot. She said that Commander Scarlett was adamant about using the M-2 whenever possible, so she taught me the basics of setting up a shot." Dwight put an arm around Dusty's waist as they walked. They came up to a kissing booth where there were two young women and two young men selling kisses for a dollar each. The money they collected was going to the Spaceman's Pantry, a fund to help young enlisted spacemen whose families back on Earth were hurting. "How do we play this?" asked Dwight.

"For a dollar you get to kiss anyone you want!" said a cheerful young woman who was wearing a shirt that said, "Armstrong NSS Life Support."

"I'll take some of that action," said Dwight and he edged Dusty close to the counter. He put a dollar down and looked at the four hopeful contestants. Then he looked at Dusty and gently pulled her close. Their lips met and Dusty tightened up, then she let the feeling of a young virile man kissing her flood through her. It's been a long time since someone had the guts to try that. His tongue reached out for her and she tentatively tickled his tongue with hers. When the kiss was over, her head was spinning.

"What was that, Dwight?" she said when their lips parted.

"They said I could kiss anyone I want. I think that was a dollar well spent."

Dusty's heart was beating so hard it was ringing in her ears, and she searched his eyes for deceit, but he was being straight with her. Or he was a terrific liar. "Give them another dollar," she whispered hoarsely.

This time when their lips met the crowd around them cheered. The kiss went on for what felt like ages, but was still over all too soon. Their tongues were just getting used to each other when the kiss ended. "Oh my," she gasped. "Did they teach that at Montreal too?"

"Nah, I made all of that up on the spot."

<><><><><>

They were walking together closely, watching the beach volleyball games when a voice called out, "Lieutenant Wayne!"

"Do you know him?" asked Dusty.

"Yeah. That's Commander Bennett, my commander. Hey Commander!"

"How about a coed game of volleyball? You and your date against me and my Yeoman." He was on the sand court with Sophie Owen, a tall, slim black girl with a slight figure.

"Am I your date?" asked Dusty.

"He's my commander, the commander is always right."

"I haven't played beach volleyball in a while," said Dusty. "I usually play six-man team volleyball."

"I may be a bit rusty myself," said Dwight. "I haven't played anything in two years."

"Dusty and Rusty, that's us," said Dusty. "Let's show 'em!" There was a bench on the side of the court where they sat and took off their shoes. Dusty left her Hawaiian shirt on and clung to "Little Dwight" while Big Dwight took off her sandals and massaged her feet. Then they stepped out on the court and volleyed a beach ball that drifted into the ring.

"Shall we play with regulation?" asked Commander Bennett as he tossed the volleyball up and down.

"Let's volley for serve," said Dusty as she batted the beach ball into the growing crowd.

Sophie Owen, the squadron yeoman tapped the ball over and the volley for serve started. It ended with the serve going to Team Sophie (The ref named the teams after the women playing.)

"Let's do it," said Dwight and he skinned his shirt off. "Play to fifteen, two points needed to win?"

"I agree to the rules," said CPO Owen as she looked at Dwight's lean form.

"Foul!" cried Commander Bennett. "He's trying to distract my teammate."

"That's up to you to balance out," said the ref from her elevated chair. "If you take your shirt off that should cool her off some."

"Very funny," grumbled the commander, but he did take his shirt off. Soon Dusty was shirtless playing in her bikini top like Sophie. With the uniforms straightened out and the crowd much larger, Sophie's team lined up to serve with Commander Bennett serving. His first serve slammed straight into the net. The next serve hit the top of the net and bounced straight up in the air coming back down on Team Dusty's side of the net. Sophie batted it up and Dwight slammed it over the net for a point.

Back and forth the game went, both teams giving it their all and the crowd loved it. Every time they scored a point, Dusty and Rusty would hug and kiss which caused the crowd to cheer. Soon Dwight was covered with a sheen of sweat and was strutting around like a professional wrestler. He would occasionally tickle Dusty who would whoop with laughter. It was getting so hard for him to remember she was twice his age!

The game went long with a one-point lead swapping back and forth and the assembled crowd loved it. Every serve, every spike, and every point were met with cheers. Dwight finally got his serve under control and was putting a solid backspin on it so it would veer toward the sand after crossing over the net. Sophie had a vicious serve but Dusty was adept at passing that to Dwight up at the net where he would try to spike it at his commander. Toward the end of the game he tried to do what he did at the shooting range. He served a ball that went down the right sideline clearly out of bounds so Sophie ignored it, but due to station rotation the ball curved to his left and landed in-bounds for a point.

Eventually Dusty and Rusty crossed under the net and congratulated Sophie's team on their 27 to 25 victory. All four players were presented a victory beer and congratulated by dozens of onlookers. Dwight and Dusty looked like a happy couple; their arms were around each other and they were whispering in each other's ear.

The two couples sat down at a picnic table with their beers and cooled off, which was hard to do with the heat turned up. Their table had an umbrella which provided shade from the artificial sunlight that warmed the huge gathering. As they sipped their beer, Dwight watched the summer party where the men and women of Armstrong Naval Space Station played, ate, and relaxed, "This area is amazing. What is it actually for?"

"It's a multipurpose area; it can be a theater or briefing hall but most often it's a cafeteria and a gymnasium. Morning calisthenics are held every morning at oh six hundred," said Cam Bennett.

"They're not mandatory but if I have the time I join in," said Dusty. "It's rank-free and open to all."

"It's not one of those mind numbing Marine-style torture sessions?" asked Dwight.

"My husband is a Marine," said Sophie. "Are you implying he's mind numbed?"

Dwight pointed at his commander and said, "If he lets someone as pretty as you pal around with a worn out old rocket jockey, I say yeah, he is."

"Hey!" said Cam.

"I'll have you know that my husband knows my virtue is safe when I'm with this old rocket jockey."

"I'm sitting right here!" said Cameron.

"I thought it was something like that," said Dusty with a naughty smile.

"It is not something like that!" sputtered Commander Bennett. "It's... it's..." He wasn't used to being the butt of the jokes. "Mister Wayne, we are going to have a very long talk tomorrow."

"If I survive, I'll be very attentive," said Dwight as he squeezed Dusty's thigh under the table. In reply, she squeezed his thigh, then she squeezed it again, much higher up. High enough to make Dwight shudder at the sudden sensation.

"You rocket jockeys have all the fun," sighed Dusty as her unseen hand massaged Dwight's thigh. "I'm stuck at a desk all day..." Then she froze. She was avoiding talking about work. She didn't want to tell him what she did, but if he asked she wouldn't lie. Now she left herself open to his question.

"I couldn't handle being chained to a desk," said Dwight. "I mean, I don't mind spending the time it takes planning a mission, the little flight out here cost me two weeks, but it's worth it if it means I get to fly."

"Two weeks?" asked Cam. "What were you doing?"

"Planning my navigational cues. I had an old ship and if my radio failed I wanted to be able to get here without help from Navy Flight Control." He went on to describe how he planned his flight and how he had to redo everything after his launch window changed.

"You are truly something else, Rusty," Dusty whispered in his ear, and she squeezed his thigh so high her fingers grazed his balls.

He whispered in her ear, "Right now, I'd rather be somewhere else, with you." He squeezed her thigh as high up as he dared and found that she was very warm at the juncture of her thighs.

"Oh look, the band is back, and Rusty promised me another dancing lesson."

Dwight stood and offered Dusty a hand. "I believe we're working on the Foxtrot. Shall we?"

"I can't wait," and Dusty rose, took his hand and they walked off to the bandstand leaving Sophie and Cameron behind.

"She's going to eat him alive," muttered Sophie.

Cameron nodded in agreement. "I doubt he'll complain."

It felt so good to have a woman in his arms, moving in time with the music, their bodies perfectly in sync with each other and with the song. She was warm in his arms, her hand felt like it was made to rest in his hand. He no longer cared about her age; he wanted to remain right there with that woman forever. They swept around the dance floor as the band played classical music from so long ago. They played Cole Porter's Begin the Beguine so soft and sweetly—how could you not dance?

"You fascinate me Rusty. A Rocket Jockey that dances like an angel, where were you when I needed you?"

He put his lips next to her ear and whispered, "I was preparing myself for this very moment."

That nearly brought a tear to Dusty's eye and she buried her face in his shoulder and muttered, "You silly boy..."

Dwight realized that he needed to lighten the mood. "I'd rather be considered a hockey player with a pilot's license."

That was perfect, his timing was exquisite. Dusty was pulled up from whatever personal hell she was sinking into and chuckled. As the song ended and they kissed, she asked, "Have you had your Zero G training yet?"

"No, I suppose that's on my schedule."

"Want to have some fun?" Her eyes flashed with mirth and something else.

"Do we have to keep our clothes on?"

"I'll be disappointed if you do."

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Armstrong Naval Space Station, Zero-G Gymnasium

1844 Hours, Universal Coordinated Time

The Zero-G Gymnasium was a big padded room with cushioned walls on all six sides. One wall was clearly retractable seating which Dusty explained was for visitors who came to watch the Zero-G Dodgeball. In the locker room she told him to take off all his clothes and put them in a locker so they don't float away. Even Little Dwight, her teddy bear, went into a locker.

"Naked?"

"What part of gymnasium don't you understand? Gymnasium, from the Greek gymnos which means naked. Gymnasium means a place to be naked. There's nothing sexual about it."

As Dwight put the last of his clothing in the locker, Dusty floated up behind him and wrapped an arm around him and pulled herself up close to him. She nibbled on his earlobe which sent a thrill through him, but it was nothing compared to the thrill he felt when she reached around and began stroking his cock. "Mmmm, it's getting so big," she purred. "What do you feed this thing?" She was a wild cat on the prowl, and she found her prey. She gave a gentle kick off the locker and together they slowly drifted out of the locker room. "Mine!" she declared as she cupped Dwight's aching balls.

"I thought you said nothing sexual," said Dwight.

"Huh? Oh, that was for the Greeks. I play by different rules." They drifted out into the center of the big gymnasium; all the while Dusty was stroking his hard cock. "The name of this game is If you can Catch Me, you can Fuck Me. The rules are simple. If you can catch me, you can fuck me." And she gave a gentle push-off on Dwight. Her push-off was perfection, her push took advantage of his larger mass. She transferred her energy to him which brought him to a stop in the middle of the room, she continued on to the far wall where she gently caught a strap and held herself in place.

Dwight's back was to her and he strained to turn to see her. She was leaning against a wall holding herself in place with a strap. He could hear her sultry laughter behind him. "This is so mean to me!" said Dwight.

"Not mean, it's a game and it's a survival exercise."

"You're a survival tactics instructor?"

"Not currently."

"I'm so screwed," groaned Dwight.

"No, you haven't caught me yet." Dwight brought his knees up to his chest which caused him to slowly rotate head over heels and soon he was looking at Dusty. She appeared to be upside down but he could see her. "Disappointed?" she asked. "I'm told us old ladies look better in zero-g."

"You're so beautiful," he said softly. She had wound her hair up and pinned it in place with bamboo hair pins. Most spectacular were her breasts. Released from the ravages of gravity they stood out proudly on her chest, wide based and conical with coral pink nipples that were hard and pointing at him. Her waist was narrow and her hips round, her dark pubic bush was trimmed and enticing.

She cupped her breasts as if holding them out to him and said. "You can have them if you want."

"I can make you cum by stimulating your breasts..."

"Bullshit!"

"That is going to cost you a beer. I've done it before to Mary Joe Jackowiak. I'm not afraid to do it again."

She ran her fingers through her trimmed pubic bush. "It's all here waiting for you unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Unless you do something that would prove to me that you're worth ending this game, I'll be all over you."

"Like what?"

"Like..." she shrugged and grinned. "Lick your eyebrows."

He chuckled and continued to rotate slowly until he got a good look at each wall, and he was sure he was closest to the wall with the folded up seating. And then he began to swim. He oriented himself to be head-on to that wall, then he brought his hands up over his head, and cupping his hands, he pulled his arms down to his waist. He did that again and again; it looked like a swimming exercise in Zero-G but it brought a smile to Dusty's face. "Smart boy. Who taught you that?"

"My mom told me about this and dad showed me in the canal, I mean pool. I guess the games they played in the maintenance hanger on the NSS McDivitt were quite interesting."

Dusty's face lit up with glee. "Canal? Your dad's a Martian?" Martians call any body of water a canal. It's an "in joke" with Martians calling back to the early astronomers who were sure there were canals on Mars. Even as late as 1950 Earth writers were claiming there were canals on Mars. The first human-built colony on Mars was named Bradbury Canal in honor of his book The Martian Chronicles.

"Yep, born and raised at the Olympus Mons colony." Dwight panted as he talked, continuing his swimming strokes but he added something too it. He leaned his head down and blew out hard between strokes, adding jet propulsion to his swim. After ten minutes Dusty could see that his efforts were successful and he was moving toward the front wall, albeit slowly.

"Your mom would be so proud!" said Dusty as she floated over to Dwight's target. "I wish I had a camera, so I could send her a picture."

"Oh yes, her darling little boy floating nude in the gym with an erection. She'll love it."

"Come on space boy," purred Dusty. A finger coyly slipped between her nether lips and began gently sliding in and out. "Momma Dusty wants you right... here..." Her voice was breathy and soft, a purr that almost caused him to cum.

There were foam covered handrails to grab and there were elastic straps that you could hold to keep yourself in position instead of bouncing off the wall. The straps and handrails were the same dull gray color as the pads on the walls so Dwight didn't notice them at first. After what seemed like an hour of pulling himself through the air and being mercilessly teased, Dwight's hand shot out and grabbed the cushioned handrail on the wall but Dusty had pushed off moments before. She was directly behind him twisting her shoulders, making her breasts wave side to side. Unable to contain himself, Dwight pulled himself to the wall, tucked his legs under and pushed off with a roar. He shot off the wall and zoomed toward Dusty but she was quicker and launched herself off the wall at an angle and flew past Dwight.

Unfortunately for Dwight, stopping in Zero-G can be more challenging then starting. As he came up to the wall he was expecting to stop, like he would if he was landing on the ground on Earth. Instead he bounced off the wall and spun back across the gymnasium.

He hit the second wall upside down and against his back and he again floated across the gymnasium. At least he wasn't spinning so much, but Dusty's laughter didn't help. "I'm sorry Rusty, but it's funny watching a fledgling!"

"A what?" He was able to see that she was holding on to something, that's when he noticed the straps.

"A fledgling is what they call new pilots who just earned their wings. They think they can fly, but it's so entertaining."

"You know, there's something debilitating to the male ego when being laughed at by a beautiful naked woman."

That caused Dusty to laugh even more. While her speaking voice was deep and alluring, her laugh was crystalline. It was pure and clear and full of joy. It filled the gymnasium and even though she was laughing at Dwight's ungainliness, he loved hearing it. "You have so much work to do, little fledgling. You still have so much training ahead of you, and this is part of it."

He finally got enough control to grab a strap and stop the rebound. She was right, he has a lot of work ahead of him. He's had his in-atmosphere pilot wings for over a year, and his trip to Armstrong earned him his Basic Space Pilot wings. He now has to earn Command Space Pilot wings and crown them with the Martian Star showing he was rated to fly in-atmosphere on Mars.

For the next 10 minutes they literally bounced off the walls chasing and evading, their laughter filled the air. Flying and swooping they would push off walls evading and chasing. Laughing like children they flew around the gymnasium. Dwight began to see her pattern. She would wait for him to move, and when he moved, she would make a counter move, leaving him to float, unable to change directions.

They stopped, both an equal distance from the corner making a near perfect isosceles right triangle except he was about eight feet closer to the ceiling. Holding the strap, he began to inch his way closer to the corner. "Tired of flying? Now you need to walk little fledgling?" she taunted.

When he got within five feet of the corner, she pushed off, realizing that she was too late. He pushed off straight at her at the same time, rocketing along the wall. She was counting on the fact that he didn't know how to change course once committed. Now he was moving along the wall faster than he's gone before, then he slapped the wall with his hands and brought his feet up and kicked off, shooting at a point straight ahead of her. He figured it out.

They met at that point in space, she was there first and Dwight almost missed her. He grabbed her ankle and pulled her toward him and together they twirled off in a new trajectory. Dwight wrapped his arms around her leg and held on tight as they spun. "No... that's cheating... you can't do this..." she gasped while trying to wriggle free. When she was teaching, no first time student ever touched her!

Dwight wasn't going to let her go. He's been waiting patiently all day and now he was going to stick his tongue into that pussy of hers. He could smell her excitement. She smelled sweet, like fresh mown hay. He kissed his way up her leg as she begged him not to do it. "Please, I'm twice your age! I'm old enough to be your mother... Don't... unnghhhhh!" She wasn't very convincing as she wound her fingers through his hair and pulled him ever closer to her center of pleasure. Dusty opened her legs and sighed softly as his mouth found her pussy and began to suckle on her vagina.

The teasing that had gone on all day had Dwight fiery hot. He wanted this woman and he would not be denied. They both knew that they were going to end up together, neither could prevent it, not after that first passion filled kiss. She bumped into the wall and just had enough presence of mind to grab the handrail with one free hand. "Ohhhh Gawwwddd!" she groaned as one, then two fingers eased into her cunt and Dwight's tongue danced on her clit. "Don't stop. Please... don't..."

Gasps and moans were all she could vocalize. She clung to the cushioned handrail with one hand and grasped and squeezed her breast with the other while Dwight slowly drove her to sensual insanity with his tongue and fingers. He clung to her leg with one arm while his other hand was finger fuckng her in time with his lips and tongue. As he brought her to the most powerful orgasm she had in nearly a decade, she felt his little finger pressing against her anus. It wiggled its way inside of her and helped set off her climax. Waves of sweet release washed over Dusty as the young man between her legs continued to give her as much pleasure as she could handle.

Finally she pushed Dwight away, gasping, "Too much."

He pulled himself up so he could look in Dusty's eyes and it looked like she was in shock. "I have the handrail, just hold me," he whispered. And she clung to him as they floated weightless in the microgravity of LeGrange Point 1. She occasionally kissed his shoulder, but it seemed like she had gone to sleep. "Are you okay?"

"Just floating in heaven," she purred. "It's been a long, long time."

"I wouldn't mind doing this for as long as you want."

"Why aren't you seeing some nice young thing and raising a flock of little Dwights?"

"I'm a fighter driver. I don't think I could fly aggressively knowing that a family was at home waiting for me."

She pulled herself up and kissed him aggressively, their tongues tangling and writhing together, the peace that they were experiencing was replaced by passion. "Let me..." and she never finished her statement, but she didn't have to. When she started kissing her way down his torso, Dwight was able to figure it out. As her lips grew near his cock she said, "Promise me you won't touch my head. I've had some issues in the past and it isn't a happy memory."

"It's ok, whatever you want to do, even if it's nothing at all. I'm just happy to be here—" Dwight stopped suddenly because Dusty plunged her mouth down over his cock and swallowed his entire length. He almost screamed at the intense pleasure of her warm, wet mouth taking him in. Her throat hurt as it constricted around the head of his cock, but she knew what she was doing. If it truly was a long time since she gave her last blowjob, her memory was holding up quite well.

The concentrated pleasure of her tongue sliding over his cock was intense, and as she continued to suck him, she kept peeking up at him to see him in the throes of delicious agony. She hefted his swollen balls and he lurched. "Did that hurt?"

"Yeah," he gasped. "They've been aching for quite a while."

Dusty felt oddly proud of herself. At her age she gave a young fighter pilot a case of blue balls! "Let me see what I can do for that..." She began swallowing his cock over and over, her tongue painting the sensitive underside of his cock. As she did that, a finger lubricated with her pussy juice slithered into Dwight's asshole and tickled his prostate, which set him off. His mind went blank as he came explosively in her mouth, too overwhelmed to give her a warning. He shot round after round of sperm into her mouth and she swallowed every drop. She was astounded at the amount of semen that spurted into her mouth with each pulse of his cock. Finally the torrent ceased and she gently held his cock in her mouth, feeling it deflate and return to its resting posture. She knew how sensitive men were after orgasm, especially one that powerful, so she was gentle as she licked him clean.

They cuddled together, floating in weightlessness. It was so wonderful for Dwight, holding someone that he truly cared for, and he felt that those emotions were going to grow stronger. He was sure of that. With his free hand he held her tight and whispered, "I want more."

"Silly boy, do you even have more?"

"I want all of you," he said and they kissed passionately. Their tongues tangled and her hand that was cupping his deflated cock and drained balls, felt life stirring in them again. She had forgotten how quickly a young man recovers.

"We only have this gym for a few minutes longer. I reserved it for only an hour so the cleaning bots will be starting their sweep soon."

"Let's go, I have a nice large bed that needs to be broken in."

She looked in his eyes, so full of mirth and caring. She should have said no hours ago, but what the hell, it's summer! "Lead the way Rusty."

<><><><><>

Dusty found herself lost in a delightful world of sensual decadence. He was insatiable! He wasn't lying about making a woman cum just by manipulating her breasts. Her breasts had lost the fight against gravity a long time ago, but he didn't mind. He suckled, nibbled, pinched, pulled, twisted and loved her breasts over and over until she was at the edge of an orgasm. Then he went down on her again. He delicately made love to her clit bringing her close to a powerful climax at will, then he would back off leaving her shuddering until he started again. She clawed the bedsheets as he brought her to the edge of release, then he would stop yet again. "Remind me to send a thank-you letter to whomever taught you this," she groaned as her body trembled with the need for release.

"Doctor Emma Lou Katerberg, my Celestial Navigation professor," he said as he peppered her pussy with sweet little kisses. "She was a stickler for perfection."

"You must have been her A student."

"No, that was Sibille Boudreaux."

"Was she a classmate of yours?"

"Girlfriend. I went off to advanced flight school; she moved in with Doctor Katerberg."

Dwight went back to orally loving Dusty's pussy. She didn't know if there was too much of a good thing but she was getting close to that point. The sensations were overwhelming and this time it felt like Dwight was not going to stop. He brought Dusty to the point of no-return and continued on, driving her out of her mind.

Finally it happened, the sensual explosion she had been waiting for. Her climax was so intense that her ears rang... or was that from her screaming in delight? Her hips rose off the bed, pressing against his lips. Her hips shuddered as she lost control. She reached down to caress his head as the explosion intensified, but he wasn't there. He had pulled himself up and was lining his cock up with her cunt.

She was helpless to stop him if she had wanted to. He lined his cock up, and at the peak of her orgasm, he slid into her. She let out a guttural groan of delight as she was split open by his cock. His thick meat pushed deeper into her than any man before; then he began to fuck. He pounded into her body like he owned it. Their groins slapped together over and over, and she welcomed every thrust. She wrapped her arms and legs around his slim body and held on for dear life as he drove her from one peak to the next.

She was out of control, kissing and clawing at the young man who played her body like a Stratovarius. She lost count of climaxes. How did she get rolled over and her ass hoisted in the air? She didn't know, but it was the first time she truly enjoyed a doggy style pounding. "Take me, make me your bitch," she growled into the pillow as he plundered her pussy.

Usually, any other man would be done by now, but Dwight continued to take his pleasure and return it in spades. She was on her back again and she wanted to see his eyes when he came. When he finally roared in relief and filled her pussy with his semen, their eyes were locked, like true lovers would do.

Finally it was over. Spent, they clung to each other, panting in shuddering breaths, both watching in awe as Dusty's legs shook in after tremors. Dusty finally broke the silence. "I have a friend at the commissary; he's got two nice steaks reserved for me. Would you like to come by for dinner?"

"You don't have to," he whispered as they kissed.

"It's been ages since I cooked for a man, and you've earned it."

"I will. It sounds like fun."

"Saturday evening?" She sounded worried that he wouldn't show up.

"It's a date. Come on." He helped her out of bed and led her to the shower where they washed off before climbing under the sheets. As they drifted off to sleep, something he said earlier in the day came to mind and she needed an explanation.

"How the hell do you tune a kazoo?"

It felt so good to laugh in bed with a lover.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Armstrong Naval Space Station, G Sector

0610 Hours, Universal Coordinated Time

"I've got to get going," said Dusty as she woke up, still in Dwight's arms. "You have a big day today."

"The boss, General Rhodes," groaned Dwight. "I don't even know what uniform to wear."

"This is a formal presentation to the station commander. You can wear anything that you want, but what you wear tells the commander what kind of space man you are. "

Dwight groaned and flopped back on the bed. "I have a t-shirt from the Academy that says, 'Save the Navy, Eat a Plebe.' Maybe I should wear that." Dusty rummaged through a drawer and found the t-shirt he was talking about and pulled it on, then pulled on her Hawaiian shirt over that. "Hey, what's the deal?"

"I'm preventing you from wearing this. You can get it back Saturday. Besides, you need to get a haircut and get this pressed," she said as she held up his dress whites.

"Aww, those look awful without medals, I don't have any medals."

"You best get going, you need a haircut and proper shave also. Take these to Uniform Support in Delta Sector and they'll get your uniform up tight. The barbershop is right next door and the officer's mess is there also." She dug his white shoes from the bottom of the closet. They were scuffed and dirty. "Do you seriously intend to wear these for a two star general? Take them to Uniform Support also."

"Yes mom."

"Rusty, yesterday was something amazing and I..." her voice trailed off.

Terrified that he was being dumped, Dwight took her in his arms and said, "I can't wait to eat your cooking. Do they have wine on this boat? I'll get us a nice chardonnay."

She chuckled and gave him a kiss. "You're sweet. We both need to get going."

Dwight pulled on a one piece flight suit and flight boots, then put his whites in a uniform bag and he and Dusty headed out. As they stepped out of his tiny bedroom all of his suit-mates were sitting at the dining table nursing hangovers and sipping coffee. "Dusty, these are my suite-mates, such as they are, Bart, Ann and Julie." The three looked at Dwight in shock. They shook hands with Dusty before she and Dwight stepped out into the hallway.

Bart looked at Julie and Ann. "Did that really happen?"

"No. I refuse to believe it happened," groaned Julie and she rested her aching head on the table.

Dusty and Dwight walked together to the elevator, hand in hand, with little Dwight the Teddy Bear tucked under her arm. Dwight was going to keep walking straight to E sector, but Dusty said, "Let me show you the shortcut."

"Someone mentioned this yesterday... but most of yesterday is a blur."

"I don't condone this, but sometimes it's necessary." They got in the elevator and Dusty pressed the top button marked with an H for Hub. "It's best if you always think of the hub as up and Earth Ring as down. That way you'll never get vertigo."

In the hub they were nearly weightless. They kissed one more time then she pushed Dwight into the E sector elevator. "See you Saturday!" he said as the doors closed.

It was an odd feeling as the Earth equivalent gravity returned. When the door opened he was in E sector and there, across the main hall from the elevator was Uniform Support, the place where uniforms were purchased, modified, washed, pressed and your ribbons and badges were updated. He gave them his uniform bag and a copy of his orders and said, "I'm meeting with General Rhodes today."

"The general is a stickler for a tidy uniform. Give us two hours."

"Thanks guy. Where's the barbershop?"

"Over there next to the elevator."

It was early and there wasn't a crowd. The ten barber chairs were open and the barbers were seated in waiting chairs chatting as they waited for customers. "Can we help you?"

Dwight walked up to a barber and shook his hand, and said, "Who does your hair?"

"That would be Guido," and he pointed to an old man with a huge bushy mustache."

"Guido, my friend, I'm going to see General Rhodes in a couple hours, make me a work of art."

"Then sit down Lieutenant and let's get to work." They talked mostly about the summer party yesterday. "That really helps the troops morale," said Guido. "Christmas parties are all the same, but the Summer Party is the highlight of the year here. Did you have fun Lieutenant?"

"I had a blast! Dancing and eating, playing games, I even got in a game of beach volleyball."

"You just remember that game, because Volleyball is the official game of the Earth Ring," said Guido as he lathered Dwight's face with hot shaving cream. "Even General Rhodes plays."

Feeling like a million bucks with a great shave, haircut and shoulder massage, Dwight strolled over to the Officer's Mess and had a meal that was passable. It was mostly a reminder that he was in outer space. Powdered eggs, potato patties made from reconstituted potato flakes, and sausage made from tofu. It was a far cry from the sausage with peppers and onion he had yesterday. He sat at a table reading the paper when two other flight officers joined him and they talked for a very long time about flying. They brough him up to speed on the local area, the proper approach vectors when landing on Armstrong Station, the different carriers in the area that he'll be landing on for training. Pilot stuff.

Suddenly he realized how late it was. He slurped down the last of his coffee and excused himself. He dashed over to Uniform Support and was told that his uniform was finished. He took it back to a changing room and put it on. The only nice thing about the Navy dress white uniform with "choker" collar is that you can't wear a tie with it. Other than that it's horrible. If you brush against anything it will stain. Eating and drinking is a challenge because spills happen more frequently than you could believe if you've never worn an all-white suit. His white shoes looked practically virginal, and they even brushed up and polished his wheel cap.

He put his flight suit and boots in his garment bag and stepped up to the clerk's desk. "There's a spot on my uniform." There was a tiny spot over his flight wings.

"That's a cheater. When you put on your space wings, that's where your commander will pin them."

"Thanks, I hope the general doesn't notice." After paying the clerk, he headed to the elevator. He took the elevator up to the hub where he took the A sector elevator down to Earth ring. Dusty was right, it helped a lot to think of the hub as up and the Earth ring as down. He stepped off the elevator and found the Station Commander's office quite easily. There was a secretary and several people, mostly navy, waiting to meet the general. They were all ranks and Dwight was the only Navy officer there who wore his dress whites. He stood because he didn't want to get anything on his dress white uniform.

Eventually a Space Force master sergeant stepped out of the inner office. His uniform was black with silver buttons and badges. Like the Navy, the Space Force calls black "Space Force Blue." The sergeant sized up the small crowd then softly said, "File in, single file, there's a line on the floor where you'll line up. The general will come in and I'll call you to attention. If you will all follow me..." He led them into the office and pointed to the line on the floor where they lined up.

The office was sumptuous with oak paneling and bookshelves lining the walls. Behind the desk was a huge picture window facing the space traffic that was at anchor out there. He saw three spacecraft carriers, one was a new Superior class carrier, the NSS Marquette. Dwight was so busy drooling over that huge piece of master shipbuilding, that he didn't notice the teddy bear sitting on the windowsill.

"Group! Ten-HUT!" called the Master Sergeant. They snapped to attention, and Western Alliance Space Force Major General Margaret A. Rhodes entered the room accompanied by Western Alliance Navy Commander Cameron Bennett.

A million things raced through Dwight's mind. His commander, and the space port commander together, and he just spent the last eighteen hours fucking the general. He was going to be spaced; he was sure of it.

"Western Alliance Navy Lieutenant Junior Grade Dwight T. Wayne, front and center!" called the master sergeant. Dwight stepped forward, then did a right face to come face to face with the woman that hid so much from him. Her face revealed nothing but she was looking into his eyes. The Master Sergeant read from a framed document.

"Citation to accompany the award of Distinguished Flying Cross. On the afternoon of seventeen June, twenty one seventy six, Lieutenant Junior Grade Wayne boarded a single seat F-724 Slingshot fighter and took off from Buckley Space Force Station getting a ride-share lift from an R-4 cargo rocket. Even before entering orbit, Lieutenant JG Wayne disengaged from the R-4 and flew nonstop from Earth to Armstrong Space Station, a feat never accomplished in the long proud history of Naval Aviation. He finished his flight in a record setting sixty three hours, two minutes and thirteen seconds. The flight plan he drew up was so perfect that only one minor course correction was needed. The actions of Lieutenant Wayne reflect credit on the Western Alliance Navy and all who fly in his wake."

Commander Bennett opened a small box he was holding and Dusty took the medal on a beautiful red, white and blue ribbon and pinned it to his uniform where the tiny cheater dot was placed for her. The commander opened a second box and there was his space wings. As Dusty pinned them on, the Seargent read "Lieutenant JG Wayne's flight proved to all who reviewed his accomplishment that he has earned his Space Aviator's wings. Additionally, Lieutenant JG Wayne as been promoted to Full Lieutenant." Dusty and Commander Bennett changed out Dwight's shoulder boards for those of a full lieutenant. There was a lot of applause and when Dwight looked, there were ten more people in the back of the room watching. Bart, Julie, and Ann were there among them.

Then Dusty stepped back and saluted Dwight then shook his hand and softly said, "Rejoin the formation." After Dwight was back in line, Dusty addressed the entire group. "I am Western Alliance Space Force Major General Rhodes. Out of uniform you may call me Margaret. My job is to keep this space station in space, and to do that I have enlisted you. I need you to maintain this station, defend this station, and to support the men and women who fly out of this station. It's not easy, but we're trying to make life in space less tedious, like our party yesterday."

She spoke at length of teamwork and inter service brotherhood, and that she was not going to tolerate interagency fighting of any kind. "If you have a difference, take it out on the volleyball court, or, if you can get enough people, zero-g dodgeball. As for on-station romance," She shrugged and said, "As long as you are not in the same chain-of-command, enjoy." She spoke for a few minutes more but Dwight didn't hear a word she said, his head was spinning with confusion. Why didn't he see this coming? All the time he was thinking dusty roads, not Dusty Rhodes. Finally they were dismissed and he turned to leave and she called, "Lieutenant Wayne, can you stay for a moment?"

When everyone left she leaned against her desk and said, "Relax, please?" When Dwight relaxed she said, "Go ahead and say it."

"I don't know what to say. I certainly didn't expect this."

"It is my fault. I didn't realize that you didn't know. When I finally figured it out... I couldn't say it. I enjoy being with you too much to ruin it." She stepped behind her desk, opened a drawer and took out the shirt she wore from his room earlier. "Here is your shirt."

So many things were going through Dwight's mind, anger from being lied to. She should have said Woah! I'm a general! But they had so much fun. More fun than Dwight ever had before. And when she relaxes she can dance better than any woman he ever danced with.

"Please! Say something!" begged Dusty.

His eyes finally met hers, and they looked sad. After a long pause he finally said, "It must be lonely for you here."

"Yeah." Her voice was hoarse with emotion. "It's part of the job I guess."

"General... I believe I'll pick up that shirt on Saturday. Is chardonnay still a good choice?"

"Yes, it's a very good choice."

"Fine. I'll see you then, if not before." He drew himself up to attention and saluted.

She returned the salute and said, "Dismissed, lieutenant. And thank you, for everything."