And so the days slipped mindlessly one into another, long hours of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror. It was a wonder they didn't all become alcoholics. At first it was salve to Rage's old wounds. But now it was just regular life. Go out, blast several dozen Hessian ships, tractor in the pilots, slip 'em into cryo-storage, get up the next day and do it all over again. Just goes to show, you can make a rut out of anything.
What had started off as a rocky relationship with his new crewman (er... crewperson?) had slipped from bad to worse. He had finally gotten the hang of her favorite (er... one of her favorite) games and could now hold his own nicely. He found out after his first victory that she didn't take defeat near as well as he did, which -- to be honest -- he had rather relished. But, she was very near the finest combat gunner he had ever seen. Mostly, due to the aforementioned reasons, they didn't socialize much outside of ship duties any more. Strangely, Rage felt bad about that. Almost made him wish he had continued to lose to her... almost.
He finished the latest edition of Spacers Almanac and tossed the reader onto his bunk, leaning his head back against the bulkhead. The gentle whisper of the engines said all was fine. Kreg was at the helm and they were making a run to Dresden with a confiscated load of Niobium. His eyes danced across the vid-port adorning the far bulkhead. Stars and dust skidded across the deep black of Omega-15. He wondered what she was doing. Was she happy? ...happier... with him? What had he done to deserve what had happened? There must be some flaw in his character. He heard Kreg's words in the bar back on Baden-Baden: "Man, you sure can pick 'em". Was it that simple? Was it all her? Was he ever due to be with another woman... in that way? Truth be known, he had had some of the happiest moments of his life back then. There was something about being with her... being married to her... that had seemed to complete him. Where had it gone wrong? KNOCK-KNOCK. He jumped, rudely yanked from his cogitations. Someone was rapping their knuckles on his cabin door.
"Uh, yeah?"
The door wheel spun and Vronnie high-stepped in over the threshold. "Am I disturbing?"
'In many ways,' he thought. But said, "no, come on in... what's up?"
"I wanted to let you know that I think our arrangement is working out nicely."
"Yeah... me, too..." he nodded, then raised a brow. "Was there anything else?"
"Uh..." she fidgeted, her slender hands folding and unfolding nervously in front of her.
Rage stifled a smile. He had never seen her at odds with herself before. She was normally very composed, self-assured... even to the point of cockiness. He started to say something then thought: 'no, I am enjoying this too much', and so just folded his arms across his chest and waited with a carefully-crafted blank expression on his face.
Finally her frustration level reached the boiling point and she blurted out: "Oh, forget it..." turned and left, clanging the door noisily, spinning the wheel behind her.
Now what the hell was that about? He didn't know. Women... even the ones that were tough as Veronya were still... women. He shook his head and picked up the reader. There was a new copy of the Bounty Hunter's Guide to the Galaxy that he had just received...