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this was probably not a fruitful avenue of research for him. The experiment—undertaken with, and at the behest of, Lieutenant J.G. Helen Bach, one of his security officers—had been a near-fatal disaster. 1 Near fatal for Lieutenant J.G. Helen Bach, that is. The curious lieutenant had paid for her misadventure with ten days of downtime in Med Bay.
    The consequences for Brik were not physical—but shortly thereafter several salacious rumors about his physical prowess began to circulate through the ship, and although no one ever said anything to him directly, Lieutenant Commander Brik was painfully aware that he had become something of a legend among the crew. Particularly the female members of the crew. His relations with Bach had been strained ever since, to say the least.
    Eventually, Bach applied for a transfer, which Korie—as acting captain—had denied. Then Brik applied for a transfer, although not for the same reasons. Not knowing how to deal with the sexual relationships, human gossip or the prurient interest of a bored crew, he felt just vulnerable enough that he recognized he could become a serious danger to the rest of the ship. He wasn’t certain he could control his own deadly impulses—at least not until Korie called both Brik and Bach into conference and ordered them to find a way to work together. Or else . He did not specify what the or else would be. He did not even acknowledge the specifics of the situation. He simply said, “You two are assigned to work together. Find a way to do that. Now. You’re both rational, intelligent beings. You’re both mature enough to work security—the crew looks to both of you as role models for shipboard discipline. We have a new
captain coming aboard in three days. I intend to turn this ship over with the highest possible confidence rating. You are officers trained to handle problems at your level and pass only solutions upward. If you start passing problems up to me, you won’t like my solutions. I promise you.” And then he added, “Fortunately, I don’t like either one of you enough that I’ll have to feel bad about the consequences. Is this clear? Good. Now go do your jobs and let this be the end of it. Dismissed.”
    Officially, the fleet preferred that crew members abstain from having sexual relationships, lest it complicate the chain of command. Unofficially, commanding officers only acknowledged personal or sexual relationships when they interfered with the smooth running of the ship. A reprimand of this type would be a serious blemish on the career of any officer on whose record it appeared. To his credit, Korie kept his reprimand off the record and his remarks were never entered into either Brik’s or Bach’s service log.
    Once Korie had ordered Brik to comply with Fleet discipline, Brik’s personal dilemma was resolved. He knew how to follow orders. He knew how to fulfill his duty. He knew how to be responsible: push all personal concerns aside; they no longer exist. End of dilemma. Bach followed his lead and their professional relationship resumed in an atmosphere of cold, crisp politesse. Neither of them ever mentioned the matter again, nor did Korie.
    For his part, Brik used the episode as a confirmation of his earlier suspicion that attempts at affection with ancestral-form human beings would be a mistake. Ancestrals were irrational beyond anything he had previously conceived. In the domain of sexual relationships, they were clearly insane. Psychopathic. Criminally deranged. Not to be trusted without a keeper.
    Nevertheless, when ancestral-form human beings put aside sexual matters, they were almost civilized. And in that regard, Brik had to acknowledge that they were obviously capable of extraordinary self control—perhaps even more self control than most Morthans. Morthans didn’t have sex. Morthans didn’t have hormonal storms driving them crazy. Morthans didn’t