That Pesky POV [Point of View]

The day I get POV right is the day I'll/you'll know I'm an author instead of a head-hopping voyeur, pseudo-psycho-wordsmith with commitment issues. I trip the lite-fantastic with annoying ease, leaving my editors cringing on the floor moaning, 'Pick one, just one, pul*ease' as they slog down B&Js Cherry Garcia.

Suzannah Burke, affectionately known as 'Soooz', with the number of o's a measure of how much she managed to tickle a funny bone or slap you upside the head with a classic pithy remark, had a little challenge/contest on her AOS webpage .  Here's the set-up, compliments of the miracle of Microsoft's cut 'n paste:

'This week, Soooz asks you the question…Who wrote these stories? A Male or a Female? 
I asked four authors to contribute to this weeks" Soooz" page, and they responded wholeheartedly…my thanks to all.
I set them a task. I asked them to respond in story form to the following question
"You have just received an invitation to your ex-spouses upcoming wedding! How does it feel? What will you do?"
Simple! Except I gave them the choice of writing these stories from either a male or female POV. I left the choice up to them.
What happens now?
Now YOU decide who wrote these stories a MALE or a FEMALE author.
Simple, yes? …Maybe.
I guess it all depends on observations of characters.'

****

And so the voting began. Most folks tagged me appropriately as 'FEMALE', two said "MALE', both sides unequivocal.

What would you think, Gentle Readers? Seeing's how I'm all, like, curious here … what made this piece decidedly 'written by a female despite being from a guy's POV'?

As Joan Wilder said to Jack T-for-Trustworthy Colton in Romancing the Stone, "I'd really like to know."


**********


Getting Even by Nya Rawlyns

Tholian Space: 2387, Separatist Quadrant

"Commander, what's our twenty?"

Jacques checked his chrono and frowned.

"Is there a problem?"

"Uh, sir, no sir. Maybe." The ComSpec adjusted his marks, muttering sub-vocal, his implant providing a direct link planet side.

Parsons paced the bridge, irritated at the delay. Not only were they losing time, they were in direct contravention of HQ's very specific orders to get their asses out of this quadrant, soonest. Plus the Counselor had made it perfectly clear they had outstayed their welcome. Probably thanks to the Captain.

Weapons Specialist Giles piped up, "Yeah, what's with the old man anyway?" He stood by Jacques and stared at the console. "How the fuck do you know what that data stream's supposed to mean?"

Jacques shrugged. His brain interpreted the base twelve numerical sequence easily enough. The hard part was back-translating into standard. Lucille was four gen out-of-date and he'd yet to program the encryption algorithm, let alone the transcript code. He spoke to Parsons, ignoring Giles.

"Lucille's giving me new co-ordinates now. We should make jump space at 0293.42." He swiveled in the tattered poly seat, "Gonna be close."

Giles piped up, "The old man ain't gonna like it."

Parsons barked, "Don't you have some incendiaries to play with, Giles?" The man grinned and sauntered away. Turning back to his ComSpec he muttered, "Is there any indication what the hell's going on down there?"

Jacques grimaced and shook his head no.

"All right, set the coordinates and let's get this scow prepared to leave town. I'm getting a bad feeling, the longer we hang out here."

"Sir?" This from the other side of the bridge. Girly girl, dripping with honey. Shit.

"Yeah, now what, Ensign?

"Um, Cap'n jess came on board. Y'all want I should send somebody down to help 'em?"

Parsons felt like flogging the woman. She'd been their penance for the cluster fuck on TexTan. All due to a 'little misinterpretation' by the space cowboys they'd had on for training. The two randiest had been sent to Barstow to the whorehouses. He still remembered the looks of delight, like they'd been handed the best promotion ever. He knew a thing they didn't. Confederate justice could take some strange twists and turns. He'd get them back at the end of term, but he was pretty sure he wouldn't want them after that.

Meantime the offended young lady, of gentile refinement and purity of spirit, had a word. Seemed her Daddy'd been delighted to foist the dumb as a post blonde on his all-male crew. She was signed up for a standard solar jahr and after nearly one-third in they'd each been subject to a "little bit of sugar" and a whole lot of brass from the Confederate brat. So far he'd avoided her special ministrations but he knew the odds were no longer in his favor. He'd have to take one for the crew sooner rather than later. His balls ached at the thought.

Resigned to having to engage in an exchange, he kept well clear of her station. The Confeds were all unusually tall, even the women. He was no shrimp, but even at six-foot-two she still had a good four inches on him. She used that height to make sure her assets had his full attention.

"I'll meet the Captain, Ensign McCory." He found it hard not to stare. The nipple rings were some weird oblong shape and pressed invitingly against the tight spandex. It pleased him no end to run interference for the captain. He had enough on his mind. He didn't need Ensign Slut to complicate his life.

Shrugging, she mouthed her best 'whatevah' and sidled over to Giles, already licking his lips and adjusting his trou. Apparently they'd have one less for draxon later on.

"Jacques, I'll take the lift. Give a yodel if we hear anything more." Jacques gave a wave to indicate he'd heard. Not for the first time, he wondered what it was like to live in a virtual la-la land. His cochleal implant was bad enough and half the time the damn thing didn't work. ComSpecs seldom lasted more than twenty-five or thirty standard jahrs. After that the Alliance retired them to companion duty on the Traxsis resort moon, a not altogether bad way to pass the time.

He entered the lift and coded for level three. He wasn't looking forward to this.

****

"Number One." Taggert nodded to his second-in-command. "I assume we have the co-ordinates from the Counselor's office?"

"Yessir. They'll take us outside the Raglan border colonies. Once we get to the intermediate jump point we can key on the friendlies. We should make Alliance space with another jump after that."

It wasn't an exact science. Some of the wormholes remained unstable after the Tholian-Alliance-Confederate mash-up. The PC-police on Cerius made sure than everyone on the home world thought of it as an 'intervention'. The Tholians tended to call a spade a spade. It had been a war, pure and simple. One that nobody'd won. The only outcome was the Tholian-Confed split that left the Cerius diplomats with a permanent hard-on and job security.

"When we get to Raglan, let me know."

"Uh, sir? This communiqué came via secure channels about two diurnals ago. You were out of com range." He handed the data-spool over. "I'll, uh … if you don't need me?" he turned to leave.

"Ted, wait. Stay. I could use your input. It was not the best negotiation I've ever had."

Parsons pulled a plasteel stool close to Taggert's miniscule desk. His captain was young, mid-forties, with dark brown hair shot through with silver. Unlike his peers he chose not to sculpt or engage in hair transplants. His widow's peak tended to soften an otherwise severe countenance, made even worse by personal events that only he, as number-one, was privy to. They'd been together since cadet days, sharing a dorm room and later a variety of postings to the back of beyond. Taggert had wanted the captainship more than he did. There was no competition despite the rumors.

"You want something to drink?"

Taggert's thin lips drew tight as he inserted the spool into the reader, his eyes turning dark with fury.

"Tag?"

"Uh, yeah. And make it a double." He sat on the stool and stared at the bulkhead. Parsons handed over a tumbler of amber liquid. Taggert took a long pull and nodded with satisfaction. He held the tumbler out for a refill. "Giles might be an asshole but he can shoot, and he makes damn good rotgut."

"So, what's the bad news now?" He chugged his own drink and shivered as the acid wash seared his throat. "Fucking hell, that's good."

The intercom spit a high-pitched whine. "Captain? We've been cleared to go."

"Okay, Jacques, best speed. Take us out of here." The intercom squawked once more then silence settled as the two men stared at each other. Taggert gave his friend a small smile.

"The Counselor had some interesting news for me." He grabbed the dataport and spun it around for Parsons to read.

Parson's eyebrows shot up. "You have got to be kidding me. They're sending her to seal the deal? What the fuck?" Now he understood why Taggert had been on such a tear lately. "I thought it'd been a trial separation." The captain huffed a 'that's what I thought too'. Parsons rubbed his chin and muttered, "I'm confused."

"Welcome to my world. We weren't a thousand klicks off Cerius when I got the word from her father that they'd decided to formalize the arrangement. You know how her clan is. Lawyers, the lot of them. Being the ruling junta gives them certain … privileges." He reached for the bottle and poured another two fingers.

The box chattered all systems go, jump jump jump, riding five-by-five, your cabin steward for this trip will be… Jacques' voice petered out, leaving Parsons to ruminate over the strange sequence of events that had brought them to Tholian space. They'd all assumed that Taggert had been selected to take point in the preliminary negotiations in the arms reduction deal because he'd been the co-hab of the Counselor's daughter—the very lovely, very ambitious Lady Swellyn, touted as the love of Tag's life.

The betting pool had put the odds at even that Taggert would retire into Tholian political service, an honorarium afforded only the most well-connected of alien species. Tag had married into virtually the most powerful family in Known Space. Then it had all gone to hell in a handbasket and nobody knew why. Taggert had been given the 'thanks for playing' speech and sent on his way. This trip had given his captain a glimmer of hope that maybe things had changed. Apparently they'd been wrong.

"So it's official. You're divorced." Parsons stared at his friend, unable to read his expression. There was more. He didn't have the complete story.

"Yes. And Elly is to be auctioned off to the Confed Ambassador, Patriarch Moses Jones." Taggert's voice slurred as he drained the tumbler. "And she couldn't be happier. And why not? Why stay married to a lowly captain of a broke-down second-class Mariner when you can enjoy the perks of the Court on TexTan?"

Parsons thought about Ensign McCory and wondered if there was another reason for her presence on the ship. His brain was too fuddled to figure it out. Taggert kept talking in a low monotone, clearly enjoying his pity party.

"So, Tag, why are we being hustled off so quick? We got the get-out-of-Dodge direct from HQ and the Tholian brass were acting like we have VD." Taggert only shrugged. "So why?"

"Because we are being sent to TexTan to attend the nuptials, on the QT." He handed his Number One the co-ordinates. "You'll want to give these to Jacques but not until we reach Raglan. Seems we're on the 'unofficial guest' roster. We get to be bodyguards for my wife so she can marry that sonofabitch…"

"Dammit, Tag, why didn't you just say no?" Parsons caught a glimmer of something in the man's eyes, something he didn't like. "You aren't thinking what I think you're…"

"Tell Giles we'll need a few upgrades on our supplies. Send him in on his next shift. I'll tell him what I want."

"Shit, Tag. This is not a good idea."

"Give me a better one."

"Let her go. You don't need her, you never did." What he left unsaid was 'she's the trophy you could parade around while keeping secrets buried.'

"You know why I need her. And I love her… in my own way." Parsons cringed and lowered his head. "Ted, don't…"

Taggert pushed away from the desk and walked unsteadily to the door and coded it sealed. He turned around and leaned against the smooth metal, his hooded eyes smoky blue in the dim light. Licking his lips, he smiled and motioned his friend to come over.

Parsons flushed and moved into Taggert's arms, eager to plunder the man's lips and mouth. The captain hesitated and pushed him away.

"You haven't been with Ensign Slut, have you?"

Parsons grinned at his lover's obvious twinge of jealousy. "No, and I won't if I can help it."

"Good. Don't. I'm all you'll ever need." Taggert led him to the bunk and whispered, "Love me now and then we'll talk about…"

Parsons laughed, "…blowing shit up."

The speaker squawked…