Redshirts

around,” Samantha says.
    “I can’t explain it,” Bryan admits. “Well, that’s not true. I can. Jen decided I was a long-term project and invested the time. And then the next thing I knew I was under a chuppah, wondering how the hell I had gotten myself there. But by then, it was love. And that’s all I can say. Like I said, I can’t explain it.”
    “It sounds wonderful,” Samantha says.
    “It was,” Bryan says. He finishes his wine.
    “Do you think that’s how it works?” Samantha asks. “That you have just that one person you love?”
    “I don’t know,” Bryan says. “For everyone in world? I don’t think so. People look at love all sorts of ways. I think there are some people who can love someone, and then if they die, can love someone else. I was best man to a college friend whose wife died, and then five years later watched him marry someone else. He was crying his eyes out in joy both times. So, no, I don’t think that’s how it works for everyone. But I think maybe that’s how it’s going to work for me .”
    “I’m glad that you had it,” Samantha says.
    “So am I,” Bryan says. “It would have been nice to have it a little longer, is all.” He sets down his wineglass, which he had been fiddling with this entire time. “Samantha, I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve just done that thing where I tell my date how much I love my wife. I don’t mean to be a widower in front of you.”
    “I don’t mind,” Samantha says. “I get that a lot.”
    *   *   *
    “I can’t believe you still have that camera,” Margaret says to her husband, once again behind the lens. They are walking through the corridors of the Intrepid . They have just been assigned together to the ship.
    “It was a wedding present,” her husband says. “From Uncle Will. He’d kill me if I threw it out.”
    “You don’t have to throw it out,” Margaret says. “I could arrange an accident.”
    “I’m appalled at such a suggestion,” her husband says.
    Margaret stops. “Here we are,” she says. “Our married quarters. Where we will spend our blissfully happy married life together on this ship.”
    “Try saying that without so much sarcasm next time,” her husband says.
    “Try learning not to snore,” Margaret says, and opens the door, then sweeps her hand in a welcoming motion. “After you, Mr. Documentary.”
    Her husband walks through the door and pans around the room, which takes a very short amount of time. “It’s larger than our berth on the Viking, ” he says.
    “There are broom closets larger than our berth on the Viking, ” Margaret points out.
    “Yes, but this is almost as large as two broom closets,” her husband says.
    Margaret closes the door and faces her husband. “When do you need to report to Xenobiology?” she asks.
    “I should report immediately,” her husband says.
    “That’s not what I asked,” Margaret says.
    “What do you have in mind?” her husband asks.
    “Something you’re not going to be able to document,” Margaret says.
    *   *   *
    “Did you want to make a confession?” Father Neil asks.
    Samantha giggles despite herself. “I don’t think I could confess to you with a straight face,” she says.
    “This is the problem of coming to a priest you used to date in high school,” Father Neil says.
    “You weren’t a priest then,” Samantha notes.
    The two of them are sitting in one of the back pews of Saint Finbar’s Church.
    “Well, if you decide you need confession, you let me know,” Neil says. “I promise not to tell. That’s actually one of the requirements, in fact.”
    “I remember,” Samantha says.
    “So why did you want to see me?” Neil asks. “Not that it isn’t nice to see you.”
    “Is it possible that we have other lives?” Samantha asks.
    “What, like reincarnation?” Neil asks. “And are you asking about Catholic doctrine, or something else?”
    “I’m not exactly sure how to describe it,” Samantha says. “I don’t think it’s reincarnation exactly.” She frowns. “I’m not sure there’s any way to describe it that doesn’t sound completely ridiculous.”
    “It’s popularly believed theologians had great debates about how many angels could dance on a head of a pin,” Neil says. “I don’t think your question could be any more ridiculous.”
    “Did they ever find out how many angels could dance on the head of a pin?” Samantha asks.
    “It was never actually seriously considered,”