“Joe, this crew trying to learn how to operate this ship is a waste of time. You’re like a dog. A dog may know that inside the pantry is a yummy box of treats, but it can stare at that doorknob all day, and it’s never going to understand how it works.”

“So, we’re dogs now?” I winked at Randall. “When did we get a promotion? I thought we were all bacteria to you.”

“You have performed better than expected overall, your species is reasonably adaptable. Maybe I can consider you more like a paramecium.”

“Wait, a pair a what?” Randall asked.

“Pair-a-mee-cee-um,” I pronounced it slowly. “It’s a single-cell organism, you probably looked at one through a microscope in high school. They look kind of like a paisley.”

That drew a blank stare from Randall. “A paisley?”

“That’s uh,” I struggled to think how to explain paisley, “those funky swirly patterns on old people’s couches, or curtains. Kind of like half a yin-yang symbol?”

“Huh, I didn’t know there was a name for those.” Randall nodded.

Skippy made a disgusted noise. “I changed my mind again. You idiots are bacteria. Who doesn’t know what a paisley is?”

“We’re soldiers,” I explained, “not interior designers, chrome dome.”

“Paisley would be a great unit symbol for your merry band of pirates, Joe. I’ll get the fabricators to crank out a bunch of them.”

True to his word, later that day Skippy did produce patches of a paramecium with a pirate eyepatch and a dagger. Adams brought a sample of patches to me, figuring I’d get a good laugh out of it. I expected that would be the end of it, until some of the crew asked me if they could use the patches on their uniforms. That shouldn’t have surprised me, we were pirates, and wearing a paramecium was the crew’s way to give the finger to Skippy. That was how our merry band of bloodthirsty pirates ended up wearing paisley.

On my way out of our makeshift gym, I passed Sergeant Adams as she was heading into the gym, a towel slung over one shoulder. "Sergeant, let's discuss your attire."

“I thought we were good to wear T shirts on deck, sir, unless we’re going into action?” She asked, pointedly looking at my gray shirt with ‘ARMY’ across the chest. “I only have three tops aboard, sir.”

“You’re Ok to wear a T shirt, Adams,” I smiled, “but, we’re on a starship, heading boldly into space where no human has been before, potentially having to land on planets with unimaginable dangers.”

“Sir, yes?”

“And you’re wearing a red shirt.”

“Oh.” She blushed as she got the old Star Trek reference. “Yes, sir, I’ll be sure to change into a Marine Corps utility uni before we beam down anywhere.”