“But that’s the low end, sir,” the commander replied. “The high-end figures are a nightmare.”

“I’ll bet,” Weston sighed, sitting back in his chair as he looked down at the numbers again.

Doubling their numbers every three days. Jesus.

The high-end number would have to be a nightmare. Whatever they were, they put rabbits to shame. His lips twisted at the thought.

“Commander, you have the bridge,” he said, heading toward the exit. “I’m going to have another word with our guest.”

“Aye, Captain.” Roberts nodded. “Good luck, sir.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Weston said. “Let’s hope I don’t need it with a single young woman.”

Once the shower was complete, Milla stepped out hesitantly and wondered what she was supposed to use to get dry.

If I remember my cultures lessons, there should be something…Ah, here we are.

She located some dark-blue wads of cloth that seemed in the right place to do the job. If they weren’t, she just hoped that she wasn’t desecrating anything as she rubbed herself down. After all, one never knew with an alien culture. Even within the colonies, people could create the strangest icons.

There was a knock at the cabin door, so she stuck her head out of the washroom and yelled, “Come in!” before she ducked back in and closed the door with a thoughtful frown.

Now…Do they have a nudity taboo or not?

Milla sighed, rubbing her head. This just wasn’t her specialty. She wasn’t a social engineer; she blew things up. Granted, she usually blew up mine sites and other excavations, but the point was still valid. Her specialty wasn’t exactly the most social of professions.

Outside, she could hear people talking and figured it was probably Dr. Palin back again.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” he said, after knocking on the washroom door.

The quartermaster. Milla recognized his voice. “Yes?”

“Clothes, ma’am,” the voice said. “If you’ll just open up a bit, I’ll hand them in. I won’t look. I swear, ma’am.”

Hmmm…Does that mean they do have a nudity taboo or that they’re worried that I do? Milla shrugged it off and opened the door a crack, accepting the dark-blue bundles that were handed in to her, and then slid the door shut again. “Thank you.”

“No problem, ma’am,” said the deferential voice. “Just doing my job.”

She doubted that, but didn’t press. No one with a title of “master” on a colonies ship would be required to stoop to personal deliveries. More than likely, he wanted to see the alien for himself. Not that she had a problem with that. She’d probably have done the same.

“Ithan?” another voice called after a moment.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Captaine?”

“That’s right, Ithan Chans,” Weston’s voice replied. “When you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you.”

“Certainly, Captaine,” she said, hurriedly slipping into the clothes provided.

The lower part of the clothing was easy to figure out, as was the top, but she puzzled over the two black tubes for a moment before deciding that they must be for her feet. They’d make for an insane hindrance on her hands. Once she had those on, along with the pants and shirt, she frowned at the two pieces left.