The last time she’d seen this much water in his eyes, she’d broken up with him. He said she’d been stone-hearted, but after leaving she’d gone home and composed the mother of all break-up songs. Captain Carlisle looked into the flooded airlock at Private Jerome’s empty expression and blue lips, heart aching at what he’d forced her to do.

Turning, she stumbled away and through the cramped sumbarine towards the command deck. Trouble lights flashed and water sloshed underfoot. At each opportunity she tried the intercoms to no avail. Was she the last one; had he spared her based upon their time together?

Upon reaching the bridge, her fears were confirmed: the remainder of her small crew had indeed been taken down by the man she’d left drowned in the rear.

Most of the screens glowed an error blue as she slumped against her locker. No telling how long air and hull would last now; chance of repair and salvation now gone.

Taking the old saxaphone from her locker, she went to her captain’s chair and began to play.

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