Farthest Space: The Wrath of Jan by Ellen Fisher

you.   You could have made love to her, but you didn’t.”
    “You know, I hate having you look over my shoulder.   You’re supposed to turn off your permanent memory when I’m seducing women.”
    “I forgot,” Fred said innocently.
    “Yeah, right.   Those are your standing orders, Fred.   You’re not capable of forgetting something like that.”  
    Fred sighed, a sound that was utterly human.   “I have a particular interest in your relationship with Vaish,” he admitted.   “Because you designed me, and you are my best friend, I want you to be happy.   I wanted to know if you two screwed—“
    “Fred.”
    “Ahem.   I meant if you and she engaged in sexual intercourse.   Because my analysis suggests that she is the woman most likely to make you happy.”
    “Your analysis suggests that, huh?”   Steven stared into the murky depths of his Gurgle Blister.   “How likely is it that we’ll be happy in a permanent relationship?”
    “How should I know?   I’m a machine, not a human.   Frankly, everything you people do baffles the hell out of me.”
    At the honest bewilderment in Fred’s voice, Steven burst out laughing.   He was definitely losing it, to be seeking relationship advice from a computer.   But these were uncharted waters for him, and he was uncomfortably aware that Fred might know as much about maintaining a long-term relationship as he did.  
    Which was to say, absolutely nothing.
    But he had to start somewhere.  
    Never lower your shields.   The thought rolled through Steven’s mind, but he pushed it away.   Fred was right.   There came a time when a man had to drop his shields and let himself be vulnerable, let himself take a chance.  
    Besides, Vaish was definitely worth taking a chance for.
    He set down his drink on the bar.   “Okay, Fred.   I’ll give it a shot.   But this time, turn off your memory and don’t look over my shoulder, all right?   A developing relationship needs some privacy.”
    “Awwww,” Fred grumbled.   “Do I have to?”
    *****
    Vaish watched Steven making his way toward her, a determined look in his amber-green eyes.   She was tempted to duck out the door.   She’d said and done some things over the course of the last few days that were grounds for court-martial—not the least of which was pinching the butt of a superior officer, she remembered with a flush of embarrassment-- but she didn’t seriously think she was in any danger of being court martialed.   What made her anxious was the altered tenor of the relationship between herself and Steven.
    There had been a certain… intimacy… when they were trapped together on the planet.   On the planet, alone with her, Steven had seemed to her for the first time like an ordinary man.   He’d shed his Galactic Playboy persona and seemed almost like someone she could… love.   But here in these familiar surroundings, the Galactic Playboy was back, propping a shoulder against the bulkhead, casually sipping a drink, and looking over the women on board with a gleam in his eye.
    And that, she admitted, was why she wanted to run away.   She didn’t want to hear the Galactic Playboy’s version of the You’re a very attractive woman but I’m not looking for commitment right now speech.   Or the I love you, but I’m not in love with you speech.   Or, Stars forbid, the It’s not you, it’s me speech.   These were all speeches he’d given to a hundred different women over the years… just before he flew away in his spaceship, never to be seen again.
    She didn’t want to be just another one of his castoffs.  
    She wanted to be special to him, even though she realized that was a stupid thought.   She was just another woman, and there was nothing between them but sexual attraction, something Steven could find anywhere, with any woman.
    Steven paused next to her.   She lifted her chin and looked up at him, doing her best Unemotional Science Officer face.   “Captain,” she