Station Keeping
Shelly picked at her food, unsure if she'd be better off eating or just staying still in order to keep conversation to a minimum.
Across the table, the Commander of the outpost was poking his fork ineffectually at the food on his plate, but his eyes locked on her. Shelly squirmed in her seat; she'd chosen the highest-necked garment she owned, but she still felt exposed under the man's gaze. Three days ago, he had invited her to dinner in his private quarters, and there had been no tactful way to refuse. Her colleagues had abandoned her, leaving her no easy outs in the form of other plans or ailing friends, so she had put on her best smile and said yes.
At the time, she hadn't been worried that the Commander would try anything untoward during dinner, and she still held that belief. It was the after-portion of the evening that concerned her, along with what the Commander thought he would be doing with his own “fork”.
Shelly fought down a wave of nausea at the thought. Outpost Beta hadn't been her first choice for an assignment, but when Alpha had fallen to the Ravagers, the Fleet had no choice but to pull back. Her seniority granted her a place at the top of the engineering ladder, and she was technically higher-ranking than Beta's chief, but she didn't make an issue of it. So long as she was able to put her considerable skills to use, she didn't care who was in charge.
“So,” the Commander purred – or at least, that was what Shelly assumed he was trying to do. It sounded more like a large cat fighting its way out of a sack.”Tell me more about yourself, Technician McDonald.” The purr was followed up with an oily smile, and Shelly considered standing and walking out. It would be rude in the extreme, but she was almost certain she could live with the demotion she'd receive as a result. Such things shouldn't happen, of course, but a few visi-calls and the Commander could have her record modified to suit his needs, at least where job performance was concerned. She'd be cleaning toilets on a tech-scow in a week flat if she didn't play along, at least up to a point.
“Not much to tell,” she said in the flattest voice possible. Her history was actually fairly unique in the Fleet, but she wasn't going to give it away, much less to the Commander. “Good in school, aptitude for mechanics when most of the other girls were playing with their terraforming sets. While they were making nice, banal worlds for their men to live on, I was fixing tele-screens and taking apart Spider engines.” That much at least was true. She'd never been much for the traditional “female” pursuits of space-travel just to clean up a planet so men could live on it. Early on in the development of planetary terraforming, it had become obvious where the real talent lay in the species, and women across the globe had been recruited. They'd be flown out into space, get the place all tidied up, and then wait for the men to move in and do the heavy lifting. Shelly had hated the idea.
“Married?” The Commander asked bluntly. It was really none of his business, but Shelly didn't have a problem talking about her lack of a love life.
“Never,” she said shortly, “and never will.” She was attractive enough for marriage, with a lean frame and long, golden hair, and had turned heads at most of the schools she attended. Her body was something she knew she could have used to get ahead of the game, had she wanted to, but to her that seemed like cheating. It was on her own merits or nothing, and she'd scrupulously avoided relationships with classmates and teachers for that reason – she didn't want anyone to be able to say she hadn't accomplished her goals entirely on her own.
That wasn't to say there hadn't been the occasional tryst. The night before she had shipped out to her first assignment, still flush with the excitement of being named class Valedictorian, she had finally given in to a long-standing desire for a classmate. He had eagerly returned her affections, and they spent one fantastic, sweaty night together before they both shipped out. She'd never heard from him again, but had made no effort to contact him, either. What was done, was done.
“Shelly, I -” the Commander began, and she could feel her skin start to crawl. She was sure the next thing out of his mouth was going to be a proposal of some kind, an invitation she had to find a way to tactfully refuse.
The sound of a warning klaxon overrode anything the Commander was trying to say, and Shelly leapt from her chair, glancing at her wrist-comm. A blank face stared back at her – their communications were gone!
“Mine's out,” she said as the Commander hurried to her side. “Yours?”
His eyes were wild, but he glanced down at his own comm. Blank.
“What's happening?” There was a tremor in his voice, and Shelly felt a stab of pity for the short, dark-haired man in front of her. Back here, behind the lines, he and his men had never had to face the horrors of the Ravagers.
“Ravagers, most likely,” she said, wishing she'd been smart enough to stow a blaster somewhere on her body. Being obviously armed in the Commander's presence would have been an insult, but being secretly armed would have made her feel a lot better, both about the dinner and about her current position.
“Ravagers!” His voice rose an octave. “What do we do?”
Shelly sighed. It was no surprise he was incompetent, but she had been hoping it didn't go quite this deep. “You have a secure line in here?” She said, and he nodded. “Good. Get to it. It's on a separate power relay than the other systems, and might still work. We need to warn the Fleet.”
He stood for a moment, his eyes dark and brows drawn. The Commander didn't like taking orders, least of all from women.
“Move!” She barked, and he jumped six inches. “Now! I've got your back.”
She wasn't an expert in hand-to-hand combat, but she knew the basics, and the Commander might have a blaster or two somewhere in the suite. With a no-so-gentle push, she got him moving, and followed as he made his way to the back of his quarters. This was turning out to be quite the dinner.
Shelly said a quiet thanks under her breath for the timely attack; it had at least ended her dinner. Now, she just had to survive.
- D
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