AI Era: [REDUX] The Captain's Commander

Dedication

This is a completely rewritten version of "AI Era: Captain's Commander". The earlier version attempted to collaborate with AI for writing, and it was a disaster. This version removes all of the AI material and runs with the fire between the main characters. This is dedicated to my fellow AI Era authors!

3D dominoes is a popular spacefarer's game played in two stages: the first is the pieces tilting as they lean on each other, and the second is the pieces hitting the tray as this configuration makes them unstable on the level, initiating a wave of tumbling pieces. Once the first stage begins, the second cannot be stopped, and the delay between the two is a source of great delight.

The Waystop Disaster

I jerked my head up. Gotta fight sleep. "PAL, give me a scan update," again I told the Fortuna's AI around a yawn.

This time the response was different. "Ion trail ceases in the Waystop System, Captain," PAL replied.

Ion trails don't just disappear, unless the spaceship stopped its hyperacceleration. They're here somewhere. I popped another caffeine tab in my mouth and chewed, enjoying its herbal flavor. "Scan for other spaceships," I ordered while stretching tiredly in my seat. Ow. The right knee still hurt.

"Over 100 spaceships located at Waystop Space Station, Captain." It beeped a warning, "Dense debris fields are extreme in this system."

While tapping the Fortuna's control panel nervously considering what to do, its blinking lights flashed me back to the past 24 hours. Men, pirates, in space suits were shooting, merchants and families screaming. I pushed anyone in reach out of the way and positioned to return fire on the pirates. Had to shoot at objects around the pirates to create obstructions because the damn suits were impervious to my plasmagun. One of the pirates charged at me. I dodged and ducked while bone-breaking blows swung at me almost landing a fatal hit. What a fucking nightmare. "Scan the docked spaceships, PAL." I clenched my jaw. Won't happen again. Inhaling deeply, I smelled the machines and electronics of the Fortuna physically. But mentally I still smelled the smoke, heard the pain.

"The advanced scanner will take 36 hours, Captain."

I narrowed my eyes at the map. Something isn't right. That's a ton of spaceships. All hanging out in one place. "Are there any ports available?"

"Yes, there is one that will accommodate our size."

Which was small. The Fortuna was designed for two things: stealth and capture. "Open a comm channel to Waystop's Spaceship Control." The comm channel glowed green as PAL complied. "This is Spaceship Fortuna. Request permission to dock."

Waystop's Spaceship Control AI replied, "This is Waystop Control. Permission granted to Spaceship Fortuna to dock."

I frowned. Most stations requested more information before granting permission, even the worst like Crosby. The station's guidance beam locked on to the Fortuna, and I guided it in following the path. At this point, station AI command systems have a weakness. Taking advantage of it, I directed PAL to transmit, "Waystop Control, Spaceship Fortuna's flightplan is attached in the data packet." A little extra information was contained in the packet to compromise data security. Which turned out to be ancient. The Waystop AI returned everything.

Its computer voice responded with the full and complete data feed I asked for, "Last docking manifest is as follows: Docking Port Alpha arrived t-1000...Docking Port Lima arrived t-600, Docking Port...Docking Port Charlie arrived t-2." Docking Port Charlie, I snapped to attention, and a welcome tingle of excitement buzzed my body awake. Mostly. Or maybe that was the caffeine kicking in.

While waiting for the air pressure to equalize at the docking port, I linked to Waystop Station's Comm System. I wanted to learn more about my targets in Docking Port Charlie. Looking up the registration, Spaceship FastFreight. I snorted in amusement. Such a lame spaceship name belonged to either a crew trying to avoid attention like pirates or a company with too much control over its crews. Also like pirates. Just before opening the hatch to Waystop's docking shell, I tamped down my excited nerves and checked my most powerful weapons...sarcastic humor and a non-threatening appearance. Approaching black market criminals armed made them wary, and I worked best when their guard was down. Activating PAL in security mode, I stepped out and sealed the hatch behind me. Then I inhaled deeply while turning to walk to Docking Port Charlie. And exhaled rapidly on a soft gag. The air was foul with rotting meat scents.

Walking slower than usual, I was able to cover up the limp the pirates left me with. While I didn't expect a huge crowd in what was obviously the out-of-the-way section of the station, the emptiness was eerie. The white noise of mechanical equipment was unusually noticeable. Where is everybody gathered? I was briefly relieved to see another human approach, which then made me tense wondering if it was an attack coming. But as he got closer, I could see I held no interest to him. His uniform told me he was a Vox Tech Specialist, Grade 5. I had to pause and stand to the side as he passed, because it was how Vox treated all merchants. Even though I narrowed my eyes at his shoulder blades, a sense of relief came over me. Whatever was going on in the station, if anyone was going to get attacked, Vox would be at the top of the list. Ignoring him and whatever he was up to, Grade 5's were not to be taken lightly but they weren't Grade 3's which were far more serious, I continued on to Docking Port Charlie. Anticipation was starting to have it's desired effect, the excitement warming up my whole body.

I could hear the crew as I came down the catwalk, and they were unmistakable, being the only living beings around besides Vox. Dressed in light green uniforms, they stood working around the hull, remotely managing repairs outside by the looks of it. Two officers stood near the airlock, waiting for something. As I approached, they both turned and their eyebrows raised with identical looks of surprise. I opened the conversation before they said something stupid like asking for my rate, a common enough question that my rote reply has become, 'Your balls.' That's usually followed with a number of comments to which I replied, 'Said your mom.' I've read the body language of more crews with that kind of exchange. There's always a hierarchy, but it's not necessarily revealed by rank.

"Hey, this Station's docking AI is so irritating," I told them as I walked up the side of the ramp. To step on it directly would be interpreted as too pushy and puts them in the frame of mind of an instant, 'Go away.'

One of the officers, a lieutenant, looked at the other, his captain. The captain smiled on-off and said, "Yeah, it has its problems. What brings you here?"

He looked familiar now that I could study him. I could almost picture him in a photo. My lips tingled as my excitement spread. He was probably in one of the reports on known pirates. Strike two. I smiled ruefully, "Looking for goods which are close to expiring. Y'all got anything that needs to go soon?"

The lieutenant smirked while giving his captain the side-eye. Amused, the captain turned to look at me straight on. "You mean like food? Plants? Medical supplies? Animals? Something else?" A hand gesture communicates 'weapons' for 'something else'. His eyes studied me closely.

I nodded while rotating my hand in a non-committal gesture. "I'm Captain Smit; looking for goods Dirt Markets overprice for the rubes." Most people knew that Dirt Markets are a snotty space term for trades with planet dwellers.

The lieutenant offered a hand out to me while chuckling, "So what's the special deal today, Captain? We could make a killing on damaged hardware."

Extending my hand to accept the welcome, I got intercepted by the captain's hand as he said, "You don't seem like a skimm." 'Skimm' was common slang for a blackmarket trader, because they always skimmed off the profits. His hand grasped mine, and I could tell much about the man from the sensation; it was clean and dry. Sticky hands, unkempt nails, they were warning signs. The only warning this captain presented was his grasp. He used it to tug me up the ramp's edge. The action was unexpected, which made hiding my knee injury generally awkward, like coordination wasn't a skill of mine.

"Like I said, Docking AI was trained by a primitive lifeform," I replied flippantly to distract from the moment. The captain didn't let go until I lifted my head to look at him. The hierarchy on this spaceship was clear: this captain was in charge. The lieutenant was loyal to a fault, and the rest of the crew despite being curious, had an edge to their work. They were controlled, doing their jobs, but under duress. They really didn't want to be here. Even the spectacle that I promised wasn't enough to gain much attention. Interesting.

My non-answer to his question went down like a lead floater. His interested expression dropped to a frown. Stop being so obvious if you don't like it. Then his eyes glinted, and I experienced a moment of deja vu. The captain quirked his eyebrows, looking at his lieutenant. Apparently it was a nonverbal command as the man sighed, turned away without looking at me again, walked to one of the crew members in charge of the repairs, and said something. The crew member glanced my way just long enough to gauge my nonthreatening appearance. He pulled out his comm device.

Meanwhile the captain looked back at me and said, "Come on, I'll give you The Tour."

As I entered, two crew members approached us from within the ship. I hadn't seen any women at all so far. Strike three. Pirate crews have no women unless she happens to be in charge. The cargo hold wasn't merchant either. Merchant ships were built for minimal defense, and the ratio of crew to cargo hold size was to maximize the amount of goods carried. The crew was far too large for the size of the hold I was looking at. Strike four.

Despite the persistent threat of the accusatory captain, his two minions, and the flow of curious crew members passing by us, I was relieved to step onto the FastFreight for no discernible reason. Maybe it was that the sound wasn't so desolate and eerie. The condensed metallic tapping of our feet on the gridded and corrugated flooring was comforting. Or maybe it was the smell. It smelled like how a spaceship should smell with equipment, grease, and in this case, male musk. Getting out of the dumpster zone was a real improvement.

The captain led me and his small entourage to crates that were typically found in Dirt Markets. I tried to keep the flow of crew members around us in the corner of my eye, but as the men opened the crates at the captain's signal, I had to turn my head losing sight of the full action around me. It was deliberate of course. And I couldn't help admiring the captain for being such a shit. Takes one to know one. As we walked around, I noticed that one set of crates was being ignored, and I noted their extent and location. Among the crates I was allowed to see, there were also some with weapons. But they were legal ones. To encourage acknowledging that they had better ones on board, I mocked them. Blowing some hair out of my eyes, I imitated a cartoon-like pew pew in response.

The men looked at their captain for his reaction, but not in the sense of fear or amusement. Guidance? Hats off to the captain, he exercised iron control and didn't react. Well, he did, but he didn't say or do anything. Instead, his attention fixed on me, his face tensing. His eyes then scanned me thoroughly. Partially sexually, I could always tell when they get to my breasts, but everywhere else too. He was working on getting as close a read on me as I was on him. No wonder why the pirates were so well organized.

We were near the passageway leading out of the hold into the lower part of the spaceship, so I turned to give it a good look which should distract the attention of the captain by also giving him a good look at my derriere. Just beyond the emergency battery, I saw it: a large metal body with wheels and multiple appendages. It was a military android, possession of which was very illegal. Strike five. Turning around, I caught the captain doing exactly what I thought he'd be doing, so I pointed at it and asked, "Is that a love doll?" When men have sex prominently on their minds, they are at their most vulnerable and dangerous. Vulnerable, because they will reveal a lot in the hope of fucking, dangerous because they will risk a lot too. Judging that the captain's control in front of his crew will let me get away with maddening levels of flirting, I let my seductive imp sting.

His men did not react the way I expected, which was somewhere between resentful and speculative. Instead they looked at their captain nervously. The man himself narrowed his eyes at me and said, "No," while shifting and blocking my view. You weren't supposed to see that. Ha ha! Strike six. His tense expression included an unusual drawing together of the eyebrows. He was considering taking some kind of action. That was my cue to up the pressure.

Keeping my face straight, I backed up from him into one of the ignored crates, deliberately caught my foot on its edge and fell causing it to knock over onto its side. Exclaiming, "Sorry!" I snagged one of its release catches in a play to stand back up. Which opened the crate. To reveal extremely illegal mechanical replicators as they tumbled out. Strike seven.

"What the fu...!" one of the men started to exclaim but was cut of by a look from the captain.

The fall did not go over well with my injured knee. As I genuinely struggled to lever myself up, the captain grasped my arm, both stabilizing me, giving me a lift, and pulling me away from his contraband. But he wasn't rough, which didn't fit my profile for the pirate captain. Come to think of it, for as guilty as his whole circumstances were, I just couldn't match him and his crew to what I'd experienced. "Are you okay, Captain 'Smit'?" he asked. I could hear him put quotes around my undercover name.

Regardless of the contradictions, I couldn't turn a blind eye to their activities. It was time to get an illegal transaction on record. Pointing at the crate of replicators, I replied, "20 for the mechs."

He hadn't let go of my arm; in fact his grasp had tightened. Heat flowed through me as the danger ramped up. "You think you know what to do with them, Captain?" he asked, his voice neutral while his facial expression darkened with an angry edge. He studied my facial response intently.

"Are they for sale?" I ignored his question again. The captain's men were projecting alarm now as he lowered his free hand to his weapon. My senses heightened with glee as I unhooked the datapad from my belt with my own free hand, completely ignoring the threat.

"Android, scan the datapad," the captain ordered while letting go of my arm. Then he asked me, "Were you waiting for a ship like ours at the station?" The hand he had touched me with twitched. Time for me to go. Hiding a smirk, I made a quick entry into the datapad before passing it to one of the android's appendages.

Probing for a reaction, I replied, "Just got in from Salem, Captain you-never-introduced-yourself." Salem triggered an angry reaction. Which wasn't surprising considering the pirates lost a lot of men and had to leave most of the mercurial spongiform plates they were stealing behind.

The captain's eyes dropped briefly to my neck before fixing on the datapad the android was scanning. I followed his gaze curiously, wondering what the android would find. It had a lot of mundane transactions, by themselves, but put together, they painted a very different picture. With a beep, it reported, "Nothing unusual, Captain. However, this transaction is being entered as, 'FastFreight shipping damage loss'."

Not surprised anymore on how this outfit got a hold of a scrapped android, I held out my hand to the thing for the return of my datapad. The captain slapped his hand on top of it, blocking the android. Then he drew his weapon, not pointing it at me. Yet. A tingle began between my thighs as he studied me openly. Captain Control was getting angrier; he was on the verge of doing Something. His men were useless for reading the room at this point, as they held still in shock, ready to act on orders but completely beyond their training.

Ignoring the weapon, a stunner thankfully, and his threatening attitude, I pinched my lips in annoyance and said, "Fine. 5 to give me back my damn datapad, pirate."

The response was such a huge increase in tension, the crew members virtually gasped with widened eyes, and Captain Control lifted his stunner, saying, "You're not playing the game you think you are."

I didn't have to pretend my confusion. It almost felt like a kidnapping, but nobody knew what page of the pirates code the captain had jumped to. Frowning, I pointed at the crate, disgusted. "30, and that's my final offer." I was so excited by the danger, my vulva was sensitive. The captain's cues were telling me that he was weighing (a) making me react to his threats or (b) going with my lead to pretend he was a bullying negotiator. And whatever else was going on in his head. Captain Control was one of those who could hold simultaneous thoughts and strategies. Probably why he became captain.

He studied me thoroughly for a minute as his intent to act seemed imminent. Then his eyes flashed in sudden revelation, and for just that one moment, I almost remembered who he was. But it slipped away, leaving me with a sense of urgency to get moving. Now. His facial expression transformed to express the firmness of a decision. "Fine, let's deal," he said, speaking at a slightly lower timbre.

The android finalized the datapad entry, beeped, and handed it back to me. Channeling my dangerous excitement into anger, I reattached it to my belt, snatched up the crate, and growled, "Ciao."

Gesturing with the stunner for me to get out, he darkly replied, "That means 'hello' as well as 'goodbye'." I blushed, completely involuntary. A sharp smile curved his lips. He noticed.

Stepping off the ramp, I perceived that all the work was finished. Oddly enough, they left the area empty, not even guarded. I counted seven men outside working, including Captain Control, but then I only saw four enter during the fiasco in the cargo hold. Maybe one could have slipped behind my back, but not two. Following the route on the wall maps to one of Waystop station's entrance doors, I checked my comm for activity around the Fortuna. PAL's security signal was green, so no logs. Excitement ran down my spine, there had to be a planned ambush. The last thing they would expect me to do is to enter the station proper with a crate full of contraband.

So when I reached the station door on my meandering walk back to the Fortuna, I palmed it open. Which was a screaming warning. It was a door that should constantly be open with a steady flow of foot traffic and pallets. As it eased open, my exhausted mind finally caught up to this fact. I stepped back, held my breath, and hit the emergency close button. It snapped shut as designed. Inhaling, my vision darkened a bit as the scent of stale air and combustion dust filled the air around me. No oxygen, consumed by a fire. Nearly a hundred spaceships were docked to this thing. It should have been crawling with activity even here. Unless all the people were dead or...there was no other option. The dumpster smell pervading everything began to register. It wasn't decomposing meat. When did this happen? How did no one notice?