Dry, No Lube Ch. 02: Pixy's Choice

* * *

"Pulver!"

"Yeah, yeah." Pixy collapsed back behind her desk, tired after six hours at the controls, and eyed Van Kleck. There'd been issues with Clipper entering the light data incorrectly, and the whole thing had turned into a huge ordeal under the watching eyes of the captain. Pixy hadn't known how to feel about Clipper's incompetence. Clipper worked in her department, technically, but only because she was the acting First Officer. So she didn't really feel responsible for the department; ordinarily, it would have been the department's Chief that ran things and trained the guys.

But in this case, the Chief was Clipper himself. He'd been a mere warrant officer just a few months ago. It was like that all over the ship, the ease of the launch masking a vaguely unnerving realization that almost everyone who'd done the same job last time Pulver had launched was now dead.

"Look," Pixy said bluntly, in no mood to quibble, "you need to stay out of the engine room."

Van Kleck stood at firm attention, her eyes straight ahead. "There have been complaints, ma'am?"

"Yeah, from me," Pixy lied. "I saw you down there twice while I was doing walkthroughs."

"I did not see you down there, ma'am." That was because Pixy hadn't been there more than once since The Battle, and never in the Basin. But Van Kleck should never have said that, even if it was true.

Fuck this! "Well, your inability to pay attention to your surroundings is not my problem, Ms Van Kleck. Walkthroughs are a part of what the First Officer does, and it's my job to see things that are out of order. You being in the engine room? That's out of order."

"Temporary, ma'am." Van Kleck' voice was quiet and correct, and brought Pixy up very short.

"Excuse me?"

"Your temporary job, ma'am."

Pixy's mouth dropped wide open, her brain unable to process this kind of temerity. The fuck was wrong with this seething bitch? Junior officers never talked like that; it was quite outside of Pixy's experience. When she at last found words, her tone was low and dangerous. "You have a point you'd like to make, Junior Lieutenant Van Kleck?"

"I have been told, ma'am, that you are not the permanent First Officer. I note this only because I intend to submit an application to the permanent First Officer to run the engine room, ma'am." The sentences came out like machine gun bullets. "I am dissatisfied, ma'am, with the way Lieutenant Klonmyre is maintaining the power plant."

"Ah." Pixy restrained herself from kicking Van Kleck' ass, deciding indifferent detachment would be a better plan with someone so dense. "I do not share your dissatisfaction, and nor does your captain. Was there something else?"

Of course there was. Van Kleck appeared oblivious to Pixy's tone. "I have been made aware, ma'am, that your opinion of Ms Klonmyre might be biased."

"Shut your fucking mouth." Well, so much for indifferent detachment. Pixy had no interest in serving a Fleet where this kind of conversation was acceptable between junior lieutenants and their First Officers. "As a matter of fact, I'd recommend you leave. Now. And stay the fuck out of the engine room; comprehend?"

She didn't, the evil fucking stubborn little peasant. "I would feel more comfortable, ma'am, in light of you and Ms Klonmyre's status, if the captain could address my concerns directly."

The silence that followed was total and, to a junior officer with any experience and common sense at all, poisonous. "Noted," Pixy said at last. "I'll mention it to him in the morning."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"No problem." In her mind, Pixy was already writing the directives: appointment orders making Van Kleck the ship's fire marshal, the ship's garbage compliance officer, the officer in charge of the ship's livestock, the ship's mail censor, the ship's arms-room inspector (personal inspections twice a month, by serial number!), and the ship's food-services officer, all with immediate effect. Van Kleck would be placed in charge of the EVA team, the medevac team, the prisoner-search team (hell, might as well make her prisoner-of-war officer-in-charge as well), the towline detail, the umbilical support team. And every one of those appointments would require studying, exams, and paperwork enough to keep her out of Klonmyre's hair, so that the Pulver's real engineer could actually do her job.

Pixy pulled her minitab vengefully from her pocket, staring at the duty roster: currently one-in-three, with each officer pulling eight hours' watch for every sixteen off. Each officer, that is, except Marso Van Kleck: a quick flurry at the keyboard put the Fifth Officer on watch-and-watch, four hours on and four off, around the clock, with a notation that said it would continue until she could pass a helm examination.

Hell. If that twerpy little five-lobed whore wanted to play hardball, Pixy was more than happy to oblige. Van Kleck would almost never see her bunk. All because she couldn't keep her stupid ass out of the engine room and let Klonmyre do her job. "She's done," she said later that night, lying beside Klonmyre. "She won't bother you again. But she definitely wants your job."

"Well, she can fuck herself with a yardstick." Klonmyre brooded; she had a tendency to do that when underway, always half-convinced her beautiful engines would explode spontaneously somehow. She lay fretfully, staring at the stars through the ship's transparent skin. "Why'd you take her aboard, anyway? Didn't you know she was an engineer?"

"No." Pixy rolled over, facing the wall. "Wouldn't have mattered, anyway. She's an officer; we're short officers. She gets to be Fifth. She'll stay that way, too, once I put the captain in the picture."

"Nice."

"Don't worry. Just keep the fucking engines going." She yawned. It was local 0400, and Reye's morning meeting was scheduled for 0900 with the Army. "Good night, Jannelle."

"'Night, Pix."

* * *

"So, just wanted to let you know," she told Captain Reye at 0855, as Captain Nyhre and his two grinning friends came through the door, "I've changed the duty roster, sir. Messed with some of the additional duties; Van Kleck is going to be doing most of them. At least until she gets trained up as a watch officer."

"Yes, she came to see me last night." Pixy was instantly on guard. What the fuck? Junior lieutenants did not talk to the ship's captain, ever. He frowned. "She seems to think you're out to get her, Ms Pfeiffer."

Pixy laughed dryly. "I'm the First Officer, she's a junior lieutenant. Of course I'm out to get her, by default." She watched carefully to see how the skipper reacted; it would tell her what to say next.

Nothing. Pixy tensed.

Reye just stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. "You're the First," he pointed out. "The duty roster is your responsibility, and of course as the JO Van Kleck should expect additional duties." He blinked, considering. "But she's unhappy, professionally, with the way Klonmyre's got the engines set up."

Pixy was ready now. "I'm no engineer, sir, but those two are. And Klonmyre's been one longer. If she says the engines are kosher, who am I to judge?"

Reye shrugged indifferently. "It's some kind of weird systems thing," he admitted. "I guess there are multiple ways to rig the interphasers, and Van Kleck is sure she can get more efficiency."

Pixy tossed her head. "She might be right, sir, but Klonmyre kept that shit going after the Battle, getting us all the way back to the repair basin on two generators and one fucked-up fling-motor. Limited starlight, too; it was a real nightmare. She did that, sir, not Van Kleck."

The captain leaned back as the first Army officer showed up. It was Mozz, the fierce little female. "I get it. Clearly, Ms Klonmyre's a valuable officer, and her service to this ship was heroic; I read your engagement report." He hesitated, then raised his eyebrows. "Can I give you some advice?"

She could hardly say no. "Please."

He fidgeted, then nodded to himself. "As senior leaders, we need to make sure we don't let our personal esteem for subordinates influence our judgment, especially in personnel matters." He looked up at her. "Make sense?"

Pixy just stared. "Sure, sir. I get it." She resolved to tear Van Kleck' head off her shoulders, just as soon as the meeting was over. More soldiers were coming in. "Oh, and I forgot to tell you: Lieutenant Van Kleck is the new mail officer, sir. You'll need to notarize the appointment."

"I'm sure I will," he replied, his tone brittle.

* * *

The meeting broke up on a decisive note. "We're going to need all Army personnel to be restricted to the Main Bay during rendezvous," Reye finished up. "That's scheduled for..."

"1534 hours," Pixy murmured.

"Right. So, from 1530 until 1630; that'll give time for subspace insertion, rendezvous, and lightspace reentry. I'll sound the all-clear when you can leave."

"Sir." Captain Nyhre left all the talking to Lieutenant Cooper, who seemed more than happy with the role. The man looked the part, straight off a recruiting poster. He leaned over as his sergeant-major, a hulking brute with the extraordinarily appropriate name of Jaxon Kong, whispered in his ear. "Oh. Yes. Sir, I'd also like to see if we can set up some training aids? Down in the Bay, sir, but it would be more realistic if we can do some more dynamic stuff, too."

"Talk to Lieutenant Pfeiffer," Reye replied shortly. "She'll square you away."

"Cool." Cooper bracketed Pixy with those deep-set eyes. "Perhaps she and I can remain here a bit, after the meeting?"

"As long as you're secured to the Main Bay by 1530, Mr Cooper, I couldn't give a shit less what you do." He scanned his tablet. "Okay. That's all. Dismiss, everyone."

"Sir!" Everyone rose at attention, the Fleet people saluting. Captain Reye gave Pixy a curious glance as he passed her on the way out, jerking his head toward Cooper.

"Have fun, Ms Pfeiffer," he said blandly. "Don't promise him anything."

"I can hold my own, sir." She sank back into her seat and waited calmly for the room to clear, the people filtering out in green and blue, capes and epaulettes. Everyone seemed loose, casual, and very professional; this was one of those situations where neither the Army nor the Fleet felt like taking any kind of backseat. Pixy watched Cooper closely as the others filed out into the corridor; she noticed the hostile glance he gave to the two giggling terraformers.

The hatch closed, leaving the two of them staring across the table at each other. He leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, his eyes squinting with the wrinkles of a smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth, and once again Pixy felt that little tiny stab in her vagina, the stab that reminded her this guy was really sexy, even accounting for the fact she'd been in space with nobody new for almost forty months. She forced herself to calm down. "So, yeah. Training?"

"Oh, that was just a pretext." Cooper's smile grew. "I just wanted to talk to you, Pixy."

Pixy's face soured. "I see." She stood up, aware that he was looking at her chest. "I can see that Army officers never really seem to have much to do, but that's not the case for Fleet officers underway. Even in ships as unimpressive as this one." She nodded pleasantly as she swung toward the hatch.

"Okay!" Cooper protested, laughing, his hands up. "I give up. I wanted to ask about live firing."

She felt her smile return, this time more wary. She sank slowly back into her seat. "Ma'am is fine, Lieutenant Cooper."

"No," he replied evenly. "Pixy is better. But have it your way, ma'am." He toyed with his minitablet. "So, yes. Live fire. Is it possible to set something like that up?"

"Sure," she agreed, "provided you don't mind rupturing the hull and explosively depressurizing. Me? I do mind those things. So, no."

"Not at all?" Cooper had not lost his smile, the impertinent little bastard, but when your smile looked as good as his... well, she just sat back and enjoyed looking at it.

Pixy shrugged. "You're talking solid projectiles? Like, bullets? No. You're not shooting bullets in my bays."

"Lasers?" Cooper shrugged disingenuously. "We can tune them way, way down, so they're almost harmless."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why would your weapons go down that low?" She was genuinely curious. Pixy had grown up fascinated by guns.

Cooper had her. "So that we can safely do live-fires aboard ships."

She drummed her fingers quickly on the table, four quick raps. "I'll need to ask the captain," she hedged. "And I'll want to come shoot with you."

"You can shoot with me anytime, ma'am." Motherfucker, this man was saucy! He hadn't missed a beat, either, though in fairness she'd left herself wide open. He winked. "Anyplace, too; doesn't have to be the Main Bay."

She carefully maintained her scowl, but her pussy was prickling alarmingly. "I'm sure you're not saying what I think you're saying," she told him quietly. "I thought we had this discussion before."

"We did," he smirked. "And your Mr Amisuul? He's already met with Captain Nyhre about all that." He stroked his chin and looked hard at her face. "My views haven't changed, though, ma'am."

Pixy could not help herself. "I think I see your issue," she nodded. "You've got a thing for superior officers."

"No," he shrugged, "except as a matter of expedience. Actually," he winked, "it's older women I'm into."

Pixy responded with a stony wink. "You keep on trying, Cooper." She pushed her chair back, but he didn't budge.

"I shall, ma'am."

"I'll talk to the captain, about your little laser guns," she added over her shoulder as she left. "I've got homework to do. Rendezvouses don't calculate themselves."

"I would hope not," he replied as the hatch slid to. "I'll remind about the live fire later."

* * *

He was waiting outside her quarters that evening when she returned from the gym, all wet and stinking. She stopped short as soon as she saw him leaning against the corridor wall. "Yes?" She was suddenly very conscious of her skimpy workout clothes. What the fuck was he doing up here? And how had he figured out where her quarters were? But, of course, she stopped thinking much as soon as he straightened up and tossed her a smile, that gorgeous body of his rippling even as he did nothing but just stand there.

"You'll have to let me know when you next go to the gym, Pixy. I'd love to work out with you."

Jesus. If she hadn't already been bright pink, Pixy would have flushed then and there. Him? In shorts and a t-shirt? The thought nearly made her tremble. "What do you want?" she demanded, mostly because she couldn't think of anything else to say.

Cooper shrugged. "I told you I'd see you later about the live-fire thing." He looked around. "Now is later."

"No it isn't." She flapped a hand at herself, conscious that she was putting her whole body on display for him. Not that she minded; the workout had been intense, and she knew she looked stupendous. "I'm hardly in any condition to discuss training schedules. Besides," she added as she drew close to him to punch in her doorcode, "I haven't had a chance to speak with the skipper about it yet. We were busy with the rendezvous all day."

"Well, my people need the training," he pointed out reasonably. "You'll understand why I'm in a terrible hurry to get this question answered." He put a hand casually on the wall beside her head. "I'm not interested in waiting."

She rolled her eyes. "Too bad you're not in charge of any of this." She kicked the hatch open. "You'll excuse me, I assume."

"I won't take no for an answer." God, the smell of him! He was right there, just a few inches away, close enough that she could almost feel his voice vibrate. "I'll wait out here until you finish," he added, his smile morphing slowly into a smirk, and he knew she couldn't allow that: First Officers did not leave people waiting outside their quarters, even on Service ships. It just wasn't done.

Pixy glared up at him. "This isn't making me want to help you, Lieutenant Cooper."

"I told you," he replied easily, "call me Bull."

"I'll call you an irritating prick." She stepped through her door, leaving it open so that he could follow. "Pardon the mess," she threw back over her shoulder, well aware the place was almost hermetically tidy. "You can sit at the desk."

"Sure." He kicked her hatch closed and sprawled easily in her chair, his legs crossed at the ankle. "Thanks for inviting me in, Pixy."

"I've got no clue what you think you'll accomplish here," she snapped, though she was getting the increasingly strong impression he was about to fuck her, amazing as that seemed. Certainly he was getting an eyeful; the workout leotard left little to the imagination, and her sweat took care of the rest. "I'm not going to discuss this with you while I'm taking a shower."

"Oh, don't mind me." He grinned complacently. "When you're ready, Pixy. I'm just going to sit here and be an irritating prick."

"That's for sure." She hesitated; she was certain it was a bad idea to get naked in front of this man, but she was in dire need of a shower and there was not much room in the latrine. Fleet tended to be casual about nudity; when you're living with the same people for months at a time, modesty ceases to matter past a certain point. She'd stripped off in front of dozens of men; probably half the ship had seen her naked.

But, of course, Cooper wasn't Fleet.

She stared at him, sitting there as if he owned the place, and cocked her head. "Well? Feel free to turn around, or at least close your eyes." He raised his eyebrows. "I don't shower with my clothes on, Cooper."

The slow smile that came back was crafty. "It's Bull." He did close his eyes, though, his arms crossed over his chest with a sense of utter calm. "I have to say," he began as she activated her staytab, "I'm slightly surprised. You don't have a reputation as a prude."

"Really." She knew he'd be looking out from under his eyelids; she certainly would have been. It added to the overall naughtiness as her clothes slithered off her into a wet pile on the deck. "I can't imagine how you'd know."

"Come on, Pixy. No need to be modest." He hadn't moved. "Most of the ships in the repair basin were talking about you. You're the famous supply officer who docked a shuttle at full speed, no errors. While getting shot at."

She stood naked a moment, daring him to look. "It was luck."

"I think not. Then you assumed command and destroyed two enemy vessels, using nothing but this po-dunk little ship here." He shrugged, his eyes still shut. "None of that strikes me as the sort of thing you'd expect in a squeamish woman."

"Hah." She turned, then, and headed for the latrine. "I guess I'm full of surprises, Cooper."

"Bull," he corrected, just before the roar of the shower fan drowned her whole world out.

"Bull," she said to herself as the water buffeted her, sampling the sound; it was a funny little word, an even funnier name. She was careful about resource rationing these days, though now that she was acting First she was determined to budget the water so that everyone could have at least one decent shower a day. More than Densborg had been able to pull off. "Bull..."

"Yes?" Jesus H Buddha; the man was standing right outside the shower, just on the other side of the curtain! What the fuck!

"Get out of here and sit down until I'm done," she called, furious, but she could still see his silhouette beyond the curtain.

"I'm pissing." He sounded as collected as ever. "I didn't think you'd mind."

"Squeeze it off and get out of here."

He sounded amused. "I'll await your return, ma'am." Pixy gritted her teeth as the autosoap came on, pummeling her like a dozen meat tenderizers. She was certain, by this time, that she was going to let him into her bed, and aside from the obvious physical exhilaration she felt at the prospect, she wasn't sure how happy she felt about it. Pixy Pfeiffer was, above all else, not a woman who enjoyed being used, and Lieutenant Cooper gave off powerful vibes of that kind: he did not strike her, even remotely, as a man who fucked for pleasure. No, he was a user: it was there, in every plane of his too-noble face and every unwrinkled line of his well-cut uniform. He was a scorekeeper, a collector of conquests. She despised men like that, and she wondered what amount of vaginal lube would wash away that kind of revulsion.