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Paid Time Off

“So why do they call it the Shore, anyway?” Fergus wonders, staring down at the approaching planet through the shuttle window. “There’s only a pool, and it’s not even outdoors.”

“Old naval term,” Dee rumbles from behind him. “Back when there was only one planet and everyone was fighting over it, they had to give the servicemen regular breaks on land instead of keeping them cooped up in a boat. It was called shore leave, cause they were ashore on leave.”

“Huh. I guess that makes sense.” Fergus nods thoughtfully. “Is that why they went to all the trouble of building a permanent town down here?”

“Nah,” Dee scoffs. “The navy was required to let people get off the boats occasionally. The company has no such regulation. What really happened is, they tried to straight up colonize this place before they realized the Fleks were already down there mining shit. This is the last part of the colony city left after the Fleks bombed it. The entertainment district.”

“Why didn’t they blow that up too?”

Dee shrugs. “Guess they thought it wasn’t worth the effort. Radiation woulda spread to the place anyway, and it had no defense emplacements. That’s also why they haven’t come back to check.”

“Wait, they used dirty nukes? How is it still habitable?” Fergus’s eyes widen, but not from horror. This place is way cooler to him now.

“The company cleaned it up with robots. You know how much they hate to waste something they put money into.”

“You don’t have to pay in advance, you know,” Shelly remarks. “You can pay at the desk as you’re leaving.”

“I like to have it out of the way,” Jay replies, withdrawing their scrip card from their wallet, “so I don’t have to worry about it.”

Shelly nods. “That’s fair.” She takes the card and swipes it through her PCD. “Wait, you’re Comms Officer Richards? From Black Griffin! You guys are famous down here.”

Jay sighs. “It’s Blazon Gules, actually, but I understand the confusion.” The BG Squadron’s logo is a sable griffin rampant on a red shield. The name actually refers to the latter. “And let’s not talk about work. Just call me Jay.”

“Jay it is,” Shelly brightly assents, handing back their card. “But we still do need to talk about my work. What do you want from me today, darling?”

Jay runs their hand through their hair and sits down on the bed. “Okay. So. I had this rival in the academy, right. Back when I still wanted to be a pilot. We were always at each other’s throats, but in that kinda way where it almost felt like flirting, you know?” They purse their lips. “I kept it up cause it was fun, but I never tried pushing her any further. Too scared to upset the balance of whatever it was we were doing. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I had.” They smile sheepishly. “If you tied your hair back, you’d look just like her.”

“Oh, I get it.” Shelly giggles, dropping the PCD back into her handbag and withdrawing a scrunchie instead. She pulls her dirty-blonde hair into a loose, low ponytail. “Like this?”

Jay’s breath catches in their throat. “Exactly like that.”

“I love making dreams come true! You want me to act like her too? I’ll need some direction.”

Jay nods, swallowing. “Uh... act like you hate me, but you can’t get enough of me either?”

She gives that some thought. “Okay, got it.” Her brow furrows into an expression of disgust, even as her cheeks color a bit. “Can’t believe I’m doing this,” she sneers, looking down at them. “Take off your shirt already, you stupid asshole. If you waste any more time I might actually start listening to the second thoughts.”

“Fuck, you’re good at that,” Jay murmurs reverently, and obeys.

“Who was that weird skinny guy hanging around earlier?” Musketeer asks from the lounge doorway, rousing Fusilier from his stupor on the couch. “Vampire lookin’ ass. Scared the fuck out of me in the hallway.”

“Oh, that’s a girl, actually. I think?” Fusilier sits up with a grunt, scratching at his stubbly beard. “Might not be either. We’ve never been properly introduced. All I know is they’re Suzerain’s spouse.”

“Suzerain is fucking married?!” Musketeer exclaims, agog. “No wonder she’s so done with Josie’s shit!”

“I think it’s mostly for tax purposes.” Fusilier shrugs. “And it gets them a nicer berth in the civilian bunks.”

Musketeer saunters over to a chair and sits down. “Nah, I bet they fuck. That guy- girl- whatever looks like they fuck. I knew a couple goths back in high school that–”

Fusilier makes a lazy throat-cutting gesture. “I ain’t saying that ain’t sound logic. But what if Suzy hears you theorizing like that, huh?”

Musketeer pales, glancing at the door. Suzerain left hours ago, presumably to go be with her partner, but she could return at any moment. “Point taken. Shutting up.”

Eclipse takes a deep breath, smoothing the hem of her dress nervously. She’s only worn this sultry little number to an interview and a photoshoot before. Never around the QM Squadron barracks.

Certainly not in the mech bay.

But as the elevator inexorably descends, she’s about to.

“Okay, throwing myself into it with no plan worked out really well last time...” she reassures herself, and then there’s no more time to spend on getting more composed, because the doors are sliding open with a genial ding!

All twelve of QM Squadron’s mechanics are present. Eclipse whimpers under her breath as she sidles forward. Ah. That’s more than she expected. It’s break week, she expected two or three at most, and now they’re turning to look at the interloper, one by one—

“Hey Soleil!” the head mechanic, who’s also assigned to Eclipse’s own mech, chirps. Cressida’s a wiry gal with flyaway hair, and despite her best efforts it won’t all stay under her bandanna. Eclipse melts a little at the sight. She’s so carefree. So unrestrained. Fuck.

The other mechanics echo Cressida with a chorus of “heys.” Eclipse’s eyes flit briefly between them. Okay, they’re definitely interested. A couple are unabashedly staring at her – Eclipse’s heart soars, the daring dress is working – wait, why are they going back to what they were doing?

Only Cressida remains looking at her, eyebrow quirked. “You need something, Lei? Don’t want to keep you from whatever you went and got all gussied up for.”

I need something laid, Eclipse doesn’t say. “Are, uh... any of you free later?” She says it slightly louder than necessary, to make it clear she’s not just talking to Cressida.

Cressida chuckles. “Nah, sorry. After this double shift I got a hot date with my mattress.”

“Same,” calls the mechanic at the other end of the row.

“Yeah...” another sighs. “I am gonna be worn out!” A general murmur of agreement.

And it finally hits Eclipse. Oh my fucking god, she thinks to herself. I am an idiot.

Of course the mechanics are busy during break week. That’s when the mechs aren’t being used. They have so many lengthy diagnostics to run during this time, most deferred as many times as could charitably be described as safe.

“Why?” Cressida cheerfully inquires, tilting her head. “Whatcha need?”

Soleil stares into her mechanic’s innocent eyes and feels like total crap. She exhales, slumping forward a bit. “Well, uh... To tell you the truth... I kinda came down here to flirt?” Why the fuck did I say that.

Cressida stares for a moment, wide-eyed, then guffaws. “Well, you’re doing a terrible job so far! Though it could be worse. Nice dress.” People are looking again. Cressida fully extricates herself, and leans in conspiratorially. “Who with?” she stage-whispers.

Eclipse reddens. “Uh... the plan was just... whoever was down here. Maybe even... multiple of you?” She’s always been way too honest for her own good. She glances around. “But if you’re all busy, I can leave. Sorry. Wasn’t... really thinking with my head...”

Cressida’s grinning from ear to ear now. “No, no, I like where this is going!” she purrs. “I was just thinking of taking a smoke break anyway.” She casually loops an arm around Eclipse’s suddenly rigid shoulders. “But this is probably healthier than nicotine. Is right here fine?”

Every mechanic has put down their tools now. Eclipse feels twenty-three eyes boring into her. (Leslie has an eye patch. And a gorgeously weathered face, and a sexy scar, and–) Sweat rolls down her chin. Despite the nerves, she can’t stop grinning. “Uh... for what?”

Cressida’s lips brush her ear. “You know what I mean, Lei. Isn’t that what you came down here for?”

“Wh-what? In front of everyone?” she blurts, sounding way more excited than she meant to.

“I distinctly remember you saying multiple,” Cressida murmurs. “If anything, it’ll motivate this bunch of slackers to finish faster! So they can take their turn next.”

“Their turn—” Eclipse feels like she’s going to faint. Her legs give out, and she’s falling—

Right into her comfortable double bed. Alone. She looks around wildly, heart still pounding from dreamborne adrenaline.

“Aw, come onnnnnnnnnn,” she whines emphatically, and reaches down to finish the job herself.

“You realize you’re the only person on the station who needs those, right?”

Josie vacantly blinks. “R-really?”

Procurement Officer Peake nods wearily. “Yes, really. ’Cause everyone else uses an MTA. Nobody goes through stim withdrawal anymore.”

“I-I guess that makes s-sense.”

Peake rolls her eyes. “Course it does. Anyway, because nobody else needs those tablets, and our pharmacy can’t synthesize it cause it requires a mineral nothing else needs either, I have to have it shipped in. On a hyperlight shuttle.”

Josie hugs herself, trying to stop the shivering. It doesn’t work. “H-has it still not come in?”

Shaking her head, Peake turns around and starts going through her precisely organized cupboards. “It has not. It costs the company a hundred million credits to launch one of those, you know? So they don’t launch it until it’s full.”

“But you p-put that order in eight m-months ago...”

Peake shrugs. “Don’t know what to tell you, girl, other than maybe consider machine targeting assistance. And don’t go taking stims when there isn’t anything to kill! Remember how that ended last time.” She pulls a blanket from her cupboard and briskly wraps it around Josie’s shoulders.

Josie’s sluggish, chemically-imbalanced mind struggles its way through an idea. Finally, she pipes up again. “W-what’s the cheapest thing you can order, by v-volume?”

Peake blinks. “Uh, any aggregate. Like dirt or gravel. That’s pennies for a kilo cause you can get it literally anywhere. I’m not ordering you four thousand kilos of gravel to force the ship to take off, though. Nice try.”

Josie slumps. “Darn, I was r-really proud of that one.”

Peake strokes her chin. Despite her reticence, this spark has ignited her own creative juices. “Now, if you really wanna force them to take off, what you order is an entangled communicator unit. It’s not actually that expensive, they fabricate those a hundred at a time in just a few minutes. But each particle linkup requires a really big and unwieldy housing to transport safely at lightspeed, and all of that is just packaging. Goes straight in the recycler at the other end. All for a replacement part the size of a shoebox.”

Josie considers this. “W-what would we need an entangled communicator for, though? The station already has h-h-hundreds. E-even our barracks has one.”

Peake’s satisfied smile makes Josie shiver again. “Well, they’re fiddly little things. So easy to break if you don’t configure them just right. Troubadour can tell you all about that, he’s the reason I had to order the last replacement.” She turns back to her cupboards. “Raconteur, when was the last time you called your parents?”