The Lieutenant gazed down at what had once been Sara Stirling, now kneeling perfectly still at her feet in Standard Position 3.
“What is your name? Respond.”
“My name is NFA-0-B-0049, Handler.”
In the middle stages of Processing, the pilot had stumbled repeatedly over this question. It had faltered, trying to untangle the cognitive dissonance, grasping for memories its brain expected to still be able to reach. Upon finding nothing, it had reacted with frustrated tears; with cold, sick dread; even with a brief flash of rebellious anger on one occasion, swiftly profiled and corrected with a few calibration adjustments.
Now, if there was any trace of hesitation or confusion in the pilot’s voice, relayed from the microphone inside its soundproof respirator mask to the Lieutenant’s earpiece, it was too slight to even register. This was the only name it needed and the only name it had.
“Correct,” the Lieutenant replied, simultaneously issuing a command to the pilot’s neural interface to deliver a small dose of reward chemicals. “What is your role? Respond.”
“My role is to pilot macro-infantry unit NFM-0-B-0012 in accordance with your tactical directives, Handler.”
“Correct.” Another reward. “What do you want? Respond.”
“I want to be of service to you, Handler,” the pilot answered, with total, unquestioning devotion in its eyes.
“Correct. Now then…”
NFA pilots had a suite of combat and operations skill modules preinstalled during processing, but R&D had also developed various recreational modules for Handlers’ personal use. The Lieutenant scrolled through the list, selected several, and watched NFA-0-B-0049’s eyes roll back and a shudder run through its body as its brain was forcibly supplied with knowledge and simulated muscle memory for countless
I lay in my bunk, phone held awkwardly on my chest with one hand, the other hand reaching down to stroke myself through my panties. Suddenly, a face flickered through my mind, mingling with my mental images of the ebook I was reading, and I flinched violently, barely holding myself back from throwing the phone across the room.
No. No no no. God. Kill yourself.
I didn’t actually want to do that, for the most part. It was just something to say in the merciful, merciless privacy of my mind when I hit a thought or a memory I didn’t want to face. Passing sentence for everything wrong with me, from the nonsensically trivial to the life-chokingly massive; or just counterproductively trying to distract myself; or my internal monologue repeating the words on pure reflex. I’d been saying it to myself a lot lately.
My phone alarm buzzed, giving me a much-needed distraction from my spiraling thoughts. I got up, opened the dresser, put on my uniform, and headed out to the mess hall.
“Flight Ops to Hotel Foxtrot one-niner, clear for landing, over.”
“Hotel Foxtrot one-niner to Flight Ops, coming in for landing now, over,” came the reply in my headset. Julia’s voice always sounded so beautiful I could cry, but today I could hear her doing that thing she did, putting that extra little hint of sultriness into it. My heartbeat pounded in my chest while my brain started frantically speculating about what she wanted from me this time.
I kept hold of myself for long enough to guide her mech through the full landing sequence; I’m trained for this stuff, for better or worse. As soon as she climbed down from the cockpit, though, I was done for. She walked across the flight deck to me, gave my shoulder a squeeze, and headed off toward the locker rooms with a gesture to follow. I trailed along helplessly behind her.
In our usual empty corner, she locked eyes with me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, pulling me into a kiss. I kissed back, took off her flight suit when she moved my hand to the zipper, ground against her thigh when she stuck it between mine—desperate for everything I could get, never asking for anything more than she offered. She stripped me out of my uniform as well and dragged me to our usual shower stall, then pushed me to my knees in front of her. I ate her out like I was starving, feeling her hands clutched tight through my hair and listening to her moan.
“Ohh, yes yes yes right there, oh god, yes, Rehhh— Ohh! Cathy! Yes!”
I could never tell whether it was a genuine slip of the tongue, or something she did on purpose with me. Reg did something-or-other for the Northwest HQ IT Division; I saw him around now and then. He seemed like a pretty average guy, nice enough as they go. Maybe someone else in my position would’ve resented him, but I couldn’t find the will to. I was the one who’d gone and fallen for a straight girl. I could debate semantics all I wanted with my face between her legs, but the bottom line was that I’d never be the one she came home to. I was just the flight officer she fucked when she was bored on deployment or wanted a favor from the higher-ups. We weren’t on deployment right now; we were back at NWHQ, with her boyfriend just a couple buildings away.
Eventually, loudly, with another cut-off “Rrrr—!” she came all over my mouth, then slowly slumped down to the tile floor to cuddle in the afterglow—no more kissing, though.
“Fuck, you’re incredible,” she sighed. “I really needed that.” She twirled some of my hair around in her fingers. “I need to unwind more just in general, god. I’ve been planning myself a nice little vacation, but Personnel keep dragging their feet on approving my leave request. It took forever to get those tickets…”
“I’ll see if I can help get them to put it through,” I mumbled.
“Oh, would you? Thank you so much, Cathy! You’re an absolute lifesaver!”
She gave me a quick kiss on the top of my head and a glowing smile. Inwardly, I wondered why I was like this. Deeper in, I already knew the answer.
“Jess Hyacinth. How lovely it is to finally meet you face to face. I’ve heard a great deal about you and your exploits.”
“Rot in hell, Imperial scum,” Jess snapped. The sting in her voice wasn’t anger alone, though—there was a hint of desperation as well. A bead of sweat rolled slowly down her forehead.
Commander Roselia silently held out a hand to her side, and the technician handed her a labeled bottle of pills. Roselia tipped one out into her hand, then closed the bottle and pocketed it. Jess’s eyes widened as soon as she saw it, but her body’s conditioning held firm, keeping her fixed in place. All she could do was watch as Roselia held up the pill, turning it around to examine it in the harsh fluorescent lights of the facility.
“Oh, there’s no need to be so cold, Miss Hyacinth. I believe that you and I are going to get along splendidly. My new squadron is going to need a captain, after all. Under my command, you’ll have the very cutting edge of Imperial technology at your fingertips—a far cry from those scrapped-together machines the rebellion managed to scrounge up for you.”
“You want me to fight for you? I’d sooner die,” Jess spat, her eyes still fixed on the pill. “But if you’re really that eager to hand me a weapon, then sure, go for it. Let’s see how that works out for you.”
“Oh, we will. But first, I believe we should get a little more acquainted, you and I.”
Roselia slowly lifted the pill to her own mouth, placed it on her tongue, then grabbed Jess by the hair and
My left hand jerked away from my panties and clenched into a fist.
Kill yourself.
Just once, a year or two ago, I’d let my mind go all the way. I’d been stuck on the edge, close but not quite getting there, and I’d started fantasizing, too horny to care in that moment. I’d imagined drugging and raping and brainwashing Julia, just like in all those books I couldn’t get myself to stop reading—reshaping her into a compliant doll devoted only to serving and obeying me, both in the cockpit and out of it. There’d been a moment in that fantasy where I kissed some sort of pill into her mouth, rewiring her brain to overwrite whatever she thought her orientation was, making her love me and want me just as badly as…
Kill yourself, you sick freak.
It was all back in my head now, along with the same overpowering self-loathing that had hit me in the cold clarity after I’d come my brains out back then.
I shouldn’t have been reading this stuff to begin with. It was just wrong, especially for someone in my position. Of course I was going to start having sick, fucked-up thoughts about the people I worked with, the people who relied on me for coordination and support.
Kill yourself.
The truth was, Julia was exactly what I deserved. I deserved to have her use me, I deserved to listen to her moaning her boyfriend’s name, I deserved to—
A notification beep sounded from my work laptop, and I clambered out of bed to check on it, body moving on autopilot. Must’ve forgotten to close the Flight Ops dashboard.
HF19: HATCH OPEN
My breath hitched, and without thinking about it, I immediately pulled up a cockpit camera feed. There was a man sitting in the pilot’s seat of Julia’s mech—Reg, grinning as he wiggled around the inactive control sticks. Julia stepped into frame as well and straddled his lap, arms draped over his shoulders. I could see their mouths moving, but the PTT was off, and I wasn’t good enough at reading lips to make out what they were saying to each other.
Julia wasn’t supposed to be on the flight deck after hours, and she definitely wasn’t supposed to be bringing Reg in there too. If I recorded this, maybe I could—
No. Fuck no. Kill yourself.
They were making out now. As I watched, she unbuckled his belt, and he reached under her shirt to undo her bra. I was too much of a pathetic creep to close the laptop and look away, but not enough of one to actually touch myself along with them; all I could do was sit and stare. It was like I was a kid again, sneaking peeks at my dad’s magazines, knowing about the funny feeling they gave me but not understanding what to do about it—or not having the guts to try. Just silently smoldering inside, face flushed, not moving a muscle.
On my screen, Julia stopped grinding on Reg’s cock, reached down to slide aside her panties, and sank down onto him while he played with her tits. Watching her ride him, I had a sudden thought, a twisted fearful hope swelling inside me: Does she know I’m watching? There had to be better places they could do this, more comfortable places, places where I didn’t have direct access to a live camera feed. Maybe she was doing it here deliberately to mess with me, to torment me, to rile me up, to get me more desperate. This wasn’t for me, but maybe she was thinking about me just a little even now, getting off just a bit harder at the thought of my sad, needy gaze on her. Maybe when they’d finished, she’d turn to shoot a little look straight at the camera—a quick wink, or a smirk, or her mouth carefully conspicuous in its movements as she asked Reg “Was it good for you too?”
I kept watching. After an eternity, her back arched, and their bodies shuddered. They kissed some more, slowly, wrapped in each other’s arms. Eventually, they disentangled their bodies and refastened their clothes, then climbed out of the cockpit, giggling and disheveled, without the slightest glance my way.