Assignation by J. J. Hillard

Assignation by J. J. Hillard

To Miriam, the helm of Venia II felt claustrophobic by the end of her work shift. This ship she piloted had no viewports. All its interior surfaces were paneled with glowing navigation and instrument consoles. Strictly business. Her navigator assignments were task-oriented, all focused on service. The federation had designed them with no room for variance or spontaneity. The specific aptitude of each pilot like her was known and factored into the duration of their individual duty time. Too much was at stake to allow spontaneity or independent decision making.Now in her late twenties, several years on the job, the routines Miriam followed had become second nature. She did manage to find small ways to diverge from standard procedures, to feel more human, with some interactions less dictated by protocol and guidelines. At this moment she sat erect in a crew seat, shrink-wrapped in a white jumpsuit. With precise strokes her fingers flipped console switches, tapped on multiple monitor screens. Outside in the void, two spacecraft were in convergence. One was the Navis Nebulae, a tritium refueling ship. Its angular outline contrasted with the spherical shape of the Venia II supply depot.“Ahoy Navis Nebulae. Received your assignation comm at four six point three seven Universal Time, over,” Miriam said.

“Nice word choice – assignation,” said a voice over her loudspeaker.

“Sam, you’re always such a breath of hot air in the cold vacuum of space,” Miriam said. “I won’t relay our voice logs to the Conglomeracy. They wouldn’t approve our usual banter.”“Everything we discuss is work related. Send ‘em data only then,” Sam said.“Did you have any trouble fixing on my galactic coordinates?” Miriam asked.“I can always locate you Miriam even in the dark… matter. Got some Go Juice for you. Our last hookup was more than sixty cycles ago and –”“Sixty-three to be exact. Your ship just cleared my security scans. Let’s share face.”“You and I are always on the same wavelength Mir.”Sam, in the helm of the Navis Nebulae, looks haggard for a man in his thirties. He’s strung out, in a rumpled gray jumpsuit. Rubs his beard stubble. His bloodshot eyes peer at multiple monitor displays. He flips switches haphazardly. Weightless food containers and tech gear orbit him.“Sam, I think you have V-D.” Miriam squints at her monitor image of him.

“No! Low probability of that.”

“There’s no shame. Lots of crews get Void Disease after long hauls out here in The Emptiness.”

‘Doing my job Mir, pulling my weight… even in low gravity.”

“Don’t get all thermal on me. You know you’ve always been my favorite docking jock. I love monitoring your maneuvers… your approach…your insertion… how you off-load cargo… then release your hold.” She finger-combs her hair. “After linkage you should standby, drift awhile, recharge.”

“You’re always my favorite flight risk. And you do look mighty fine in high-def.” Sam’s fingers trace the outline of her face on his screen. “Haven’t aged a bit.”“It’s all due to diet, exercise…and years of cryostasis.” She wets her lips, transmits a supernova smile to him.

“Let’s get this connection underway,” he said.

On her monitor screen a wireframe graphic of a metallic tube appears. It extends section after section from his craft to hers.

“What, no foreplay? C’mon Sam, you know I like oral. Verbal me good.”

“As you wish. Fueling protocol initiated at sixty-nine point –”

The tube loses rigidity and bends. It halts midway between the two vessels.

“It just went into fail-safe mode. S’never happened to me before,” Sam said. “Maybe your orientation was –”

“My portal was primed, and in the right attitude… and receptive,” she said. “How are you going to resolve this? And remember our safe word.”

“I don’t know what the facula just happened. Maybe I need to readjust my thrust vectors?”

“Try recalibrating those big gimbals of yours,” Miriam said.

On-screen the limp tube resumes progress toward her ship. Red text flashes across one of her monitors: “WARNING! PROXIMITY ALERT! UNSAFE TRAJECTORY!” Miriam’s screen depicts a graphic of the segmented tube as it scrapes along the hull of her ship. A grinding, metallic screech fills both helm cabins.

“Abort! Uh, safe word — detach!” Miriam said.

Sam hauls back on his joystick abruptly.

“Damage report?” she said.

“Minor friction burns on your dermal plating, but your seams are intact. No visible hydraulic leakage,” he said.

“You pranged me. You could have compromised my hull integrity,” Miriam said. “Why is it you always have to initiate these couplings?”

“‘Cuz it’s my assignment and you’re not rated for fuel transfer duties,” he said.

“Then here’s an option. You go aft, through my stern port.”

“You never agreed to that before,” he reminds her. “You said it’d be too awkward to do

a rear insertion.”

“It is riskier, but we both want this connection to succeed, right?”

You fluxing with me, Miriam?”

“Sam, just once I’d like to be the one guiding your tube’s tracking beam.”

There’s a moment of silence between the two ships, punctuated with static.

“OK space ace, OK. Keep an eye on your G-meter and your thrust rate.” Sam lifts his hands from the controls. Shows her his palms on-screen. “Go in the usual way.”

She hesitates, then reaches down, throttles a joystick with one hand, yanks on it hard.

“Easy Mir. It responds best to a gentle grip.”

“I know. I’ve seen you do it by yourself enough times.”

One of Miriam’s screens depicts a graphic of the now rigid extension tube on approach to her craft.

“Align it to avoid contact with your ship’s external sensor module. It’s extremely sensitive.”

“I am quite familiar with that unit. Not sure you know how to handle it.”

Sam and Miriam lean forward in their seats. Their bodily motions grow more rhythmic, back and forth, as they toggle instrument controls, throw switches, push buttons.

“You’re acing it. Check your receiver for a positive signal from my nozzle,” he said.

His monitor depicts the fueling tube as it penetrates the main port on the supply depot. “Good. Now make it a hard seal.”

The tube twist-locks to a secure bond between the two crafts. In both helms there’s a solid metallic clanking sound.

“You feel that? We’re in nexus!” he said. “Get ready for my fuel pulses.” Sam rotates a dial on his console labeled Helium-3. He punches a button. His monitor displays plumes of white vapor that surge into a narrow tunnel lit with flashing red beacons.

A message materializes on Miriam’s monitor: “INSERTION SUCCESSFUL. VESSELS IN CONJUNCTION. FUELING UNDERWAY.”

Both sigh with relief, collapse back in their seats.

“You did optimal Mir, real optimal.”

“I felt I had too much angular momentum at the end,” she said.

A loud buzzing alarm sounds in her helm.

“What’s that?” Sam said.

“We cut this op too close,” she said. “My shift’s over. The next pilot will oversee your disengagement.”

“Can’t we spend a few more minutes –” Sam said.

“This was fun Big Bang, but I can’t risk violating company biosafety policy.” she said.

“So, who’s on deck next? Greta? Robert? Padma?” Sam said.

“You’re in luck,” Miriam said as she studies a screen. “It’s Nova.”

“Who doesn’t wear clothes?”

“Not while on duty. Just be nice Sam. They like compliments. See you in a few cycles.”

“Looking forward to it Mir,” Sam said. “Enjoy your rack time.”

She blows him a kiss, disappears from his monitor.

Sam’s eyes widen, he exhales as his screen displays an interstellar incubus, a hideous, fanged, multi-limbed creature.

“Uh, hi Nova. You’re looking… breathtaking.”

 Nova responds with a GRUNT of cosmic dimensions.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright J. J. Hillard 2025

Image Source: NASA from Unsplash.com