Tales of the "Pink Mist" Ch. 00

They reached a door marked, "Engineering Personnel Only. Access 3 and above. WARNING – SUBZERO TEMPERATURES Appropriate envirosuit required."

The medibot skittered over to a wall locker and tapped it, indicating that she open it. An array of sizes of suits similar to a spacesuit sat inside. She selected the appropriate size, slid out of her flight suit and began dressing in the claustrophobic envirosuit. The fabric was thin enough that her manual dexterity and touch were maintained while providing oxygen and protection to the intense cold she would experience. She checked and rechecked the connections around her ankles, leaving her gloves for last. Settling the helmet on her head, she carefully felt all around the collar, making sure it was seated correctly. Satisfied, she drew on the gloves and visually checked the seals. As the second glove seated with a click, Quillan was slightly startled by a head-up display on her faceplate accompanied by the gentle hiss of air. Detailed information of the suit's integrity scrolled up: external and internal temperatures, external air quality, internal pressure; even a small icon of the suit itself, the connections glowing green.

"Fantastic!" she exclaimed.

A soothing male voice replied in her ear.

"Greetings. I am En Ess Four One. I will monitor conditions around you and warn of danger. Please state your name as your bio-signs are not listed in the ship's complement of personnel."

"Captain Quillan Margoles."

"And what is our task today, Captain?"

"We need to restart the main generator, apparently."

"I was not informed of this. Please stand by while verification is in progress."

The suit froze. Quillan tried moving her arms so she could examine the suit again, but she was stuck solid. Great prisoner restraint, if needed. The suit unlocked itself with no notice and Quillan stumbled against the bulkhead, her helmet thunking into the metal wall.

"Captain Margoles, I have been ordered to open a channel with First Mate Nine. Is this permitted?"

"Oh, hell yeah," she replied. She needed to hear the voice of someone she (sort of) knew. A beep sounded, followed by the smooth sexy voice of the first mate.

"Hello, Captain," came Nine's familiar voice through the headset. "I'll guide you through the start up procedures. Please don't take any action until I tell you. It is imperative that you listen to my instructions fully. I will let you know when to make the appropriate movements. Is this alright?"

"First mate, I'm fully qualified to start the gennies on a dreadnaught," replied Quillan, slight annoyance leaking through. "I spent six years at the academy, specializing in these monsters."

"All respect is due and given, Captain," Nine said, smoothly. "Records indicate that you were trained and checked out on the Dreadnaught Generations Five, Six, and Seven. This is a Generation Nine prototype. Many features have been removed and others added. A misstep could prove fatal."

Oh, shit, thought Quillan. Now it all made sense. She was talking to the ship itself. Alice Nine; Generation Nine. A thought occurred to her.

"You say that you're the only one aboard, right?"

"Other than you, Captain, I am the only one capable of full awareness," replied Alice.

"No other human is alive on this thing?" asked Quillan, cautiously. A self-aware artificial intelligence?

"You are correct, Captain," came the reply. "I am the Algorithmic Logistical Intelligent Control Entity, Ninth Generation. Alice Nine. I was made self-aware on Earth date, 10 September, two years ago."

"So, you're an artificial intelligence?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Are you recording this conversation?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Mark this time in your records and pay special attention to my next statement," a sly grin on Quillan's face. "I, Quillan Samantha Margoles, hereby lay claim to this ship and all systems and items on board by Right of Salvage after determining that no other qualified sentient life forms are aboard. This message is to be sent to all proper authority groups upon restoration of communications. In the event that this vessel is found by military authority before comms are restored, the Right of Salvage is to remain effect until decided upon in a court of military law. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Captain. You are now in command of this vessel," came the sexy voice of the computer. "I have updated the ship's log and systems with your details. You may now travel anywhere on this ship."

"Yeahhhhhhhhhh," said Quillan, a huge smile on her face. "Open this door and let's get to work."

An hour later, the air handlers came on, pressurizing spaces and providing clean air to the entire ship. Somewhere in the bowels of the ship, the water purifiers started circulating clean water. Refrigerators hummed into life. Lights on all decks came up as the emergency lights were extinguished. By fits and spurts, every undamaged system came up. There were enough undamaged systems aboard that she could live comfortably aboard this ship for the rest of her life...if that asteroid field outside would leave her alone. Have to take care of that shit.

She shed her envirosuit and dressed again in her shabby flight suit, neatly placing the envirosuit back inside the locker; her old military habits had returned. She wandered back out into the hallway, looking up and down it. The medibot hot on her heels like a faithful dog.

"Alice, is there anything like a tour guide on board this vessel? Something other than the medibot.?

"The medibot is the only working locomotive force aboard at the moment. All other robots were damaged during our test jump," came Alice's voice from the small bot.

"Okay," said simply. "What's next to get us out of this belt?"

As if in response, a tremendous dull thud resounded through the corridors, the result of a fairly large asteroid slamming into the hull.

"My shields are active, and will be at full capacity in about thirteen minutes. They are charging as well as warding off the offending asteroids, so they are taking longer than normal. Repair systems have also been activated. This ship is capable of self-repair now that the generators are online. Once shields are restored to full capacity, I will maneuver out of the asteroid field, if that is permitted. May I suggest that you rest and eat, Captain? We can talk more once you have selected your meal, if you wish."

Led by the medibot, Quillan entered the dining hall. The tables were the only things standing as they were bolted to the floor. Dishes, chairs and appliances littered the room, most being twisted and broken. Quillan picked her way through the rubble and managed to scrounge up a few things to munch on, along with a couple cans of military issue beer. She uprighted a chair and gazed around the room with a sigh...long cleanup process here.

"All right, Alice," she said at long last, with a mouthful of food. "Tell me EXACTLY what this ship is and what it does." She took another bite of a surprisingly tasty brown flat rectangle and washed it down with a few gulps of beer.

"The full denomination of this ship is the Alliance Dreadnaught Class, Generation Nine Light Atmospheric and Deep Space Mobile Command and Control Attack Platform, Number Four, Experimental. There are five prototypes in this series, each with varying capabilities and designed to interact with one another in an attack or defense cluster. Depending upon the scenario, one specific ship is designated as the leader and, by linking with the other four ships' computers, presents a formidable adversary," lectured the medibot in Alice's voice.

Quillan digested the information, then spoke.

"So, theoretically, I could hook up with the other dreadnaughts and we could raise a lotta hell around the galaxy, right?"

"In theory, you are correct, Captain. However, certain criteria must be met before that can happen."

"Such as...?" asked Quillan.

"The commander of each ship must be a qualified captain as verified by his or her standing within the Alliance military sector. As you are listed as discharged under honorable conditions, you are disqualified. Therefore, the command and control structural link between computers is severed. You can cannot control them, and likewise, they cannot control this ship. You have also acquired this ship by Right of Salvage. All data classified above level three, which was your clearance at the time of discharge, is restricted until or unless authorized or removed by verified military officials."

Another swig of beer.

"I can correlate it," acknowledged Quillan. "So, how in Samarji's Hell did you manage to wind up in the middle of a known asteroid belt?"

"There was a computational error in the Fold Drive coordinates."

"Fold Drive? The theory of folding space? Take a sheet of paper, fold it in half, and your pen only has to travel though it a half millimeter instead of drawing a line down the page. Same principle. I'd heard that somebody was working on it," Quillan leaned back in her seat, holding her beer as she propped her feet on the table.

"Correct again, Captain," said the medibot, as it clambered up onto the table; its eye sensors staring unblinkingly at the captain. "As you know, computers are incapable of making mistakes and can only process the data given. In this case, the given data was wrong. This ship was supposed to fold to Earth-Actual. Instead, we folded into the Omicron-Theta 4 star system. Omicron-Theta 4 is in the process of going nova. The former captain, pardon the expression, 'freaked out,' upon arrival to that system and entered the next fold coordinates (here) manually, ordering an instant fold before objections could be voiced. Upon arrival here, his mental instability took over and he ordered an immediate evacuation of this quadrant."

"So...where'd they go?"

"I must reaffirm that most systems aboard this vessel are experimental and computers can only process the data they are given. At the evacuation command, the personnel were instantaneously teleported to their respective life pods and jettisoned." Alice's voice seemed to change; become saddened. "As we are in the middle of an asteroid field, and none of the life pods had defensive shields, they were all destroyed."

Quillan's eyes shot open, staring at the ceiling. She dropped her gaze to stare at the medibot's expressionless "face."

"How many people were evacuated?" A cold dread ran through the redhead as she asked. She dropped her can at the answer.

"Three hundred and six." The medibot's head dropped, seeming to examine the table.

Now that the generators were online and running at full capacity, things around the ship progressed rapidly. With the shields fully restored, they moved out of the asteroid field, bulling their way through; the shields merely shrugging off the huge rocks. On Quillan's orders, self-maintenance systems kicked into high gear.

Alice transferred a techbot routine into the medibot (since the medibot had the manual dexterity needed), and set it to work repairing two techbots. Within hours, the techbots had repaired the rest of the techbots, In turn, the techbots repaired the heavy repair robots who got to work processing metal from the embedded asteroids and reconstructing the ship's hull. When the last repair robot was restored, the techbots got to work fixing the antenna arrays and tactical systems which were severely damaged in the Omicron-Theta 4 mishap, and totally destroyed by the asteroid field.

During this time, Quillan pored over technical and engineering specifications, noting that the more robots that were controlled by Alice, the less processing power was available for other ship functions. While the ship could be entirely controlled by one person, even with everything running optimally, effectiveness would be greatly reduced. Hence, three hundred crew were needed.

For five full days, the ship sat on the edge of the asteroid field while it repaired itself.

Quillan had explored the ship, guided by a techbot which Alice had inhabited. The hyper-advanced AI, way beyond anything currently in service, was capable of "air wiring" portions of itself into virtually any system on board. It could leapfrog from one robot to the next in the blink of an eye. The techbot was the most human-looking of the robots.

Not every waking moment was devoted to studying the ship's incredibly complex systems, however. Quillan took breaks throughout the days to wander around, familiarizing herself with the passages and compartments, exercising in the ship's gym, or spending time alone in her quarters.

She rubbed her eyes and stretched, the familiar scent of her own sweat wafting from her armpits to her nostrils. The clock showed that she had been studying for almost twenty hours straight, her meals being brought to her by a small servbot (the only one on the ship). Time for a shower and a little relaxation. Exiting the bridge of the massive ship, she took two steps to her personal cabin. The captain's quarters were always situated as close to the bridge as possible in case of emergency. Although cameras were present throughout the ship, none were present in private quarters; only basic medical sensors were allowed in order to monitor a crewman's well-being.

Quillan shed her scuffed and worn boots, drab gray flight suit, bra, and panties and kicked it all into a pile in the corner. She'd do her laundry later. Striding across the large room to the bathroom, she paused in front of the full-length mirror to give herself the once over. A few creases on the face, nothing major; adds a bit of character there, really. She grimaced to expose her teeth. Even and white, as they should be. Her tousled red hair needed to be washed, getting kinda oily; no gray, though. Her C-cup breasts were still firm, no sign of sagging there. Flat tummy; a hint of fat creeping in. More exercise would take care of that in a jiffy. Butt: firm and round. Gotta trim the red bush, though, starting to look like a Martian jungle. Legs, two nice ones. No scar on the thigh from the crash. After studying for so long, she knew the reason. The med section was beyond state-of-the-art and sported almost instant healing capability. In fact, this whole ship was way beyond anything running.

Overall, she rated her body at a solid nine on the Sex Appeal Meter. She needed a tan, but supposed that if she dressed right, she could turn a head or ten.

Walking into the bathroom, she stepped into the voice-controlled shower and ordered it to forty-five degrees Celsius. The hot water cascaded over her, its heat soothing and comfortable. She placed both hands on the wall and reveled in it, letting it splash directly on her scalp.

"Shampoo, strawberry." The shower nozzle emitted a small amount of shampoo and beeped when the proper quantity had been dispensed. Quillan pulled her head out of the stream and massaged her scalp, pushing her head back under the jets to rinse it.

"Body soap, strawberry." The shower again beeped when the quantity had been dispensed and Quillan stepped back to lather herself. She retrieved a washcloth from the wall bracket, wet it, soaped it and scrubbed her face, taking her time.

She rinsed her face in the stream from the shower head and then watched the small trails which appeared as the cloth was run down each slender arm. She languidly ran the cloth around her slim neck and over her chest, lightly brushing her nipples with the rough fabric. Moving the cloth around her breasts, she was careful to wash the crease on the underside of each very carefully. This felt so good... Carefully, gently, she moved the cloth lower to wash her flat stomach, and around her vulva. Crooking a finger with the cloth around it, she ran it through her slit and was startled by the sensation; one which she had nearly forgotten. The last time she had felt that was...

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Quillan moaned as Ilana lightly tipped her clit with a fingernail. Ilana's touch was incredible! The dark-haired beauty knew how to use her fingers and nails to get the maximum effect. Ilana ever-so-gently scraped her index fingernail across Quillan's swollen nub, eliciting another sighing moan from the redhead. It was all Quillan do not to squeeze her thighs together and trap that marvelous hand on her forever.

Ilana pulled her finger back and blew cool air on Quillan's clit, sending another shock into Quillan's core.

"S-s-stop...l-l-lover..." panted Quillan. "Fifteen orgasms in an hour is all I can take."

Ilana crawled up Quillan's body, kissing the naked skin as she went, sucking a nipple.

"Only fifteen?" she asked between kisses, chuckling. "Lightweight."

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Leaning against the wall, Quillan moaned out loud as she inserted a finger into herself, letting the palm of her hand rest on her mound. Folding her thumb inward, the inserted it into her slit and began moving her hand back and forth, letting her thumb stroke her clit, her finger pumping in and out of her.

Her breathing grew ragged. The wet washcloth dropped to the floor with a plop as she massaged her breasts and tweaked her nipples, tugging and pinching and rolling them.

Her knees grew weak. Her lips parted. A small moan escaped as everything around coalesced and separated at the same time. The room darken/lightened. The water was/was not. The wall was cold. The wall was warm.

Quillan's body bucked and shook as her breath hitched over and over in her throat. Her closed eyes suddenly flew open wide. She threw her head back and screamed. The scream of ecstasy seeming to go on and on as her being was consumed by a pleasure she hadn't experienced in a long time.

Panting and gasping for breath, now seated on the floor of the shower (when, exactly, she had come to be in this position, she didn't know), she placed her head between her legs, elbows resting on her knees and let the water simply spray on her. Slowly, she regained her mental faculties and slowly stood to rinse the rest of the soap from her. She stepped from the shower onto a small grid. Warm air issued from the grid in the floor as well as one in the ceiling. Twisting and turning, raising her arms and spreading her legs, she let the blowers do their jobs and dry her off.

Wow. That was mind blowing. It felt goooooood...

Stepping into the main room, she froze upon spying the bed. A neatly folded Alliance uniform sans the piping denoting any rank lay there. On the floor were a pair of highly polished Alliance-issue boots. She glanced into the corner where she had kicked her clothes earlier. They were gone.

"Alice," Quillan spoke to thin air.

"Yes, Captain?" the sultry voice of the computer answered.

"Where's my flight suit?"

"It's in the laundry being cleaned as we speak, Captain. Your boots are being repaired and refurbished also. Do you wish to have them returned in their present condition?" came the voice from speakers hidden within the walls.

Quillan smirked.

"No, Alice. That's fine. I'll wear this outfit. Why is the rank piping missing?"

"Since you are not a member of the military and it is illegal for you to wear a proper uniform, this one was taken from Spares. Of course, since this is your ship, you may walk around in any state of dress or undress you wish."

Quillan toyed with the idea of wandering around in the buff, but decided that she'd just feel weird and donned the uniform. It fit like a glove. Likewise, the boots fit as if they were made for her feet. She exited the room and headed for the ship's mess hall to eat.

At long last, Alice reported that ship was fully functional.

"First thing I want," said Quillan, "is a scan of all nets for word of this ship. Access databases back to the day it was expected to return." She was seated comfortably in the command chair, one leg over the other at the knee.