Eliza closed her eyes as her Terick-class fighter accelerated out of the fighter bay of the FCM Quantor. The g-forces pinned her to her padded seat and crushed her armored flight suit against her body. With her eyes closed, she could almost imagine hands holding her instead of the uncaring might of physics.
“Third Lieutenant Midoze 73,” came the impersonal voice of the fight controller. “It is a violation of launching protocol to limit any sensory input.”
She opened her eyes and glared at the display in front of her. She knew the controller couldn't see her, but it didn't matter. Nothing she could say would ever disturb the AI. She spent many of her patrols day-dreaming of ripping the damn machine out of the server room and smashing it.
“One point has been deducted from your promotion.”
Eliza flicked her gaze to the upper left of her ship's display as the AI helpfully displayed the points toward her next promotion: 17. A far shot from the 16,000 she needed, but two points shy of her peak that year. She rolled her eyes and leaned back to watch the lights flash past as her ship continued to accelerate out of the launch tunnel.
Seconds later, her ship rocketed out of the tunnel and into the darkness of space. The rumble of the jets shook the cockpit, and the pressure pinning her into her seat relaxed. She let out a soft gasp of breath and sank forward.
A holographic display bulged from her cockpit screen, expanding into a three-dimensional map of her surroundings. Unlike most displays, the center was not centered around her tiny fighter ship but the FCM Quantor Generation Ship, a hollowed-out asteroid endlessly falling toward a ring of sixty-four microscopic singularities projected in front of it. Her computer display immediately marked out the extents of the event horizons, the point where her ship would be crushed in an instant.
The AI beeped once. “Third Lieutenant Midoze 73, for your 2,019th patrol, you are required to pass through the following waypoints.” Sixteen points appeared in a rough circle around the asteroid. Each day, the points were randomly chosen and assigned. “Choose your starting waypoint and sequence.”
It was the only choice the AI begrudgingly allowed Eliza: where to start the ten-hour flight and which direction to travel. She pointed to the nearest one and tilted the control rod to line up her ship.
“Reminder, there is a 0.627 probability for surprise during today's patrol.”
Eliza scoffed. There was always chance that the tedious patrol would be interrupted with a surprise communication from her superiors. It never happened in three years. No one cared about her, her patrol, or anything other than mindlessly doing the same damn thing every day.
The AI didn't respond. Instead, it started through the randomized list of tips and notices before her route. “Reminder, removing your hand from your control stick for more than three seconds is a violation.”
She squirmed at that one. Last week, she was trying to figure out some way of relieving the boredom of her flight when she lost another point. As she thought about how close she got to opening her flight suit to grope her nipple, she pressed her thighs together. The armored suit prevented any rubbing or friction, but the pressure against her sex gave a hint of pleasure.
“Warning, your pulse is increasing.”
“Um,” she cleared her throat. “Just getting excited about the patrol.” Her soft, almost girlish voice, filled the cockpit.
“Your enthusiasm has been noted,” came the impassive reply. “Reminder, waypoints must be flown in the order chosen. Any deviation is a two-point violation.”
She fought the urge to scoff again. Instead, she pressed her thighs harder together and imagined her fingers caressing along her naked skin. It sparked little tingles along her nerves, and she could hear her breathing growing deeper and faster.
“Reminder, always be vigilant.”
Struggling to hide her growing excitement, she glanced up at the controls and then down again. She tightened her hand into a fist before relaxing it. Two nights ago, she learned from an overheard conversation at dinner that the medical diagnostics disabled many of the pilot sensors while running, including the recordings of what she was doing. A bit of frantic research brought confirmation and a time. Twenty-one minutes to do whatever she wanted to her body, as long as she was suited and had her hand wrapped around the control stick when it ended.
Her nipples pebbled underneath her suit. The snug material prevented any rubbing, but she could feel the crinkling and the ache. She wished there was someone else in the cockpit with her, someone to fuck, or even just kiss in all the right places. She wondered what it would be like to be nipped.
She glanced up at the display and forced herself to calm down. She could wait a few more minutes for the AI to disconnect before risking everything for a stupid thrill. She knew she could have lost more points, but she didn't care anymore. She had to do something to break up her flight and the lure of violating every procedure she knew was too much. She needed it.
Her gloves creaked around the stick. She took a deep breath and another, trying not to think about the heat bubbling from between her legs, the ache of her nipples, or even the caress of her suit as her breathing crushed her breasts against the fabric.
“Reminder, lifting your feet for more than six seconds is a violation.”
She couldn't wait to try, but she needed the AI's lecture to complete. She should wait longer, but her need beat against her senses. Everything in her life was boring and random. Her mission hours, random. Her waypoints, random. Her hours, just as mathematically random as everything else. Even the reminders were randomized, in theory to keep her from getting bored, but flight after flight simply pointed out the AI only had a few hundred to choose from.
“You may now proceed with your patrol. All serve the greater good.”
Eliza muttered the required response. “The greater good.”
The AI disconnected with a click.
She almost came at the sound alone. Her free hand slid along the rubberized keyboard but she held herself. Biting down on her lip, she stared at the menu key while keeping her ship aimed directly for the first waypoint. Her breathing echoed loudly in the ship, and she ached to rip open her flight suit and shove her hands between her thighs, but she held back.
Holding the control stick tightly, she aimed steadily for the first waypoint. She didn't want to wait but the growing anticipation added to her excitement. She only had twenty-one minutes and every second of holding back would simply add to the intensity. She used the time to think about everything she was going to do. Her imagination pushed her closer to the edge, and she distracted herself by rhythmically squeezing her thighs together until juices dribbled from her sex.
An hour later, she reached the first waypoint. It was just another point in space, but as her ship sailed through it, the computer chirped in confirmation, and the AI spoke up. “Notice, you have reached the waypoint three minutes, twelve seconds ahead of schedule. Slow down by 12.2% and continue to the second waypoint.”
Eliza bit her lip as she panted. Her eyes focused on the link icon, waiting for the AI controller to disconnect. Her free hand hovered over the keyboard. Her fingertip caressed the rubberized menu button.
The microseconds stretched into infinity. The icon remained steadily glowing, and she feared that, somehow, the AI knew her plans.
The disconnect click shot out in the confines of her cockpit. A heartbeat later, the light darkened.
Eliza let out a soft gasp and slammed her finger down. Moving with imagined practice, she rapidly brought up the medical system and activated the diagnostics. There was no indication the cockpit sensors were disabled along with the network connection, but her impromptu research assured her she had her twenty-one minutes of freedom.
Releasing the control stick, she brought both hands to the keyboard and rapidly programmed the auto-pilot. It was a violation to use it for patrols, but she needed her hands free. As she programmed in the last direction, she pawed at her suit and fumbled with the clasp.
Ironically, the flight suit was not designed to be opened in flight. The rubberized fasteners resisted her fingers until she grabbed the opening with both hands and yanked it open.
Her breasts, small mounds tipped with aching nipples, crinkled in the cool air as she tore open her suit. She grabbed her right tit with her left hand and pinched her nipple. The sparks of pleasure that exploded along her senses brought a gasping moan to fill the cockpit.
Eliza arched her back and tugged at her suit. It resisted, but she pulled it open enough to slap one hand against her firm belly and jam it down underneath the armored fabric.
Panting, she strained to force her hand past the suit's resistance and along her sweat-slicked skin. Her pussy clenched with anticipation. Her moans became cries as she clawed for her pussy, fingernails slipping on skin until she caught the ridge of her pubic bone.
As soon as her fingertips ground against her clitoris, she freed her other hand and grabbed her breast again. Eyes closed, she arched her back from the padded chair and pumped her fingers into her soaked sex. Her labia clung to her fingers, despite the uncomfortable angle and confines, but every stroke sent tremors of pleasure coursing through her body.
“Fuck!” she cried out and arched her back, trying to somehow jam her hand deeper against her crotch. She lifted her foot from the cockpit floor and kicked the button to disable the controls. A moment later, she planted her heel on the keyboard and lifted her body higher to give her more access to her cunt. With every stroke, the sharp edge of an orgasm rose inside her.
She clawed at her breast, leaving shallow scratches across the smooth skin. The burn of her cuts added to her pleasure and she continued to rip at herself, crying out with every wet thrust into her aching pussy.
“Midoze!”
Eliza snapped open her eyes and let out a scream. On the display in front of her was Colonel Ritan 69, a dour man with a wrinkled face. Now, his glare had furrowed his brow until there was nothing but starkly shadowed lines on his face.
She threw herself back into her seat. “Fuck!”
A sharp pain radiated from her wrist as it tried to bend in the tight confines of her suit. She yanked at it, but couldn't free it from the pressure between her sweat-slicked body and her armor. Fumbling, she released her breast and brought it up into a salute, though with the wrong hand.
The colonel growled under his throat. “Do it properly, Third Lieutenant!”
Eliza's cheeks burned as she tugged at her wrist. Her fingers bumped against her pussy, the rush of her orgasm quickly dissipating. When she couldn't, she gave an apologetic look to the scowling colonel and pried open her suit with her free hand. She had to yank her hand free with a grunt.
Her nipples scraped against the fasteners of her suit as she brought her hand up to a salute. The ridge of her palm rested against the side of her temple. The smell of her pussy, tangy and sweet, flooded through the cockpit.
The colonel took a deep breath before he spoke in a deep growl. “You have failed your inspection.”
She trembled; her mind and body struggled with her near orgasm and the terror of her seeing her colonel before her. On the side of her head, a rivulet of her juices ran down the side of her head. It was hot and slick.
She watched as the colonel's eyes flickered to the side and she held her breath. His gaze followed the dribble of juices running down the side of her face. Her entire universe focused on the sensation of the hot droplet tracing her chin and down her throat. It caught the swell of her breast before she couldn't feel it anymore.
“You are a disgrace to your ship,” growled the colonel. “A disgrace to your uniform, and a complete disgrace to everything the FCM stands for!”
Eliza winced at the booming voice filling the cockpit. From the corner of her eye, she saw the AI had boosted the volume for effect.
“Eyes forward!” snapped the colonel.
She sat up straight, shaking in fear. Her breasts hung out of her uniform. She could feel the fasteners of her suit scraping against her nipples with every gasping breath.
The colonel took a deep breath. “You are to finish your patrol. When you land, you better have a good explanation for… for…” His scowl somehow deepened. “This! And if you don't, you will spend the rest of your life in prison, or I will personally shove you out the damn airlock!”
The connection disconnected and her cockpit plunged into darkness. She exhaled with a sob, her body shaking violently.
As she fumbled to close her suit, she began to cry.