Jocasta plopped happily into the pilot seat, the old familiar synthleather conforming to her perfectly. Cygi blinked on in hologram. The AI appeared to be naked, though her modesty was preserved by an artful splash of bubbles at key locations, the outlandish look completed by a shower cap marked with a pink flower print. Jocasta recoiled slightly.

“Cygi, what the fuck?” she asked as her ships AI lowered a long handled wooden scrubbing brush. Cygi was highly idiosyncratic, possibly as a result of running a learning algorithm that most frequently sampled Jocasta herself, as well as a variety of media in the ships rec system.

 

“I wasn’t expecting you back so soon,” the computer responded as though that explained everything, she turned her holographic eyes to Dirk. “Or you back at all.” The illusion was somewhat spoiled by the fact that the bubbled didn’t pop or dissipate. Jocasta stared for a minute and then returned to the controls.

“Moving on…” she said, “can you put some clothes on and plot me a course to anywhere other than here?” The AI shimmered and was suddenly wearing a version of Dirk’s armor designed by animators more concerned for the titillation of viewers than with practical concerns with a ridiculous swell of breast and unrealistic pinch at the waist. The AI’s dark hair cascaded down her back in a set of braids that, were they unwound, would have dropped her hair to her knees.

“If you are quite…” Jocasta began in exasperation, but three separate courses had appeared in her nav computer as had authorization for departure. Holographic screens flashed up all around her, including a duplicate of her optical feed which showed the last of her drones fluttering down the air ducts and into the Grasshopper’s recovery chutes. The intake ports sealed with a clac and Jocasta held out her hands. Holographic control spheres winked into view around them, centered on the implants in her palms. The repulsor drives lit with a gentle whine and the Grasshopper lifted from the pad. The ships operating budget ticked down a hundred credits as the docking fees were assessed before the hanger doors opened and the blast shield rose behind them. Once it was fully extended Jocasta lit the main drives and the ship leaped out and upwards towards space. Although the sensor board was busy with incoming shipping, there was nothing of particular concern in the orbital lanes. That wasn’t surprising, she doubted a Union warship had been seen here in a generation, and if one did show up the locals would probably wet their collective trousers.

“Ok, lets see,” she said scanning the courses Cygi had prepared. There is habitation on one of the moons of the gas giant. “Some tourism, probably safe enough from your friends.” She keyed in the course and the drive keened, kicking them upwards and looping around the moon in order to blind anyone watching their departure.

“You will have to tell me about the job.”