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A red and white object stood out sharply against the blackness of space. It was a Razvedchik-class military scout ship, but it had been decommissioned for decades. Now it was owned by the Petrograd Astro-Mining Corporation, who retrofitted it with oversized thrusters for asteroid capture operations.
Inside the sleek and angular W-shaped ship, a lone woman was nestled into a crowded cockpit. Every spare inch around her was filled with boxes labeled with either 'Rations' or 'A3R Asteroid Beacon, Property of Petrograd AMC.'
She had bobbed auburn hair, milky pale skin, and eyes the color of deep water — not that water was a common sight where she was. Out in the asteroid belt, the only water was frozen and buried inside asteroids, waiting to be captured and shipped off to Mars for mankind's terraforming project.
The starpilot pressed one of the hundreds of illuminated buttons on the dashboard and said, "Mila Babicheva preparing for final departure from radio range. Any last communications?"
She spoke with a light slavic accent, one of the last remaining indicators of her Russian heritage. Most of her comrades at Petrograd were also of Russian descent, but 500 years off-Earth had a way of eroding old traditions. If it wasn't for her boss Yakov's insistence on speaking Russian, she would have lost fluency by now.
"We'll miss you, Mila!" came an overly cheerful reply. Victor was 9 years Mila's senior, but he could act so childlike sometimes. Then he added, "Yuri will miss you too, no matter what he says."
Another voice cut in, youthful and fiesty, "I will not. Go die in space for all I care, Baba."
"That's no way to talk to a lady, Yuri," Victor scolded.
Giggling at their antics, Mila said, "I should have been more specific. Any important communications?"
Victor replied with a more serious tone, "Just Yakov saying to take care of yourself and your ship. I believe his exact words were, «Oni bol'she ne delayut ikh takimi»."
Mila thought, Really? 'They don't make them like that anymore'? Leave it to Yakov to care more about an ancient bucket of bolts than his crew. She smiled and shook her head. She knew he was just putting on a tough act.
"Well, tell him to try to have payroll ready on time for once. This run's gonna be a jackpot. I can feel it." Unlike the boys who worked as a team on a dense asteroid field, Mila's harvest was inconsistent at best. But she'd paid good money for an exclusive belt-scan and she was looking forward to making a killing with its information.
After that jab at Yakov and a brief goodbye to the silly boys, Mila hit her thrusters and took off at an angle that would meet back up with the asteroid belt a quarter-period ahead of Mars' orbit. She burned a little extra juice to cut the travel time to 2 weeks, set the auto-pilot, then settled down for a long cryo-nap.
Her ship woke her up on schedule and she was greeted by a very welcome sight. Sparkling against the black background were over a dozen asteroids, glistening white and sure to contain ice. A few were still spinning quickly, suggesting a recent collision had split them off from something larger and less manageable. But the spin also meant they'd be flickering like beacons on other astro-miners' scans. She needed to act fast.
She pushed a few floating ration boxes out of her way and grabbed the controls. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food, freeze-dried or not, but she could eat later. For now, she needed to get into the zone and use every drop of intuition and muscle memory she'd built up through years of practice.
Mila had been the top of her class and she remained one of the highest ranking female pilots in the entire solar system. The other pilots couldn't understand why she'd 'waste' that talent on astro-mining, but they just didn't understand the appeal of a methodical job that rewarded precision and execution over aggression and reaction speed.
Here, she had full control over every variable, and while there was no time to waste, there was no rush either. She started out slow, matching the velocity of the first asteroid, then she nudged her ship into a spin to match. Once the little ship was perfectly synchronized with the significantly larger rock, she hit the top thrusters and just a hint of the starboard ones, sending the ship into a controlled tumble.
There was a tense moment of unease as her ship spun rapidly towards the asteroid. She had taken the jump and there was nothing she could do now but wait for the landing. This maneuver was the hardest and most dangerous part of her job, but it was also her speciality.
A solid THUNK told her the ship's magnetized baseplate made contact with the asteroid. But that wouldn't be enough to properly grapple a low-iron-content asteroid. In a flash, she pulled hard on a large lever, sending four heavy cables shooting out from the ship in different directions. Over just a few seconds, they circled the asteroid and their magnetic tips secured them back to anchor points on the ship's hull. The capture was complete.
While a bit frantic inside the cockpit, the operation had looked quite different from the outside. With silent grace, two twirling objects had become united as one, hugging each other tight as they spun in unison on an infinite dancefloor. The resemblance to dancing was so strong that Mila's comrades had nicknamed her the Ice Dancer. Except for the catty young Yuri, who refused to be caught showing appreciation for anything.
With the first capture down, Mila passed control of her ship to the onboard computer. Over the next 12 to 24 hours, it would make fine adjustments to calculate the exact mass of the asteroid, then start pushing it down from its solar orbit. By precisely reducing its velocity, Mila could drop the asteroid right into the orbital path of Mars, where workers from a Petrograd partner company would be ready and waiting to collect it.
Mila's only remaining task on this asteroid was a brief space walk to plant an A3R Asteroid Beacon on it. The beacon would let the partners know it was coming, and more importantly, who to pay for it.
But that could wait until after she ate. Two weeks of cryo-sleep was near the limit of what her body could handle without an IV-line, and she was famished.
"Urgent transmission for Mila Babicheva of Petrograd AMC. Urgent transmission for Mila Babicheva, please respond." It was a man's voice, fast and frantic.
"Bwuh, yeah, sorry, I'm here," Mila said as she woke from natural sleep. She had stayed awake to send off the last water asteroid in this cluster, then crashed hard from exhaustion.
"This is Hasetsu System Resources, South Quadrant Belt Division. We're tracking your shipments for Mars, including one sent 5 hours ago, identifier: A3R-PAMC-4421. Is that your most recently dispatched asteroid?"
Mila nodded sleepily, then realized it was a voice-only call. But at least it was from a nearby station; she hated trying to hold a conversation through twenty minute delays. "Yes. I haven't sent any more after that one."
"Good. Do NOT send any more. We've received word from our Mars Division that all Mars orbital space is going to be closed for 4 weeks for the arrival of the Solar Armada. Your current shipments should arrive before the cutoff date, but any future asteroids will be seized or destroyed."
That news woke Mila up real fast. Thank the stars I finished this cluster in time, she thought. She sat up straight in her seat and asked, "What's the date I can resume shipments?"
The man replied, "The 3rd of Gemini is the published date, but you should contact a Hasetsu System Resources branch to confirm before sending, as plans can change."
Mila rolled her eyes, glad that the call was voice-only. Ew, they're using the Darian calendar down there? I'll have my computer convert that to a TCB Julian date and set a notification. Then she said, "Thank you for contacting me about this. I look forward to working with Hasetu again."
"And us with you. Goodbye," the man said, then her computer beeped to indicate that the connection had ended.
Mila sat back into her seat and pulled one leg up to her chest to stretch. Being limber helped with being stuck in a cramped cockpit, though it was much more spacious after using up fourteen beacons. "Well, I've got 4 weeks to kill and a big paycheck coming in soon…"
A wide smile appeared on her face. "I'm going shopping!"
The nearest Starmall, a massive spinning ring of shops for asteroid miners and space tourists, was less than a week's flight away. Even better, cryo made the time pass in the blink of an eye. She hadn't brought any nice clothes on the trip, but that was easily solved, right after she got re-acquainted with the sensation of gravity.
She hit up some clothing stores first and picked out three outfits. Something cute for window shopping, something classy for my high-end shopping, and something sexy for the club. In addition to her 'ice dancing', Mila did enjoy a spin around the dance floor from time to time, if only to ease the feelings of loneliness that came with her career of choice.
She was wearing her classy clothes and milling about the luxury side of the ring when a strange store caught her eye. It was selling humanoid robots, an uncommon sight ever since they'd been banned from military use twenty years prior.
She wandered inside and was swiftly greeted by a man with bleached blond hair and wide green eyes. He bellowed, "Welcome! Have you come to purchase a robotic assistant? A pilot of your beauty and skill could use more free time, am I right? Let a robotic assistant take over some of that stressful work while you enjoy life!"
At first Mila was confused how he knew she was a pilot, then she remembered the silver wing necklace she had on. It was given to all pilot school graduates, so it wasn't particularly rare or special, but she liked how it looked with the silky black dress she was wearing.
The man came on strong, but Mila didn't mind it that much. He had a sort of charm that was hard to dislike, even if he wasn't her type. "What kind of work can they do?" she asked.
He grinned. He'd been waiting for just that question. "SynTech robotic assistants can do everything from accounting to ration calculations, and even run life support systems more efficiently than most ships' onboard computers. The energy savings alone could pay for your purchase in just a few years, and the sense of companionship can't be ignored."
"Can they compute interplanetary orbital trajectories?"
He faltered, then seemed to recover. "Hmm, that's quite advanced. If any of our bots can, it'd be our top-of-the-line Self-Aware model. Let's ask one."
The salesman guided Mila to a nook where two figures were seated at a table, looking at each other as if deep in conversation. Closer inspection showed that they weren't quite human.
One was modeled after a man and the other after a woman, and both had rich mocha-colored skin quite unlike the pale deep-space miners shopping nearby. The robots wore simple loose-hanging white clothes that were supremely unflattering. It seemed the store wanted to draw attention to something other than their appearance.
"As you can see, they come in male or female body types, but I assure you the gender is purely cosmetic; they have the same calculation capabilities." Then he gestured at the two bots' faces. "These two have the trademark purple eyes of Crispino Designs, but you can also customize them to your own liking."
Mila approached the female one and asked, "Can you do the interplanetary trajectory and velocity calculations for dropping an asteroid from solar orbit into Mars-accessible space? Without using aerocapture. It sheds too much mass and I'm paid by the kilogram."
The salesman blinked cluelessly, totally lost by the technical jargon. But the bot immediately responded, "I can, but calculation times would likely be in the hours by default. However, I could dedicate a few weeks of processing power toward designing an optimized routine. With a custom routine, I estimate that I could perform the full calculations within the time it takes to dock with an asteroid. We could then begin altering its course immediately."
Mila fought to hide a grin. Her current computer could take up to a day to calculate, leaving her waiting idle and alone in the dark of space. She said, "I have 20 days before I can return to work. Is that enough to make your routine?"
"Yes, that would be sufficient. During that time, I would be able to converse and perform simple tasks, but the majority of my processing power would be dedicated to the creation of the custom routine."
Mila nodded, then turned the salesman who was smiling hopefully and trying to act more in control than he was. "I'll buy it."
"Wonderful!" he said as he pulled up a customization hologram. It displayed a similar bot, but without the Crispino registered trademarks. "Just pick the appearance and personality you want and we'll have the result sent from the warehouse to your docking bay within 24 hours."
Mila said, "No, I want this one." It had the same height and build as Mila, so her clothes shopping could pull double duty. And there was another reason that she couldn't quite put her finger on.
The salesman tilted his head. "It's an extra 1,000 Sols for the Crispino designer license. And wouldn't you rather customize it?"
"No, I like how this one looks," she said as her eyes lingered on the robot's beautiful straight black hair, warm coppery skin, and striking purple eyes. Mila was a little puzzled by what she felt for those features, something between envy and attraction. But if she was going to spend a small fortune on a bot, it might as well have a look that resonated with her.
She paid and walked out with her new property following behind. Had she been watching for it, she may have noticed the other display model watching intently, a stern expression on his face.
As they walked to Mila's docking bay, Mila turned to the bot and said, "We need to get you into some better clothes. For now, we'll have to use an outfit I already bought, but next paycheck we can shop for something that suits you better."
"Very well. I shall look forward to it," the robot replied. Her voice had a human quality to it, but her delivery was undeniably robotic.
"Oh, do you have a name?" Mila asked.
"I do not have one, other than my product line: SynTech 2888 Self-Aware Robotic Assistant."
"Alright, I'll call you SARA then."
For the first couple weeks, Mila was convinced that the Self-Aware name was just clever branding. Sara was undeniably quick and powerful, but a robot couldn't possibly think for itself.
But then Sara started to change. Her robotic speech softened and she started to use casual contractions and unfamiliar turns of phrase. Mila asked where she was learning them, and Sara said, "I suppose I picked 'em up from the dramalogs I've been watching. The selection in your ship's computer is quite impressive, once I filtered out all the cheesy Earth-era soap operas you have in there."
Mila felt her cheeks grow hot and she knew it would show right through her pale skin. "Those just came with the bundle," she lied. In reality, she had paid extra for the old soaps. They were definitely cheesy, but they were a good low-brain-power way to kill time in deep space. "It's not like modern dramalogs are any better. They're just a different kind of cheesy…" Mila trailed off. She was trying to argue subjective taste with a robot.
Sara smiled. "I can't deny that. And their obsessive focus on procreation for repopulation isn't relevant to me. The romance and intimacy are always intriguing, however."
Suddenly, Sara sat bolt upright and grabbed tightly to her seat. "Warning, Mila! An asteroid storm is heading this way. Please take evasive action immediately!" Her voice rang out painfully loud in the tiny cockpit.
Mila spun the pilot's chair around to face the viewport. Hundreds of tiny specs were flying their way and getting larger by the second. She grabbed the steering column, dropped the ship out of auto-pilot, and pulled back hard. She smashed the rear thruster pedal to the floor and the ship jolted into action.
The little Razvedchik-class ship wasn't built for such powerful aftermarket thrusters. The change in velocity was too much for the ship's inertial dampeners and Mila's head snapped painfully against the headrest. Sara was pressed deep into her seat, but she was built tough and wasn't harmed.
After two intense seconds of raw acceleration and unpleasant creaking sounds coming from the ship's fuselage, Sara announced, "We've cleared the debris zone. Excellent work, Mila. Thank you."
Mila eased off the juice and engaged forward thrusters to bring the ship to a stop. Her muscles went slack, but adrenaline was still coursing through her veins. She said, "No, thank you, Sara. Those were coming too fast for my computer to detect in time. How did you see them?"
"I finished my custom routine few hours ago, other than some simple assertion tests, so I switched my extra cycles to scanning for water asteroids with the ship's sensors. I alerted you as soon as I detected the anomaly."
Sara blinked slowly, like she was deep in thought, then she added, "Now that I have observed the trajectory of those asteroids, I believe that storm was caused by reckless and illegal detonation mining. Shall I alert the Solar Armed Forces?"
"Sure," Mila said absentmindedly. She was focused on the blinking readouts on the dashboard. "Damn. Some smaller debris hit us and damaged the starboard thruster. I'll need to spacewalk to repair it."
"I advise against that," Sara said forcefully. She held up a white helmet with a visible line running from top left to bottom right. "It appears that your suit's helmet cracked during the evasive maneuvers. It may not hold in a vacuum."
Mila sighed. "I don't have a choice. We can't get to a station without it."
Sara launched from her seat and grabbed Mila by the shoulders. "I refuse to allow that. I volunteer in your stead. If the helmet fails, the lack of oxygen and pressure might harm me, but I can be repaired. You cannot, Mila."
"Are you sure about this, Sara?" Mila said, peering through the small window into the airlock. Her voice was being transmitted to a speaker in Sara's cracked helmet.
"Yes. If this causes any damage to me, please deduct the cost from what you had been planning to spend on my clothes."
Mila raised an eyebrow. Bringing up clothes now? I just can't understand Sara sometimes. Then she said, "Sure. Just be safe out there."
With a nod, Sara hit the airlock release and stepped into deep space, with nothing but a tether between her and the infinite black.
"I'm heading to the starboard side n—"
With a loud hiss, Sara's voice cut out entirely. The seal on the helmet had failed and all the air in her suit rapidly vented out into space. Without air pressure in the helmet, Sara could neither hear nor speak, and Mila was left in the dark with no way of knowing whether Sara was okay.
Mila fretted and tugged at her hair until it hurt. She scanned the dashboard, but she was totally blind to Sara's actions. Was she still out there, fixing the thruster on battery power alone, or was she broken, dangling by a tether, dead?
Five terrifying minutes passed, then ten. Then a loud CLANG echoed from the airlock: the outer doors had closed.
Mila scrambled for the airlock window and peered through. On the other side, Sara was carefully removing her shattered helmet, not bothering to wait for the room to re-pressurize.
It seemed that when the cracked helmet had vented, the humidity inside had rapidly frosted and obscured Sara's vision. She'd had to shatter the visor to be able to work on the thruster, but she had paid the price; her forehead and cheeks were gouged deep by glass. The lack of blood confirmed her robotic nature.
The instant the inner door opened, Mila pulled herself through. She tackled Sara from her magnetized feet and they crashed into the outer door.
"I was so worried," Mila said through tears that pooled around her eyes, unable to fall in zero-G. "I was so worried about you, Sara."
Sara made to respond, but she didn't have the words. In a way, her lack of a response was the most human thing, and it made Mila care about her even more.
Mila grabbed her by the cheeks, not bothered by the damaged synthetic skin, and brought their lips together. With no hesitation, Sara embraced Mila with both arms and returned the kiss.