Ensign Hartwell fell out of the airlock and into the inky void of space, his tether stretching out behind with all the fragility of an umbilical cord. Through the curved dome of his polycarbonate visor, he stared into the abyss and shuddered as he felt the cold vacuum stare back. He turned his gaze to the silhouette of the Full Monty as it glided effortlessly beneath him, the ion drive bathed in a comforting blue halo. He engaged his mag-boots and descended gracefully onto the hull.
"Hartwell, do you receive …?" That was Captain Alexandre speaking over coms. Her thick French accent was oddly calming to Hartwell, and he felt his breathing steady itself. "Receiving, Captain. I'm en route to the starboard vectoring array as we speak. Thus far, there is only evidence of superficial damage to the Monty from the debris field. Activating vid-cam now." He stopped and deftly keyed a series of instructions into the panel on his wrist. His visor display showed a new readout that confirmed that the Captain could see his point of view from the bridge. "It's as we suspected captain, a debris fragment has damaged the gimbal on thruster 3C. It looks like a relatively straightforward fix, though it'd be a lot easier with an extra pair of hands …"
"No need, ensign. This strikes me as the perfect time to assess the effectiveness of that complementary drone schematic we received a few jumps back. Return to bridge. Oh, and Hartwell?"
"Yes, Captain?"
"Try not to throw up. You're looking a little green."
"Nippy little bugger," Dickie remarked as he shuffled across the room, buckling under the weight of a supply crate. The crew had assembled on the bridge to mark the drone's progress via the large display bank that dominated the far wall. Alexandre, leaning against a bulkhead, watched with interest as it scurried nimbly, making a beeline for the damaged thruster. Her arms were folded beneath her generous bosom, and here legs were crossed. Hartwell found his attention wandering, and shuffled awkwardly. Alexandre smirked at him as his cheeks flushed, then turned to resume watching the screen. The drone had reached the site of damage, and extended three of its manipulator arms. Each of these ended in a set of finely attuned power tools, which the drone dexterously used – playing upon the site of damage like a piano virtuoso. "I had worried," said Alexandre, "that the guy who sold me those new actuators for the scrap recovery arm had swindled us. He was genuine after all. Now then, Dickie, how long 'till you can spin up the drive?"
"Within the hour, ma'am," he said, brushing his droopy fringe out of his eyes and pointing finger guns. Alexandre rolled her eyes and conceded a small grin, if the slight twitch at the edge of her mouth could be considered as such. A junior engineer approached Alexandre with a look of slight trepidation and proffered what appeared to be a blueprint. She said something to him that Hartwell couldn't make out and he appeared to breath out in relief. He gestured to his colleague, a woman Hartwell didn't recognise from his brief tenure aboard, and they vacated the bridge. "All hands to stations. Make ready for jump on the hour." The crew dispersed to their respective rooms and prepared the ship for the next jump. Hartwell lingered on the bridge, and watched the drone complete its work. When it disappeared from view, he turned and recalibrated the sensor array – focussing on the ice rings of distant Thanatos VI. He was thus engrossed, when he felt a breath on his neck. "Like what you see?" Captain Beatrix Alexandre asked. She was close. Very close. Hartwell gulped and felt his throat tighten. "Uhuhh," he croaked.
"We jump in thirty minutes, ensign. Perhaps you would like to join me in my quarters? There you might find an even fairer … view."
Hartwell squeaked. He followed her out of the bridge, the doors whirring shut behind him. "Way to go little buddy, I didn't know your game. Score!" Said Dickie. A nearby systems operator looked up from his monitor, then turned back when he saw that the pilot was thinking aloud. He adjusted the Monty's trajectory and locked onto the jump beacon several light years away. The servos in his chair moaned as he leaned right back. "Come on, baby girl. We're off to Alpha Polimestes."