A Message of DOOOOM!

Sure enough, the main targeting array is right where you thought it would be, the bow of the ship. Emerging from the front hull like a bundle of sticks, the dozens of spires and antennae make for a prominent target. A quick burst from your cannons and the Freedom’s End is blind.

You’re about to lean back and kick up your feet when the your own sensors blare a warning at you. The Stilettos. Five dart shaped fighters zip out of the hangar and bare down on you like Mikelian razor hawks.

Melodia throws the Breaker into high gravity turn so that she can bring the guns to bear. A stream of plasma bolts fly towards the oncoming fighters, forcing them to disperse. Unfortunately, before they break formation, one of them lets loose a missile that spirals towards you. Melodia does her best, but the on coming projectile seeks out the Breaker in spite of her efforts. At the last possible minute, Melodia guns the boosters. The forces of high speed combat throw you backwards into your seat, and then violently forwards when the missile detonates behind you. “Fuck!” Melodia screams.

“Don’t be scared, that was a nice maneuver,” you say with a calmness you don’t really feel; all you want right now is to be back in control. “Just transfer piloting to me and I’ll take care of the rest.” Melodia is a talented amateur when it comes to dog fighting, but a trial by fire is not what is needed at the moment.

“If I did such a good job, then why did you shock me?” She screams while her fingers dance across her control pads. The Breaker flows into a kaleidoscope of maneuvers as Melodia frantically dodges enemy fire. “Also I can’t transfer control to you. I just get a message that says ‘unknown error.’” Another high gravity turn throws you to the side. “Oh and by the way, the fucking shields are down!”

“What?” This is your ship. If it's going into a firefight, there is not a snow balls chance hell anyone but you is going to be the pilot. Checking your terminal, you see that in spite of your personal thoughts on the matter, Melodia is correct. Desperately, you try to transfer controls to your station but the only thing you have to show for it is a the most feared phrase in the universe: ‘UNKNOWN ERROR: CONTACT YOUR SYSTEM ADMINISTRATOR’. Furthermore, the shields are indeed disabled, which leaves you thoroughly boned. No, no, no. It is not going to end like this. I am not going to lose in a dog fight that I can’t fly. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not. You slam your fist in to the console impotently. “Gods dammit! That is the least helpful thing that I’ve ever seen,” you scream at the screen. Blaster bolts streak past the Breaker.

“Oh, is it now?” Melodia screams at you. “I thought the least helpful thing was you panicking like a little bitch while I get electrocuted!”

The outright defiance from someone you think of as your sub hits you like a slap. Whats worse is you deserved that. Melodia is pretty much carrying the team at the moment. After half a heartbeat you redirect your efforts. Looking for something helpful to offer, you provide “It looks like the computer thinks this is a training simulation and won’t let me take over until the mission goals are completed, which is destroying these fighters. It shocked you as part of the training program; whenever we get hit you get a zap.”

“Fucking fantastic.”

“On the bright side, if you blow one of them up, the vibrator will activate.” Seeing Melodia’s expression, you realize that this might not be as positive as you meant it to be. Being supportive is not your greatest talent. You power through. ”As for the shields, that was an EM-Burst Missile. I can reset the shields and we’re good to go.” You adopt what you hope is an encouraging and disarming smile on your face as you report this information.

Melodia doesn’t seem to notice your efforts. “Can you do it from here?” She asks as she threads the Breaker through a patchwork of weapons fire and explosions.

“Well, no. But I thought you would like to know-”

“Natalia just fix the damn thing! I don't’ care what you fix, just fix something!”

Not for the first time today, you note that this is an inappropriate way for a submissive to speak to her domme. Not for the first time today, you put those concerns on the back burner. “Just remember to turn into the attack and-”

“NOT HELPING!”

“Right, right, fixing the shields.” You leave the bridge of your own ship with uncharacteristic timidity.