The Pilot and the Mechanic (Part I)
The night was quiet, the ship only dimly lit. As much of a jerk as this particular captain was, it was no surprise that he was so arbitrarily adamant about when ‘night time’ was on the ship. They were to stay aligned with his homeworld’s time, and all the lights were to be dimmed, the ship to be quiet to sync with his home’s evening. The crew didn’t seem to mind—or they knew better than to complain.
Alexa was among those that truly didn’t mind. If people acted like it was night, they tended to keep to themselves. The captain himself actually slept through the night. Good. The more people kept to themselves, the less chance that someone would come bother her on the bridge.
Which was why it was so surprising when someone yanked open the rusty door, the bulk of metal sliding on its track as it moved. Her curiosity getting the better of her, Alexa turned, glancing over her shoulder to check who was approaching; if it was the captain, then perhaps something was wrong, requiring a quick getaway. But the captain it was not. Instead, in the doorway stood… the mechanic. The tall, lanky mechanic that fancied himself some sort of romance-novel cowboy. Mickey something. A vague frown passed fleetingly across Alexa’s face. “What’s wrong,” she said, turning her back to him once more. So maybe it wasn’t the captain, but a quick getaway was still a possibility.
A warm laugh accompanied the sounds of Mickey’s boots hitting the grated floor as he crossed the room. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong,” he assured cheerfully as he stopped next to Alexa’s chair. He wasn’t looking at her, though; his eyes were locked forward, gazing at the stars through the glass as the ship lazily floated through space. He let out a long, low whistle before commenting, “Now there’s a sight. It’s always pretty, but it all just seems… bigger at night. When the ship’s dark, I mean.”
Alexa said nothing, but she did throw a quick glance up at him, her face blank but her eyes curious. Why was he here?
He looked down at her, his eyes vividly green even in the dim light of the consoles and the passing stars. His face was handsome and youthful, his hair a charming mess of blond tangles, his smile warm in a way that no one else on this crew was warm. In fact, Alexa could not remember the last time she had come into contact with someone so… happy. The crews she usually ran with seemed to be comprised of rough, bitter people. Mickey was a new thing altogether. And what was even stranger, he only needed one glance at her eyes to practically be able to read the question behind them. “I don’t have a good view a’ space from the engine room. Just a little window way up high.” He raised one hand up as far as it would go, which was fairly far given his height. “Thought I’d stop by and see it from your view.”
Something like suspicion rose in Alexa’s chest. Suspicion and maybe a hint of possessiveness. There had to be an ulterior motive behind this guy’s smile. And even if there wasn’t… Alexa didn’t really like the idea of sharing her view of the stars.
However, she said nothing, even when Mickey made himself at home by sitting in the copilot’s chair only a couple of feet away from her. On a blank section of the control panel, he set a six pack of some sort of dark beer, and in the next motion, he plucked two beers from the holder, handing one of them over to the pilot. She didn’t take it, opting instead to glance at it briefly before fixing her stare on the mechanic. “Drinking and flying,” she noted dryly.
The grin he offered her was wide and cheeky. “Please,” he chuckled. “I’ve seen you fly this bird. Put a few beers in you, maybe your skill level will be ‘bout the same as a mere mortal. C’mon, darlin’. One drink with me.”
Alexa stared at him for a long moment, trying to find something dark behind his bright eyes. Only when her search came up empty did she lift her hand and accept the beer. They popped the bottles open on the edge of the control panel, not worried about denting the ragged, rusted, already-dented metal.
An hour later, the six pack container sat empty on the console, Mickey and Alexa both holding their third beers.
Most of the hour had been spent with Mickey talking and Alexa staying silent and both of them watching the stars. Amazingly, Alexa found herself not really minding listening to Mickey talk. He was animated and lively, seeming to possess a superpower where any story he told was entertaining regardless of the actual details and subject matter, and possibly the best part was that he kept talking even when Alexa didn’t reply, not seeming to mind that the conversation was entirely one-sided.
It was after a particularly ridiculous story about a lost dog and its alien owner that Mickey sat back in his chair, took a long swig of his beer, and then stared at the stars for a long time. Then he looked over to stare at Alexa for a long time. Finally, he said, “You know what I know about you?”
That statement would have made Alexa panic if she hadn’t been entirely sure that there was no way Mickey Webb could know absolutely anything about her. Alexa kept her own story hidden so far back in her head that it was practically a nonentity, no more than a vengeful ghost that sometimes visited in the dark of night. So her reply to Mickey was a smooth, “Nothing.”
Mickey grinned at her and tilted the neck of his beer bottle at her, pointing at her with it. “Wrong! I know you ain’t a bad person. It’s in your eyes. You just want people to think you’re a bad person. Makes people expect less of ya. I get it, honey. It’s kinda like how people expect less of a drunk womanizer.” After throwing her a wink, he took a swig from his beer.
She stared at him for a moment, and the way her eyebrows furrowed was the most emotion she had displayed over the entire course of the conversation. “You are a drunk womanizer,” she eventually said.
“You ain’t wrong!” he laughed. “But I’m a drunk womanizer who likes to impress people, so I keep bein’ a drunk womanizer but also keep bein’ amazin’ at fixin’ s**t. What can I say? Makes me happy to prove to people that I ain’t worthless.”
The more Mickey spoke, the weirder this all seemed to Alexa. What had started as an hour of worthless stories and non-conversation had suddenly turned into this stranger telling her what he knew about her. This had to be a tactic—but to what end, Alexa had no idea. So she went with her first instinct about his intentions: “I’m not going to sleep with you.”
This time when he smiled at her, it was less playful, somehow calmer. He watched the stars move as he replied, “That’s somethin’ else I already know about you. You decided you were never gonna sleep with me within the first…” He looked at her, scrunching one eye closed as if doing a mental calculation. “... four seconds a’ meetin’ me.”
Alexa was surprised, enough so that she could not stop the surprise before it flashed across her face. Naturally, she composed herself in only a moment, but she still kept silent for a time while she battled internally with what he had just said. He was exactly right, practically down to the second. Within those first seconds of meeting the charming mechanic, the pilot had made the decision never to get into bed with him, though she obviously hadn’t spoken that choice aloud. Mickey had simply… seen it. In her eyes, perhaps. She knew her own poker face was solid—she had spent decades solidifying it—so that meant that Mickey was just far better at reading people than she had assumed. The drunk womanizer had more to him than Alexa had first seen.
A few more moments passed before Alexa let a small sigh escape through her nose. “Fine,” was all she could think to say. “So you know that. Then why are you here.”
It wasn’t a question, yet it was. Mickey could see it in her eyes, and that made him smile at her. He shrugged one shoulder, folding his arms on the armrest facing her, his beer hanging from his fingers in a manner so casual it seemed second nature to him, which it very much was. “You’re interestin’,” he said. “Can’t figure ya out all the way, ‘sides that you ain’t as dark and grim as ya seem. Hell, maybe you’re even fun sometimes. Point is, you seem like the type of gal that keeps people on their toes, and I like bein’ on my toes.” A pause. “Ya ain’t bad to look at, either.”
Alexa took a quick drink to wash down the smile that had just tried to make its way to her lips. When she let the nearly-empty bottle lower, she told him, “You’re relentless.”
“You’re impressed.”
“Not quite.”
“But almost?”
“Maybe someday.”
Mickey grinned that grin and nodded, because he knew that was as much a victory as he would get for tonight. “All the more reason to stick around,” he pointed out. “‘Sides, crack pilot and crack mechanic. We’re a match made in heaven, little lady.” And despite that his own beer bottle was empty as well, he reached over and clinked it against hers as he gave her another wink.
And they settled into silence to watch the stars.
The pilot and the mechanic would never sleep together. That had been decided in less than five seconds of meeting. But the mechanic would keep pestering the pilot and telling stories and winking and smiling, and the pilot would keep listening and sighing occasionally and finding herself minding less and less whenever he came around. Eventually, the mechanic would call the pilot his friend, though the pilot would never agree aloud. Eventually, the mechanic would call the pilot his best friend, though the pilot would never agree aloud. Eventually, the pilot and the mechanic would leave the ship, and they would not go separately.
