Ilaria

It was Commander Mercy’s job to manage their vessel as it traversed outer space, beyond the known galaxies. It was Ilaria’s job to drive her insane while she did so. She did have a side gig as a navigational officer, but she considered messing with her superior as her main duty.

The Vanguard had been fitted with some pretty impressive tech. But what was far more interesting was its use in the Human-Ailu't Alliance’s trial of mixed flight crews. Three spaceships had been drafted in for the test: one for battle, one for exploration, and one for exporting goods. Each had their own assignment, and each was filled with an equal share of humans and Ailu't. Up until now, humans and Ailu't had been firm allies, but they did not mix their forces. If Ailu't soldiers or explorers needed support, the humans would send a vessel of their own, but once the job was done, they would never retire to each other’s ships. Hands would be shaken, and all personnel would go their own way.

It was not that either side was opposed to the other. It had simply not been done before and no one wanted to be the first, at least not without permission from higher up. There was talk of diseases being spread between the species that they would not be prepared for. Of ship modifications needed. Of the dietary and environmental requirements.

Eventually, the Alliance felt they had conducted enough research and it was time to proceed with the trials. For every department and rank, bar commander, there was appointed an equal number of human and Ailu’t specialists. Think of Noah’s ark, except instead of one male and one female, it’s one of each species to fill each role. One human ecosystem analyst, one Ailu’t. One Ailu’t catering assistant would be paired with one human. And so on and so forth.

And that was how Ilaria had found herself on The Vanguard, with the high-priority mission (self-appointed) of pissing off her alien commander as often as possible. Not that they were supposed to call each other aliens; that was one of the rules they had been given. But old habits died hard, and as a human she had known the Ailu't to be an alien race since the announcement across every Earth news station that there was, in fact, intelligent life to be found in the cosmos. Of course, the Ailu't maintained that they were the ones who ‘found’ another intelligent species, having stumbled across some stranded human researchers on a desolate moon. Ilaria quite liked the thought of the Ailu't thinking of her as an alien, something strange and shrouded in the unknown.

As for how she had found herself in the commander’s office on this day, well, there had been a mishap involving the reports that were due to reach the commander over an hour ago. The mishap being that Ilaria thought it would be funny to fold them into a giant origami flower. And then glued it so that it would hold its beautiful new shape. Unfortunately, this did make the report unreadable.

Ilaria then massaged salt into this wound by spending the last twenty minutes defending her choice to the commander and refusing to admit that this was an ineffective use of Alliance resources. Her superior’s mauve skin grew darker across the face as she became more and more frustrated with Ilaria’s nonsensical story-telling.

Finally, Commander Mercy pinched her lips together and used her well-known ‘end of conversation’ catchphrase to cut Ilaria off. “Fuck you, Ilaria.”

They all called each other by first names on this ship, since both sides found the majority of the others’ surnames unpronounceable (and there were three Johnsons). The Ailu't crew members had had their first names loosely translated into English as a helpful gesture of goodwill towards the humans; although, this caused its own problems when some Ailu’t crew could not pronounce their own English names. They got over the initial hurdles within a week or so of departure. However, Ilaria was still convinced that Mercy’s name had been a mistranslation.

“Forgive me, commander,” said Ilaria with a wide, toothy grin.

Mercy raised a still irritated, but now confused, brow. Her favourite phrase of ‘fuck you, Ilaria’ was a well-known order to tell the navigations officer to get out of her sight before she faced severe consequences. Being able to reduce a full threat and an order into three words was quite impressive, but Commander Mercy was a very impressive purple lady.

Ilaria continued, “Those orders are not very clear. Could I get a diagram?”

Mercy’s face flattened. “You’re a navigation officer; I’m sure you can work it out.” Her tone was as sharp as her canines. “If you do face any confusion with how to fuck yourself, though, perhaps there are some books in the recreational hall that could help you educate yourself.”

Ilaria doubted there was a copy of the Kama Sutra in their dingy playroom. She could feel Mercy’s patience about to flatline, but she still decided to push her buttons just a little harder. “I believe I understand the concept, but I think this is an order that requires an extra pair of hands,” Ilaria said coyly, placing her small hands flat on the commander’s desk and leaning forward.

“How lucky, then, that you should have a fellow navigations officer working alongside you. Do give my best regards to Vita, won’t you?” Mercy swivelled her chair round, her ponytail following her round with a dramatic swish, and put her back to Ilaria to busy herself with a tablet mounted on the wall.

Ilaria pulled a hideous face at her commander’s back and stomped out. She left the origami flower behind. Not quite an olive branch and useless as a paperweight, but perhaps Mercy could find a use for it. Ilaria hoped she shoved it up her backside.