Mercy

Mercy could tell her presence was already irritating Ilaria. It was not intentional. In fact, she had barely made a sound throughout her observation session. She would never wish to interrupt her navigations team, with their work being so crucial to the mission.

Ilaria’s annoyance was radiating out of her and making Vita skittish, even more so than she had been when Mercy first entered their work room. It was a routine observatory session, nothing to worry about. But every department she had slipped into had been just as nervous under her gaze. Many weren’t used to working directly in front of their commander, experienced only in reporting what had already happened to her. Ilaria, predictably, was the only crew-member to react with indignation and offence to her visit.

They were only fifteen minutes into the appraisal observation and Ilaria’s hackles were up. Mercy wondered just how far in they would get before she found herself going head to-head with Ilaria on the importance of her witnessing them work.

Moments later, she got her answer.

“Hey, commander,” Ilaria drawled.

Mercy glanced over to her but said nothing.

Ilaria half-swivelled her chair to check she had Mercy’s full attention before asking, “How about you make yourself useful and collate this data for a power-distance utilisation report?”

It took an enormous deal of self-restraint not to lob her clipboard at Ilaria’s head. Instead, she said, “I think it would be best if I left that to the experts.”

“If we’re the experts, why are you babysitting us?”

“You are well aware that I am merely observing you for your quarterly appraisal.”

“And this could not be based off our completed work? Our pride and joy reports that you give but a few moments’ glance to each day?” Ilaria draped an arm over her face melodramatically.

Mercy unclenched her sharp teeth. “I’m sorry to hear you have felt neglected in regard to managerial feedback, Ilaria. I would be more than happy to give you a personal development meeting to discuss the quality of your work.” One-to-one meetings were an occasionally used leadership tool in Mercy’s experience. But a one-to-one with Ilaria sounded like a recipe for disaster. If Ilaria was anywhere near as scrappy as she looked, Mercy may be needing a refurbishment of her office only a few months into their deployment.

“A whole meeting of non-stop compliments?” Ilaria mused aloud. “If you hoped to get my underwear off through flattery, you should know that I don’t wear any.”

In the minute pause between Ilaria’s words and Mercy’s response, she had already run through at least seven things she would do to an underwear-less Ilaria in her mind. “Unfortunately, I will have to politely request that you wear all appropriate clothing to meetings,” she said.

Ilaria tapped her chin. “How do I know which underwear is appropriate?” she asked.

“If you are classing it as underwear, I would assume it is appropriate.”

“It’s only because I have this thong-”

Vita groaned quietly and raised a wad of papers to create a barrier between herself and this conversation.

“-and when I tell you it would be my first weapon choice in an emergency, I’m deadly serious. You could garrotte a grown man with this thing.”

“And I’m sure he’d love every moment of it,” Mercy said as monotonously as she could manage. “But back to your appraisal-”

Ilaria sighed, loudly and rudely.

“It is ship protocol.” Mercy reminded her firmly. “You know that we are all here as a trial of mixed crews; your appraisals must include a report taken from within your workspace to accurately portray how the social aspect of this experiment is developing.”

“It is a nuisance,” Ilaria huffed. She began to fan herself with a bundle of star charts, sweeping back her short hair in little flutters of air.

“You are the one that acts like a nuisance,” Mercy grumbled. She immediately regretted saying it, but Ilaria was far too good at rubbing her the wrong way. “I don’t know how Vita gets any work done with you in the same room.”

“It is a struggle, commander,” Vita mumbled wistfully.

“Hey! Whose side are you on?” Ilaria grumbled. She slapped the charts back onto the wrap-around desk beside her and they scattered.

Vita’s eye twitched at the mess and reminded her, “We are all on the same side.”

“It doesn’t feel like it with the commander getting in our way. I sense a saboteur!”

“I sense inability to adhere to a chain of command,” Mercy retorted, writing her diagnosis on the appraisal form in large block letters. She did not recognise the word ‘saboteur’ but got the feeling it was not a compliment.

“I sense inability to command.”

“Fuck you, Ilaria.”

“Not if I fuck you first!”

Vita’s head looked about ready to explode as she was forced to play the role of audience member in their squabble.

Mercy’s eyes pinched without her intention, scrutinizing every inch of Ilaria’s small form. “Now I realise why you remind me so much of Earth dogs,” she said venomously. “You’d hump my leg if you had just an ounce less decency.”

With a humourless laugh, Ilaria announced, “Clearly you don’t know me as well as you think. My friends will tell you I don’t have an ounce of decency.”

“And you know what? I would believe them,” Mercy snapped. She stood, tucking the clipboard under her arm and stalking from the room. It riled her up even further when she reached her office and the realisation dawned that yet again, Ilaria had gotten her way through verbal confrontation. Mercy wondered if there were any explicit rules in the alliance handbook regarding securing crew-member’s mouths with duct tape.