Slamming her fists against the ship's control panel, Goldie Lockswood glared as the pumped up dick in the sleek velociship did a complete set of aerobatics around her clunky space freight shuttle. From loops to figure eights, the bastard flew so close to her fucking exterior propellers that Eve, her on-board computer, issued a warning and automatically took control of the shuttle.
The velociship sped off into the pitch black of space with a blazing trail, leaving Goldie pissed off with a ship that shuddered.
"Eve! Hand back control!" Goldie commanded. Seconds later she felt her heart lurch as a shower of rocks suddenly appeared out of nowhere and directly in her line of sight.
"Meteor shower approaching," Even announced.
"I know, Eve! I can see that! Hand back control now!"
"Automated steering has a higher probability of protecting the hull than manual."
The computer's droning voice worked against the fine hairs that covered Goldie's body in the same way that the high pitched whining of a badly tuned engine did. The hairs stood on edge and added to the irritation she already felt with Eve, who, over the duration of the trip, had started to take control of far too many of Goldie's responsibilities, deeming automated over manual as the best way to ride more often than not.
In cases such as these, it was well documented that manual steering through meteor showers ensured a safer and smoother journey for passengers. While computer monitors could and did analyze proximity and could steer through the clouds of rocks using their analytical data, it could in no way match the experience and skill of a space freighter driver's intuition. In today's world, the 2983 Earth government very rarely upheld the use of humans over robots, but, where haulage was concerned, it was one of the only transport sectors still using humans as drivers and not just as assistants.
Eve just had a tendency to forget that!
"Eve! Dammit! Hand back control or hibernate!"
Silence was Eve's response, which, where the talkative machine was concerned, never boded well, and this instance was no different. Out of nowhere, the belts on her Captain's chair shot out and locked around her body in crash mode. Crash mode was akin to being cocooned with supportive belts which ensured that if, on the rare occasions that shuttles smashed, very few bones would break upon collision. Not that that helped when most crashes resulted in human death! But with a cloud of meteoric rocks in the distance, no control over her ship, and every statistic in the book working against her, Goldie tried not to think about that.
"If I make it out alive, you bitch, I'm re-hauling the entire system!" It wasn't an idle threat. The current job's fee was heading straight to Dino's garage back on Earth where a complete reconditioning awaited the Freedom. Perhaps that was why Eve had become so ballsy lately, she knew that in a couple of months she'd be gone and on the trash heap. The more Goldie thought about that the more that prospect grew more and more pleasing.