Underhead Compartments
Underhead Compartments
An Exploration Of Future Storage Methods
From Tyler David Coltraine
- The Trollop Has Landed
LOG: JESHI ANDE, ENGINEER 3RD CLASS
LOG ENTRY: DATE 39210-291-23-A
Space is immensely fucking boring. There, I've said it; there's now no denying that I'm completely fucking tired of my job. And that's not really the whole of the deal.
I fell for StarCrew's schpeel, their whole gimmicky ad campaign, the whole damn lot of it. Call me a stupid chump if you feel the need, because I certainly can't deny that it qualifies.
Two years ago, I was a bored girl with no money and not a lot of a future. Then I saw that video advert...why is that when they're flashing StarCrew ads on the screen, it's always the hot super-troopers? The girls with the cleavage and white teeth, or studs of men with rippling muscles and packages that no postal service would deal with. They told me that they'd certainly pick me up, put me on a battlecruiser in the depths of space, where a war against some alien species I can't pronounce is being waged. I'd see action, get some adventure, and make a lot of money to go with.
Planetside, I was bored and broke, but I could get what I wanted once in a while. I could get drunk, I could get high, I could get fucked from behind in a back alley or eaten out in the privacy of my own home. It was simple enough, maybe not exactly legal but simple enough. And hey, I had nice clothes and the best goddamned hair, tits, and ass in three colonies.
So I finish basic, with visions of dollar signs and maybe a little bit of fame dancing in my eyes. I'm not a physical girl, but us cats, we can jump and spin and hit people really hard. My DI said I was a fair shot with a blaster rifle, too. Course, he was usually saying that while I had his dick in my mouth and a finger up his tailpipe, but hey. I never could resist a man in uniform, or one out of it either.
But this ship...this ship is the pits. The official paperwork says I'm 'not combat suitable'. Why that is, exactly, isn't for me to decide. Maybe because I wouldn't go down on the evaluating officer, or maybe because I tried to. Things blur after a few months. Anyway, here I am, on the Shuttle Lighthouse. No, I couldn't even land a ship that sounds cool. I'm on an exploratory vessel. And no, I don't have the luck of that, what was it, the Entrepreneur? I think that was it. We don't stumble on alien structures. No one shoots at us. We don't find derelict ships or green babes with six breasts. No, we sit around in the dark and scan things. A lot. Repeatedly. And often find out we don't know what we're looking at, so the ship waits for six weeks while StarCrew Command runs it through their analytical databases. I dunno the heavies of it, since they've got me down in Engineering.
Yeah. I'm a greasemonkey. From the hottest piece of ass on Stel 3 to just another girl in a red jumpsuit. The commander won't even let me pretend to look hot, either. My hair's short and just the mundane white it was when I was seven, and woe befall me for coming on-shift with a little bit of cleavage showing. It's zipper to the neckline, yes ma'am sir hermaphrodotic entity! Salute! It's enough to make a girl cry. For fuck's sake, I can't even go out commando. Commander Carlson, fuck if I know how, can tell if I'm wearing regulation underwear. He won't even open the cargo crate with my lingerie in it; says I need to wear 'all regulation attire'. Goddamned granny panties and a bra that binds like a contract. What did I get myself into up here?
Let me point out that I have money. Oh, I get paid blinding cred up here. I'm goddamned rolling in cash, like that movie with DoMe InTheEar or something, I don't fucking remember. Fox slut. I wish I could be a slut. For the record, no, I can't. There's no drugs. There's no booze. The ship liquidates anything narcotic or intoxicating as soon as it comes on board. Bring a bottle of Dae Ale in your duffle? You're going to have atoms when you go to drink it later. And god-fucking-DAMN can those Dae Elves make a fine drink.
Probably what's worse than any of that, really, is the crew. I can't get a lay up here for anything. Everyone's nice and all that, but there's a pretty good reason I think I'm here--there's less energy here than a blown out AAA-cell. No one would party if we could, gets drunk if we had booze, or even has sex. I think there's some kind of weird 'anti-libido' drug in the food.
Lemme example just how cold these folks are. The old commander down in Engineering was from Lalek. Them's the wolves, if you don't know that specifically. They're big, they're muscular, and they're hung like tapestries. I should know, I've had a few in my years. But compliments aside. This one, a silver wolf, Commander Shawl, he is hot. With a capital 'ruined my panties'. He didn't really push the uniform issue as hard as Carlson does, either. Probably why he's gone. He didn't get mad unless I came down the lift wearing just my jumpsuit with the zipper undone all the way past my cunt. Don't know why, guess it screws up morale.
So one afternoon, I corner Shawl. We're smooching like high schoolers at prom. And never let it be said that Stelian tongue does not make for good fellatio. More than one man has doused my face in icing on the first lick, and this guy is rugged. So I reach down and grab his gear. Only...he's still tucked in for a landing. No pole for this flag. Nothing. Not a hit. I nibbled, licked, I tugged and rubbed, I fucking fingered myself to orgasm four times on a workbench for nothing. He couldn't get it up. Not at all. And what's more, he wasn't really concerned about it! Said that it was better like this, because we could get back to work now. I was sort of happy to see him go, but not if it meant getting Carlson.
Carlson is a shrew. They're mean, they're too smart, and they don't like a lot of other races. Put Stelians on that list. Not that I'd give his dick a chance in my cunt anyway, but it wouldn't do anyone any good. I'd just get demoted for interfereing with some procedure. Oh, and not having my regulation uniform on at all times.
And here we sit, somewhere in space, scanning an asteroid that probably has 'KILLROY WAS HERE' written on the other side, the product of an alien who would be laughing at us if they hadn't gone somewhere more exciting. I've got nothing and no one to do; I can't even tune in the smutty movie bands here. It's all training vids and news bands. It sit in my room and I masturbate, hard, sometimes for the whole damn night. I've burned out all my vibrators, and I can't find lube for the rest anymore. It's just a fucking shame. And worse?
I think my estrus cycle is next week.
- Let Your Fingers Do The Fucking
LOG ENTRY: DATE 39210-291-31-A
Well, I was wrong in that. It came eight days after that last entry, not seven. Woo hoo for catching me way off guard, nature. I owe you a kick in the fucking teeth. I'm so goddamned randy...
There's no real compensation for estrus in StarCrew, I'm told. I was supposed to not have that function, or at least get it 'turned off'. No one told me that, ever. In retrospect, it was probably because I was fucking every officer in the training camp. Mmmm, the lion DI. He had a wang like a Krelb sausa...oh, I'm drifting again. Can't let myself do that, or I'll need more underwear. Or new sheets.
They called me down to work early today, which was a serious drag; it didn't leave me enough time to shower, so I just barely got my hands unstuck from my cunt and cleaned up in time to go down to the main bay. Carlson says I reek; I don't doubt the ass-sniffer is used to the aroma of pure, unadulterated slut. Shit is more his game. He tells me that I need to go down and work on the Turman condensers, which is fucking bullshit, since they work fine already--I just damn well calibrated them at the last stationjump. It's not something I can't do alone, so I gave up and did it. It let me climb down into tubes, away from everyone, and, well, fucking frig myself like I'm gonna die in the morning.
I think I stuck every tool I had inside there, and still didn't really get the one orgasm that'll make all the difference. Even when I was dryhumping the CLE pipes, which any girl will tell you are just about the most phallic thing on the ship short of the dicks in command, I was making enough honey to leave a puddle, but still no climax. It's like I'm broken or something.
Things didn't get any better when I came up to bay level, and got chewed. Carlson'd been watching my status on the health monitors. I figure that's how he knew my clothes were wrong, since those fucking things know everything about a body, in real-time. He was mad the tools were soiled, mad about the damage to the secondary CLE pipe I'd wedged in my ass, and mad that I hadn't done the one thing he'd sent me down there to do. So, apparently, I'm on report.
I have no idea what exactly that's going to entail, but I doubt that it'll be good, if Carlson gets his way. Aw, fuck, I'm horny again and I still haven't eaten dinner...
- Opportunity Humps
LOG ENTRY: DATE 39210-291-32-A
Well, ain't that just spec-fucking-tacular. I find out what shit task Carlson wants me to do, and he fucking well knows I can't manage it. But if I fuck it up, I'm going home and losing all the credits I made up to this point as a penalty, plus they eat my pension and all the other shit. It's not so bad, but man, I need to pay off those college loans...
So complete green pukes are getting dumped on my head. These are kids that got to skip some of basic, because apparently we're getting our asses returned to us out on the front lines. Anyone well trained is moving to forward sectors; while that happens, ships like Lighthouse get skeleton crewed by complete noobs. My job is to take one of these losers, and teach him how to work the equipment well enough to teach everyone else. It's faster than trying to teach all five of them at once, really. Particularlly since I'll probably need to stop every 20 minutes and stick a spanner up my cooch.
My cycle doesn't end for another 10 days. Carlson knows it, and that's just what he's betting on--I'll do something and embarass the punk in public, or get him to report me to someone higher up.
SWITCHING TO VIDEO DISPLAY MODE
AND AN AWKWARD SHIFT TO THIRD PERSON
NOT THAT I, A COMPUTER, KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THAT
Jeshi was standing there. It's all she could while she waited for her new trainee to arrive in his capsule. What she'd rather have been doing was pretty much anything else, though changing out the battery cell in her vibrator was really high up on the list. She'd stolen this one, and it'd only put out for about fifteen minutes before leaving her woefully unstimulated. "Could probably stand some new pads down there," she wondered, "while we're at it. Don't need the kid thinking I peed myself." As this was an official function, she'd been forced into her 'dress blues'; that involved, of all things, a mini-skirt. While it let her wear better panties, and certainly allowed easier access to what needed petting the most right now, it wasn't exactly decent when she had to grind her thighs together just from frustration
The alarms went off, finally, showing that the stupid schmuck she'd have to handhold for the next six weeks. He'd be the only guy on the shuttle, since it was mostly automated; he'd probably been asleep for the last few hours. Jeshi silently cursed whoever'd give nhim that advantage. She hadn't gotten more than a few hours for two days, and most of that was filled with more sexual imbruglio than a porno movie marathon. Her hands were cramped from consantly masturbating, and that 'fuck-me stink' was everywhere. People walked in her room and needed a bit of private time. Or they would, if anyone was remotely sexual.
This whole thought process derailed any thought of her trainee, tail making loops behind her as her ass gyrated in the air. "If only I had a cock in there," she said to no one in particular. "Someone to come over here and say 'yes, ma'am, I'll fuck you so hard the ship will spin around sideways and Carlson will piss himself!'" She mock-saluted the air, dumb expression plastered on her face.
The equine carrying the duffle-bag looked most concerned. "Um, 3rd Class Engineer Ande? I'm Ensign Botlevar, your trainee...." Jeshi promptly fell over backwards, landing hard on her butt with the cutest little 'meep!' sound. Botlevar grabbed her hand and helped her back up, looking concerned. "Are...are you okay, ma'am?"
She sized him up, almost absently, evalutating what she had here. "You're...Jochabim Botlevar? Hell of a name, Ensign." She wasn't really talking to him, more as she was already fucking him in her head. He was from Earth, the only place left that had real honest to god stallions, and this was a prime example of the species.
He was tall. Almost too tall for the shuttle, but since most species never broke 6' tall anymore--too much genetic intermingling--he wasn't a giant or anything. Toned, graceful, well-groomed, and black. Something in a black stallion made her lungs shut down and her polyfibre underwear cry out for replacement, or at least waterwings. There was just that one last thing to check, and...
She stopped dead, eyes locked on Jochabim's groin. "Um, ma'am? Ma'am? Engineer Ande? Don't...I...need to check in or something?" She didn't hear him. The only thing she heard was alarm bells ringing in her head and her entire libido throwing up its hands and falling over sideways.
Giving a point with her pen, she cried out "You've got no dick!" If it weren't for soundproofed walls and maybe the fact that no one was anywhere near the shuttlebay. Jochabim, on the other hand, didn't seem to understand. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but I don't believe that's much of your business." He adjusted his shirt and resumed his attention-esque pose. "To restated, Ensign Trainee Jochabim Bot..." He stopped and looked down.
Down, in this case, at his trainer, who was busy poking his crotch with her fingertip. "Huh. Can't even feel it. And you Terrestrial horses are supposed to have...like...firehoses..." Jeshi was fixed entirely on that one spot of 'territory', feeling all about the 'terrain'. "I'm amazed," she gasped as she righted herself again. "You're a eunich!"
Jacobhim looked around. "If it makes you happy, ma'am, I'll have you know that I am in no way shape or form sexually mutilated, malfunctioning, deformed, retarded, slashed, smashed, squished, or perforated! Now"--he grabbed Jeshi by the arms and held her--"can we PLEASE get on with my job here!" He took a deep breath, panting a little, nostrils flared.
And that was probably the biggest mistake he'd made yet, depending on your angle upon things--inhaling a snoutfull of Stelian pheremones. Caught completely offguard by them, his eyes went slightly dreamy, before shifting to what could only be described as sheer panic. "Oh...my...god..."
Jeshi blinked, and looked up at the horse. "Um...what? Do...you need something?" He nodded, vigorously, bending at the waist as if he were going to explode. "Sick bay, sick bay, do you need to call the medics?" A good hard shake of his head sent the precariously perched hat to the floor, a thick mane of sheer white flapping about. "He's gorgeous," Jeshi thought, a bit lost in her fantasies, many involving sickbay time afterwards.
Jacobhim, however, chose not to hang about, instead staggering forwards. He knew what he was looking for, just not exactly where to find it. Jeshi, by this point, was rubbing her crotch gently, lost entirely again...until she noticed that there was no studly horse there to fantasize about.
She ran off towards the sounds of grunting, moaning, what sounded like someone who had just survived his first time at one of Jeshi's famous weekend long benders back on the homeworld. But this wasn't one of those. Her possible future fuckslave was somewhere...over that way. In the lavatory.
Ignoring any possible inproprieties she made by dashing headlong into men's head, she made for Jacobhim, or more directly, tripped over him in the doorway to the sinks. "Oh my god...are...are you okay?" He motioned at her to help him up, or so she assumed. "Do...you need to puke? Motionsick?" He still insisted no, and pointed towards one of the stalls. Jeshi wasn't sure what this was about, but if it meant she could save him, it was great. Then she could fuck him senseless later. No commander was she!
As soon as he was clearly in the stall, a much wider affair than most of what you'd see on a station or in a housing facility, the horse gave his belt a sharp yank, dropping the whole ensemble of his belt and pants to the floor. Jeshi couldn't help but get a good look, just to see what was stowed in his regulation briefs...and nearly peed herself, right there.
"You ARE a eunich!" she cried, echoing painfully loudly in the tiled lavatory. She was heartbroken...no mad passionate loving would be had here! It was devastating to think that another week or more would be spent, hot and lonely in her pheremone soaked room!
And then he slapped her, not hard, just enough to bring her back to the real world. His glare was pained, but sharp--the 'fucking snap out of it' gaze that works wonders. Jeshi nodded, a bit, rubbing her cheek. "Okay, so now what?"
Jacobhim reached around his backside, near the base of his tail, and made a small motion with his hands, pushing something--Jeshi heard the click and a small amount of whirring from the waistband of his underwear. Then came shock and awe, phase two.
After a small beeping sound from near the stallion's ass, something went *bamph*, loudly, and without a second's pause, his underwear were filled with what could only be, unmistakably, horsecock! Jeshi was thrilled; this meant that the orgy could still go on as planned! Good, good, she needed it. To be sure.
Jacobhim didn't seem so disastrously devastated, though he was still sweating profusely. "Okay...now..." He looked down at himself. "I...need to...vent." He started shifting his briefs around, the poor cotton-blend happy as fuck at letting that mass of black muscle go. It was erect and getting moreso by the second. Jeshi just watched in awe (and pure hard arousal, her hand under her skirt) as he attached a bag to the end of his easily 14" member...and began to stroke it, vigorously.
No one wondered, while the horse jerked himself off almost violently in the quiet stall of a starcraft's lower levels, what in the hell was going on. Jeshi certainly wasn't going to quit watching, and she hoped the security grid was picking up some of this. Even pictures of her ass, raised high in the air with her tail even higher, fingers massaging her cunt would be fine. It'd be nice to have some pictures of this hellaciously hung model of a man hard at work on himself. And then, she had an idea. Well, less an idea and more an instinctual response.
Jacobhim realized, suddenly, somewhere deep in his hormonal haze, that there were three hands on his penis. And he most certainly had not invested in any cybernetic parts in the last twenty minutes. He didn't get a chance to put any more focus into the thought, the hands going faster and faster...and was that a tongue? No, it couldn't be. He didn't lick himself...
Jeshi couldn't help herself, not getting nearly enough from just the show in the stall--she needed a bit of interaction, and she wanted herself to be the centrepiece. Both hands were hard at work on the erection bobbing there, the whole room a mix of her own pheremones and Jacobhim's arriving musk. His eyes finally gained enough control, gasping a little as he looked down to see his supervisor, his trainer, his superior, kissing his genitalia like some common street hooker.
It was sudden, but before she knew it, Jeshi was outside the stall, looking at her own reflection in the mirror as Jacobhim continued to pleasure himself behind her. He grunted and gave a bit of a whinny, and they both were sure that he had finished, much to Jeshi's dismay. Jacobhim panted, trying to get breath in as he wandered out from the stall, carrying a gallon bag, filled to the brim with cum. His cock bobbed a little, mostly done with play for the moment, as he walked over and dropped the castoff stuff into a trash chute.
"What in the hell was that all about?" Jeshi pushed herself right up against the horse, finger poking him in the chest. "What's with the sudden arrival of Starship Cock and not letting me help you?"
Jacobhim merely shrugged as he dressed himself again. "I'm obscenely endowed. We terrestrial stallions tend to be, and it's embarassing for us to be seen in public with...well, with packages the size of a cruise missile. So R&D whipped up these 'black hole shorts'. I hit the button, and whoop, it's like I haven't got any gear. Entirely, not a bit. It's far easier for me to deal with."
Jeshi grumbled to herself as the black rocket she'd already fallen in lust with was 'stowed' away. "That doesn't explain the sudden burst of agony out there. You scared me. And I don't like that sort of behaviour."
The water ran softly, Jacobhim washing himself a bit. "That was my fault, honestly. I hadn't had an orgasm in, um, two weeks. Terran Equines need regular 'drainings', I think StarCrew calls them. I missed mine. And, ma'am...you got me started. I needed to take care of things." He seemed completely nonchalant about the whole scenario, as if it were just another part on a military vessel that needed 'maintainence'. "The issue with the belt we use is the testosterone build-up. Once in a while, we get entirely too much stimulation, and the belt lets it through all at once when it picks up an overload. Blueballs for weeks, let me tell you."
"So what, do they not let you have sex up there? You seemed really put off by me helping you out a bit." Jacobhim shot her a look that was full of bile. "Because, ma'am, you're my superior. I don't have sexual relations with my superiors, because it's a violation of protocol. And as there are no females of my--the lowest--rank onboard the Cruiser Tornado, it was not exactly like I could walk down to the club and stick my dick in the nearest mare. And as much as I could have dealt with a bit of ass from my fellow males, none of them could fit thi...s...in...them..."
He was stopped entirely as he turned and found that his supervisor, Jeshi Ande, his direct superior and one of the biggest sluts in the entire galaxy, was bent over a changing table in a manner that could not possibly be taken the wrong way, particularlly since her underwear were hanging from Jacobhim's left ear. Her pert little butt was as high up as it would go, tail hiked far and away from concealing anything. Nothing could hide the swollen lips of her cunt, though, the whole array near the slit shining and damp. Her skirt had been hiked up, just far enough to get it out the way, though she had left her boots on.
Jacobhim couldn't even breathe. "Do you think you can fit it in here?" she teased, giggling a little to herself. "This is the fuck of a lifetime," her brain informed her, and got her ready.
Two tiny alarms went off, one audiable and one not: one was Jacobhim's brain, telling him something was horribly wrong here; the other was a sensor in his 'hideaway' shorts going crazy as it was pumped full of testosterone. The idea was that it would filter out all these things, storing them for later. What it did in this case was burst with a bit of an electronic buzz. With his shorts failing him, Jacobhim was left with one recourse--complete and total unapologetic lust. He ripped his pants open at the front, pulling down the fly with the sound of bursting seams and angry cotton. No briefs would hold back that mighty erection, and these were no different, leaving a lathered horse with fourteen inches of pole proding out and only one place to bury it.
Jeshi could see Jacobhim in a mirror, but she wasn't exactly sure she'd overload him so dramatically. It didn't matter--the harder the better. So when he came up behind her, she wiggled her ass a bit, and gave him a wink. "Go on, champ. I'm lubed like an engine. Fuck me, with feeling!"
Horses are, in no way, known for sexual restraint. It was sort of good that the lower decks spent most of the days abandoned, since the squeal of pleasure Jeshi let rip when Jacobhim penetrated her would have gotten a bit of attention she probably didn't want. The attention she did want was coming fast and hard from behind. Jacobhim hadn't had a mare in months, and had really never had a good, hard fuck in his life. Jeshi was more than happy to provide, using muscles trained over years of training (as a professional slut) to milk that black tree riding her from the back.
Jeshi was not going to be defeated in a fuckfest, even against a goddamned horse; he had her spread so wide her thighs were numb, his big fingers mashing her breasts like a pair of overrippened melons. Her shirt had been pulled apart, leaving her bust exposed over the sides of her dressjacket--if Carlson had seen her at this point, he would have a conniption fit. In a way, she wished he -was- there, but not enough to do anything about it. Instead, she pressed back against the horse who was screaming out, straining through sore muscles to pork the life out of the cat-slut who dared challenge his stamina!
That went on for a bit, intermingled with some clit twiddling here and there, but nothing that would bring on the huge burst Jeshi needed to pop her cycle. But she couldn't think of what would--she couldn't think of anything except how much she loved when the flat crown poked at her cervix before sliding back to bang her clit. Horsedicks were the best, she decided at that very moment, though she'd forget later.
Jacobhim made the first move to stir things up, suddenly pulling free, juices making splat sounds as they hit the floor. "We...go...a...different route...now..." Jeshi looked confused, almost hurt that nothing was inside her, until two horse arms picked her up, cradled her, and at last set her up for the invasion of the tongue demons, the broad surface of Jacobhim's elegantly muscled tongue spreading her open like a cheap magazine before going for the glory deep inside.
That was it! She knew from the sparkling lights and the sudden tingle down her spine, not to mention the hallucinations, that this may just be the way to Orgasm City--riding the tonguebus! Jacobhim was no slouch at it, either, putting his entire face into cleaning out the cootchie, back and forth, digging deeply for 'gold' before coming back to the surface and stopping over at Mount Clitoris for a looooong visit. Jeshi couldn't breathe; the firecracker orgasms were growing more and more violent, every muscle on fire, but she knew what she needed the most.
"Jacobhim! Back in me! Hard!" It took some banging at his head to get a reaction from the cunt-hungry horse, but eventually he did as told, sitting down on the table with Jeshi above him. Gravity did most of the work, but the strong pull of horse-arms certainly helped Jeshi land on the cock she so loved with an obscenely loud squish. It was so deep in her, so pushing, that she couldn't feel anything else. Her body was shut off, except for that. Just that. The violent pounding at her snatch was the only thing in the world to her...
...and then she came. There was nothing but a warm, buzzing feeling, kind of like smoking nitra weed, only without the horrible smell and the junkies all around. It didn't fade fast, either; instead, it lingered, long and heavy, her vision completely clouded over by the glow. And with that, she fainted.
Hours passed before she woke up in sickbay. "Where...the hell..." Medical restraints held her back, a small alarm notifying the medic that his patient was quite completely awake.
"Hi there, Engineer Ande...welcome back to the living. You took quite a ride back there, didn't you?" She blinked, staring at the rabbit in his antiseptic smelling gear. "Oh, don't you worry. We saw the whole thing. That man you met--"
"Where is he? Where is Jacobhim Botlevar?" She was frantic, if only because she was afraid she'd never get to fuck that magnificent horse again, ever, in her whole life. "I need to talk to him!"
The medic gave her a sad look, shaking his head. "Mmm. Association with your captor. I never thought I'd see it here." A chair formed, and he sat in it. "Jacobhim Botlevar is dead, back on the Tornado. The terran equine you ran into was actually Molto, or to some, The Black Stallion. He's made an intergalactic career out of raping women, just like yourself, using that silly 'invisible genital' gimmick. Why women fall for it, we don't understand. Suffice it to say, at this point..." He paused.
"At this point what, doc? Is he gone? Run off? What?"
The rabbit popped off a pair of spectacles, fake of course, and cleaned them idly. "Oh, none of those. He's quite dead. I have him in the morgue next door." He sat back. "You're the first to survive an attack. Normally, his sexual...'interactions'...are so violent, and his penis so massive, that he kills his victims. We imagine that your current state of estrus helped you significantly." He checked his dataPAD, and gave a bit of a grin. "That, and you appear to be easier than Sunday morning, I believe the old phrase went. One way or the other, security forces shot and killed him shortly after you lost consiousness. Mmmm. Quite a scenario for the books."
Jeshi laid back on the bed, sighing softly. She'd lost him. Already. Usually these things lasted longer. "By the way, Miss Ande, you've been unconsious for several hours. Your cycle appears to have broken, but you've suffered some vaginal bruising. We're going to watch you for a period, to check for possible laceration, then you'll be released back into the work schedule."
The doctor got up and walked slowly towards the door. "Get some rest, Miss Ande; you'll be back on duty before you know it. This little adventure won't slow down your StarCrew career one bit!"
And the lights went out.
END VIDEO
LOG: JESHI ANDE, ENGINEER 3RD CLASS
LOG ENTRY: DATE 39210-292-23-A
Space is immensely fucking boring.
END OF FILE.