Central Space: Part 1
KAGEMUSHA
Of course it would be the zipper. It was always the zipper, getting stuck on the way up. Kellan didn't risk many people seeing her like this, half dressed, breasts still hanging out, but if she couldn't get the zipper back up soon it would be a different story. Don't stress yourself. Only licensed pilots can get into the hangar. And even if someone did come back here, why would they check the supply closet? Then again, if Dan had been called, the other pilots would have been called too. Right?
With one last grunt the rabbit managed to tug the zipper up, pulling past the snag but ripping the fabric -- quite dramatically -- in the process.
"Ah, shit," she muttered. Her passion reeked of sex, and now her jumpsuit hung torn in two big pieces off her body, barely covering the essentials. She leaned against a storage crate, the metal surface cool against her back. Kellan quickly checked her body for visible marks. Dan had bitten her shoulder -- hard enough, apparently, to bleed -- but her jumpsuit would conceal that just fine. She reached between her legs. Dan hadn't exactly held back. Right, because Dan is the shining example of restraint. She winced, her fingers slick, the wetness spreading down and out. My God, Dan. Next time you're not allowed to finish inside me. He'd developed quite an appetite for her, it seemed, or maybe she was just the only one that tolerated his increasingly violent sexual urges. Everything he'd put inside her was quickly coming out, it seemed. If she hadn't reeked of sex already, well, she was only moments away from being sniffed out by every horny pilot on board. And they were everywhere. Kellan was more than familiar with that.
"All right, tough girl. Straighten up."
Kellan stood and brushed herself, fiddled with her torn suit. If she held her hand at her chest, clutching the two pieces, it would look almost like it wasn't torn. She hoped it would, at least. And goddammit, she was a pilot! A pilot and a grown woman. She could fuck whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted, and goddamn the consequences. Kellan cracked her neck and rubbed her muzzle with the back of her hand. Whatever. Let the others stare. She strode forward, her boots clicking on the metallic floorplates, air hissing as the closet doorhatch opened.
The hangar was empty.
Dan had gone, taken flight with the other pilots. Just like him. Fuck her and leave, quick as can be. Had he always been so callous? She couldn't remember.
"You don't love the sonofabitch," Kellan muttered. "Never have, heaven knows you never will. So forget it."
But as she entered the station proper, she found herself dwelling more and more on it. Dan had a bit of a reputation, didn't he? Sure, whatever... But he hasn't slept with anyone but you in -- What is it, two, three years? A voice in her head spoke up then, saying "No one but you... That you know of." Well even if he was sleeping around, what did it matte? It's not like they were dating anymore. She fucked Dan because he made her feel good. She fucked him because she made him feel good. Neither of them cared for each other, and he'd made that abundantly clear.
"Listen, if you don't wanna fuck, then quit coming around," he had said right after finishing, zipping up his own suit. "I can have anyone on board that I want."
"And you don't want me?" she'd asked.
"I do want you. And I'll have you one way or another."
Kellan hadn't liked the sound of that. But the more she thought about it, their liaisons had become less and less... consensual as time went by. Not that she wasn't okay with it -- she was happy to take part, and if she didn't want to get fucked anymore she would have made it abundantly clear. And if he didn't stop? Well, the flight crew might have to fly a few missions without him, and the medical crew might have to work a few extra shifts.
The looks she caught as she walked through Lobby 5 weren't quite as impartial as she'd hoped. She tried hard not to let it bother her. The quiet stares played a symphony only she could hear:
You call yourself a pilot?
Cheap slut.
For God's sake, there are families on board!
Happy to see this is what we pay you for...
"Ignore them, Kellan," she mumbled. "You're better than this."
She ducked into a service hallway and took the back route, past pipes and mechanics hard at work. Unlike the brightly lit lobbies and mainways, the station's tiny service halls were dark, lined with dull red lights that were kept off most hours of the day. Specific sections would be lit when the mechanics needed to work, eerie in the glow of the red bulbs. As she passed, a small team of mechanics looked up, tools lifted half to their tasks, while they stared at their sudden intruder. Kellan sniffed loudly. She wrapped her jumpsuit more closely around herself and hastened down the hall into the shadows. Behind her the mechanics paused for a moment as though witnessing the passing of a ghost or an angel. The noise of their work resumed.
OUTPOST 23
The harsh desert sun never set on Outpost 23. Reyh, the moon on which it had been built, was always facing its dwarf star, which meant blistering heat waves year round. Which, by Quinn's estimation, was four times faster than the standard Terran year.
Not that it matters much when you're stuck here.
Quinn stared out across the desert. The mouse hated everything about being posted here, from the bland meals -- some kind of unseasoned protein cubes, synthesized on site -- all the way down to the uniform. She twitched her nose underneath her fabric mask. It was woven of coarse fibers that grew on the surface of Reyh, and was meant to shield her from the winds that sometimes drove sand at blinding speeds. It just made her face itch. The others didn't seem to mind, but it wouldn't matter anyways. Outpost 23 was far from Central Space, and shipments this far away would cost a lot more than they could afford. Instead they made do with whatever rough materials they could find.
"Anything?" Simone asked. The hawk held her rifle loosely, but kept both hands on its grips. Quinn never touched her gun if she could help it. Sure, in a pinch she knew how to fire it. She'd rather not have to if she didn't need to. Simone had no such inhibitions, and would fire at the first sign of trouble. Lord knows that sometimes lead to even more trouble...
"Nope," Quinn replied. She drew a bit of the mask's fabric into her mouth and sucked on it, trying to alleviate the dry heat. "We're still alone."
"You'd think they wouldn't need to send us this far. Where are we, some fuckin' rock? No one else would even think of coming here."
"Yeah, but if they did, wouldn't they be surprised to find armed guards here?"
"They wouldn't have enough time to feel surprised," Simone said. She leaned back against Outpost 23's walls. Its walls were built of Rithial to help it withstand the high heat of the sun. The hawk closed both her eyes.
"You're the new recruit, yeah?"
The mouse blinked, her eyes as round as her ears.
"I guess word travels fast," Quinn said.
"Better believe it," Simone replied. She stretched, her beak cracking open in a wide yawn.
"Hey, I think I'm gonna catch a few Zs. Mind keepin' an eye out?"
"Sure."
"Hell, you'll make a soldier yet," Simone slumped to her rear in the sand, dropping her head between her knees. In her right hand she still held the rifle, but it only took her moments to fall asleep. Quinn scratched her head, then turned her attention back out to the desert.
Keep those eyes peeled, soldier.
FORTUNE CITY
Green light filled the sky as night overtook Fortune City. Casinos, hotels, skyscrapers, and offices all reached up, stretched their limber ligaments. With the downing of the sun their drowsy glimmer grew brighter. Corner stores and liquor stops switched on grubby signs, holographic messages appearing in empty space, advertising everything imaginable. Up above, on the buildings -- Presque Vu, for when a night out is more than just a night out; Darger Bourbon... Take charge; Blue Leaf: Fine menthol for a fine smoke -- down below, makeshift holos catered to baser needs: Sexy girls looking for action, are you man enough? Call XXX-XXX-XXXX! or, Empty space, users welcome, clean needles available. Prostitutes, drugs, hired guns -- all in backway streets and hidden corners of the city's lowest levels.
Everything of worth was up above.
Vic watched the city from his office chair on the fifteenth floor. The moon was supposed to be full tonight, but the vast space occupied by ARC Industries blocked his view. He turned back to his desk, glancing at the document on his monitor. The wolf took a sip of his coffee.
"What's going on here?" he muttered to himself, over the mug's rim.
The material he'd been given didn't make sense. He'd been reading it nearly an hour now and it still didn't add up. Vic sighed and stood, draining the last of his coffee. The open door beckoned him and he left, grabbing his jacket.