“Remote Assist Officer Viola Embergale logging on comms. You hear me, Cam?”

​ “Loud and clear,” Cam ran through the system checks on her dash, vague recollections of the dream she'd had with Geoffrey and his cleaning cloth running through her mind. ​ “Wazzaaaaaaaaaaaaap, gurrrrl?” Vi growled into the mic; Cam winced at the noise levels. ​ “Faaark, Vi, you get laid or something?” ​ “...Dammit. How did you guess? You're ruining my fun!” ​ Finished with going through the start-up motions, Cam flicked the ship into autopilot and leaned back, kicking her feet up onto the edge of the dash as usual as her vessel cruised slowly out of the space station and then throttled forwards when clear of the station's shield. ​ “Because you only get that excited when there are men involved. Oh shit -” Cam leaned forwards with concern as a horrific thought crossed her mind. “Tell me it wasn't Jareth...?” ​ “Aww, why not? He's totally sweet,” Vi crooned, and then let a moment of tormented silence hang between them as Cam struggled to not imagine Jareth and her best pal bumping uglies. “But yes, yes it was Jareth.” ​ “Holy Tizlel, Vi, why would you even!” Cam flung her arms over her head in despair. “He's gross! Ewwww, eww eww eww! Tell me everything. No! No, I don't want to know. Yes I do! Argh! Fine, tell me. I know you're going to anyway. Ugh this is going to be horrid. Okay, lay it on me.” ​ “Weeeell, you know you left us at the canteen yesterday?” Cam could hear her friend's voice veritably bubbling with excitement. ​ “We really hit it off. He's a total charmer, all flashy smiles and gentlemanly manners and stuff.” ​ Cam winced – of course he was a ‘charmer’, all men like that were. ​ “We talked for a while,” Vi continued, “And then we just, like, couldn't keep our hands off each other. He invited me back to his room and I thought, you know what? Fuckit. It's been ages since I had a good shag and I don't care if he's only in it to get laid because fuck, I'm only in it to get laid, you know?” ​ “Hear hear,” Cam applauded her friend. “As you know, I am a staunch proponent of getting laid for the sake of getting laid. So – I know I'm going to regret asking, but gory details?” ​ “It was good. It wasn't, like, amazeballs good, but it was satisfactory. I think his brain is like, 90% ego , but I can work with that. He's a good listener, at least. Makes it easier, ya know?” ​ “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Cam nodded to herself. “This a long-standing arrangement or a one-off?” ​ “Eh, I think I'll see him again. He's not my soulmate or anything, and when it got down to it we didn't really have that much to talk about, but that's fine – who needs talking when you've got six feet of pure muscle in your bed, amirite?” ​ “Blerrrgh,” Cam wrinkled her nose. “Do not like. I'm happy for you though!” ​ The ship's reverse thrusters uttered a sequence of short bursts that slowed the forward momentum of the vessel, and then the starboard-side thruster kicked in a span the ship about towards the wormhole. Cam watched it swing into view with the same fascination as the first time she'd seen it – huge, writhing, and made all the more ominous by the fact that nobody knew what was on the other side of it. Nobody had ever thought to go through and check it out for themselves. Nobody cared. ​ Cam cared, but she lacked the finances and resources to embark on such a mission and the possibilities that might unfold. So far, she hadn't been able to convince anyone to fund her and an exploratory mission, and so instead she'd taken a job right next to the thing so that when someone eventually did go through, she'd be right there watching. ​ Although, that wasn't the only reason she'd taken this job. Like many others she'd been tired of looking up at the sky and seeing it swarming with junk, of intra-system passenger flights taking longer and longer because of the pile-up of garbage just floating there in the void. Unlike many others, she'd decided to get actively involved in cleaning it up, even if that did mean just condensing it into bricks and spitting those bricks through a conveniently placed wormhole into Tizlel knows where. They could be polluting the heck out of another planetary system right now. Hell, they could be tossing junk right down onto some poor planet's surface. Their actions could well have caused an extinction event in some distant corner of the universe. ​ Or, as an alternative that Cam liked to think of if she wanted to get to sleep at night, they were simply relocating their junk to a vast, empty corner of space with nothing else in it. A galactic rubbish dump, if you will. ​ “Fifty clicks from drop-off point,” Cam read from the console. ​ “Roger,” Vi replied. “So what did you get up to after you left us yesterday?” ​ “Oh, uh... Well, I ran into Geoffrey,” She winced knowing that Vi was about to make this into a 'thing'. ​ “Ooh!” She heard Vi clapping her hands excitedly. “Tell me more! What happened?” ​ “I went to the canteen and he was already there standing in line. So we just, y'know, said hi and stuff.” ​ “Right,” Vi tutted. “Come on; you know me better and I know you better. Spill the beans, lady.” ​ “Gah! Fine. I said hi, we chatted a bit, awkwardly because I don't know why but whatever. Asked him if he'd tried the sausage I always get there, and he hadn't, and – can you believe this? – didn't even know what a sausage was! So I bought one each for us, and one mug of Fiestea each, and for some silly, daft, inane reason I asked him if he wanted to come eat with me at my special spot.” ​ “Oooh!” Vi chirruped. “And what did he say?” ​ “He said yes, actually. He knew where I meant, too; said he'd seen me there once. I think I saw him there the day Jareth introduced himself to me. Anyway, it all went to shit after that, so whatever.” ​ “Oh,” Vi sounded dejected. “How come? What happened?” ​ “Fucking arsehole started insinuating that he'd had sex with me and was asking how it was.” ​ “Wait – what? That doesn't sound like Geoffrey.” ​ “Yeah, well, you think you know someone.” ​ “No but, really, that doesn't sound like him. Seriously, he's really shy. He wouldn't just come out with something like that. What did he say? Oh – ten clicks from drop-off point, prepare cargo for release.” ​ “Confirmed, beginning rotation,” Cam disabled auto-pilot and took the ship into a slow spin to line up the cargo pod with the wormhole. “He uh...” She pretended to try to recall the exact words, even though she'd played the whole conversation over in her head a thousand times since then. “He asked me how the phallus was. He said, 'How's the phallus?' and when I clarified that he was in fact asking what I thought he was asking, he said 'yes, the phallus, the one I gave you'. Like, WTF, right?” ​ “Oh, man... Uh, are you sure he said phallus and not phaelis?” ​ “You just said the same word twice,” Cam frowned. “Disengaging cargo.” ​ A solid thunk from the back of the ship signified the un-clamping of the cargo pod. ​ “No, listen. Phallus – p-h-a-l-l-u-s ; the male genital organ, aka dick, aka schlong, aka happy fun times; versus phaelis, p-h-a-e-l-i-s; an unidentified space creature. I think Geoffrey was asking you about Brat. Cargo disengaged, commence boost.” Cam's eyes widened. “Oh fuck. What the fuck kind of word is phaelis? Who even knows that shit? Oh fuck.” ​ “Commence boost, Cam.” ​ “Right. Uh...” Cam punched the thrusters and the ship propelled forwards. She watched the little radar dot of the cargo pod floating off towards the wormhole. “Done. Heading home for the next lot. Shit, Vi,” She leaned back in her chair and rubbed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. “I think I fucked up big time. I got really mad at him and he looked so confused and I just swore at him and stalked off in a huff and left him there with his sausage.” ​ “You arsehole,” Cam could hear that Vi was trying not to giggle. “Yeah, you fucked up. But you know what? Now you get to make up.” ​ “Urgh,” Cam winced. “There a flower shop on the station? Chocolates? Sports Illustrated?” ​ “Hey – Cam?” ​ “Yeah I know dumb idea. I'll just have to suck it up and -” ​ “No, Cam, look at your radar – do you see that?” ​ Cam kicked her boots off the console and leaned over the radar. The green blip of the cargo crate had vanished, sucked into the wormhole to whatever lay beyond – but now another blip, much smaller, was moving towards her at a velocity and trajectory that suggested it had just exited the wormhole. Her heart skipped a beat. ​ “Holy fuck. Did that just get spat OUT of the wormhole? Our side?” ​ “Looks like it. Scan?” ​ Camryn tapped a command into the console and ran a preliminary scan on the object that was floating unassumingly towards her ship. ​ “Small, rectangular. Scanning materials – seems to be a composite of the stuff we send through! Shit this is intense. Pulling up a visual now. Woah! It's a box!” ​ “A box?” Vi's voice was cautionary. “You sure?” ​ “Looks like one. Has a seam around the circumference and a clasp on one side and hinges on the other. Scans confirm that it's hollow and has a small object inside.” ​ “What kind of object?” ​ “Flat, rectangular, thin. Like... a datapad? I dunno. I'll have to tractor it in and open it up.” ​ “Shit, Cam, be careful.” ​ “Yeah, I know. I'll follow protocol. Suiting up now.” ​ Cam stood from the chair and grabbed the spacesuit from the hook behind her. She'd had a few opportunities to use the suit before – all boring stuff, repair missions that involved spacewalking, usually on the station itself but a few times on her ship during a run when some part or other had given up the ghost. They weren't exactly well funded and pilots were expected, in an unwritten agreement that absolutely did not comply with union standards, to carry out their own maintenance wherever possible. ​ She tugged on the black costume, secured the gloves and helmet, stepped into the boots, and then pressed the button on her chest that secured the whole thing into an airtight spacesuit. ​ “Still hear me?” She asked into the headset while leaning over the console to activate the tractor beam. ​ “Yep. Update me.” ​ “Suit on and functional, tractor beam engaged. Opening aft door.” ​ “If it blows up, I love you and I'm telling Geoffrey everything.” ​ “Shut up.” ​ A large panel in the back of the ship engaged into motion, lowering outwards on heavy pistons. Cam could see the little box being pulled in towards her by the tractor beam. It looked about a foot wide and half that much long and deep – like a fat briefcase. ​ “Almost here,” She told Vi, whose silence on the other end was palpable. ​ When the box was close enough, Cam reached out and took a gentle hold of it, pulling it out of the tractor beam's field and into the ship. She punched the button to close the aft hatch and set the box on the floor. ​ “Got it. Yep, it's a box with hinges and a clasp. Opening it now.” ​ “Be careful!!” Vi's voice was at least an octave higher than normal. ​ “Yes, mom.” ​ The clasp flipped up easily. Cam took a deep breath of the nice, fresh oxygen that the spacesuit manufactured for her, and then gently lifted the lid. ​ “Yeah, this is a datapad. Has a single switch and a screen.” ​ “Are you absolutely certain it's not a bomb?” ​ “Like, ninety-nine point nine nine nine nine nine nine nine percent,” Cam replied. “Turning it on.” ​ She pushed the button with a fat gloved finger and the screen lit in a pleasing lavender glow. After a few moments, the screen filled with what she assumed were words. ​ “There's something written on it, I think. Hang on, scanning it into the ship's computer.” ​ “What if it's a virus?” ​ “Cool! Virus from outer space!” ​ “Er, we're in outer space already.” ​ “Hush. Okay, ship computer is trying to translate it.” ​ Cam tugged at the tight fit of the suit while she waited for the computer to do its thing. The databanks on every ship were linked with the station, which in turn was linked to every other station and the main sector hub, which was linked to every planet in the sector and every other sector belonging to the galactic network. Every language of every alien species belonging to the network was in there, and the AI was advanced enough to be able to extrapolate data to try to decipher new languages. ​ After several agonisingly long minutes, the ship computer alerted her that it had completed its task. Cam sat down in the chair and leaned over the display, reading the words it had provided, and with a frown, reading them again.
​ “This is weird. Hang on, wiping that file and starting the translation again.” ​ “What is it?” ​ “Will tell you in a minute, lemme run it again just to make sure.” ​ Again she waited, tapping her gloves on the dash and staring out into space, trying not to think about just how exactly she was going to tackle apologising to Geoffrey. She should probably go over there right after her shift, get it done with. That would quite possibly mean another encounter with him in his sleeping clothes, and that thought kicked her anxiety up a level. She sighed and willed the computer to hurry. Presently, it beeped at her again and she read through the contents of the screen. ​ “It done?” Vi asked. ​ “Yeah. Same thing as last time. Okay, this is weird as fuck.” ​ “What? What is it?!” ​ “It appears to be a recipe for a sausage.”

• * * *

​ Jareth studied the closeness of his shave in the mirror, inspecting in minute detail that his chin and cheeks were silky-smooth, and then poured some aftershave into the palm of his hand and splashed it onto his cheeks.

​ “Perfect!” He announced to no-one, and then struck a pose, scrutinising his clothing and hair. He undid just one more button on his shirt so that his chest hairs weren't so much peeking over the top but rather flowing forth in a fountain of sexy manliness, and then declared himself fit for consumption.

​ The corridor outside his room was bustling. It was a busy time of day; the morning shifts were just getting started and the night shifts were coming off and heading to the food courts for their evening meals. He'd arranged to meet Vi just after her shift and grab dinner with her at Draegan's; it was by far his favourite eatery; not just on the station, but anywhere, in fact. That he'd be joined by the foxy comms chick was just a bonus.

​ They'd really hit it off that first time they'd met. He'd been on his way to have another crack at the pilot, but he could tell she was a bit stuck up and honestly, her friend had been a much easier catch. Maybe he'd save the pilot for another challenge another day, if he ever got bored of this one. Though considering how energetic she'd been in the sack, he couldn't see himself getting bored for a while.

​ “Hey there,” He paused to flash a smile at a passing hottie. She replied with a frown and hurried off along the corridor, affording Jareth a lovely view of her ass as she went. Oh well – couldn't win them all. Looked like she was in a janitor uniform too – not exactly a profession he'd call sexy.

​ He got to the food court and lingered at the edge of Draegan's; a few moments later, Vi emerged from the crowd and wandered over to him wearing the sweetest little blushing grin.

​ “Hey,” She beamed up at him, that same sparkle in her eyes as the first time they'd met, when he'd ran his fingers up and down her forearm and she'd hooked her foot around his ankle under the cheap metal table.

​ “Hey sexy,” He leaned down and purred in her ear before giving her a lingering kiss on the cheek. Play it cool, take it slow – he'd tease her a little and she'd get her mouth-to-mouth later on; if she was lucky, maybe more. She looked good – dishevelled from a long shift, with loose strands of hair curling around her cheeks, her sleeves shoved up to her elbows and her shirt wrinkled from hours of sitting at the desk.

​ Jareth wrapped his arm around her hips and guided her towards the queue. His stomach was growling; it was later than he'd usually eat but dinner with Vi and the possibility of what might happen afterwards was worth waiting for; or hopefully would be, at least.

​ “Good day?” She asked him. “How are you settling in?”

​ “Oh, fine,” He smiled down at her. “Got my uniform today. It's a size too small and really brings out my muscles, you know? I should have worn it for you, given you a treat.”

​ She chuckled. “I'm sure I'll see it at some point. They assigned you your comms partner?”

​ “Ugh,” His face soured somewhat. “Some dude. I asked for you but apparently you're full.”

​ “Yeah, my schedule's pretty hectic. Sorry, babe.”

​ “Can't you drop anyone? How about your friend? I'm sure she won't mind.”

​ Vi wrinkled her nose. “Cam? I'm not dropping her. She's like, the highlight of my shift. We crack wise. It's good times.”

​ “Good times? The job's pretty boring,” Jareth shrugged. “Figured it'd be boring whoever you're talking to on the headset. Two Emperor D meals,” He ordered for them both and then waited for her to extract her chip card from her wallet to scan for her half of the food.

​ “Actually we had a pretty exciting day today,” She followed him as he led her to his chosen table and sat on the chair he pulled out for her.

​ “Yeah? How come?”

​ “Well, I'm not sure how much I should be talking about this,” She glanced around them, looking at the other people seated at the tables, and the waiting staff that hovered nearby.

​ “Aw, come on,” He took her tiny hand in his and played with her fingers. “Why not, is it dangerous?”

​ “Dangerous? No,” Her cheeks had flushed from his contact with her; good, loosen her up a bit, get her in the mood. “It's just, uh, unusual. I'll check with Cam, alright? If she says it's okay, I'll tell you what we found.”

​ “You found something?” He perked a brow.

​ “Oh,” Vi frowned. “Dammit. Probably shouldn't have said that.”

​ “Like what – something floating around with all the junk?”

​ “Uh, yeah, something like that. It's nothing big. Might not be anything.”

​ “If it's nothing, then you can tell me about it,” He held her hand in his and used his free hand to tickle up along her forearm. If he could distract her again, maybe she'd let slip a little more.

​ Their food arrived, forcing him to release Vi's arm to make room on the tiny table. She left her burger box unopened and headed straight for the fries, while he practically tore open the box and took huge, hungry bites from the juicy burger.

​ “Nah, I'll check with Cam. I'm sure she'll be fine about me telling you but she's the one who found it so she gets to say. Honestly it's nothing exciting; at this point we've hyped it up so much it'll be underwhelming when you hear about it,” She chuckled.

​ He was about to respond when he noticed the waiter that had brought their food still lingering at the table.

​ “We're good,” Jareth waved him away. The man, a tall, lean figure with a close-cropped cut of white-blonde hair and pale blue-grey eyes, paused a moment with his eyes on Vi before offering Jareth the tiniest of smiles and walking away.

​ “Weirdos,” Jareth shrugged at his burger.

​ “Cam hates the staff here. Says they stare too much, that they're creepy how they're just there, watching everyone.”

​ “Maybe he fancied you,” he winked at her. “Doesn't have a chance, though. Not with me around. Right?”

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, let me know at WelshPixie <3

(Working title: Spacegal Fruitpie and the Quest for an Epic Sausage)

Geoffrey leaned back against the closed doors of his quarters and let out slow breath, feeling the tension unwind from his body. His hearts hammered in his chest, his pulse pumped loudly in his ears and he was acutely aware of the small spines that ran down the length of his back and tail standing on edge.

​ He'd expected someone to show up to collect the squid, the little creatures the station staff found on an almost daily basis were always snapped up pretty quickly as exotic pets; but hadn't counted on it being her. If he'd known, he might not have volunteered to take the thing until it found a home; avoided the confrontation altogether. Or would he? He did enjoy seeing her, he really did – but interacting with her was just so... difficult.

​ If only all of his encounters with her could be like the cargo hold earlier; watching from a distance without her even knowing he was there.

​ Geoffrey frowned, pushing himself away from the door and moving instead to sit in one of his comfortable old leather chairs. That sounded an awful lot like stalking, he conceded – and he didn't want that. No; he enjoyed her presence, found her oddly alluring for a human female with her short stature and delicate skin that looked like it might tear with the slightest of pressure from his talons, however dull his father had always accused them of being.

​ Ahh, his talons on her skin... The image came to him unbidden, the tips of his claws tracing along her ivory flesh with just enough pressure to dimple her peculiar scale-less skin, but not pierce it. Would that he could restrain himself to not ravage her, he sighed; if he were ever in a position to be intimate with her, would he be able to resist the fire of his passions?

​ He tipped his head back and stared up at his ceiling, adorned with the glow-in-the dark stars and moons he'd purchased for an unreasonably large sum from a squirely little trader that had passed through once from Eridani. The thought of transferring to another station came briefly to mind, as it always did when he thought of her and the impossibility of anything ever happening between them, but as always the echo of his brothers chastising him for his cowardice rose bilious with hot anger in his throat and pushed all thoughts of fleeing away.

​ No – he'd stay, and face his insecurities, face these chance encounters with her, and suffer them gladly. He might not be fit for war, but if he couldn't even stomach the occasional face-to-face conversation with the object of his affections, then what was left?

****

​ “Where did this creature come from, most-endearing-one?” Wryk'ars sidled up behind Cam, who stood in front of Brat's tank dropping little morsels of raw fish into the murky water. “Forgive this one's potentially improper imposition, but is it perhaps not a little dirty?” ​ “Dirty? The tentacles? You have such a filthy mind,” Cam chuckled. ​ “This one means the water in the tank, most-endearing-one,” Wryk'ars tutted. ​ “Oh! Right. I don't know why it's like that; it would get cloudy and I'd put fresh clear water in but it would just cloud right up again so I stopped trying to fight it. Seems to be how he likes it.” ​ “And from where does it hail?” ​ “Ah, yeah, uh... I actually got it from Geoffrey,” Cam winced. Wryk'ars had been in the process of snaking a couple of azolae around Cam's waist to play around her belly button, but the movement froze when Cam mentioned that name, and the azolae receded a little. ​ “This one sees.” ​ “It's not – I mean, there's nothing going on. I don't know the guy. He just happened to be the one who found this thing, and Vi told me about it, so if I wanted it I had to fetch it from him.” ​ “Could friend-of-most-endearing-one not have collected it on most-endearing-one's behalf?” ​ “I suppose she could have, but what's the point?” Cam bristled now. “Look, there's nothing going on. If you don't trust me on that then I don't really care; we never defined any terms to what we have. It's just a bit of fun, right? Entertainment while we both have time to kill.” ​ “Of course,” Wryk'ars turned away from Cam and picked up their jacket from the back of a nearby chair. “This one should be leaving. This one has conference to attend during next scheduled pick-up and so this one will not be at the station four our usual... bit of fun.” ​ She could tell she'd upset them and a momentary pang of guilt tugged at her, but the feeling was quickly replaced by annoyance. She'd always felt that Wryk'ars assigned more importance to their relationship, such as it was, than she did; they'd even started sending little notes to her employee inbox that were beginning to get sickeningly cutesy in their tone and Cam was having a harder and harder time replying to them without seeming rude. ​ “Yeah, I'll see you whenever. Not like I'm going anywhere. Can you see yourself out? I have to finish feeding Brat or he gets feisty.” ​ Wryk'ars lingered in the middle of the room a moment, and then glided out of the room, panel doors sliding shut with a hiss behind them. ​ Cam sighed, and then started as Brat tapped at her fingertip with an impatient tentacle. ​ “Yes yes, I haven't forgotten,” She picked up another cube of fish and plopped it into the tank. She could vaguely make out Brat's shape inside the murky water, its tentacles curling around the cube of fish and pulling it in towards the center of their body. The water was too cloudy for her to see it, but she knew that the mouth there had a kind of squid-like beak with jagged razor edges that looked like it could take her finger off without much of a fuss. ​ “You'd never do that to me though, would you, Brat?” She let one suckered tentacle absently curl around her finger and stroked it gingerly with her thumb. Though it looked like it should be slimy, the texture was actually somewhat rough and bumpy and more akin to a lizard's skin than some aquatic creature. In the almost-week she'd had Brat, the creature had almost doubled in size, and had an insatiable appetite for anything she put in the tank. She'd been trying to give it a varied diet of meat, fish, bugs and plant-life and it hadn't shown any preference either way; whatever she dropped in, it would consume with vigour. ​ When she wasn't feeding it, it would linger in the back corner of the tank, usually with one or two tentacles stretched out over the top of the tank as if keeping some part of itself anchored to the outside world. It still had a tendency to follow her if she walked around the room within view of the tank, but had stopped flicking her with water after that first night – though that might have had something to do with the little glow-in-the-dark rubber ducky she'd put in the tank with Brat that she could hear it softly splashing about as it played with it after she'd gone to bed. ​ She still hadn't been able to figure out what species it was, but it did seem to possess a reasonable intelligence; she just hadn't had the time between shifts to investigate the limits of that sentience. ​ “Who's a smart little Brat, hmm?” She tapped gently on the tank with her fingers and it tapped the same rhythm back to her. “Yes you are!” She cooed at it; “Yes you are!”

****

​ “Enhance.” ​ Jareth stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom, curling his arm and examining his bicep. ​ “Enhance.” ​ The image on the mirror zoomed in a second time, focusing on his bicep in enlarged detail. ​ “Enhance.” ​ “Can not comply,” The room's AI responded. ​ “Enhance!” ​ “Can not comply,” The cold feminine voice repeated. ​ “Why not?!” Jareth's bicep bulged angrily against the sleeve of his t-shirt. ​ “Maximum zoom level reached. Unable to further enhance image.” ​ “Aww,” Jareth sagged, disappointed. “Fine. Computer!” ​ “Yes?” ​ “Recite statistics of most ripped people on the station.” ​ “Does not compute.” ​ “Oh! Um, I mean -” Jareth fumbled on his desk for a piece of paper and then read the words that someone had scrawled across it. “Recite statistics of personnel with highest muscle density aboard station.” ​ “Retrieving data...” ​ Jareth sat down on the edge of his bed and tapped his foot anxiously. ​ “Define parameters of response,” The computer prompted him. He glanced at the paper again. ​ “Uh – top five personnel ranked lowest to highest. No! Just tell me – am I in the top five?” ​ “Confirmed, Jareth Rockrod stands at position three of defined parameters.” ​ “Three? What the hell?! Who beat me?” ​ “Does not compute.” ​ “Ugh,” Jareth sighed with frustration. “Who is in first and second place?” ​ “In second position, Roth Veotholf. In first position, Eon'eo Grauath.” ​ Jareth sighed, forlorn. ​ “Who is Roth Veotholf?” ​ “Unable to provide details.” ​ Jareth stood and started pacing. “Why not?” ​ “It is against station protocol to divulge personal details on any member of the crew.” ​ “Fine. Who is Eoneeno Growlithe?” ​ “Unable to provide details.” ​ “Well what CAN you do?! Useless computer!” ​ “I can read your blood glucose levels. Scanning – It appears you have not eaten recently. I would recommend a visit to one of the station's several food courts. The nearest food court to your location is 300 meters starboard and twenty-five meters port along the Blue Route marked on the corridor flooring. The food court contains a Machidiel's Grilled Meats, Better Bigger Buffet, Simply Slithers, and Draegan's Fast Food.” ​ “There's a Draegan's here?” Jareth whirled around to the mirror again, grabbing a comb and working it meticulously through his hair. “Why didn't you tell me?” ​ “You did not enquire,” The computer replied matter-of-factly. ​ Jareth checked the fit of the snug black t-shirt he wore, adjusted his junk for maximum visibility under his tight black slacks, sprayed himself liberally with a pungent cologne, practised a few varieties of smile in the mirror ranging from charming to sultry, and then decided he was ready for the world to honour his presence. ​ Or at least, the station. ​ Or at least, whatever deck he was on.

****

​ “Oh my glorp, is that him? Is that the new guy?? Tell me that's the new guy,” Vi tapped her palms on the table excitedly, looking off over Cam's shoulder. “Don't look! Okay look, but don't make it obvious!!” ​ “I thought you'd have run into him by now,” Cam fake-dropped a serviette on the floor and looked behind her as she leaned down to pick it up. “Yeah, that's him. You're really into that?” ​ “Well durr,” Vi beamed, eyes eagerly tracking Jareth as he strode across the food court and headed straight towards them. ​ “I knew I shouldn't have come to Draegan's. I hate this shitty place with its shitty food and weird creepy staff,” She stared hard at a waiter that was walking past them to another table. He glanced down at her as if he'd heard, and she swore he cracked a smirk. “Smug bastards. What do they have to be so creepy about, huh?” ​ “They're not creepy,” Vi kicked her under the table. “They're just doing their jobs.” ​ “You know, I'm not sure positioning themselves at accurately spaced intervals around the perimeter of the eating area, surveying the clientèle and whispering furtively into their fancy little jerk-ass headsets that probably each cost more than my entire shitty ship that I have to fly INTO SPACE every day constitutes 'doing their job'.” ​ “Wow, Camryn. Tell me how you really feel.” ​ “I'm sorry,” Cam sighed and picked at her small garden salad. It was the only thing she'd felt safe ordering, and didn't really feel comfortable eating that. She'd probably pop down to the canteen on C-deck later and get a nice, juicy sausage from her pal Blimm. “I'm in a shitty mood.” ​ “Wasn't today one of your Wryk'ars days?” ​ “It's pronounced Ars,” She reminded her friend. “The first syllable of Zesluter names is silent.” ​ “That's... so dumb,” Vi shook her head. ​ Cam scowled. “But yeah, that was today.” ​ “You don't sound thrilled?” Vi still had her eyes glued to Jareth, who was now standing in line at the Draegan's counter. ​ “Eh. I think they're more into me than I'm into them. I mean I've suspected that for a while, but they're coming on a bit strong recently and I just don't want that kind of relationship.” ​ “Not with them, at least,” Vi shot Cam a wink and a grin before turning her attention back to Jareth. “Look at that tight little ass. Man, I could just... Nnnggh!” She mimed clamping on with her fingers. ​ “You're disgusting,” Cam muttered. “Wait – what do you mean, not with them?” ​ “ME disgusting? You're the one shacking up with a Zesluter. Having weird names is, like, the way most least weird thing going on in...” she waved her arms around in circles in front of her, “That whole package.” ​ “ 'Way most least weird'? Anyway, they're just a different species,” Cam chided her. “Didn't you have a thing with that Chufer electrician we had for a few months last year, that annoying kid that was doing an apprenticeship here? So a Chufer's fine but a Zesluter isn't?” ​ “I know. I need to get over myself. It's just a lot to wrap my head around. I haven't been around as much as you have. Wait, that came out wrong – I mean, I haven't travelled as much. And you know what I mean. Everyone on the station apart from you and Geoffrey know that you and Geoffrey have a thing for each other.” ​ Cam spluttered on her water. “What the hell is it with everyone shipping me and Geoffrey? I don't know much clearer I can make this. I don't know the dude. We barely say two words to each other because every time I try making conversation with him he clams up, so clearly he doesn't like me, or at the very least, he's indifferent.” ​ “Whatever. It's gonna happen, sooner or later. Ooh! Look! Jareth's coming over!” ​ Cam sighed. “Awesome.” ​ “What are two beautiful women like you doing in a place like this?” Jareth pulled over a chair that looked impossibly small for his frame, turned it so that the back faced the table, and straddled it. ​ “Oh my glorp,” Cam muttered under her breath and pretended to be suddenly engrossed in her salad. ​ “HIIII!” Vi extended her hand and veritably squealed at Jareth. “I'm Vi. Cam told me about you. I work up in comms. She said you're a pilot? Maybe you'll run into my voice in your ear one day!” ​ “Enchanted,” Jareth took Vi's sideways palm and instead turned it downward, planting an over-exaggerated kiss on the back of her hand. ​ Fighting back the urge to hurl, Cam stood up quickly, her chair skittering back and causing some of the waiting staff to frown in her direction. ​ “Hey I'm gonna get going. I'm sure you two will get along just fine. Vi, see you later.” ​ She tossed her bowl of salad into the waste unit in full view of one of the Draegan waiters, making sure he saw her snubbing the food, and then stalked off towards the elevator. She'd known Vi for the few years she'd been on the station and her taste in men had always been questionable, but fawning over Jareth was just something else entirely. Surely she could tell that he was nothing more than a big greaseball in a nicely packaged ego-suit? Although, maybe that was part of the appeal; maybe Jareth could be for Vi what Wryk'ars was for Cam. Something to pass the time on this floating hunk of space-metal.

****

​ The spines on the back of Geoffrey's neck prickled and he frowned, glancing around the canteen for the source of the tingling. He locked eyes with Camryn. ​ She paused, having just stepped out of the elevator, and for a moment she looked like a Molgovian Nasua caught in the beams of a low-flying Class 1 Zenyth, liable to turn tail and dive for cover at any moment. Instead, she straightened her jacket and stalked purposely towards him – or rather, towards the canteen line – eyes fixed on the ground in front of her. ​ Geoffrey turned his attention forwards again, aware of the agitated back-and-forth flicking the tip of his tail was engaging in but powerless to stop the reactionary movement. With any luck, Camryn wouldn't be so keenly aware of Clackovian behavioural physiology and wouldn't connect the motion to his state of mind. ​ “What's up with your tail? You look like a pissed off cat,” Her voice came from directly behind him. ​ He sighed. So much for that. ​ Geoffrey half-turned and forced a little smile, hearts starting to hammer against his ribcage again. If she looked closely she'd see the frenetic rise and fall of his chest where he kept the top few buttons of his janitorial outfit undone – a necessity; the uniform was compulsory but the station's atmospheric controls were often set a few degrees hotter than he found comfortable. He simultaneously hoped that she would, and wouldn't, look that closely. ​ “Just a little uncomfortable. It's hot standing in line here so close to the kitchen.” ​ “Oh,” She looked momentarily taken aback, and her cheeks flushed the most delicate shade of red, like the petals of the Cassia odora following the first drops of rain of the wet season. In his culture, it was rare for Cleckovians to have red colourations on the patterns of their faces, and those who were born with them were considered manifestations of the divine and lived a life of high stature, serving as a conduit between the people and their Gods. Every time her cheeks flushed it reminded him of this tradition, and the thought of home was a bitter-sweet pang. ​ “You like eating here too? Most people on our deck just go to the fast food courts on the same level, it's more convenient.” ​ “More convenient, but less satisfactory,” He replied, and took a few steps forwards as the queue moved. ​ She paused a moment and he could feel her eyes burrowing into the back of his head, as if waiting for something. Presently, and to his dismay for he was longing to be free of this situation and wished to return to his quarters with his meal where he could eat without having to worry about the kind of impression he was making on this maddeningly intriguing human woman, she resumed the conversation. ​ “I come here for the sausage,” She stated. “Well, one particular kind of sausage.” ​ “Sausage?” He glanced over his shoulder at her. She was really quite small, even by human standards. He imagined he would be able to pick her up with ease, despite having a small frame himself for a Cleckovian and the associated lack of strength from his diminutive muscles. He imagined lifting her, and then imagined what he would do with her after lifting her, and turned away again in a hurry. ​ “You don't know sausages?” ​ “No,” He coughed, not daring to look around this time. ​ “They're...” She paused, and he thought he heard her sighing quietly, and wondered if he had perhaps been too abrupt just then. “They're just processed meat.” ​ He looked down at his feet. His tail had ceased its incessant flicking, but now his talons clack-clacked on the steel floor panels. ​ “Is this... sausage... worth consuming?” He tentatively asked. ​ She stepped up alongside him, and as he instinctively looked towards the movement, his elevated vantage-point granted him a direct line of vision down the V of her jacket. His breath hitched in his throat and he forced his head forwards again, focusing on the person in front. They were placing their order, which meant that he would be served next, which meant that he would soon be free to escape. ​ The knowledge that he was still running away from his problems pressed in from the peripheries of his conscience. Scowling, he shoved the thought aside. He was ill-prepared for surprise encounters with this creature that made his pulse quicken and his spines bristle of their own accord. ​ “Oh, totally,” She beamed up at him. Her teeth were so very flat, but those two upper canines so deliciously inviting with their cute little points. His own teeth were razors by comparison. Smaller than those of his brethren, but still capable of tearing through flesh like butter. Why did he find hers so appealing? By all rights, he shouldn't. ​ “You should try one!” She continued, stretching up onto the tips of her toes with the eagerness of her suggestion. Even that little gesture, something that made next to no difference in the height between them and so was ultimately pointless, made a little shiver run down through his scales. ​ “I... may,” He arched a brow, calculating the risk of trying a new food. The person in the queue in front of them moved along, and before he could react, Camryn had rushed forward. ​ “Two Hempain Buttersausages!” She beamed at the squat creature that manned the paypoint. ​ “You're sharing? Must be a special guy,” The creature glanced up at him with a mischievous smile on his grease-smeared face. “And two cups of Fiestea?” ​ “Oh, um -” She glanced up at him; “Do you drink tea? Just give me two anyway – if Geoffrey doesn't like it, I'll drink it.” ​ Before he could protest, she had flashed her card in front of the scanner and paid for their faire. ​ “That was very kind of you,” He looked down at her, not sure whether to feel irritated that she had presumed to order his meal for him, or honoured by the implication that this Hempain Buttersausage was some kind of rare delicacy and that her sharing with him was a great privilege that she was bestowing upon him. ​ She had a sparkle in her eye when she looked up at him, and ushered him along to the end of the counter to await their order. ​ “I will feel bad if I do not like this... sausage,” He frowned. ​ Camryn shrugged. “If you don't like it, I'll eat it. I could eat a fat, juicy sausage several times a day, I swear. I love 'em.” ​ “But to know that I do not like it I will have to have tasted it,” His brow furrowed. ​ “That's usually how it works, yeah...” ​ “Which in turn means that it will have been in my mouth. You would still consume it?” ​ She chuckled, and the delicate sound made his scales rattle again. “I'm not really a prude with stuff like that. I mean, I know you've passed your health checks or you wouldn't still be working here. Oh! Wait – is it some kind of cultural thing where you come from? That you don't share food that other people have eaten?” ​ He paused to digest her words; her casual manner of speaking to him tended to leave him flustered, especially when paired with the constant flushing of her cheeks when she looked at him. The strong superstitions of his cultural upbringing would have him believe that the divines were manifesting their will through her to him, even though he knew that to be most unlikely. ​ “Sharing food is something only done between close partners,” He finally admitted. “Although, I have had to leave other traditions behind in the many years since my... Since leaving,” He checked himself. “If this is something that has lesser significant meaning to you, I will attempt comfort with it.” ​ “Hey, it's no biggy,” She looked bashful for a moment. “It's cool, either way.” ​ The canteen chef emerged from the back room carrying two cartons stacked atop each other in one hand, and two steaming mugs in the other. He gave Geoffrey a cursory look, turned to Camryn and winked at her, set the food and drinks down atop the counter, and then waddled back into the kitchen. ​ “Grub's up,” Camryn handed him his mug and the tray with the sausage in it, which he took gingerly, peering with curiosity at the contents of both. “So hey! Do you, uh... I usually eat over -” ​ “The cargo bay,” Geoffrey peered down at her. “I – I saw you there, once,” He quickly added. “I was cleaning.” ​ “Yeah. It's uh...” She paused, and chewed her bottom lip, as if struggling with what was coming next. “It's quiet there, and has that big window. If you wanted to, I mean. We can eat here if you rather.” ​ “Food is food,” He shrugged, not sure it was a good idea to be alone with her and only these sausages between them. “Wherever it is eaten.” ​ “Right,” She frowned, pausing in indecision. ​ “But the view is nice,” Geoffrey continued, sensing that his response had caused her some distress, and started walking towards the cargo bay. A silence fell between them and their footfalls echoed over the corrugated steel floor tiles and along the corridor walls. He thought of a handful of conversational topics, dismissed as soon as they sprang to mind for a variety of neurotic reasons, and then remembered that she had picked up the creature from him recently. ​ “How is the phaelis?” He asked. ​ “I'm sorry?” She glanced up at him. ​ “The phaelis. How is it?” ​ “The phallus?” ​ “Yes,” He frowned, trying to remember whether the human auditory system worked by radar and whether their echoing footsteps were perhaps muddying her senses. ​ “I don't know what phallus you're referring to, Geoffrey, and even if I did, I'm not entirely sure that asking about it would be any of your business...” ​ He stopped walking and looked down at her with some concern. Had he imagined it? No – he had found a phaelis, noted himself in the station logs as the temporary owner, taken it back to his quarters, she had collected it (which itself had caused him much distress following her unexpected arrival at his quarters in the middle of the night), and now there was most certainly no phaelis in his room, and so she must have it. ​ “Of course you know what phaelis – the one I gave you. And I don't know why asking about it would not be any of my business considering I'm the one who gave you the phaelis in the first place.” ​ “Wait a minute – are you saying you gave me the D?” She had stopped walking too, and her face was flushed again, but not just her cheeks – her entire head from the neck upwards was turning a progressively brighter shade of crimson. ​ “Yes,” He replied confidently, remembering he had met a human woman by the name of Nadine once and assuming that's what she'd named the creature. An odd name for a creature such as that, but then no odder than any other non-Cleckovian traditions and cultures he had come across in his years since exile. ​ “You're saying gave me the D and now you're asking me how it was?” ​ “...Yes?” He didn't understand her confusion over this. Was her brain malfunctioning? Was she experiencing memory loss? Should he report her to sick bay for a check-up? ​ “Fucking unbelievable,” She muttered and stormed off down the corridor back towards the canteen, leaving Geoffrey standing alone with his tea and his sausage, listening to her footfalls fading until he could no longer hear them.

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, let me know at WelshPixie <3

Sorcha's supple fingers slipped sensuously over Leo's skin, slathering him in coconut oil that made his muscles gleam darkly in the mid-day sun. The only sounds were the gentle rhythmic rise and fall of the wavelets on the shore and her soft breathing behind him. He closed his eyes and felt the fine sand beneath his fingertips, cooler further down as he sank his fingers through the grains to the damp sub-sand that still held the ocean's touch.

“Why here?” He asked, craning his neck back and holding one hand to shield his eyes from the glowing orb in the sky.

Sorcha shrugged as her hands kneaded his strong shoulders. “Don't you like it?”

“I like it,” He smiled reassuringly. “I just wasn't expecting it.”

Sorcha stilled the caress of her fingertips and looked out across the sparkling sea. Her eyes were grey like the backs of the storm petrels that swooped and hovered over the gentle ripples, her hair a cascade of golden sunlight. She was beautiful, and Leo wrestled with his love for her.

“I think I...” She began, trailing off to uncertainty. Leo shifted to regard her more fully. “I think I remember this place.”

He frowned. “How is that possible?”

“I don't know.” Sorcha's shoulders clinched briefly into her neck. “It just feels that way. It's a sensation, something distant, like I've been here before.”

“And where is 'here'?” Leo was getting slightly frustrated. Was the program acting up?

“It's a beach.” Sorcha's eyes drifted across the horizon, over the waves and sail-boats bobbing in the distance to the dunes on either side of them with their long grasses that whispered in the wind and blew curls of sand that twisted into the sky before atomizing.

“Obviously it's a beach,” Leo sat upright and crossed his ankles in front of him. “Isn't it one of the standard locations from the library?”

He'd noticed recently that Sorcha looked increasingly pained when he made a direct reference to the program. At first, in those hay days of their digital relationship, she'd been perfectly fine talking about her simulated nature – about the technology, the finer nuances of the holosphere and her role in this artificially generated world. But recently – in fact, around the same time that she'd started choosing the environments for their sojourns – whenever he made direct reference to it, a look of clear discomfort flickered across her beautiful eyes.

“No. It's...” She bit back her delicate lip and played with the hem of her flowery skirt. “It's something I constructed. I really feel like I've been here, Leo. Not with you. Before.”

“But there was no 'before',” Leo ran his hand through his dark hair. He sighed. “I'll have the engineer check the algorithms and see if there's anything in the error logs.”

“Alright.”

She looked chastened. Feeling a pang of guilt at the downturn of their conversation, Leo wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her towards him. She leaned her head on his oily, coconut-scented shoulder and he pulled her back into the sand. They lay on their backs, his fingers playing through her hair as he closed his eyes and let the ebb and flow of the tide lull him into a half-sleep.

“It's nice here,” He eventually said. “Peaceful.”

Sorcha ran her fingertips from his sternum to his bellybutton, dancing softly through the coarse dark hairs of his chest and stomach. He felt her smile forming against his skin.

“Yes. How was your day?”

Until recently, the usual question was 'How was your week?' but as of late Leo had been spending more and more time in the holosphere calling up his Sorcha simulation and slipping into her world to pass the time – he should have been eating, or sleeping, but Sorcha occupied his every thought.

“It was fine. We set an approach vector for Eridani C and should be deploying drop-ships some time tomorrow for surface scanning.”

“Mmm,” She circled her finger around his bellybutton and Leo felt the ache in his groin that her touch always brought. He was wearing loose swimming shorts, at her insistence: she wanted to take him into the ocean later on, when they'd had enough of the hot sun and their skin needed cooling. Even though he was otherwise naked, Sorcha still wore her long flowery skirt and a strappy vest. He wondered if she perhaps wore her swimming costume underneath and resisted the urge to reach one hand up and slide her strap away from her shoulder. He knew where that would end up and his trepidation at feelings he wasn't sure were entirely ethical was holding him back.

“Are you going with them?” Sorcha asked, shifting her face to peer up at his.

“No.”

She looked away and he fancied he saw a glimmer of relief brighten across her steely eyes.

“You'd never know,” He reminded her and instantly felt chastising, but his stubbornness drove him on. “If something happened to me. If I didn't come back. You'd never know.”

Sorcha sighed, stood away from him and pulled her vest up over her head. She was naked beneath and he felt suddenly bashful on her behalf before remembering that they were alone in his simulation; that nobody could see them. Her skirt dropped to her ankles and she strode down the beach on long, slender legs and into the cerulean waters.

Leo watched her for a while. She crouched at the shallows and let the waves wash sand up around her feet, and then she stood and waded deeper until the calm waters rippled at her waist and the ends of her hair were wet. He pulled himself from the sand and walked to the edge of the sea to meet her. She smiled at him and sank down in the water until she was submerged to the neck with her legs stretched out in front of her, bobbing up and down with the gentle swell.

“Is it warm?” He called across to her and she nodded, smiling.

A wave tickled over his toes and licked against his ankles. The water was cooler than lying flat out in the sun, but wasn't so cold that it shocked. He walked deeper into the sea and felt the unfamiliar push and pull of the tide against his legs. He'd swam before, of course – at the big pool in the training academy and in the smaller pool on board the ship – but never in the ocean. Never in a tide.

Sorcha stood and walked to him, taking his hands in hers and pulling him in deeper. He followed her trustingly.

“You've never done this before, have you?” She asked over her shoulder, droplets of salty water clinging to her eyelashes and trickling down her jaw and over her bare shoulders and trailing rivulets from her wet hair down between her breasts. “I've never been on a beach before,” Leo shrugged. “What – What do you remember about it?”

She walked him in until the waves pushed against his chest and he felt his feet sinking a little into the soft sand below, where she curled her arms around his waist and pressed her naked body against him, warm and wet.

“I remember the coconut oil,” Sorcha traced her fingers over his oiled chest. “The way it smells – the way it mixed with the other smells of sun-tan lotion and moisturiser. I remember ice-cream, children running around with sticky mouths, couples walking arm in arm with cones piled high with vanilla swirls.”

Leo watched her attentively. Her eyes were fixed somewhere in the middle of his chest, looking but not seeing; her expression was hazy and distant. She really did look as if she were scouring the confines of a memory she should not have.

“I remember little coloured booths lined up side by side where people would go to change into their swimming costumes. There were deckchairs in rows that you could hire, white flimsy plastic ones that folded up with you inside them more often than not – or you could pay extra for the fancy wooden ones with the striped canvas seats. There were sunbeds draped with towels, sand-castles that washed away when the tide came in...”

“It sounds nice,” He stroked his hand through her hair. “I'd like to have seen it like that.”

Sorcha blushed. “I know. I... wanted something more secluded. For us.”

Leo leaned into her and brushed his lips over hers. She tasted of the salty ocean – it was different, but not unpleasant. Natural, somehow; raw and untarnished. She parted her lips for him and he sank his tongue into her mouth and tasted her further, probing against her own tongue while their hands circled necks and their fingers played with hair. He slipped his leg between hers and pushed his thigh up and she rubbed herself against his leg, pushing her hips into his and holding him tightly between her. He was hard instantly and everything, the water and her skin and the way she moved against him, was a vivid sensation through the thin wet fabric.

Leo's watch buzzed. He sighed and pulled away from her.

“I've got to go.”

Her face cast itself into shadow and she clung to him defiantly a moment longer before letting go and dropping her arms loose to float over the waves.

“Alright. When will you come back?”

“Tomorrow.”

She asked that every time he left even though she had no concept of the passing of time when the program wasn't running. He'd asked her about it once and to her the spaces between their meetings, when her simulation wasn't active, felt like a long comfortable sleep. There was no empty void, at least – and no sharp hopping from one scenario to the next with no context or space between them.

Leo kissed her forehead and turned away from her, walking out of the waves. He pressed a button on his watch and the simulation fell away around him. In a few seconds he was dry, fully clothed in his uniform and walking not on sand but across hashed metal tiles to a pressurised door that slid open on his approach. He tapped a sequence into the control panel and the lights inside the holosphere turned off and cast the room behind him into darkness. The doors slid closed and the 'active' light switched from red to green; available for the next scheduled user.

*

“Hey Naylor,” Leo rapped his knuckles on the doorframe. “Got a minute?”

The engineer glanced over his shoulder from the dash in front of him and smiled as he recognised Leo standing in the doorway.

“Sure,” He said. “Come on in.”

Leo stepped into the screen-filled room and leaned against an empty desk. He watched as Naylor tapped and dragged his fingertip over one of the monitors, patterns and lights shimmering across the screen.

“Could you check the error log for the Sorcha sim?”

Naylor turned his back to the monitor and faced Leo fully, crossing his arms loosely over his chest and perching himself on the back of a chair.

“There a problem with it?”

“I'm not sure,” Leo rubbed at the back of his neck. He suddenly felt as though this was all paranoia – little niggles that meant nothing but that he focussed on and obsessed over.

“Well, can you describe what's been happening?”

Leo chewed his cheek. “Sorcha said she remembered something.”

“From a previous session? That's normal.”

“No – from before. That's what she said – 'Not with you. Before.' I told her I'd ask you to check if the program's been acting weird.”

Naylor sighed.

“Well – I didn't know we had any on board but she might be a Perpetuate.”

“A Perpetuate? I'm not familiar...” Leo shrugged.

“It's a new technology. I don't know much about it. But it makes sense, I guess, that we're carrying it since this ship is new. Perpetuates are... Well, they're dead people, with their memories preserved as simulations.”

Leo shifted awkwardly, his fingers digging into the edge of the desk as he processed that information.

“So Sorcha... Is a real person?”

“Was a real person. Though there are plenty of people who'd tell you that she still is – that her spirit and soul have 'passed from one vessel to another'. I don't get into all that stuff so I can't tell you who's right.”

Leo stared at the ground. In the past few months of spending time in the Sorcha-Sim he'd been getting increasingly enamoured with the slender blonde-haired beauty who shared his passion for indulgences of the soul, for quiet contemplation, for art and books and just chilling out. That's what it was all for, wasn't it? The computer had chosen her personality pattern specifically to match his – a required, non-negotiable activity for ship personnel who weren't on-board with significant others. Relaxation time; a kindred spirit to talk with.

“I know that look,” Naylor stood from the desk and walked over to Leo. “And it's okay. It really is. Hell, I've fallen in love with my fair share of fantasy women, I'll tell you that.”

Leo glanced up at the man and shook his head. “I don't know, man. I knew it was happening, but y'know, she's a sim; at least I thought she was. Can you fall in love with something that doesn't really exist? A fabrication? I've been pushing it away. But now you're telling me she's real? What does that mean?”

Naylor clapped his hand on Leo's shoulder and squeezed briefly, reassuringly, before turning back to a blinking monitor that demanded his attention.

“It means she's a real personality – that she's a real person. She may not have real skin and bones and a body that can walk out of the holosphere but otherwise, she's real. Do with that what you will.”

*

It was the same beach but Sorcha had set up the simulation differently. There were people scattered over the vast expanse of sand; families, couples sunbathing, women on their fronts with their bikini straps hanging loose and their backs bronzing in the sun, toddlers staggering around with buckets and spades, people nestled under sun umbrellas with books, battery radios humming muffled summer songs, teenagers tossing sponge balls over wide-stretched nets. On his left a snake of white plastic deckchairs stretched across the sand, one shirtless man with sun-wrinkled skin and a change pouch hanging loose over his waist leaning against a little booth as he awaited customers. On his right, a neat little row of neat little wooden cabins painted in red and yellow and blue with pointed roofs and wooden steps to their elevated doorways.

Sorcha sat on a wall in the shade of the nearest beach-hut with an ice-cream in one-hand.

“I've reserved one,” She said as he walked up to her. “A yellow one in the middle.”

“Do we need one?” Leo asked and took the ice-cream from her hand to lick it tentatively. It tasted different to the ice-cream they were served on the ship; rich and creamy. He handed it back to her and watched with rapt attention as she curled her lips around the soft treat and sucked the smooth icecream into a point. He felt the sudden urge to taste her lips, to know how cool they were and to feel her vanilla tongue sliding over his.

“Unless you want to have sex in the middle of the beach with all these people around,” She grinned at him wickedly.

Leo felt that stirring again. The one that he only felt with her; the one he hadn't felt for so long before being assigned to the SS Farrier and being ordered to set aside regular time for sessions in the holosphere.

Sorcha stood and curled her slender hand around his elbow and led him at a casual pace along the fronts of the beach huts while she finished her ice-cream. She was just tucking the pointed end of the waffle-cone into her mouth when they reached the middle-most yellow hut and she climbed the three wooden stairs, her behind wiggling demurely in front of him. He hurried inside after her.

The hut was narrow and long, with a tall roof and two-slat benches on each side. There were no windows, of course; and the door bolted shut from the inside. They were alone in here, the frivolities of the beach a distant hum outside their private wooden cabin.

Leo wasted no time, snaking his hands around Sorcha's waist and pulling her back up against his chest. She tipped her head back onto his shoulder and he rained kisses over her throat, pulling aside the loose collar of her flowery summer dress with one hand and gathering up the short hem that only skimmed her knees in the other, feeling the hot flesh of her thigh beneath. He pushed his hips against her behind and she span in his grasp and forced her lips onto his.

She did taste of vanilla; sweet and rich and deliciously creamy. He took her lip between his teeth, sucked and pulled and danced his tongue across hers, savouring the last remnants of this past-world ice-cream as she pushed him back against the thin wooden door and rode her hands up under his T-shirt. People walked past outside, their chattering muted to the sound of Sorcha's soft gaspings and the rubbing of their bodies as he tugged the dress over her head and she pulled his shorts down to pool at his ankles.

He hadn't told her yet what he'd found out about Perpetuates. He'd thought about it long and hard and eventually the guilt, the moral wrongness he'd felt for having sexual desires for a simulated being, had been replaced with acquiescence. She had been a real person. Her personality, the main driving force that pulled him into her like an irresistible magnet, was the real and preserved personality of a real person.

She pushed him down onto the narrow bench and sat awkwardly on top of him, legs either side of his and her naked body sliding hot and needy over his unclothed skin. She hadn't been wearing anything under that thin summer dress and he wondered, now, if she'd ever worn underwear for any of their previous meetings. The thought aroused him, the possibility that she'd always been so close to nakedness even when they first met and were still in the stages of getting to know each other.

Sorcha's hands wrapped around his shoulders and she nudged her hips into his such that he felt the slickness between her legs passing warmly over his erect cock. She teased him, rocked her hips back and forth to slide her pussy along his shaft.

This would be the third time for them. The first was a flurry of aroused passion high up on a mountainside with a view over a lake in the valley down below – something the computer had generated based on his keyword input. It was his day off and he'd booked an extended session in the holosphere. They'd been talking for hours and their little touches of affection grew into teasing pokes and tickles until they were writhing on the floor with furious need that had consumed them both quickly.

Afterwards he'd felt ashamed and a little dirty, as if he'd been playing with a sex toy and as if that's all she was for him – but that dirty thought had surfaced the next time they'd met and it turned him on and he wanted her again. The second time happened in the back seats of an imaginary movie theatre that played some ancient black and white film for their audience of two. He remembered nothing of the film and everything of her wandering her hand up his leg and pulling down the zipper of his pants and roaming her fingers inside before she climbed onto him and took him right there in the darkness with her skirt billowing around their legs and her hands digging into his shoulders much like they were now.

Leo gripped her waist firmly and lifted her up, his mouth never leaving hers, holding her just high enough from his hips for his reaching cock to prod between the lips of her swollen pussy and slide easily into her moist walls. He brought her back down again and she moaned and tipped her head back, her dark grey eyes wide and staring at the ceiling as her back curved and her breasts pushed up in front of him.

He took her pointed nipple between his lips and suckled, keeping one hand supporting her back as the other sought her untouched breast and languished it with massaging attention. Already he felt himself quickening and gave himself only a few tantalisingly short strokes into her tight, wet walls before pushing her off him and laying her down on the floor between the benches. She mewled at the loss of his cock inside her and it took everything for him not to plunge his yearning length back inside but instead, he pushed her knees apart and trailed his mouth along the insides of her thighs. She smelled of sun-tan lotion, delicately fragrant and summery.

She gasped and stretched her arms back over her head, resting her knees on the bench edges and relaxing her long, sinuous body at his attentive lips. He stroked his fingers up and down her thighs as his mouth worked its way closer to the coarse blonde hairs clustered on her mound. His fingertips pushed into the little shallows of her hip-bones as he used his tongue to part her lips and glide up, skimming over her clit to the curve at the top of her slit and then back down along one side, pushing the hard-pointed tip of his tongue into her soft flesh as he travelled down and flattening his tongue out for the up-stroke to lick fully upwards.

Sorcha moaned and writhed on the floor at his oral attentions, her body no longer relaxed but tense and coiled with anticipation and mounting desire. Leo moved one hand to drift around her behind, pulling her towards his mouth with his other hand as he traced his thumb up along her slit and then pushed inside her up to the first knuckle. She keened and flexed her back up, pert breasts pointing hardened nipples eagerly upward. He sank his thumb in a little deeper and swirled it around inside her, curling into her.

“Leo,” Her hands reached down and her fingers brushed through his hair, grasping, pulling him upwards. He climbed up her body and swiftly sank into her, pushing his cock full into her walls and holding himself there a moment as he buried his nose into her cheek and smelled her hair, her skin, her strawberry lip gloss and the faint vanilla aroma that still clung around her. He heard the frivolity of the beach outside, heard the distant chatter, the cresting of the waves on the sand and the cries of the hungry seagulls that scavenged half-eaten ice creams and sandwich crusts, heard her nails scraping against the wood of the beach-hut floor as she squirmed beneath him eager for movement and consummation.

Their bodies writhed in unison, skin on skin as he pushed into her and she circled her hips against his thrusts. He thought about simulations and Perpetuates and memories and how she'd said she'd been here before – before him – and how she gave herself to him now, fully and with no trace of remorse or sadness or bitterness but simple yearning and trust. Her hands wrapped around his back and she held herself to him, her nose pressed into the valley of his neck and her lips plucking at his skin as he rushed in and drifted out of her with tidal desire.

Too quickly he felt the swell of urgency in his groin but this time he let it rise. The barely perceptible trembling of Sorcha's muscles told him that she was as near as he and he solidified his motion, rocking into her with intensifying rhythm as the world outside their little love-hut drifted into silence and her eyes rolled back and her limbs stiffened with her threatening crescendo. Leo clung his hands around her shoulders and craned his neck skyward as the tingling spasms worked up into his cock. He gasped and groaned with her distant keening, pouring himself into her as she contracted fast around his pulsing length and together they quivered through the last tremulous vestiges of orgasm.

*

“You're more 'here' today,” She rested her chin on his shoulder with her arms slipped loosely around his waist. They sat at the very edge of the shore with the small waves washing up over their toes and shifting the sand to mould around their heels.

“Mmm. I found something out. About you remembering.”

“Oh?” She shifted from behind him and swung herself about to settle into the space between his legs; he wrapped his arms around her in turn.

“I think you're a Perpetuate. A real person who died and had your personality stored to go on living like this, in a simulation.”

He wasn't sure how she'd react – he'd played this situation over and over in his head and sometimes she screamed, sometimes she cried, sometimes she walked away and shut down.

“That explains a lot,” Sorcha shrugged and smiled innocently up at him.

Leo let the breath he’d been holding escape, his shoulders slumping into relaxation.

“You're okay with that?” He stroked his hand through her hair and tucked stray strands behind the soft curve of her ear.

“Yeah. It makes sense. I've started remembering other things; not much, just fragments.”

“Like the beach? More places?”

She nodded and tipped her head onto his shoulder. The sun was sinking, bathing everything in a warm golden light.

“Yes, more places. Would you visit them with me, if I can build them the way I built the beach?”

“Of course,” He brushed his thumb across her forehead and kissed her soft skin. Her arms tightened around him and she sighed contentedly.

“But only if we come back here sometimes too,” Leo grinned as he watched the tips of the waves streak with the colours of the sky. “We've got at least ten more beach huts to go through.”

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, let me know at WelshPixie <3

Working title: Spacegal Fruitpie and the Quest for an Epic Sausage

Chapter 1

Wryk’ars trailed the tip of their glistening flugthore around Camryn’s belly button, an anticipatory shudder working its way through their iridescent flesh that Cam felt reverberating over her skin.

“It’s just – he could say hello, you know?” Cam shifted on the bed and moved her arm aside to make way for Wryk’ars’ azolae that snaked underneath her waist and pulled her upwards towards them. “I see him every day, you’d think he could be a little nicer.”

“Of whom do you speak, most-endearing-one?” Wryk’ars mumbled, shifting their attention downwards, flugthore leaving a trail of tingling saliva across Camryn’s stomach.

“Geoffrey. You know, that Cleckovian janitor that cleans the B-deck. Oooh... yeah, right there. That’s good.” Camryn’s back arched as Wryk’ars grazed the tip of two more azolae over Cam's inner thighs, teasing upwards towards her pubes. Her eyes fluttered closed and for a moment she lost herself to the sensation of Wryk'ars' many appendages caressing her body, but then an image of Geoffrey in his grey and yellow janitorial robes, top buttons open revealing the shimmering orange-red scales of his chest, sprang to the forefront of her mind.

She frowned.

“Hell, at this point I'd settle for a grunt of acknowledgement. We've been on this floating heap of metal for going on four years now. I pass him every – mmmmmm that's good – every day. Least he could – oooh, yeah... Least he could do is – is -” Camryn writhed, fingers curling up the sheets into her fists as Wryk'ars probed into her with their moist flugthore, pushing slowly but insistently deeper as their azolae danced along her swollen labia.

“Oh god... yes... ohhh... Yeah that's it... Oh jesus fuck...Ohhhh!” Cam gasped with her orgasm, every muscle spasming under Wryk'ars' skillful touch. When the last little ripple had ebbed, she relaxed and her fingers unclenched from the gathered fabric.

Geoffrey.

“I haven't done anything to make him dislike me. Nothing I can think of, anyway. Do Cleckovians have any weird cultural things that I should be aware of?”

Wryk'ars slithered to stretch out at Camryn's side as a sigh coursed through their body, the tiny carpet of blue-purple cilia that covered their skin rippling with the movement and making their whole body iridesce with a silvery metallic sheen.

“This one does not know, most-endearing-one.”

“Could you just, like, call me Cam? We've been over this. This isn't formal. We're fucking each other in the two hours down-time you get between picking up and dropping off piles of space junk. You can just call me Cam. It's fine.”

Wryk'ars three brilliant green eyes glanced off to the side, mandibles clacking a disproving tut. “Very well, Cam. This one observes that your attention seems particularly drawn by Geoffrey on this evening, Cam. More so than usual, Cam.”

“What? No it's not,” Cam sat up on her elbows. “What do you mean 'more so than usual'?”

“This one feels that you were not very engrossed with our activities at all. This one wonders why they came here at all if all Cam does is talk about Geoffrey while they fuck each other.”

“For Tizlel's sake,” Camryn rolled over onto her side and took Wryk'ars' still-swollen flugthore in her hand. “Forget about it. I was just blowing off steam. Which is precisely the reason we do this, you know,” Her voice lowered to a croon as she massaged Wryk'ars' flugthore, prompting a fresh trickle of lubricant to excrete from the porous appendage.

Wryk'ars began to tremble, their body vibrating and shimmering through a pastel spectrum.

“This one... Is extremely...” They paused as Camryn took their flugthore into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip, applying gentle pressure with her lips as she slid the slick appendage back and forth. “...Grateful for this exhalation of water-vapor,” Their voice was tremulous. “Please... Continue... Continue... This one is approaching climax...”

Cam stopped sucking and quickly mounted Wryk'ars, sliding down onto their throbbing flugthore, Wryk'ars responding in kind to buck up against her as their azolae found Cam's nipples and coiled around her breasts. Turned on again by Wryk'ars' own arousal Cam clasped their body between her thighs as she rode their flugthore hard, pounding her own orgasm to completion as Wryk'ars warbled a frantic 'Climax! Climax! Climax!' beneath her.

• * *

The black vastness of space stretched out before her, peppered with myriad sparkling stars and little grey blobs of scrap metal and banged-up crates and the decaying, crumpling frames of long abandoned miscellany, pooped into the vacuum of the in-between by an unfathomable number of greedy, all-consuming species.

Camryn leaned back against the bulkhead and took a sip of her tea. Wryk'ars had left an hour ago and wouldn't be back to the station for a few days, until the next shipment of compacted scrap metal was ready for transport to Zesluter, their home planet. After they'd left, she'd showered, shoved the bed linen into the wash, cleaned up the rogue glistening tendrils of Wryk'ars' copious lubricant that seemed to get absolutely everywhere no matter how careful she was about containing their flailing azolae, and made for her favourite spot on the station – the aft cargo bay on Deck C, right behind the canteen. She'd picked up a Hempain Buttersausage and a mug of steaming Fiestea and settled down on the floor against the huge viewport.

Cam had always appreciated a good sausage. The Hempain Buttersausage, common in some parts of space but not in this sector, was only available because Blimm, the chef of the Deck C canteen, had an uncle from Hempain that sent him a shipment every month in return for occasionally letting him dock unregistered. His uncle was, by all accounts, not exactly an upstanding citizen. Camryn didn't care about any of that; she was just grateful for the sausage.

She took a bite, felt the buttery grease trickle down her throat as the blush of the secret blend of Hempain spices warmed her cheeks. As sausages went, it was a pretty good one – not her favourite of all the different sausages she'd partaken of through the years in her travels, but certainly one of the higher ranking varieties, and it paired perfectly with the bitter-sweet tones of Fiestea.

A clang from the starboard corridor drew her attention away from the viewport. She craned her neck over the rigging, struggling to see but too lazy to actually stand up. A man, tall and with a mess of long pitch-black hair, stumbled out into the cargo bay, shaking a bucket from his foot.

“God damn janitors leaving their death-traps everywhere,” She heard him mutter. She turned her attention back to the view, not feeling like engaging in conversation.

“Oh, hi. Didn't see you there.” His voice was closer. She didn't recognise him – on a station like this, with her job, she grew to know people by their voices; in her ears coming through the cans as she piloted her ship, over intercom, disconnected in the ether.

Dammit. She'd been spotted. She shoved the remaining couple of inches of sausage into her mouth and swallowed them down with barely a chew, brushing crumbs from her shirt and wiping her sleeve across her lips.

“Hey.” She tried to sound disinterested.

He walked over, whoever he was, and leaned against the railing behind where she sat, looking out at the same view that she'd appreciated having to herself. He looked about six foot four, broad shoulders, tanned skin and chiseled cheekbones.

“Damn. Never gets old, does it?” He nodded towards the window, curling his fingers around the railing which made his biceps struggle against the hem of his t-shirt sleeves. He was pretty ripped. Mechanic, maybe? She hadn't heard that they'd lost anyone but maybe management was doing one of their shuffles again.

“Might not get old but it certainly gets crowded,” Cam scowled and took a sip from her mug, wishing the steam would rise up and cocoon her in a cloud of opaque white where no-one could see her.

“Hah!” His laugh was deep and throaty. “Well, that's why we're here, right? Sort all that junk out, make some space. Space! In space!” He laughed again.

She groaned. “Yeah. New here?”

“Just transferred from Centurion Station. Pilot. Name's Jareth; Jareth Rockrod.”

He held out his hand. With a weary sigh she set her mug down on the floor and stood to shake his hand. He flashed her a grin of pearly whites that sparkled almost as much as his pale blue eyes. He'd be a heart-throb, if she were into that kind of thing. She took his hand and, as she'd expected, he pumped hers with a vice grip.

“Rockrod, huh,” she curled a corner of her lip into a wry smile.

“You bet,” He winked.

Ugh.

“I'm Cam. Pilot. Been here four years. Go out on the late shift. By choice. Like my solitude. Don't like small talk.”

She wiped her hand off on her thigh and sat down on the floor again, rescuing her mug of tea and cradling it against her chest. Jareth towered over her for a moment, his expression blank as he slowly absorbed her words and considered their meaning.

“Right,” He laughed nervously. “Right. Well, I'll leave you to it, then. Cam. See you around, probably. Looking forward to it. Yeah.” He ran one hand back through his hair and swept it over his shoulder, leaned back against the railing briefly, remembered she'd just brushed him off, stood upright again, and then turned and stalked off.

Cam sighed and tipped her head forwards to lean her forehead against the thick viewport glass, listening to Jareth's footfalls fading down the corridor until they were muted by the usual clangs and clanks and groans of the station. She looked out at the debris being tractored in by the auto-harvesters, and then shifted her point of focus so that she was looking at the reflection of the cargo bay in the glass. A brief movement at the far side of the bay caught her eye and she turned around in time to see a familiar scaly tail flicking around the corner and vanishing from sight.

Geoffrey?

• * *

“Remote Assist Officer Viola Embergale logging on comms. You hear me, Cam?”

Viola's voice crackled through the shoddy headset into Cam's ear. Now that her assist was online, she had clearance to leave the station. She gripped the bulky throttle arm and eased it forward. The vessel, a chunky hauler, shuddered into motion and started its slow glide to the exit port. She checked that the cargo was secure, flicked on the autopilot to follow the standard navigation course, and then leaned back in the tattered leather chair and kicked her feet up onto the dash.

“Loud and clear, Vi. How's it?”

“Eh,” She heard her friend sigh. “Same old. Another glorious day hauling trash for the motherland. Such honour, many thankful.”

“I hear ya,” Cam chuckled. “Pays the bills though, amirite? Y'know, it could be worse; we could be the ones who have to sort out all this crap instead of just dealing with the compacted junk-cubes.”

“Yeah I guess. I should be thankful all I have to do is sit here on comms for a few hours, and all you have to do is fly a junker a couple of times a day. It's fucking boring, though.”

“Oh!” Cam dropped her feet and leaned forwards instead, resting her elbows on the edge of the control panel and looking at the gaping maw of the wormhole as the ship turned slowly towards it. “You seen the new guy?”

“No? What new guy? Fifty clicks from drop-off point.”

“Roger,” Cam confirmed the readings on her dash with Vi's. “Oh, you'll like him. He's exactly your type.”

“Coming from you, I don't know if that's an insult.”

Cam laughed. “He's tall, and built like a brick shithouse.”

“Perfect!” She could hear the smile in her friend's voice. “Who is he? Where did you run into him? Is he cute? What's his name?”

Viola had always been one for a good bit of gossip. Cam didn't usually go for that kind of thing, but there was little else to do on the back-and-forths to the wormhole so she entertained Vi's lust for chatter just to pass the time.

“It was uh... Jared. No! Jareth. Jareth...” She paused, for dramatic effect, lips curled into a smirk; “...Rockrod.”

“...Rockrod? Seriously?”

“Afraid so. He's really tall, long black hair, blue eyes, fucking impossibly white teeth, tanned, shoulders for days. I'm telling you, you're going to adore him. Oh! And he's a pilot, so you'll probably get to whisper sweet nothings into his earpiece soon.”

“YES!!” She imagined Vi's fist-pump. “Freaking finally. It's almost comical, the complete lack of any decent blokes on this station. You'd think a place this size, with so many people passing through every day, would have a fair selection of manflesh for me to sink my teeth into, but nooooo, Vi has to get assigned to the driest station in the sector.”

“Speak for yourself,” Cam curled a lascivious grin, recalling yesterday's session with Wryk'ars. “I manage just fine.”

“Yeah, well, we don't all have your – erm – appreciation for kinky alien sex. Ugh, I don't know how you even.”

“With great 'appreciation' is how I even, Vi. You should try it some time.”

“Blergh. I'll stick with Rockrod, thank you very much. With a name like that, how could he possibly disappoint? Ten clicks from drop-off point; prepare cargo for release.”

Cam sat up straight and disengaged auto-pilot. The wormhole was right in front of her now, a huge and slowly swirling mass of black-purple opalescence that distorted the space behind it.

“Confirmed; beginning rotation.” She flicked switches and pushed buttons on the dash; the junker slowed to a crawl and she punched the thrusters on the port side, causing the ship to rotate around until it pointed away from the wormhole and back towards the station. Somewhere on that massive assembly that looked not unlike the compacted cubes of trash that she hauled every day, Vi was sitting at a comms panel looking back out at her. Somewhere, Jareth Rockrod was in his bunker, probably fast asleep if he'd taken the day shift (and he looked like a day shift kind of person; tedious and predictable). Somewhere, in some dimly-lit and lonely corridor, Geoffrey pushed his mop and bucket around, scrubbing floors and shining windows.

“Cam?”

“Mmm? Oh, sorry. Disengaging cargo...” She paused, and then poked at the little red Cargo-Release button. “-...Now.” She heard a thunk from the back of the ship as the release clasp unhooked itself from the cargo netting.

“Cargo disengaged. Commence boost.”

“Commencing boost,” Cam replied and flicked on the rear boosters. The propulsion would shoot the compacted cubes of junk neatly into the wormhole and propel her back towards the station. She verified on the ship's radar as it lurched forwards that the little green blip representing the packaged junk-cubes was indeed heading straight for the wormhole, and then re-engaged autopilot to take her back to the station. “Heading home for the next lot.”

“And thus begins another beautiful evening of trash-hauling,” Vi yawned over comms.

“So excited,” Cam struggled to stifle a yawn herself. “Aight, I've told you about Jareth. Time to dish the dirt on the thrilling goings-on at Comms Deck!”

“Oh let me see, um... Some nothing happened, a bit more nothing – and ooh yes, some fat wads of nothing!”

“Disappointed,” Cam leaned back in the creaking chair. “Any news on upgrade budgets? This pile of junk I'm flying deserves to go through the wormhole itself.”

“Yeah, no. No dice. Maybe next month?”

“Dammit. What about the scrappers, anything interesting come in?”

“Actually I did hear that F-deck had to deal with some Asglorbian Loaches that breached the containment seal on their crate last night. Apparently they had to call down every single janitor, even the ones off-shift, to help round them all up again before they stripped all the paint bare. I bet your friend Geoffrey would have been happy about that.”

“He's not my friend,” Cam frowned at Vi's ribbing. “I mean he could be my friend if he ever -”

“ – if he ever said more than two words to you, yeah I know. It's so weird, he's fine with everyone else. He's not chatty, but he's pleasant, you know?”

“No, I don't know,” Cam sighed. “I don't know why it bothers me. I don't know the guy. I just don't understand why he's so off with me. I can't think of anything I've done to upset him.”

“Have you asked him? Maybe he just doesn't like you.”

She could hear the teasing tone of Vi's voice and knew she wasn't serious, but the thought still irked her. Something about Geoffrey, the scaly lizard-like Cleckovian janitor that she only infrequently ran into and had barely exchanged more than a handful of words with since her arrival on the station a few years back, intrigued her and the fact that he'd barely speak to her was annoying. Even Cho'Koth, the bristly (literally) mechanic on B-deck, gave her a smile when she passed.

“Want me to talk to him?” Vi continued. “I could ask him on your behalf.”

“No!” Cam sat up, frown intensifying. “No, don't do that. It's dumb. I mean, it's no biggie. Whatever. I don't even know the guy.”

“Mmm, you said.”

“Shut up.'

“You talk about him all the time.”

“I don't! And if I do it's just because I want to know why he won't speak to me.”

Cam thought about how peeved Wryk'ars had gotten last night when she couldn't stop talking about Geoffrey during their intimate make-out session. Okay, maybe that had been a bit much, she concluded. Darn scaly lizard-man getting her all worked up over nothing. And had that been him earlier in the cargo bay? Had he been spying on her? Did she have to worry about him not talking to her and spying on her now? What was his deal, anyway? Her shoulders tensed. If the image of him in his janitor jumpsuit with its undone top buttons and sleeves rolled up revealing his muscular green-grey scaled forearms would stop just popping into her head at inopportune moments, she'd be happier.

“Oh! Cam!” Vi's suddenly excited voice roused her from her reverie.

“Sup?”

“This is the kind of weird stuff you like hearing about – just got a memo that someone found some strange squid-thing hiding in the trash compactor in F-Deck aft.”

“Hiding? Like, living there?”

“Yeah I guess. They're keeping it in containment in case it's someone's pet that's escaped. Don't you have that empty tank from that time your ex bought you a Phynosian Snootlebug for your twenty-three-day anniversary?”

“I do! Do they know what species it is or anything? Is it dangerous?”

“Doesn't say, but I'm guessing if it were dangerous they'd have thrown it in the incinerator.”

“Awesome! New pet!”

“Oooh,” Val cooed, her voice dripping with mischief. “Guess who found it?”

“Who?”

“Guess who's found it and who's temporarily looking after it until it gets homed?”

“Who?!”

“Your best pal Geoffrey.”

“Dammit,” Cam sighed as her stomach flipped a little cartwheel.

******

The corridor on the C-Deck crew quarter was quiet and empty. She'd just come off shift, and by her circadian clock it was about 5am. The day-time janitorial team would just be waking up, she figured, but was still wary about disturbing Geoffrey if he happened to be sleeping. She wanted this weird squid thing they'd found, though, so she'd have to suck it up.

She waved her hand in front of the door panel and heard the soft beep echoing into the room inside. The seconds ticked by agonisingly slowly in the still silence of the corridor and she shuffled awkwardly, wondering if it would be rude to beep again, when she heard a scuffle and the door slid open.

“Mmm?” Geoffrey stood before her in little more than a pair of black boxers and a skin-tight black sleeping shirt that clung to his scales, fitting his lithe, toned form perfectly. She sucked in a gasp of air; this was the most she'd ever seen of him – of any Cleckovian, for that matter – and his colourings and patterns, previously hidden behind the overalls, were astoundingly beautiful. “Oh, it's you,” he met her gaze and then quickly looked down at the floor. “Greetings.”

“Um, hi,” Cam bit back her lip and then cleared her throat. “So hey I heard you found a squid thing living in the trash compactor down in F-deck aft and that you're keeping it temporarily until it gets re-homed and I have a spare tank in my quarters from the time my ex bought me a Phynosian Snootlebug for our twenty-three-day-anniversary and I'd like the squid please.”

She stared at him hard, struggling to keep her focus on his face. He lifted his head briefly to look at her, piercing bright green eyes boring intently into hers, and then looked down again. “Yes, of course. Wait here.”

Geoffrey spun around and vanished into the dim light of his quarters. Cam sucked in a deep breath, held it a moment, and then let it out with a quiet, drawn-out hiss of air. She tried for a moment to resist having a good gander of what she could see of his room while she stood in the doorway, looking at anything but – the doorway itself, the corridor, the rivets in the wall, even the pattern in the metal floor tiles, but eventually cracked and turned her attention to what she could see of his room.

Cam's knowledge of Cleckovian culture was sparse and so she had no idea what typical Cleckovian room décor would be like, if even there was such a thing, but she wasn't expecting anything quite as cozy and intriguing as Geoffrey's quarters. The sterile base décor of the room had been hidden behind wall-hangings and shelves and display cabinets, the standard company-provided furniture removed and replaced with a massive leather sofa and easy chairs. A lamp in the corner cast the room in a warm yellow glow and made Cam homesick for winters and fireplaces and crunching snow.

A shadow flickered through the doorway to the bedroom and then Geoffrey re-emerged carrying a small synthetic container that sloshed with water. A dark shape coiled a suckered tentacle against the container's edge.

“The creature,” He held out the container to her. “With pleasure.”

Cam's fingertips touched briefly with Geoffrey's hands as she took the tub from him. The sudden, unanticipated sensation of cold smooth scales beneath her fingertips almost caused her to let go and drop the tub; the water sloshed as she grabbed hold, much to the consternation of the creature inside that writhed and coiled, agitating the water.

“Is it dangerous?” Her cheeks flushed hot, fingertips still tingling with the echo of Geoffrey's skin. She chanced to look up at him and found him staring intently at her, bright green eyes locked onto her, but as soon as she met his eyes he looked quickly away.

“I don't know,” He shrugged, and offered nothing more.

“Right,” Cam said. “Well... I guess I'll find out.”

“Are you -” He started, voice lilting as if a question was forthcoming, but he paused and swallowed, shadowed eyes drilling into a point in space just to the side of her waist. “I'm sure it will find a good home with you. Thank you for relieving me of it. Good evening.”

Before she could respond, Geoffrey had retreated into his quarters and the doors hissed closed.

“Night,” She said into the empty corridor, and then sighed and turned to head back to her own quarters to get her new pet settled in.

*****

“Your panel is a little... dirty,” Geoffrey leaned over her where she sat in the beat-up leather chair of her hauler and traced a finger along the paneling. He was naked from the waist up and his scales rippled orange-red as he stretched past her.

“It – it is?” She stammered, torn between pushing the chair back to give him more room and enjoying this closeness to his body.

“Mmmm. You've been a very naughty girl, letting your equipment go this long without some attention.”

“I have?” She looked up at him with wide eyes, and this time he met her gaze and held it steady, those bright green eyes so close and unwavering that she could see the thin streaks of gold that outlined his slitted pupils.

“Very naughty indeed,” he tugged a cloth from his toolbelt and ran it slowly along the contour of the dashboard. “I could see to that for you, if you like. It just needs a little attention. A little... TLC.”

The low, gravelly quality of his voice hummed through her chest, his slightly lengthy S-es that always gave a little flicker of his forked tongue seemed to curl themselves around her and draw her up to him. He worked the cloth to the far end of the dash such that he had to lean past her to reach. The tip of her nose grazed his chest and her eyes fluttered momentarily closed.

“Would you like that?” He whispered, mouth so close she could feel his cool breath on her heck. Her skin prickled, every fine hair along her back standing to anticipatory attention.

“Yes,” She whimpered. “Yes, I'd like that.”

“I thought you might,” Geoffrey's muzzle nudged lightly into her neck and then he pulled back, turning his attention to the paneling and working the cloth around the instruments.

“My apologies if I... tweak your buttons,” He rubbed the cloth across the many switches and toggles on the dash. She watched his every move, mesmerised as he paid close attention to every single knob, twisting the cloth down over them and polishing deftly across every button top.

“It's fine,” She mumbled. Her throat was dry. What was he doing here in her ship? His janitorial duties only extended to the station; there was a different team that valeted the ships when they weren't in use. Had she asked him? She couldn't remember. Did he come here to see her?

“This panel is particularly dirty,” A bottle of spray appeared in his hand and he spritzed it onto the radar screen. For some reason, she found the action particularly arousing. “Really, you should take better care of your gear,” he mock-tutted at her. “I will have to scrub this good and hard.”

“You – you will?” She couldn't move, frozen in place by the spectacle of a shirtless Geoffrey scrubbing imaginary grime from her junker's dashboard.

“Oh, yes,” He assured her. “And what about you, hmm?”

“Me?” She gulped.

“When was the last time you had a shower? When I'm done with your ship, shall I give you a good scrubbing, too?”

“Haaaah, I don't, uhhhh” Cam stammered, eyes wide as Geoffrey cast her a lascivious sidelong glance, still working the dash with his cloth and spray, scrubbing up and down with theatrically slow strokes.

“I thought so,” He nodded sagely. “You're filthy, hauling this scrap around all day. Oh well, not a moment to waste! Let's get to it, shall we?”

Suddenly she wasn't in her ship any more, but standing fully clothed in the dark, empty communal showers on her section of the crew deck. She could see Geoffrey's reflection in the mirror on the wall in front of her, a reptilian silhouette moving towards her through the shadows.

“Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?” He hissed quietly and she felt his hands wrapping softly around her upper arms, talons pressing into the sleeves of her jacket. “How about a nice cold shower?”

“Cold?” She frowned as Geoffrey guided her to a nearby shower and turned the faucet. A trickle of cold water dripped from the showerhead and splashed down her cheek and neck.

“Aren't you hot? I think you're hot. A good cold shower should cool you down, though,” He peeled the jacket from her shoulders before she could protest and the droplets of cold water trickled down under her shirt.

“You think I'm hot?” She turned around to face him and found herself nose-first with his chest. “Oops,” She giggled. “You're so close. Are you going to shower with me?”

“Would you like me to?” He cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her head up until she was staring into his piercing eyes. More cold water flicked over her; she shivered involuntarily and he pulled her closer against him, wrapped his arms around her waist, leaned down, down closer until his mouth was almost touching hers, and still the cold water dripped over her, trickling down her arms...

Cam blinked into the darkness and sat up, pushing the sheets away. The fog of sleep faded but the sensation of cold water on her arm remained.

“Warm light twenty percent,” She called out to the computer and the darkness receded as the computer complied. Her arm was indeed covered with droplets of cold water, and the squid-creature she'd rescued earlier that evening was half-draped over the rim of the tank she'd put it in, one tentacle languidly flicking in and out of the water, smattering the closest side of her bed to the tank with droplets.

“Dammit,” She sighed and climbed out of bed to fetch a towel. “I don't know if you were doing that on purpose, but that dream was just getting good.”

She didn't know if it understood her, but it coiled a second tentacle out of the tank and seemed to adopt even more of a casual lounge, splayed out along the corner of the tank, tentacle-tips playing with the surface of the water.

“Oh, you think this is amusing? Brat. Hey, maybe that's what I'll name you. You like that, Brat? How about it?”

It followed her as she moved around the room, pulling itself along the top-front rim of the tank's glass with its suckers, and when she stopped, it stopped too and resumed its lazy water-playing.

“Brat it is, then.”

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, let me know at WelshPixie <3