Dat A.S.S.

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"I'll say, you've never had a real threesome unless it involves the tongue of an Anastian."

I smile and take another sip of my bourbon and Sprite. The Minovian in front of me is dressed in their standard threads: a long red robe that unbuttons at the crotch, thick soled shoes and a platinum necklace with an amulet that looks like a broken rectangle or a V that didn't try hard enough depending on how you look at it.

I've spent several nights in Rolonin 7 and have been to a few bars. Somehow, no matter what dive bar I'm in, this Anastian woman seems to find me to try to convert me to Minoviste. In the grand scheme of religions I've seen worse. It mostly involves a lot of fucking in an attempt to reach a higher power.

"I've had Anastian tongue before," I say, running my fingers through my red hair. "But the Grillian dick is second to none. Find one and I'm yours for the night."

She squints the top pair of her four reptilian eyes. She's not offended, odds are she's had her share. But the probability of her finding one in this place is near zero. I've given her an impossible task.

She writes down the Anastian version of Mary in a series of glyphs and a communication access code. "Well, if you change your mind, here's my name and number."

Last time it was Lisa.

I nod politely as she rises from the bar stool, hips swaying in search of another soul to convert. She won't have to work so hard with her next prey and will be screaming 'oh God' tonight in one language or another.

As my glass gets low, I signal to the bartender for another drink. I tend to think better in this type of environment and after I've had a couple. The only real reason I turned away the tongue is business.

Happy Life has contracted me to fix the atmospheric system stabilizer in this backwater colony. The backup device lasts for around two years, so I should have plenty of time. However HL Headquarters, the genius bureaucrats that they are, dicked around for nearly sixteen months before giving me a ring.

I was in my shop in Yurande, arms drenched in dirty grease as I worked on a smell tester. It was a frivolous device, true, but after a really bad experience in a travel cube, I needed the ability to determine who actually dealt it.

The shop com, an off-white cube reminiscent of a 1970's computer, began screeching in the annoying 'important business' tone. That either meant Happy Life or my mum, so I connected the call.

An empty suit appeared on the screen. You know the type, navy blue suit, white shirt and red tie. Brick-patterned brown horns rose from the sides of his head and came to a dulled point. "Ms. Wayer?"

I put on the closest thing to a smile I could manage with my face completely filthy and a cramp in my neck. I imagine I looked like a constipated raccoon from his reaction. "That's me. What do you need?"

The black fur surrounding his cheeks shuffled with each word. It was cute. "Our colony on Rolonin 7 is undergoing a bit of a problem."

"What does that have to do with me?" I folded my arms under my stained apron. "That's not my zone of responsibility."

The Tratera stuttered for a moment, reminding me of my near nudity. I grabbed the black robe stretched across the back of the metal chair in front of me and wrapped it around me. Now that he wasn't staring at my tits, maybe he could form a coherent thought.

His eyes (the only part of his face not covered with fur) found their way back to my face. "I'm sorry, Ms. Wayer, but I seem to have lost my meaning for this call."

I rolled my eyes. "Rolonin 7. You're about to tell me why you're not calling me even though it's not my zone."

"Budget cuts." The Tratera straightened his tie. "Technically, your contract states that you are responsible for zones 345 and 347 if the mechanics are unable to perform their duties."

"Yeah, if they're deathly ill or some shit."

The Tratera's pale white hands came on screen with air quotes. "I believe job termination falls under 'some shit'".

I plopped into the chair and crossed my legs. The action sent the robe falling to the side and exposed my thighs. The Tratera lost focus again.

"I'm wearing panties." I pulled open the bottom of the robe to show him the thick silicon weave pair of boy shorts I had on. "If you worked around this shop with all the crap that stains your clothes, you'd be near naked too."

He cleared his throat, before opening his mouth and shutting it wordlessly.

I folded my arms and added an intentional frown this time for good measure. "That's it? No details?"

"I'm sorry Ms. Wayer. The atmospheric system stabilizer has shut down. We would like you to take a look at it?"

I thought of the 'budget cuts' comment from earlier. "How long has it been out of commission?"

He looked down and the table and mumbled.

"Speak up!"

He scratched the fur around his mouth. "Approximately sixteen months."

"Approximately?"

"With the zone 345 contractor fired, we can only guess."

"And the backup generator only last two years, right?"

"Approximately."

"So I'm to travel one month to Rolonin 7, to fix the A.S.S. that may or may not still be operational by the time I get there."

The Tratera nodded.

"Lead with that next time, will you?" I got up from the chair and slammed it under the desk. "I'm not doing it."

"Well, you see," the Tratera spoke softly. "I will be forced to send Happy Life Enforcers if you do not comply."

"You don't have the stones." I cut off the com.

But he did. That's why my one month trip became two. And why I have a pair of fully grown Tratera with the pointy horns, watching my movements. I'm honestly surprised they haven't bailed themselves. Maybe they have faith in my engineering prowess.

I snicker and finish my first drink as the bartender arrives with the second.

By the time I'm three drinks in I should have an answer. I've seen the inside, the oxidizer, the part of the A.S.S. that distills the proper ration of oxygen into the atmosphere, is shot. Shipping in another one will take three months I'm told. They could expedite it and have it here in a month under normal circumstances, but the express service was also a victim of 'budget cuts'.

Warn the colonists? Ha! That would cause their stocks to plummet. The brass has decided that the whole colony getting wiped out is an acceptable risk.

Except that the Happy Life bigwigs on this colony have already been evacuated. Their business partners have skedaddled on feigned business ventures in other parts of the galaxy.

Other than a few 'nutjob conspiracy theorists', no one knows the truth.

I down the second bourbon and Sprite.

A third one's coming. I nod at the Trateras nearby. They are covering the per diem costs, making sure that every dime I say I spend on company business is legit. There's at least one upside to the whole floating deathstar bit. Free drinks.

My mind begins to whirl. If I siphon from the reservoir and feed the water through an atom splitter, it can get us by for a few months, more than long enough for the new oxidizer to get here. It will cause a minor drought in the region, but I'll take dry throat over a ticking death clock any day. There are some finer details that I need to work out, but I'll have it by the third drink.

The shorter Tratera escort, I call him Bill because his real name is long as fuck and I don't have the tone to pronounce it right anyway, taps me on the shoulder. He grabs my arm before I can take a sip. "We have trouble."

"Trouble?" I pull my arm away. "What do you mean trouble? You mean the whole we're about to suf..."

He covers my mouth before I can finish the word 'suffocate' and points at the door.

Have a Smile Technologies personnel have made their way into the bar. You can tell they are HS Tech goons because the smiley face on their blue jumpsuits have teeth. Three are fanning out in search of me by Bill's reaction. Two have surrounded Bill's partner Casey and their guns are out before he sees them.

Bill freezes on the spot. He has some loyalty to Casey. I, on the other hand, do not. So I calmly and quietly try to extricate myself from the situation.

I run right into HS Tech goon number six. He has his gun in my ribs.

"Ursula Wayer. Come with us."

I'm not given an option. A bag is thrown over my head. I take one breath, before the knockout gas lining the material causes me to lose consciousness.

My head throbs when I come to. My first thought is about Lisa and the face that I could have had some Anastian tongue in me right now.

Instead, I'm in a room reminiscent of a shitty 1920's cop film. One flickering light source hangs from an exposed wire on the ceiling. It sways from side to side as if carried by a non-existent breeze. The wooden chair I'm given in has an appalling stain on the seat, the source of which I do not want to think of. But given that the room smells like a combination of liquor, vomit, piss and inspired sadness, the options are limitless.

All of this is clearly intended to put me off-balance and it's working quite well. I don't want to sit, but I haven't been given much of an option. So I'm in a half-sit, half-stand position that's murder on my thighs. My hands continuously shift on the chair, looking for a position that gives me some relief.

HS Tech goon number 1 sits in front of me ignoring my plight. Unsurprisingly his chair has a cushion and is free of unidentifiable stains. He pulls it nearby, easily in striking distance as if to tell me, "I'd easily smash in your homely face if you try something."

He pulls up his tablet and swipes through a few screens. I reluctantly let go and sit fully in the chair. The stain isn't as dry as I thought and the wetness seeps through my jeans. I don't have the silicon panties on today which would keep the unwanted liquid out, so I grimace as the fluid caresses my ass. I'm going to need to take twenty showers after this.

This Tratera has brown fur instead of black and white horns instead of brown. The Tratera own the rights to most of the artificial atmosphere tech patents and HS Tech and HL Corp are the two biggest companies in this part of the galaxy. Doesn't help that the brown and black Tratera have been in a blood feud since before they started exploring the galaxy.

"Ursula," he begins finally. "You don't mind if I call you Ursula, do you? Listen, we have a problem here that I hope you can resolve."

"What do you need?" I ask, folding my legs out of habit. That only makes the situation with my backside worse.

"I need you to let me into the A.S.S."

"Why don't you go inside your own A.S.S.?" I say out of reflex. I instantly regret it.

The Tratera scowls. "I'm well-educated in the inner workings of my A.S.S., thank you very much. Happy Life is rumored to have stolen the schematics of our argon pulse and it is in use here."

"They took it and I have proof," I say without hesitation. I have no loyalty to these guys other than their reliable paycheck that likely won't be reliable for too much longer. The argon pulse was working just fine, so I didn't open it up. Technically, this Tratera could have a point. Wouldn't put it past them.

Also, whatever it takes to get out of this chair ASAP.

"Thank you Ursula," The Tratera smiles, showing his double row of teeth in quick succession. It would be more frightening if they weren't known herbivores. "One step at a time though. You are the contracted mechanic for Rolonin 7, correct? And you are aware that your A.S.S. is in trouble?"

I nod my head, hoping he gets to the point soon.

"We activated a kill switch around two months ago, so that vibes the timetable of your travel and arrival. We'll need you to retrieve our property. We would prefer no bloodshed if necessary.

"I hate to ruin your theory, but the A.S.S. has been down for nearly eighteen months ago." I'm annoyed with myself as soon as the words leave my lips. I had my out and just screwed it up.

His eyes narrowed and his nose area twitches. "So you waited until the last minute to come and fix it?"

"No, I..."

"To think, I felt some sympathy for you."

No, no, no... "Wait a min..."

He pulls his gun, a silver plated pulse cannon with a DNA scope. I want to continue, but self-preservation kicks in and I shut my mouth.

After a few minutes, he holsters it. "I've heard enough." He looks up to the ceiling, likely to the others watching the interrogation. "Let her assistants go and let's start getting our people out ASAP. If their A.S.S. suffocates the people of this colony, this will be a PR nightmare for HL Corp. Even if it doesn't, a strategic leak of this delayed repair attempt should do a good amount of damage. This year's Feast Day bonus will be so fat."

He motions for me to stand up and turn around.

I stand up, gladly, but I'm not turning.

"I'm not going to kill you, but this location is Top Secret." He pull a black bag from his back pocket.

There is no real reason to antagonize him further, so I turn around.

Darkness follows.

This time, I wake up to Bill's snarling face. "What did you tell them?"

His weapons are gone from his holsters, but he's still more than capable handling my skinny frame.

"Nothing," I lie.

He rolls his eyes, but he doesn't press. Instead he hands me a glass of water.

"Thank you," I take a drink, clearing my head a bit. I remember the reason I'm here. "Bill, you have to get me inside your A.S.S. right away."

----------------

The repairs seem to have gone smoothly. No one has dropped dead in the past few days in any case, which is a good sign.

With the main one returned to operation, I took a look at the backup. The argon pulse is all but drained. We had two weeks left, tops.

Outstanding.

I had Bill and Casey order the appropriate parts to repair it as well.

I sit in a different bar nursing a whiskey and Coke. I think I'm forming a habit, but I can't muster the concern. The HS Tech Tratera followed through on his threat. The lead story on the news is about an unnamed Happy Life mechanic who put Rolonin 7 in grave danger by waiting to the last minute to perform repairs. Drinking is the only thing that calms my nerves.

My quick fix could fail at any moment.

I'll never get hired by anyone else after this.

I'm emotionally exhausted.

What pisses me off the most is that all of this was easily avoidable. This started because some empty suit back in HQ got an idea to save a couple of dollars.

Mary the Minovian has a seat at the bar next to me. She's about to offer me that tongue again. Before she can even make her sexual invitation for the night I grab her at the crotch and undo one of the buttons.

I let my hand linger.

She lets her tongue slide across her pink lips and smiles.

I need to believe in something for the next three months. Minoviste will have to do.