Space station of the sluts

Clearing his throat, he straightened up and looked around the meeting room. Megan had carefully moved them out of her office for the daysuit diagnostics — it had felt like too much of a violation to strip down and let him access her secured systems right there in her sanctum. Now she felt a bit silly about it. Clearly, M. Shaylan was just as nervous being on Saturn VI as she was having him there.

“Well,” Shaylan said, “I think we’re all done here, Captain Xio. I’m afraid I can’t let you look at the cultures, but I’ll want an hour or so to get everything calibrated for a new generation of algae. Might I trouble you for a cabin in crew quarters, after? The personal space allotment on Consortium shuttles is, ah, stingy. Even sharing would be an improvement, if you have a man on board who’d be willing to…?”

He trailed off, clearly seeing something in Megan’s face. She schooled it to polite blankness, wondering what he’d caught. Amusement, probably. She’d almost laughed out loud.

“Call me Megan,” she said gently, to soften the blow. “But, ah, Mr. Shaylan — there aren’t any men on board. This is a First Diaspora station.” His mouth made a little “O” shape of recognition, but she added anyway, “Gender-segregated. Or the founders were, anyway, generations ago. We’d probably hire a man if one applied. None have, that I know of. It’s a bit of a dead-end.”