Space station of the sluts

“Captain?” It was Shaylan’s voice. His ID floated in front of her eyes, of course, but Megan hardly needed it, not with that polite baritone on the other end of the line. “Is everything all right? Station readouts said you’d sealed your cabin.”

Megan bit back irritation. She did not like having someone else checking her station’s status reports. “Everything is fine, Mr. Shaylan,” she said. “I always seal my cabin for, ah, sleep.”

Zanthia grinned through the readouts; stretched forward like a cat and nipped playfully at Megan’s toes. Megan prodded the cushiony redhead with a foot, not very effectively.

“Oh.” said Shaylan. “Well, when you unseal it, don’t be alarmed if there’s a bit of a funny smell. The new algae strain is making some weird byproducts out of the contaminants from the meteor. Your analyzers don’t show anything harmful, but it’s kind of…floral.” She heard, rather than saw, his shrug. “I put the standard ‘working as intended’ message template in your inbox. I thought you’d want to read it and make any changes you thought necessary before broadcasting it to the station.”