Space station of the sluts

~

Zanthia spent the first morning after the Consortium tech’s arrival bored and horny.

Her medical “wing” — two small rooms, an isolation chamber, and an office — already smelled pungently floral; clearly her life support was cycling from the new algae tanks. Plant poop in my air filters. Great. At least it beat daysuit breakdowns.

Her patient load cleared out fast: three-quarters of the “sick” were getting bad data from their suits, just like Megan and the Consortium tech had said. The rest needed a shot of detox and, ironically, to get back into their suits, at least until the new atmo had cycled for a few days. Whatever the glitches were, they weren’t as bad as actual organic contamination.

With the last of the patients gone, Zanthia settled into her office chair and pulled up the readouts from the algae tanks. She flicked through the columns of data. Nothing seemed dangerous — natural esters rising from the algae blooms, organic but harmless. The daysuits could probably be set to filter the smell out entirely if people wanted.