Zarathustra In Aphelion

[MiniKitty]

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Zarathustra In Aphelion
The frost of loneliness makes me shiver.

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Day 1
A little poison now and then:
that maketh pleasant dreams.
And much poison at last
for a pleasant death.

To think of a station without a bar is to think of the impossible. They belong to the setting, to the inventory. Spacers forced to endure the danse macabre every single time they set a foot on a space ship. Encapsulated by centimeters of alloy, nothing more than a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a fraction in the seemingly endless void of space. Surrounded by infinite possibilities of death. The human mind has no grip on the scale of things. Only concepts. Metaphors to name when the requirement of breaking the dimensions of time and space is on the table. Philosophers and scientists are busy with these concepts every day, so that the more simple minded learn words to put the incomprehensible to word.

Monique didn't give a fuck.


The thin girl with the neon blue hair sat at the counter, staring at her cocktail glass, playfully decorated with an orange peel carefully cut into the shape of a cartoonish snake. A signature for this particular kind of cocktail. The inlet ceiling fans threw rotating shadows into the wide room as strong spotlights shot their saffron shine. The synthetic straw became a suction pipe as Monique's lips enveloped the upper end, forcing the almost luminously yellow drink out of the glass into her mouth. Her frustration was initially not written in her face. Just like that, to one rather handsome spacer with the slightly rough third day beard, the sight of this young and pretty girl in an outfit that involuntarily begged the question as to whether it was just for fashionable space adventuring or to blatantly attract men with a fetish for women in shape pronouncing leather catsuits seemed like an invitation for a thrilling one-time adventure to, for a few hours, forget about the deadly storm outside.

As he approached, however, a colossal woman, more muscle than grace, made her way to sit down right next to the young, comparatively fragile girl, getting right in the way of hero of another night. Shaking his head, accepting momentarily defeat, he went somewhere else.

The muscle monster claiming the most unlucky - or most lucky, depending on multiple subjective factors - bar stool moaned a sigh as her rear hit the cushioned seat.

Give me what the kitten here has.

It took Monique a few seconds to realize she was the one the nickname was referring to. And yet it did not manage to get her to look up, or to the side. Just an empty, unfocussed stare at her serpentine cocktail.

Captain left you behind, huh?

Left behind. Indeed. Madeleine and Levan on their own little adventure, risking their lives out there. He tricked her.

He tricked her, and abandoned her. What an asshole. What had she done wrong to deserve this? She knew what he liked. She perfected what he liked. Years of being with him, working with him, working him. Sharing him. Not just with Madeleine. Not just with Kristoff. Not just with other people. She shared him with this ship, the Gemini Kay. She shared him with a completely different life style. Enduring everything else was no issue at all. She was fine with it. It was good that way. She had fun that way. But sharing him with space? Sharing him with that ship? With his inexplicable desire to leave a perfectly fine, satisfying and fun environment? On Denver, he was someone people looked up to. Providence. A patron. Someone who, without ulterior motive, opened his house to people he didn't even know, to have them hang out there and be who they truly are. Only few rules. He made her the manager. He tolerated her liberal opinions on the use of certain chemicals. As long as it wasn't cardamine or any other hard stuff.

At the Den, their home, they respected him. They didn't make fun of the young guy, merely 5.55 feet of a man. They respected him, and wanted to hang out with him. They wanted to understand him. They wanted to have fun with him. Make love with him, too. After all, that was how Madeleine and Monique ended up at his side permanently.

How can any sane person reject all that? The life style of a rich person? Money, women and men at the tip of a finger, no obligations. Of all the things he had the freedom to choose to do, he decided to leave all these things behind for space and drama and violence and death and aliens. What man chooses that kind of life!?

What man abandons a friend like this?

Need a place to stay?

In her mind, she went through all the possible mistakes she could have possibly made without him pointing them out. Was it because of Kristoff? Or did she mismanage the Den? Was he no longer attracted to her? Was it because she was afraid of these damn space adventures?

You know him?

Found him at the cleaners, naked. Brigged him. Kept my eyes on him.

He promised he wouldn't go out there again.

And then he broke that promise. And now you're stranded here, kitten.

Only if he dies out there.

That was the assumption. He would come back, surely. Right? Why would he drop her off here and just leave? He could have done that any other time. He would come back to collect her and bring her home to Denver. Stranded, for a few hours. For a few more hours.

Day 2
It is invisible hands
that torment and bend us the worst.

It had been a while since Monique last woke up in some stranger's apartment. The last time it was in Levan's big bed, right next to him. Obviously, clothed. He would always sleep fully clothed. A habit that slowly died off when his horribly scarred body got covered by entirely covered by admirable, beautifully shaped tribal tattoos. Even though only very few people got to lay their eyes on a tattoo artist's masterwork, the boy never felt comfortable showing it off. If it was up to him, he would never take off his clothes. Only for showering. Not even in bed. Whatever happened that caused all the scars on his body, he himself hated them so much that he did everything he could to hide them from both himself and everyone else.

In a way, it was a sign of trust, revealing his body to Monique and Madeleine. He trusted her. And even while he still preferred to always be fully clothed, even during intimacy, he would allow himself to expose his body to them. Many nights did Monique let her fingers caress his skin. It was painfully obvious that he never wanted to talk about the scars. He first hated it when they got touched. Both sides found a tolerable middle ground. Trust was the foundation.

She missed him. It was the very late morning of the second day. He was not back. The Gemini Kay was still out there. Somewhere. Swallowed by the dark.

This woman? Everyone seems to call her Durga. Initially, she herself introduced herself that way, too. In a dismissive way, almost as to make it painfully obvious it was just a nickname. And nicknames seemed to be the way to go here, as Durga always referred to Monique as kitten. Despite her intimidating appearance, Durga was nice. Rough around the edges, but she offered said kitten to crash on her couch. So the kitten did.

The kitten remained on the couch, even after Durga went out to get to work. Not fully sleeping, not fully awake. Frequently checking her PDA for any news. Checking the station's outer cameras. No Condor in sight. Nothing on the news. Nothing. The worst part about space? The extreme likeliness of never finding out about the fate. For all she had heard, Kepler was littered with wrecks - most of them never to be found. Mankind has been littering space with wrecks and unlucky escape pods for over eight centuries. Hundreds of thousands? Maybe millions? Tens of millions? Hundreds of millions?

Levan and Madeleine could be out there, dead, killed in unimaginable ways. And nobody would ever know.

The kitten dozed off. The kitten woke up again, her bladder mandating to answer the call. The bathroom was nothing more than a little cubby. All very compact. As Madeleine let out what needed out, she wondered how a giant like Durga would move in here. The shower seemed too small for any comfort. In fact, she realized, it was dust-caked. Durga didn't seem like a woman who wouldn't shower, though. She probably showered somewhere else. Maybe the security department had showers.

Nevertheless, she herself needed one. Peeling herself out of the suit, hopping into the stall, letting the water do the job.



Still no message from Levan. No news about him. Nothing. She really was stranded here now. Who knew when a ship would head for Liberty again. After all, the Zoners weren't exactly on good terms with Liberty. In fact, chances were she needed to get a job on this station to keep herself afloat. Possibly for a very long time.

An hour later Monique wandered around on Ames. From the cockpit of the Kay, Ames looked a lot smaller than it felt now. She knew nobody here. She didn't know the rules. Everything was foreign and strange and inconvenient and intimidating. At least there was Durga. Without her, she would probably have needed to get laid to not sleep in some hallway or on a bench. Or something else.

A good chunk of the station seemed to be restricted access. Understandable, she thought. Research station, after all. They probably had some top secret things going on here. The thought of that wasn't exactly making her feel better.

Any news, kitten?

How a muscle monster like Durga could approach without making any sound would remain a mystery to Monique. Slightly agitated she turned around to face the tall and impressively strong looking woman with the braided blond hair. Come to think of it, Durga reminded her of some kind of main character of a video game.

Nothing.

Your friend's probably dead, then.

Nonchalant. Monique narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. Levan always had luck on his side. Always. Not metaphorically. It was like luck was his unique perk. Winning lotteries, gambling, luck with women and people. He started out in some mine shaft on Pittsburgh, almost dead, only to emerge as rich man with ladyluck and health and a life without obligations. How much more luck could someone have? He even blew up a destroyer with his puny little gunboat. If Goddess Fortuna was real, she was breastfeeding him.

No, a man with this much luck wouldn't just die out there in the storm. She was certain of it.

At least, that was what Monique tried to convince herself of. Durga must have been wrong.

Welp, kitten, Ames' your home now. We'll better get you a job asap.

I'm not exactly a scientist.

Me neither. Don't worry, kitten, we'll find something for you.

Day 3
And only where there are graves
are there resurrections.

To get paid in ration tokens was definitely a surprise, Monique thought. Working one afternoon in the bar as waitress netted her these tokens, allowing her to shower, eat dinner and have cocktail for the night. Just like that. Another night on Durga's couch. She had finally gotten to talk with her a bit. Next to the giantess, Monique felt tiny and childish. Not that Durga seemed to be much older than her - maybe in her thirties - but she simply radiated authority and respect. Nobody wanted to mess with Durga, and the people attempting to check out Monique changed their minds when the ice cold stare of the muscle monster pierced their skulls. Those huge hands could easily break bones.

As Monique assumed correctly, Durga was truly just a nickname. Her actual name was Destiny. However, Durga herself stated the obvious: She did not look like a woman called Destiny. Not exactly a name people would associate with a walking tank like her.

What's the deal with the kid anyway?

Kid?

Captain Harlow. He looks like he's barely legal.

Trust me, he's not. He may be small, but he is not a kid.

And what's it with him?

You mean, why I love him?

Durga sat down on the couch, a mug of steaming hot coffee in her hand. Grey tank top, grey shorts. Her clothes looked like they had a hard time not to burst trying to contain the muscles. Without much thought, Durga placed her free arm around Monique's shoulders, which felt incredibly intimidating to the thin young woman.

Is it the money or the sex? Can't be his brain.

All of it. Everything about him.

Everything, huh. You know he left you stranded here.

Hard to forget about that.

Look, kitten.
Nobody stays out there for this long.
He's either dead or left Kepler.
You should get yourself a new partner.
Sharing a room is cheaper.

I'm not giving up on him.

Well, you can't crash on my couch forever.
Eventually I bring someone here.
You better not be here then.

I... Yes. I will try to get a room for myself.

Seriously. Get a partner.
Without some compromises, you won't get enough tokens to be able to afford a day off.

Monique sighed. Durga made it sound like living on this station was rather harsh.

As it turned out, she was not lying.

Day 12
You tell me:
'Life is hard to bear.'
But if it were otherwise
why should you have your pride in the morning
and your resignation in the evening?

Life is hard to bear:
but do not pretend to be so tender!
We are all of us pretty fine asses
and asseses of burden!

Monique's PDA beeped.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Climbing over Durga's body, the thin girl grabbed the PDA. Her heart almost jumped out of her chest as she read the notification: The Gemini Kay was recovered, along with the missing supply ship.

What's it, kitten?

They found them! They are alive!

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