This time, Brantley had gone too far. He’d actually wiggled himself against her. There was no mistaking it. All the diplomacy she’d managed to exercise for almost two years flew out the room with that act of blatant disrespect.
Before she knew what was happening, she’d swung around and thrown her coffee mug at him. It didn’t matter that she’d just filled it with hot coffee. It served him right for sexually harassing her once again.
Kyra dreamed of becoming the space program’s top technical engineer, and this post was her first step. She’d worked hard, earning a master’s degree in applied technical engineering from MIT, and she took this position instead of going on to get a PhD. At the time, it seemed like the best way to get into the program on the surface, forgoing additional schooling to get field training here. These positions were coveted, and she’d jumped at the chance to join the space station, even happy to start as a junior analyst. But almost two years of dealing with this toad with no promotion in sight was not worth it. She’d had it. This was proving to be the dead-end, thankless job she feared she’d get trapped in. Brantley was never going to promote her. She knew that now. He couldn’t teach her anything; none of them could. She was here, doing her own thing and learning by trial and error. He just wanted her around as dependable labor and an object to feel on and get his rocks off.
“Brantley, I warned you. I told you if you tried to rub your little, shriveled, gherkin-pickle dick against me one more time, I’d make you regret it.”
“You think too much of yourself. I was just trying to get by when you stuck your fat ass out. No one…” He looked around to see if anyone else was around to hear what he was about to say and repeated it more slowly. “No one is going to believe that I would ever attempt to sexually harass you. It’s not like you’re a looker like your doctor friend. Why would I risk my job over your sub-par ass? I still don’t know how you passed the physical or weight requirement to be up here in the first place.”
“Ha! You’re one to talk, Jabba the Nut!”
“Oh, okay, so now you’re really making this too easy. You attacked me unprovoked, and now you’re hurling insults at me? Kyra, I’d say you are creating a hostile work environment, and I can’t have that on my team. You’re fired!”
“What? You can’t fire me. I’m the one forced to work with you. You’re the hostility in this trap!”
He turned, ignoring her as he snatched the station intra-connected communicator up to speak. Kyra couldn’t believe how calm she was. It was as if she didn’t care anymore. Anything was better than having to work day in and day out with this loser.
Brantley’s rushed voice filled the room as he connected with his intended party.
“Security? Yes, this is Brantley Mitzen, Head of Operations, and I need an escort to remove an ex-employee from this secured space.” He glared at her as he emphasized ‘ex’.
“You’re calling security on me? You have lost your mind. Duh. We’re on a space station. Where am I going to go?”
At that, he turned back to her with a smirk for the ages. “I’m going to have you confined to your quarters until transport back to the surface can be arranged.” He covered the receiver with a hand and continued, “You messed up, Kyra. You didn’t play the game very well—you shouldn’t have denied me. You didn’t have the options you must have thought you had. I was the only one showing you any interest, and you managed to blow even that. Or should I say, you didn’t blow it in a way that could help you advance.” He glanced up and down her body in a way that made her skin crawl with the ickiness of it. Still not content to give it a rest, he added, “Now you’ll rot in your rooms until I can get your ass kicked off this station. You messed up, and now you’re fired.”
He was mental. How could he think she’d be willing to put up with that kind of behavior from him? But now was not the time to show weakness. He’d only make her more miserable if he knew he could get on her nerves.
She mustered up all her strength, put on an impenetrable face of resolve and said, “Fine. I don’t want to be in the same vicinity as you any longer than I have to, anyway.”
Soon the doors to the area slid open, and five large security personnel filled the room. The one in charge looked from Kyra to Brantley and asked, “Is this the perpetrator?” She watched him as he seemed to appraise the coffee-drenched and highly agitated Brantley.
Brantley took the opportunity to launch into an Academy Award-worthy tirade. “Yes, she attacked me and threw hot coffee on me, unprovoked.”
She didn’t miss the quick look of triumph that slithered through Brantley’s dull, poop-colored eyes. The bastard.
Hearing that, the head of security instructed the others, “Secure the perpetrator.”
Oh hell, he called me a perpetrator—twice. This can’t be good. She immediately braced for rough handling but was instead surrounded and led back to her quarters—to sit and wait.
2
“Then what happened?”
“He fired me is what happened. He even had the nerve to call and have security bring me back here. I’m confined to these quarters until a transport back to Earth can be arranged.”
“Yeah, I heard security escorted you back here after you beat up Brantley.”
“I didn’t beat him up, although in hindsight I should have. You know, as a parting gift.”
“You’re too funny. I wish you had called me right after it happened. We could have cornered him. I would have held him down while you beat the crap out of him.”
“See, that’s why you’re my bestie. You get me,” Kyra said nodding her head in approval.
“That I do, but what about the transport back to Earth? The next supply shipment would most likely be that transport, and it isn’t scheduled to arrive until…” Phoebe paused to think when the next medical shipment would arrive, “…the end of next week. Kyra, you’ll be stuck here in your quarters for almost two weeks. Have you tried to contact the commander yet?”
Kyra knew how fast gossip spread on board and figured her friend would come as soon as she heard, which only took about an hour. True to form when she found out, Phoebe had rushed over to check in on Kyra.
“Kyra, please tell me you contacted the commander. There’s no telling what Brantley is saying about you.”
Of all the females on board, Phoebe was considered the catch. Single, beautiful, smart and nice, she embodied what Kyra wished she had—feminine style and grace. And Phoebe was her greatest advocate, always there to help her navigate the politically charged environment. Phoebe had proven time and again that she was a strategist to be reckoned with. Kyra didn’t understand why her friend was so content with her vocation instead of going into politics.
Phoebe or Phee, as Kyra liked to call her, was a diplomat, whereas Kyra was a grouchy tinkerer. She’d rather take something apart to figure it out and improve it, rather than learning to maneuver and position herself in the crazy head-games people on board played. Many used this station to leapfrog to better positions when their time was complete.
Five years was a fairly short time to spend up here, considering the perks one got in return once back on the surface. Kyra hadn’t even made it halfway through her contract before getting booted. But that was life; no use crying over it now.
“No. I’m still trying to get my head around everything. It all happened so fast. I was working, and the next thing I felt was his slimy body rubbing up against my butt. I snapped and gave him the perfect opportunity to get rid of me.”
“Ooh, gross!” Phoebe said, shuddering at the thought of it.
“I know, that’s exactly what I thought!”
“You’re good. I’m not sure I wouldn’t have killed that troll for touching me.”
“Phoebe! You never advocate violence. I think I like this side of you.”
“Well, I’ve never had to deal with a sexual predator. I wouldn’t be able to deal with that. You’ve done so well for two years! I’m impressed. All you did was throw coffee. I probably
would have injected him with a paralyzing agent to allow me time to filet his pecker.”
“Wow, and they say I’m the mean one,” Kyra said, laughing at her friend’s vivid description. When she sobered enough to think about her predicament again she said, “Phoebe, thanks for coming to check on me. It means a lot. I didn’t realize until now how much I’m going to miss you.”
“Oh hush up. Something tells me you’re not going anywhere. Everyone knows you’re the backbone of the operations team. Brantley’s a bureaucratic blowhard who can’t run most of the systems that you and the others can. It’s no secret you’ve modified and rebuilt most of the infrastructure. Everything runs more efficiently since you’ve been here. I’m sure once the commander finds out, he’ll do right by you.”
That was Phoebe, smoothing everything out to show the optimistic side of things.
“I hope you’re right about that. I’m not ready to leave.”
Phoebe leaned in to give Kyra an empathetic pat on on the knee. “You won’t. We need you too much.”
Kyra looked up at Phoebe. Their differences couldn’t have been more obvious, but they had some similarities, as well. Like Kyra, Phoebe was a woman of color, although her flawless, toffee-colored skin was delicate compared to Kyra’s deep amber coloring. Kyra watched with a tinge of guilty envy as Phoebe spoke, noting how her long ringlets—perfect brown curls infused with honey blonde—rustled with the slightest of head movements.
In contrast, Kyra’s own head bore unruly, tight coils the color of the blackest midnight. Her massive mane of hair fell just past her shoulder blades and refused to play nice, no matter how much she cajoled it.
“I’ve never spoken directly with the commander. I doubt he knows who I am. I guess I should have been more social, as you asked me to be. I might not be in this mess if I’d listened.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Beat yourself up in hindsight. I know for certain he knows who you are.” Phoebe leveled a ‘don’t doubt me’ look at Kyra and continued. “I know this because he came to the medical bay a little while back and asked how we were doing on power fluctuations. Remember, I told you that we used to have outages before you got here, and we had to print bio replacement specimens for the scientists.” Kyra nodded and waited for Phoebe to continue. “When Dr. Steven told him we’d had no issues in a while, he said, and I quote, ‘Yes, since our new analyst Kyra has come on board, this station hums like a kitten.’ Unquote.”
“He said that?” Kyra asked in disbelief.
“He sure did. I didn’t mention it before because he made it sound as though you had interaction with him.”
“Well I’ll be…”
“Don’t you see? You are the one the commander sees as the value in that department. There’s no way he’s going to let Brantley ship you away. He’d be too scared some other agency would snatch you up. Your reputation is spreading, Honey Bun.”
Kyra smiled, loving Phoebe’s occasional term of endearment. It made her feel like they were family.
“Speaking of honey buns, you got anything sweet to eat? I’m craving chocolate, and you seem to always have the best stash,” Phoebe said.
“I think so, check the pantry.” Kyra pondered the possibility that the commander might know who she was, after all.
Phoebe made humming noises from the kitchenette as she located candy. That was another thing to like about her. Like Kyra, she was also blessed with curves. Phoebe’s were a slightly smaller version of Kyra’s, but both women understood the trials of being shapely. They appreciated food and didn’t live on the micro-fasting diets that a lot of the women on the station followed. They ate food, appreciated it and didn’t quibble about calories. Neither was excessively overweight, but they did have distinctive bodies. As Phoebe liked to put it, “You can tell I’m a woman from far away.”
Kyra’s attention floated back to the conversation as Phoebe re-entered the room carrying a bag of miniature candy bars. She asked, “Hey Phee, if you were me, how would you handle this?”
Kyra valued Phoebe’s advice. They were alike in many ways but in this situation, she knew she needed Phoebe’s finesse. They were glaringly different in how they handled their predicaments. Kyra acted more like a battle cat when confronted with her plight as a woman on a predominantly male space station; Phoebe flowed with things. She made the best of them and knew how to play the game.
Kyra loved men and often fantasized about a strong alpha type coming in and sweeping her off her feet, making it obvious he wanted her and only her. Of late, she’d started to have dreams about a raven-haired, gray-eyed sex god who would get her all hot and bothered by simply being nearby. Just as she’d worked up the nerve to consummate their relationship, she always woke up. Talk about sexually frustrated! In real life, she was shy when it came to being around men she was attracted to.
She’d never had a real romantic relationship or gotten past some heavy kissing. At twenty-eight years old, she was embarrassed to admit she was still a virgin, so she opted to stay to herself when she wasn’t on duty, preferring to tinker and enhance stuff. Sure her libido was off the charts, but she’d learned to pleasure herself and focus on her job. No harm, no foul.
Phoebe, on the other hand, was a social butterfly. She went on dates from time to time and even managed to befriend some of the married couples. Those same married men acted like protective brothers, helping to keep the creeps away from her and the ever-growing fandom of guys who crushed hard on her. When she’d ask Kyra to join her for outings, Kyra always refused. Their friendship was that of an odd couple, but it worked.
Kyra would never admit that she felt socially awkward around Phoebe when they were in public. She felt like she lived in Phoebe’s shadow and, she was embarrassed to admit, even a little jealous of her. Phoebe, with her usual grace, never pressured Kyra and didn’t seem to notice her apprehensions.
Phoebe had become a close friend and more like the big sister Kyra always wished she had. When Kyra had first shown up at the station, trying desperately to hide the fact that she was scared and alone, Phoebe had been the one to show her the ropes. Forming friendships with other females had never been one of Kyra’s strong suits, but Phoebe made it easy to like her with her optimism and caring ways.
Two years ago, she and Phoebe were part of a small number of single females on board. That number had dwindled since then, with many of the woman quickly snatched up with marriage proposals. To hear Phoebe tell it, it felt more like the running of the bulls, the way guys pursued women on board, and she had managed to deftly sidestep all takers, saying she’d know when it was the right one and the right time.
Kyra admired her for that strong sense of confidence. She retreated in the opposite direction when men approached her. The other women who made up the female population came to the station already married or in committed relationships; many were working with their spouses and significant others on board.
Kyra was a junior technical analyst, and Phoebe was a doctor—a senior member of the medical staff and second in command of the medical bay. She was in her fourth year on board and fielding offers that were pouring in for when she finished next year. Only a few years older than Kyra, Phoebe was light years ahead in her social skills and ability to handle the rigors of living on the space station. She was a great friend, humble and the voice of calm when Kyra needed to vent. Kyra could be full of piss and vinegar when someone got her riled up, but Phoebe seemed to float through life, shining her tranquility on everyone. Kyra had occasionally tried to hate her, but Phoebe’s good so outweighed the bad that there was no option but to love her like a sister.
Phoebe sat in a lounge chair while Kyra reclined on a couch, munching down miniature candy bars. “You know each of these is going straight to my ass, and I don’t even care.”
“You’re the doctor. No one will dare say or even think anything about what you do. You have a god-like status. Heck, you can have all the candy bars you wan
t if you can give me a shot that repels Brantley and all the other creeps on board.”
Phoebe gave a quick shudder and said, “Honey Bun, if I had that kind of power, most of the guys would give us both a twenty-foot berth. But you may be onto something. Maybe I can work with research on something that makes us smell like a corpse flower whenever we’re grossed out by a guy.”
They laughed, and Kyra wondered how Phoebe could stand to play second fiddle to the older head doctor, Steven, who appeared to give orders and take all the credit for all his staff’s work. But true to Phoebe’s nature, she was gracious. Everyone knew who did the real work around the medical bay, anyway. Her innovations and breakthrough procedures were cutting-edge. Everyone always asked to be treated by the brilliant one when they came to the medical bay, and it wasn’t Dr. Steven, for sure. Phoebe was in high demand, both professionally and romantically.
Kyra sighed. No use torturing herself over her perfectly loyal friend’s perfect life. She had to think about what to do next. Kyra voiced aloud her thoughts about the job to bounce them off Phoebe.
“Now that I think about, it won’t do any good to talk with the commander. You and I both know there’s no where else I can work here. I wouldn’t pass the physical tests to work security, and no one with half a brain will let me near the flight deck, medical bay or kitchens. I wouldn’t be able to resist taking stuff apart instead of doing the job. It’s either this or become part of housekeeping. I don’t have the stamina to clean all day, either, so scratch that one off the list.”
She stood to pace and think. Why was everything in such a mess? This morning started out with promise, and now this.
“Oh Phee, I should have stuck with the core exercise requirements. I’m at least fifteen pounds heavier than I was two years ago, and I haven’t studied to qualify for anything but an operations technical specialist. Heck, you’re eating part of the reason that my surface mass has increased exponentially.”
Rescued By Tordin: Olodian Alien Warrior Romance Page 2