#screamers

Asher flits back and forth between the offices and the hotel room for a few more days. It forms her daily commute. Perhaps, she presumes, her travel is so regular that anyone who would have been suspicious simply views it as her workplace. Fitting, that.

Sifting through the papers reveals little. She doesn’t dare attempt reconstructing the shreddings. They’re cross-cut; it would be a nightmare. It would be so much easier to go back through the papers strewn about the desk and the floor, and this is what she does for a while. But somewhere around the third day, sorting through expenditure reports for years-old autonomous mining projects in Jupiter’s L4 Lagrange point, she sits, exasperated, and buries her head in her hands. It’s all it takes to stifle a despairing groan that dies in her throat.

She misses home. She misses the open blue sky, and Lake Vostok’s frigid waters, reflecting the glittering metropolitan skyline and the surrounding pines at its rocky shores. She misses Earth gravity, the certainty of weight. She misses the streets of Vostok City, taking the continental high speed maglev to visit the New Sydney seaside, and the beauty of air travel to other continents. The feeling that anywhere in the world was just a few hours away.

But she’s here. She’s here, stuck months away from home, sifting through the gross remnants of a spacer conglomerate’s branch office’s paperwork, going nowhere a billion klicks away. Burning her savings on an insane shot in the dark. All because she had to suffer the terrible indignity of her own inquisitive nature. Her inability to simply leave well enough alone.

It is on the way back from one such excursion that she encounters her again. The Martian. Julia. Catching her interrupted as she’s in one of the atriums.

Julia does not run this time. Presumably, she’s counting on the protection of being in public. She stops in her tracks and looks over Asher unflinchingly. Asher swallows. The awkwardness of the situation is palpable for her. Julia, so steely-eyed facing down the Antarctic cop that pulled a gun on her. There’s a distant memory for her people, Asher thinks, doing the same when they overthrew United Nations rule so long ago. That national-planetary cultural heritage built on a backs-against-the-wall defiance, spitting in the eyes of the homeworld and those people of it.

Asher approaches. Julia continues to stand still. Her slight height advantage over Asher makes the latter feel sheepish. It’s not the first time she’s had to apologize for wrongly drawing on someone, but it’s the first time she’s had to apologize to a Martian, and the humiliation in that is something she’s struggling to fight through. But some things are more important than planetary honor. Not that a Martian would know.

“Hey,” Asher says.

“Hi,” Julia nods curtly.

“I, uh,” Asher begins. It’s so difficult to meet the Martian’s cold amber gaze. Why is eye contact so much harder when you’re looking up at someone, anyway? “I’m sorry. About earlier.”

“Yeah,” Julia puts a hand on her hip. “I’m sure.”

“I’m serious,” Asher leans in, eyes scanning the crowded room. “Could we talk, uh, in more detail? About what happened?”

“Be my guest,” Julia folds her arms and smirks. She knows full well she has enormous leverage over Asher and has every intent of pressing it. This is not a good place for a detective to be. “Go right ahead.”

Asher grimaces. “In. Private.” Then, the magic word comes out tortured, “Please.”

Julia holds firm, says nothing. She’s staring down at Asher, the homeworld detective who is too quick on the draw and too slow to stop herself from doing so. Under the observation of the tall redhead, Asher feels like a sad little bug in a jar.

The tension in the air finally pulls taut and Julia’s mouth makes a single tsk. “Okay,” she smiles, “Come to Club Kraken with me. We’ll talk there.”

Asher’s eyebrows jump. “Club Kraken,” she echoes.

“You said somewhere private. There’s anonymity in a crowd,” she pauses, grins with her sharp teeth and continues, “as we both know so well. Look, my shift ended an hour ago. I’m going there anyway. Come on.” The Martian starts walking off without looking at Asher.

“I don’t,” Asher stammers, “I’m not sure that—”

“You’re buying,” Julia calls over her shoulder. “It’s the least you can do.”

Goddammit. Asher follows. She follows because she has no other choice, because the Marsie knows she has no other choice. She is compelled by convention and circumstance alike to cooperate with what is not-so-subtly demanded of her. Asher catches up and the two of them walk together, the Earthen and the Martian, side by side. It’s politically surreal. She feels like she’s being led in a triumphal procession where she is the defeated and captured outsider. Julia doesn’t look down at her at all, just smiles pleasantly as they proceed. Asher knows she’ll have to keep her wits about her. She has been entered into a dangerous contest of wills.

They arrive and pass beneath the lit up sea monster sign, its eye a harsh glow down upon Asher as she enters. They descend the stairs into the club, Julia first and Asher behind her. Fuck. It’s slammed in here. An aquamarine glow pervades the space, which is sonically drowning under the heavy music and the conversations fighting to supersede it. The previous shift change means a lot of workers have come in by now, looking to blow off steam after a hard day’s work of doing refinery maintenance or shuttle loading or whatever the hell it is these freaks do at a place like this.

Asher and Julia get to the bar, so crowded the two of them cannot find a seat and instead have to lean over the counter to get the attention of a bartender. While they wait, Asher observes the place. Spacers and guest workers from the inner system are all here in some great swirling melting pot, engaging in a peaceful coexistence the likes of which diplomats of all planets could have only dreamed of, and that, as a cynical anarchist might suspect, the United Nations Intelligence Service has always feared. They are talking, drinking, singing, dancing. Together.

The bartender comes to them. Different man from last time. Probably a Venusian. There’s that passive sun-soaked air about him. “What will it be?”

Asher looks at Julia, who seems to be staring at her expecting she will order on their behalf. Okay. When in space, do as the spacers do. “Two vodka electrics, please.”

If Julia approves, she does not express it. As they engage in a second exercise of patience, Asher goes back to scanning the room. There’s a couple pairs off in the back, making out under the light. The passion on the far side of the room reaches out to Asher and makes her shudder. It brings to mind what she saw in the halls a few days ago. She blinks, shakes her head, clears her thoughts. Whatever. It was a bad day. Moving on.

“Are you gonna talk to me?” Julia leans in expectantly and somewhat impatiently, her voice sounding strained over the din. “You wanted to talk, right?”

Asher, lightly startled, turns and stammers, “Yeah. Yeah, sorry. We can talk.”

“Okay,” Julia says, laying out her hand in a mocking gesture inviting procession. “Go ahead.”

“I’m sorry for pulling my gun on you,” Asher has to yell at an uncomfortably loud volume. If anyone nearby notices her over the noise, they certainly don’t show it. She really, really does not want to be talking about this here, of all places. “That was a really fucked up thing to do, I shouldn’t have, and I understand that I freaked you out by doing it. I didn’t mean to, I was acting on instinct, but it doesn’t change the effect it had on you. I’m sorry.”

Julia carries the proud smile of a triumphator. She knows full well what she’s extracted here. A private fulfillment of a national honor. She is, however, also gracious in victory, because she follows with, “I accept your apology.”

“Thank you,” Asher exhales like she’s just come up for air after nearly drowning.

Their drinks arrive. Vodka electrics, again. Asher pays with a generous tip, takes hers up in her hand. It’s so cold it makes her fingers numb, the half-frozen condensate on the glass making it all the worse. She and Julia cheers and drink. When the drinks return to their sides, Asher notices that Julia has actually taken an earnest sip from hers this time.

Julia turns and looks out at the dance floor. At the swaying and bumping masses. “So you’re a cop,” she says.

“I prefer ‘detective’,” Asher responds and adjusts her posture ram-rod straight, “but, yes. I am.”

Julia looks back down at Asher and plays off a smirk. “Are you familiar with the early 21st century expression, ‘All Cops Are Bastards’?”

Asher blinks. “No. I’m not a historian. Did they really say that back then?”

Julia takes another sip of her drink and Asher mirrors her. She’s still sipping down the metallic citrusy taste when Julia says, “Yeah, they did, mostly in Anglosphere North America. And for good reason. Most people back then did not trust police.”

Asher leans back against the wall and stares out at the spacers, and has to shout, “Since when have they ever? Cops is cops, y’know? Shit is as shit does.”

When Asher turns to look back, Julia’s face is twisted up, perplexed. “What do you mean by that?”

Asher takes another drink. It’s all starting to hit her. Fuck me, that’s strong. “Nothing,” she sighs loudly. “Forget it. I don’t wanna talk politics with you. Just make us both angry.”

The redhead nods in understanding and mercifully obliges, leveling off a sip somewhere around the halfway mark of her glass. “I think I’m done for now,” she says, moving over to set her drink on the bar counter. Within a minute the Venusian bartender sweeps it up and stows it away in some sink, sight unseen.

Asher skulls the rest of hers in one fell swoop and groans, “Yeah, me too.” It burns her throat, lights up her esophagus on the way down like a lamp descending into a mineshaft. Her glass, similarly to the Martian’s, is disappeared once set upon the bar. She does not feel like having another. She eyes the room nervously, hoping the Venusian femmes are nowhere nearby. The first time was bad enough.

When Asher returns to her spot on the wall, she realizes Julia’s been watching her the whole time. Her expression, like her planet, is unreadable. Sharp. Mysterious.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Julia asks.

The question is so shocking to Asher that she blinks and then lets out an awkward laugh. “I’m sorry, what?”

The Martian is unfazed by this. “You were right. We need to talk somewhere more private. And my voice is getting tired. Come on.”

Asher is frozen for a moment as Julia turns and walks out, jumpsuit complimenting her figure nicely. Her Martian strut. Her Martian ass. Asher shakes her head, lets reality smack her across the side before picking up the pace and tipsily stumbling after her. Who knows where this is going? Will this help her with the case? She doesn’t know, but at least it’s something. God, at least it’s something.

They make their way out of the club unmolested by the feverishly dancing crowds, passing by the perfumed couplets and in one case a ménage à trois, the kissing and breast-cupping and ass-grabbing turning the atmosphere of the place far too lascivious for Asher’s comfort. Perhaps this is why Julia really asked her to leave. Before things got too weird here. Asher understands.

Upon surfacing, Julia pauses briefly to check that Asher is still following her, and they continue together. “Where are we going?” Asher asks tepidly.

“My quarters,” Julia says. She turns over to look at Asher’s taken aback expression, and shrugs, “It’s private.”

“You don’t bunk with other workers?” Asher asks. “I thought that’s how it worked in the outer planets.”

“For spacers, maybe,” scoffs Julia. “Mars negotiates on our behalf. They compensate the conglomerates for the extra board so it’s no trouble to hire us.” Then, she looks over with a proud smirk. “It’s nice being from a planet that looks out for its own.”

“Yeah,” Asher mumbles, thinking about her hotel rates, “whatever.”

“It’s not anything too fancy,” the Martian cautions, clearly sensing she touched a nerve, “It’s a cramped little studio hab, essentially. But it’s a place to sleep safe.”

They make their way back there, through a few winding halls, over in the quarters of the CRG workers. As they pass by the communal spacer habs, Asher can hear from one or two of them the sounds of loud lovemaking. She flinches at a particularly sharp moan that echoes in the halls. The memory from being lost in the dark hallway flashes into her head again, the sinister backlit face of the pale woman rushing forward into her mind’s eye.

Julia doesn’t comment on it, just keeps moving. Asher keeps up with her as best as she can. The full weight of the drink’s second half is slamming into her. Eventually they arrive outside a new hab section, its presence announced with its own bulkhead. “CRG’s Martian quarters,” Julia mutters. She turns to Asher. “You’re technically entering Martian territory, but I won’t ask you for your passport or anything.”

“Cool,” Asher says, “Thanks.” She’s surprised there isn’t some biometric scanner that would sense a lack of iron oxide particulates in her bloodstream, something to root out her non-Mars nature. There’s a sense she is stepping into the belly of the beast, in a way. She brushes it aside. She has to. There are more important matters than her own comfort.

Julia places her eye up to a retinal scanner, presses around on an interface, and the bulkhead opens. “Gave you guest status,” she smiles.

There’s a trepidation now, one that wasn’t there before. Asher had not considered the possibility that her going back to Julia’s residence could mean something personal, but suddenly the realization collides with her boozy mind like a railgun round, something massive sending her perception off course. She must act on her best behavior. She has to get somewhere with this. It can’t all be for nothing.

Julia and Asher step through and seal the bulkhead behind them. The hallway down extends to maybe a dozen or so residences. They walk past several more airtight doors before Julia comes to a stop in front of what must be hers. She slides it open. “Come on in,” she gestures politely.

Asher steps inside. It’s cozy. There’s a soft, neat bed, plenty of compact storage space, a minifridge, a thin closet, a small desk with a single chair, and enough floor space to stretch. Above the desk, a narrow polycarbonate window faces out into the dark. And above the window, the infamous black and red Martian standard, bolted in place.

“Nice place,” Asher nods.

“Yeah, for the most part.” Julia closes the door behind her and leans against it. She stares at Asher and her voice drops an octave. “Why are you here, detective?”

Asher blinks. “You invited me.”

“On Titan. Why are you here on Titan.” She does not state it like a question. Julia steps over to the window, bidding Asher to sit on the bed while she remains standing. Asher obliges. “A woman like you, someone from Earth, you don’t just come out here on vacation.”

Asher starts, “What I do here is hardly your—”

Julia smirks. “Sex tourist, I take it? Looking to try some ‘out of this world’ tang?”

“No! No,” Asher stammers, “Nothing like—”

“I’m not here to judge,” the Marsie shrugs.

“It’s personal,” Asher stands back up again. Her voice rattles defensively in her parched throat. “It’s personal.”

“So, sex tourism.”

“Would you please lay off the sex tourism angle?” Asher groans. The drunkenness and humiliation in tandem are enough to make even her brown-skinned cheeks turn flush. “No, it’s nothing like that. I… fuck.” She buries her head in her hands. Julia keeps mum. The silence begins to suffocate Asher, and she looks up beseechingly at Julia, eyes nearly watering. “Can I trust you?”

Julia blinks. It’s almost like she didn’t expect sincerity out of the Earthen woman. She soon composes herself and says, “Right now, I think we have to trust each other.” There’s a half smile, now. “At least we’ve got being inner-system in common. If nothing else, we can start with that.”

“It’s a start,” Asher assents. She sighs. “I’m gonna need some water.”

Julia nods wordlessly, fetching Asher a bottle from the minifridge. Asher thanks her breathlessly and opens it, drinking it down hectic before setting it back. “Good?” Julia asks. Asher nods.

“Okay,” Asher begins. She stumbles over her words a couple times before landing right. “I’m, I’m doing an investigation. I’m not here in any official capacity. I’m off duty, I put in a sabbatical with my precinct.”

Julia takes it in. Her red hair is illuminated so brilliantly by the ceiling light. When Asher stops, she follows with a question. “What are you investigating?”

“My baby sister. She disappeared.” Asher takes a massive sip of water, steeling herself for the next part. “Her name’s Denise. She was an astrobiologist with OSDco, fresh out of ANU, on her first trip offworld. They put her in this little junker hab to, fucking, look for underwater life on Tethys or something. I don’t know. I’m not a goddamn scientist.” Asher buries her head in her hands, balling her fists against her skull as if willing away some torrential headache. “She never came back. My baby sister never came back. Company just said she went missing, presumed dead, I—”

The dam breaks. The tears flow easily. All this time since she read the press release she’d never cried once, and now, here, in a Martian residence on the surface of Titan, in front of a practical stranger, the wheels have fully come off. She wipes her face with her hand and it does absolutely nothing to stop the collapse.

Asher looks up at Julia, stinging eyes and wet cheeks, stammering, “She’s all I had, you know? Our parents are gone. I don’t have anyone else outside of work. Just my little baby sister. I’m supposed to look out for her. Fuck, and I, I don’t trust the fucking company, no one does, the shit they get up to, I mean, you’ve heard it too, right?”

Julia just stares and nods quietly, and hands Asher a small pack of tissues from the desk. Asher obliges and thanks her again, drying her eyes, clearing her sinuses, and continues in a shaky voice, “I have to find out what’s happened to her. I have to. It’s the one thing I’m good at, I can use it here. I can. And if, if there’s any chance she’s still out there, anything at all, I…”

Julia listens as Asher trails off into a pitiful, halting shudder. Then, there is her arm outstretched, palm empty. “Here,” she says softly, “hold my hand.”

“I’m sorry,” Asher mumbles out, obliging the gentle order. Julia’s hand is soft. Surprising, considering her occupation. Presumably, she applies moisturizer. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” Julia whispers, using her free hand and a tissue to daub away the tears from Asher’s eyes, then setting the tissue aside and stroking Asher’s hair out of her face momentarily. The contact remains intoxicating long after it ends. The Martian is gazing down at her with an unreadable expression. “It’s okay. Thank you for telling me. I’m really sorry about your sister.”

“Yeah,” nods Asher blankly. “Thanks.”

Julia’s hand begins to slip away out of her grasp. Suddenly, Asher realizes how much she craves it. The touch. The contact. She lets her fingers squeeze a bit tighter, as if to plead for Julia to stay.

And the redhead does. She tilts her head inquisitively. “You doing alright?”

“I, I think so,” Asher replies. She feels dizzy. Not like before, in the bar or the hallway, just in a deep, innate way. “I just… it’s been a really long time since someone’s touched me.” She blinks. “Fuck. That was weird. I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have said any of that. I’m so sorry. I think I need to go.”

She gets up off the bed, or tries to, before wobbling and needing to sit back down. She moves to try again, but she’s interrupted.

“It’s okay,” Julia takes a seat next to Asher on the bed. The head radiating off of her at this proximity is enough to get Asher’s vision fuzzy at the edges. This isn’t really happening, is it? Is the Martian actually into her? “How long has it been for you?” she asks.

Oh, she really does not want to answer Julia’s questions anymore. How long? Too long, that was always the answer, and it was getting worse all the time. The Venusians had touched her, sure, but that was less any touch in the human sense and more in the predatory desire for some objectified homeworld fetish. The side-by-side shoulder to shoulder contact underneath their clothes feels real. “I don’t really remember,” Asher croaks. It’s a statement that wouldn’t sound so pitiful if it wasn’t so horribly true.

“Hey,” Julia murmurs, “it’s okay, really. It’s been a while for me too.” Her hand creeps back under Asher’s, takes it, interlacing their fingers in a tender, inescapable embrace. “We can take it slow.”

“Fuck,” Asher gasps. She feels like she’s going to sob again with the want. Her cheeks feel hot. Her heart is pumping so hard that every pulse of her carotids is choking her. “You’re so pretty. God, you’re so pretty.”

“Thank you,” Julia smiles warmly, looking at Asher’s hand as she rubs it gently, “I think you’re really cute. You’re really brave for coming out here, I hope you know that.”

“I thought I could keep it together,” Asher mumbles as the warmth finally begins to seep from her hand into her chest. “I thought I could stay focused on the investigation. I need to.”

“You’re allowed to be human,” Julia speaks the words softly. Her faint Martian accent suffuses the consonants and Asher can’t help but find it endearing. “It’s the one thing we’ll always have in common. It’s a good thing. It’s worth keeping. It’s worth nourishing. Without it, you can’t go on.”

“Can I kiss you?” Asher blurts out without thinking. Her eyes go wide with horror at the nakedness of the request. She’s lost it. She’s finally lost it. Detectives don’t do things like this. They don’t spill their guts. They don’t break down just because a pretty woman holds their hand.

And something has to have gone horribly wrong in the universe, because Julia just nods and smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, come kiss me.”

Julia’s hands reach up, holding Asher by the face, just under the jaw. The heat transfers into her. Do Martians always run this hot? Asher decides to stop asking questions about Martians and just accept that this one wants her. They are not Martian and Earthen. They simply are two women who want to share each other, with each other. God. It’s an impossible thing. And it’s happening now.

They lean in together slowly, tentatively, a symmetrical magnetism, and they kiss. Asher’s heart skips a beat and for a split second she thinks she’s died.

Julia’s lips are so soft that Asher cannot help but moan into her mouth. Her hands come up unconsciously, one over the small of Julia’s back and one at the back of her head. A key turns, the insatiability has been unleashed within her, a dormant fire roaring to life once more. Julia’s hands caress Asher’s torso, running up the sides, tickling her slightly. They pull in tight, pecking, rock into each other, almost see-sawing back and forth with the initiative of their touches, their kissing. Clutching so tight, pulling so close; the heat transfers, compounds, and flows. Asher moans again, the kiss goes open-mouthed. Fuck. Fuck, this is everything she’s ever needed.

Julia eventually pulls back, and has to lightly press on Asher’s shoulders to keep her from following too far. She falls onto her elbows while Asher leans forward on her hands. They hold steady now and stare at each other. Asher searches Julia’s amber irises. Little golden flecks of color in them shine under the light. There’s almost a sense of surprise on Julia’s face, like she didn’t expect to want this so much, either. “Wow,” Julia whispers.

“Um,” Asher stammers, “Yeah.” The words fall dumbly off her tongue.

“Do you wanna keep going?” Julia asks softly.

“God, yes,” Asher moans. She crawls forward, they come back together, kissing again, Julia’s questing tongue invading Asher’s eager mouth. In the darkness behind her closed eyes, Asher can feel hands moving. Julia unzipping her own jumpsuit. The visual in her mind makes Asher swoon into the kiss further.

Asher moves to kiss Julia further down, planting kisses on her jaw and licking up her neck. It feels good to hold Julia while she does this, making her feel this way. Julia’s throat, so close to Asher’s mouth, vibrates with soft vocalizations of pleasure.

“My turn,” Julia murmurs, lifting Asher’s head away by a tight grip in her hair and moving in to lick Asher’s neck instead. It’s so good. Asher twitches like Julia is sending electricity into her body. Soon, they return to kissing, open mouthed, drooling and panting. They twist around each other, locking softly in place, transferring heat and saliva and the sounds of their moaning.

Julia pulls back again, momentarily, and a string of drool falls slowly from both their lips. Julia wipes her mouth, severs the connection. “Can I take off your shirt?” she asks.

Asher nods wordlessly, her eyes riveted to the redhead’s hypnotic cleavage, made opulent and impossible to ignore by the zipper moved low on the jumpsuit. She cooperates pliantly as her sleek black turtleneck is moved off her, breaking her sight temporarily, messing up her hair just a little, and when it goes clear, all that remains on her upper body is her utility bra. She can feel the heat radiating off her skin, into the room. Julia notices Asher’s stare and smiles. Asher’s eyes dart away, sheepishly.

“Hey,” Julia smiles, cupping her breasts and jiggling them ever so slightly, “you don’t need to be shy. It’s okay if you like tits.”

“I just,” Asher struggles to get the words out, her eyes back to being hopelessly locked to Julia’s chest, “I felt like I was so weird around you the first night here. I forgot myself.”

“I think you were a lot weirder when you pulled your gun on me,” Julia giggles, drawing the zipper down to her waist, sliding her arms out of the sleeves and exposing the upper half of her body entirely. She’s not wearing anything at all underneath. Asher’s eyes widen and her vision goes vignette. Oh my god. “But you apologized for that. So don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Fuck,” Asher whimpers. “Okay, yeah.” The humiliation is no concern to her now because she is beneath it. She is drowning in her yearning for this woman, for the touch. It is not enough. It could never be enough. The tidal wave of desire is consuming her, devouring her from the inside. A thirst that must be slaked. She stares at Julia’s heavy, pink-capped teardrop breasts and asks, “Can I touch?”

Julia looks Asher over and grins. There’s a newfound hunger in her stare, as though she has realized something about the detective’s nature. Asher shivers under it. Finally, the redhead speaks a single word. “Beg.”

“Oh, god,” Asher moans despairingly, “please, Julia, please. Fuck, I need you so bad. I’ve needed you since we boarded the shuttle and sat next to each other. It haunts me, it’s eating me. Please, I wanna touch, I need to feel your tits, they’re so perfect, I wanna suckle, please—”

Asher stops in her tracks. Her hands are already on Julia’s tits. They’ve been guided there, Julia’s hands are still atop hers, pressing them in against the softness. “Come closer,” Julia beckons with her voice. “Come to me.”

She takes a hand, pressing it behind Asher’s head and bringing her head to suck her tits. The nipple is in Asher’s mouth, she suckles, that primordial want suffusing her mind and driving her to wrap her arms around Julia’s waist to pull herself in further, to suffocate in the redhead’s perfect breasts. She has not felt this level of safety in years. She suckles, drawing the soft nipple up against the smooth palate of her mouth, running under it with her eager tongue. Julia’s moans are soft and tight — she is more in control of herself than Asher could ever hope to be.

Julia’s hand travels smoothly down Asher’s torso, over her tits with a single, possessive grope, then down further. Distantly, an alarm bell surfaces in Asher’s mind and rises into a full blaring klaxon when she realizes what’s about to happen. She pulls back from Julia’s tits and blinks steadily. “Stop,” she husks out. Julia obliges, halting her movement.

“What’s up?” Julia tilts her head and asks, concern in her voice. She takes her hands and brushes the hair out of her eyes to get a better look at Asher.

“There’s something you should know about me,” Asher says. “I, uh, I don’t know how things are on Mars, but…”

She trails off. Julia does not fill the silence between them. She just sits there, waiting. Asher swallows and continues.

“I was incongruent. At birth, I was sexed, uh, male, and—”

“Asher,” Julia stops her gently, “you don’t need to worry about that with me. Yes, we have people like you on Mars. No, it’s not a big deal for us. I’m not interested in the circumstances of your birth, only who you are now. And right now, I think you’re lovely. You’re adorable. I want to touch you.”

“Okay,” Asher nods and sucks down air, “okay.”

“Is it okay with you if I touch you there?” Julia asks gently.

Asher’s heart flutters. It’s something she’s erotically neutral on but she’s so desperate for touch anywhere that she accepts it. “Yeah. Thank you for asking.”

“Of course,” Julia leans in, pecks Asher on the cheek, and her hand moves down to caress Asher’s cock. “I want to make sure you have a good time.”

Asher opens her legs for Julia’s touch. The hand is inquisitive, questing, but gentle and steady. It slips beneath Asher’s pants after a moment, wrapping around her cock and beginning to massage it to hardness. Asher’s eyes flutter. She has never been at someone’s mercy before, not like this. They adjust on the bed and go back to kissing, lips against lips. Asher’s movements still feel a tad clumsy from the drink, but that’s starting to fade from her system, the intoxication purely hormonal now. This is all she wants right now. She feels Julia’s hand guide her back to suckle, and she acquiesces.

Surrounded by the heat and the softness, Asher suckles from Julia’s soft breast, pawing at them with her hands and feeling her mind slip below into that warm and dark state of dreamlike sensation. They continue like that for some time, until Asher is coaxed to full hardness, awareness only coming to her when she is pulled back from the nipple, and she realizes how much of her universe centers on the feeling between her legs. She whimpers a small, mournful noise, and this makes Julia giggle to herself just a bit.

“Do you wanna fuck me?” Julia asks, breathy and eager. The question takes a second to register with Asher, at which point her stomach butterflies and she has to blink to readjust her vision.

“Fuck,” Asher echoes, her voice trembling.

“Yeah,” Julia coos, pets her hair. “You want it?”

“Mhm,” Asher mumbles, “yeah. Yeah.”

“Okay,” Julia says, slipping off the rest of her jumpsuit, revealing her long, marble-toned thighs and calves. Asher stares dumbfounded, barely fiddling with her pants to slip them off entirely, crawling up on the bed naked save her utility bra.

Julia reclines back on the bed, caressing her breast with one hand and slipping her panties off entirely. Immediately, Asher’s eyes are drawn to her cunt. It’s wet in the light, under Julia’s hypnotic circling fingers, topped with soft auburn bush.

They’re going to fuck now. It’s simply inevitable. “I’m on birth control,” Asher murmurs.

“Me too,” Julia replies with a grin. “I want you inside of me. Do you want it too?”

“Yes,” Asher softly whimpers, searching her deep gaze. “Please don’t make me beg again.”

Julia giggles. “Okay, fine,” she gives a playful sigh, “come here.”

Asher lines herself up. It’s been so long since she’s done this. Is she still doing it the right way? Julia’s so pretty, should she have gone down to eat her out first? She will later. She must. The flash in her mind of the spacers in the dark hallway momentarily commandeers her, and Asher blinks before returning to the present. No. She is here. She is about to fuck a beautiful woman. There is no reason to be afraid.

She enters Julia. It is silken soft, so hot and wet, gripping her like they are perfectly cast for each other. Fluttering, sucking her further in. The sensation is overwhelming, so intoxicating it drives Asher into her head, the sense-memory of pussy previous emerges from dormancy. So this is how it feels. She remembers now, because she is experiencing it. She is here, in the present and the place.

Julia’s eyes bore into Asher’s, and Asher watches Julia’s pupils dilate as she slides all the way in to make contact with her cervix. They are in profound contact with one another. Asher, eyes unfocused, leans her head down into the crook of Julia’s neck and begins to thrust, rocking her hips gently into the redhead’s receptive cunt. Julia moans out, her noises softer and longer than before. They are like this for some time, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, cockhead to cervix. Julia’s legs and arms begin folding around Asher to keep her in place, and her hands come to rest over Asher’s upper back, at the points not concealed by the bra.

“Harder,” Julia says, digging in her nails and beginning to scratch. Asher whimpers, rocks her hips in deep. She’s a masochist by nature, and the sensation of pain blending with the pleasure is so heady she’s going nonverbal. She opens her mouth and it takes her a long moment to recover her voice.

“Harder,” Asher echoes as a whisper. Julia obliges with her claws before pushing Asher up just a bit, just enough for the two of them to look at each other.

“Take this off first,” Julia puts her hands under Asher’s bra and Asher nods numbly. The stimulation is making it hard to do anything but exactly what she’s told. She takes off her bra with Julia’s help. Julia stares at Asher’s soft tits for a moment, before tweaking them with her nails and then pulling Asher back down on top of her. “Keep fucking me. Harder.”

Asher obliges. It’s impossible not to. She has to do what this woman says. She’s too beautiful to ignore her commands, too hot to avoid fucking her cunt. It is so very fortunate she gets to be here, with her. The low-gravity sex gives them options. Julia begins moving Asher’s hips and gets her up to speed before plunging her claws back into Asher’s back.

“Harder,” Asher moans. She wants this. She wants to be scraped up, to make love and feel pain in simultaneous measure. She increases the pace further, and Julia rewards her with a shredding motion down her back that stings her nerves so brightly that Asher has to blink away tears. Asher kisses up Julia’s neck, licking her again to work her over. She wants to please Julia. She wants it more than anything in this moment.

“Harder,” Julia grunts. The word is becoming all they know. Asher leans up, staring into Julia’s blown-out pupils. Thrusting into her more and more. Julia’s nails drag down Asher’s back once more and Asher’s eyes roll up, past her fluttering eyelids, while a guttural moan escapes her throat. The most beautiful words Asher’s ever heard emerge from Julia’s soft lips. “I’m gonna come,” the redheaded goddess moans, “don’t you fucking stop, keep going, Asher, I—”

The nails dig in so hard and painfully that Asher collapses on top of Julia’s soft chest, whimpering and thrusting while Julia’s cunt spasms and clenches around her cock. It’s so powerful, so intoxicatingly blissful, drowning Asher’s mind in the wetness and heat, and she is pushed over into orgasm too, her cock twitching and coming inside Julia, shooting blanks into her beautiful pussy.

They lay like that for a bit, aftershocks rocking the both of them until they settle into a dreamy afterglow. “I,” Asher starts, her voice still trembling from the stimulation, “Is there anything more I can do?”

Julia looks at her and laughs. “Are you serious?”

Asher nods, “Yeah?”

“God, no,” Julia exhales, “Any more and I’d pass out. I’m a one and done kind of woman, I think.”

“Okay,” Asher sighs, nestling her head on Julia’s upper chest, still inside her and going soft after it all, leaning up to kiss just under her jaw. “Thank you for this.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Julia’s smile is evident in her voice, “we both had a good time.”

“I know, but still,” Asher replies softly, “thank you.”

“Jesus,” Julia says, moving one of her hands away from Asher’s back and up somewhere unseen to Asher, into Julia’s vision. “Asher, I think I got carried away. Your back is bleeding.”

“So be it,” Asher says. “It was out of this world.”

There’s silence for a moment. Then, Julia begins to giggle, and Asher joins her in shared whimsy. They laugh together, bound up tight. They drink from the wayward water bottle, they kiss, they snuggle. Their breathing becomes synchronized. Asher stays inside Julia the whole time. The Earthen and the Martian drift to sleep together this way. The two of them intertwining, finding peace and love between their worlds on the surface of a strange moon, united in shared humanity a billion klicks from each home.

“Cabin crew, prepare for atmospheric insertion.”

In the abyssal dark, leashed to Saturnine orbit, a Magesterium-class shuttle of the Cosmogenesis Resource Group performs pirouettes on momentary hydrazine bursts. It flip-turns in slow-motion, gentle velocity about its central axis, swiveling above a lemony nitrogenous ether. At a point so fine-tuned the fuel conservation software has it down to milliseconds, the shuttle’s toroidal aerospikes come alight in algorithmic symphony. Retrograde shine, freezer-burn blue.

Asher Ross supposes the human pilot of the shuttle may be a redundancy, even after hundreds of years of iterations on automated space travel. Something to write off. Something to be replaced, supplanted.

But the voice of a person at the helm still inspires a primal confidence even with her position as a hapless passenger. Mercy to the skill, mercy to the elements outside the craft. Should the narrow engineering between them and all the rest of the universe fail it will be an instantaneous and pointless death. It is an uncomfortable position for her to be in. Not in control.

She had never left Earth before this. She has never been so far from home.

The engines smooth off, the haunt of their velocity-change putting the shuttle on its descending course. Mesosphere haze begins to crawl up outside the window, taking up the field of view. Saturn’s moon Titan is rushing up to meet them.

It has been a very, very long journey. Getting the papers in order, jumping from Earth to the Moon to Ceres to Galileo Station around Jupiter and on and on… a few months in all. A better duration than in the early days of exploration. Less a condemnation of partial lifetime and more a massive inconvenience. It is not easy to get to the outer reaches of the system. She wonders if there will ever be presence beyond this point. And if there is, she will not want to go.

The shuttle flips around again to bring its aerodynamic surfaces into play. Entry begins. This, too, is why there is a human pilot. Even the best meteorological computational fluid models cannot fully predict turbulence flows. It is left to a living touch to account for it. And from the corporate perspective, human pilots can be held accountable, even (and especially) posthumously, for failure.

Into the depth. Into the dark. The haze and the ether. It is already so dim out here, even under the cabin lighting of the CRG shuttle. Friction-induced plasma begins to wisp across the shuttle’s heat shields, the glow tinging the cabin ceilings a dull orange. Asher holds onto her seat’s armrests with a death grip. One hundred and ten souls on board, she thinks. One hundred and ten.

A fellow passenger to her left appears to notice her tension, because their voice somehow carries over the heavy roar of entry to reach Asher’s ears. “First time?”

Asher glances over to see the speaker. It’s a woman, flaming redhead with piercing orange eyes and a warm smile. Her words come tinged with Martian accent. A ginger Martian? Asher scoffs internally. Some things are too on the nose.

Nonetheless, flames licking outside her window, she decides to be polite and engage in what may be her last conversation.

“Yeah. I’m from Earth,” Asher says, trying to muster some pride behind the words. It is a doomed endeavor. They just come out shaky. She blames it on the turbulence and not her inner animal terror.

“Well, that’s hardly necessary to add,” the Martian woman teases, tossing in a giggle for good measure. She leans in closer, gets a bit more serious. “Don’t worry. The active phase of entry never lasts more than a few minutes. And we’re high up, still in a nonreactive nitrogenous layer. We’ll be subsonic before you know it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Promise,” the Martian smiles, “Safest way to travel.”

Asher blinks. “Is there any other?”

The redheaded woman gives a lighthearted laugh. The deceleration continues and the flames outside die slowly. Punched through the mesosphere, came out the other side. Asher hides her relief from public display and leans over to glance out the window, but there’s only darkness now. Perhaps if the cabin lights were off she could make out the clouds.

Titan is the most alien world in the solar system. No one except the Earth-dwellers will acknowledge this. The Martians insist their world is the most alien because it gives them bragging rights for their paltry attempts at terraforming. The Venusians will not agree that the title belongs to Titan because they already hail from an inhospitable yellow wasteland smothered by noxious clouds, and to assent would implicate them by proxy. The spacers will not agree because they are far too pig-headed and austere to engage in such an academic discussion.

Nonetheless, it is Titan. The only world besides Earth where a pressure suit is unnecessary. The only world besides Earth where fluid exists in great bodies on the surface. And yet this is where the similarities end. Because while a pressure suit is unnecessary, a thermal one absolutely is. And the liquid is not water at all. This world, the one Asher is currently above on a glide-descent path in a Magesterium-class shuttle, is just a few dozen degrees above absolute zero and covered in great oceans of liquid methane.

Earth woman so far from home. She should not be here. She would not be here, were it not for a personal matter. But she dares not think about it in this moment. Being a detective can have you feeling unsafe even in your own skull. Asher swallows. The Martian seems not to notice.

Right now she, like nearly everyone else in this craft, is a newcomer. Contract workers, mostly spacers, yes, but also from around the system, researchers, a handful of Cosmogenesis executives (spare a thought for those bereft souls riding high in first class), and in an even smaller capacity, visitors. Like her. People who are showing up just to be there. With nothing to do, nothing to contribute but their own time and money.

They bank downwards and starboard, into a spiral. Asher imagines what it must look like, the droop-snout nose of the craft cutting against the thick haze, turning slow in the deepening dark. Briefly, Asher thinks she can see the sun outside. A fading point of light no brighter than the full moon and far, far smaller. It doesn’t even hurt to stare at anymore, which causes a small measure of emotional pain in its own way.

“So, what are you doing out here?” the redhead leans over again to ask. Her face is wide, open, curious.

Asher deflects. “I could ask you the same thing,” she says and gives a sly smile. Better to keep off her edge. The less others know, the better. Loose lips sink ships, or so the ancient aesop goes. She cannot risk this whole trip being for nothing.

“Well,” the Martian lady takes the bait and goes, “I’m a contractor. Was with OSDco back when they still owned the place here. Switched to CRG last year after rotating out. Was told by my manager I’d regret it. Now that Cosmo’s just taken the outpost I think I made the right call.”

“I heard about that,” Asher nods. A jolt of turbulence forces her to catch her breath before continuing. “Buyout, right? Two-E-Twenty reais or something?”

“One-point-seven-E-Twenty, but yes.” The Martian’s expression takes on a slight wrinkle. She can probably tell she’s been misdirected but cannot figure out why. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to get bogged down in numbers like that.”

“It’s okay,” Asher says, and looks out the window again. “Oh, wow,” she murmurs. It’s gone quiet enough now that the redhead probably can hear even at that register. Acoustics engineering is a hell of an art. “Is that the surface?”

It’s come up into view. They’ve gone through the deepest layer of haze and emerged beneath it into a tropospheric context. Circling ever still. The haze clouds roil above them — the fluid properties of a chemically alien atmosphere on display.

“Probably,” the redhead leans over in the seat. Asher’s arm can briefly feel the swell of the Martian’s breast under her flightsuit, before making the executive decision to lean away from her. “Oh, yes. Yeah, that’s the surface alright.”

“I thought it was supposed to be yellow,” Asher mumbles. It isn’t yellow at all. It’s pure black, a sand or substrate that seems to suck up all frequencies of light and give nothing back.

The shuttle descends down and now Asher can see her destination. Outpost Huygens stands out against the black sands of the Shangri-La sea. The control towers of its spaceport blink their bright blue lights and the kilometers-long runway stretches out before them. The shuttle drifts down on its angle-glide approach, flitting past the habitat domes, hydrocarbon refineries, and all sorts of infrastructure she can hardly make out. She is not familiar with such things as outpost facility planning, and only desires to understand it enough to accomplish her objective here.

Then, beneath her awareness — all too quickly for her liking, now — the surface of the moon has come up to nearly swallow her. But no, the shuttle has just landed. There is a quick bounce, the vehicle almost porpoising in the low gravity and thick atmosphere, but that’s okay, skilled pilot at the controls and all that follows; they come to set down on the surface. They roll for a few kilometers before decelerating enough to turn onto a taxiway. The sky is barely visible from within the lit interior reflecting off the polycarbonate windows.

“Hardly so bad, was it, Earth-dweller?” the Martian woman lightly elbows Asher. It’s a cultural variance that Asher does not immediately recognize as such, an imposition of unearned familiarity, but it’s not enough to throw her off.

“Are you kidding?” Asher shies back. “Way too early to say. I just got here.”

“Alright, well, if you wanna be that way, fine.” The Martian scoffs. “Do you want someone to show you the ropes around here or not?”

Asher raises her brows. “You think I need rope-showing?”

The Martian shrugs. “Everyone does, their first time.”

They arrive at the gate. From the window, Asher watches as a hermetically sealed passageway probes its way over and docks with the shuttle’s port-side door. A signal chimes and the interior lights of the cabin come alight, other passengers scrambling to retrieve their luggage. Asher sits with a feeling in her gut that, in some way, very little has changed in several hundred years.

“Why do all this for a stranger?” Asher asks her. It’s meant as an earnest question, but the way it comes out of her mouth makes it sound a bit defensive. She doesn’t mean to be, and tries to signal her sincerity with a forced smile. It doesn’t work.

The redhead, having since stood up to retrieve her luggage from the overhead, pauses and then extends a hand. “Julia Magnus.”

“Asher Ross,” Asher murmurs. There’s no reason to give a fake name, but the impulse still catches her enough to half-smother her voice. They shake hands. Julia’s grip is soft but tight. Asher blinks.

“There,” Julia smiles open-mouthed. Her teeth are white and just a little sharp. “Now we’re not strangers.”

“Is this really how it works out in space?” Asher asks dumbly as Julia retrieves a luggage case from above. “What, it’s all smiles and getting along?”

Julia throws her head back and laughs. “Of course not, don’t you watch the news? We Martians just still have a little…” She pauses and appears to think her next words over. “… frontier hospitality. You see that plenty off-Earth, especially all the way out here.”

She has no way of knowing whether Julia’s fucking with her or telling a distinct truth. But Asher is from Earth and this woman is not. That’s all she needs to know right now.

The line advances as people filter out. “Guess I’ll be seeing you around,” Asher says to Julia as she leaves with a gentle nod and a polite smile. Asher draws out, gets her bags and continues on. The windows outside the shuttle remain dark, occasional flashes of weak lightning barely visible in the distance. It is a truly alien world out here, Asher thinks. Who knows if she’ll find what she’s looking for.

***

A couple hours later, Asher is checked into her room. Outpost Huygens has room for her, for many comers, indigents and washouts from the inner system most frequent among them, but also guest workers of various conglomerates, spacers looking for a place to vacation, the odd scientist still itching to turn over a rock or dive into a methanous sea in search of life that simply is not there.

She sets her bags down on the carbon-steel floor and tilts against her bed, falling slowly back onto it in the lunar-esque gravity. She is here now. She is a resident of Titan. Unfathomably far from her apartment in Antarctica’s metropolitan Vostok City. It’s already been over fourteen weeks since she locked her apartment for the last time and she’s only just now arrived. Are her plants still being watered? Even the succulents? They need it, too. Is her partner still taking care of the place on her behalf?

Partner as in detective, of course. Asher is very, very single.

She sighs. There’s no sense in worrying about that here. About any of it. Her home, her relationship status, all a hundred and fifty million kilometers away. She banishes the thoughts easily. Control over one’s own sentimentality is paramount. Even on a mission like this. She stares out the thin-slit polycarbonate window. Sometime later, she tells herself, she’s going to stare out with all the lights off and watch the lightning roil across the cryovolcanic peaks in the distance.

Asher twiddles her thumbs. She slept plenty before atmospheric entry, no sense sleeping now. It would be best to begin pursuing leads soon. The trip out here has wasted enough time; any trail had gone cold before she’d left the surface of Earth. She mulls it over silently to herself. It would also be best, she figures, to scope out the locale a bit more. She knows she sticks out like a sore thumb. Julia, the Martian, could smell it on her, and if a Martian could discern that, who knows what the hell a spacer would think.

Remaining out of sight in a location so tightly-knit would be impossible. There are two thousand people here. Anonymity of the crowd is not an option either. It would be prudent, then, to appear normal. To, at the very least, not tip off any leads.

She learned a bit on the journey over. Enough to pass at first glance, carry herself with that weightless grace that she so often observed on the voyages out, from low Earth orbit to Ceres and Jupiter and now here. The Martian had spotted her, true, but only because the atmospheric descent was a uniquely unfamiliar ordeal. Titan will be different; every place is. Blending in, talking to people, surreptitiously wheedling information out of them. Anyone in OSDco would be key to talking with. The conglomerate’s information security cannot be perfect. No one’s ever is.

She gets changed. Out of the travel clothes. She takes a merciful, blessed shower. Dries off rapidly, does some brief skincare to cover the dark circles under her eyes. Searches her luggage for an outfit, for something fresh. Something good for the bar, but nothing that would inhibit her in a capital s Situation. Gray dress pants and a black buttonup shirt, with a synthweave overcoat. No tie. This is a relaxed affair.

Just before leaving, she opens a checked bag. The letters “VCPSD” greet her, emblazoned coldly upon the case for her service-issue electromagnetic pistol. She picks up her badge out of the contents, gives it a once-over. Yes, that’s her alright, Detective Asher Ross, Lieutenant in the Vostok City Public Security Division. Same as she ever was.

Asher pockets her necessities and leaves. The door locks behind her. She paces down the hallway, asks concierge for the directions to the nearest bar. Club Kraken. Strange name, she thinks, but that’s hardly worth vocalizing. Antarctic clubs had generic names yes, but others taken from all over the world, famous clubs in Little Amerosul and Little Arabia and Chinatown with names like Club Carnaval and Al-Wadi and Pearl River Delta. She shakes the thought from her head. She is literally living on the surface of an alien moon. It is new enough that the reminder still carries gravitas. Club Kraken it is.

***

The place is alive. Descending the stairs past Club Kraken’s entrance into a lower level of the outpost, she hears it before she sees it. The pounding bass, the live-wire atmosphere. Asher didn’t expect this at all, but it makes sense, she thinks, that people who would have not much of anything to do (certainly not go outside) would have a thriving recreation scene. One has to make their joy anywhere, she supposes, and joy can always be had in loud music, colorful light displays, distilled alcohol, and the co-terminal writhing of human bodies. Perhaps the Earthen and the spacers have more in common than she first gave credit for.

Asher steps onto the club floor and scans the place. There’s a central location for the bar that runs down the length of the room, surrounded on all sides to take all comers and staffed by a pair of bartenders. And there’s a dance floor, lit up in a full spectral array, occupied by maybe a couple dozen or so dancers. Women and men, mostly taller than Asher by several inches or more; spacers, the lot of them, for the most part.

She feels so out of place in her well-to-do, almost antique-feeling outfit. It seemed reasonable in the room, but she’s deeply unsure now. Spacer fashion is strange. Cutting edge, skintight and form-fitting and monochromatic. She’s never seen anything like it, and the undulation of their dancing seems perfectly wound to the low gravity of Titan. She wonders how they dance in zero gee — if they dance in it at all.

It’s hard to see through the lights and the humidity. Asher proceeds towards the nearly-empty bar and decides to do some people-watching from the seating there instead, where she’s less likely to stick out.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asks her before she’s even sat down. He’s a man, spacer, mid-twenties maybe, buzzed hair and bifocal visor about him; wearing a sleeveless black top. It’s hard to hear him over the mix.

“Ah,” Asher nods, “you guys have ginger ale?”

“You’re gonna have to speak up,” the bartender cups an ear and leans down.

“I said,” Asher raises her voice, “’do you have any ginger ale?’”

He raises an eyebrow and sneers. The unbridled disdain he feels for her in that moment is palpable. For her Earth-ness, for her inability to play by unwritten rules that she could never have possibly studied. “Lady, you’re half a billion klicks away from the nearest ginger ale in the system. We serve booze.”

Okay, that would be fine, except Asher doesn’t really drink, and certainly not when working a case. She struggles to muster an alternative, before there’s a presence on her flank and a voice next to her.

“Yeah, we’ll have two vodka electrics, thanks.”

The bartender turns without nodding and gets to work. Motion in her peripheral. A few more people descend the stairs (Cosmogenesis guest workers, by their burgundy company jumpsuits) and also take up seats at the bar. Suddenly the place feels even more crowded. Asher turns to finally look at the person who ordered.

It’s Julia. Wearing her own CRG jumpsuit, zipped down to just below where her soft cleavage forms that holy “Y” shape. Asher’s eyes only glance past it, lingering for a quarter-second, which may still have been too long. Julia’s sitting there, smiling at Asher in a too-friendly way that makes her feel just a bit uncomfortable. “Vodka electric?” Asher asks.

“What, you’ve never heard of it?”

“I mean, no?”

Julia rolls her eyes. “I guess it’s similar to a vodka sour, but there’s also added iron shavings.” She seems to notice Asher’s expression, because she goes on to say, “Oh, don’t worry, they’re microscopic. You won’t notice them. Gotta get your iron somehow out here, y’know?”

Asher nods without understanding. “I don’t, actually.” She faces forward as the bartender slides the two drinks across the bar to them.

“Forty-five thousand reais,” the bartender says flatly. Before Julia can do anything in response, Asher’s fingers dance on the device integrated into the band around her left wrist. She digitally passes the money to the bartender. He looks pissed and leaves.

“Nice of you to pay. Did you tip him?” Julia asks.

“Thanks. Also, what?”

“Did. You. Tip. Him.”

“Oh my god,” Asher’s eyes go wide. “No, no I didn’t. What?”

Julia cackles in an expression of a newly-unveiled social sadism. “Jesus, Asher!”

“They outlawed it like three hundred years ago!” Asher throws up her hands. “People actually get paid enough to live! No one does that anymore!”

“On Earth. You’re not on Earth right now.”

Asher decides to ignore the ongoing humiliation to take a sip of her very expensive drink. The embarrassment and the travel exhaustion are keeping her down right now. She’s in no state to work the case. Might as well get drunk and reacquire her ability to socialize. She tips the drink back into her mouth for a half-second and it’s good. Sharp and sour and fizzy on her tongue. “Vodka electric” certainly is an apt name for it.

“Very nice,” Asher says. She turns to Julia, who’s stirring around her own drink. “Thanks. For ordering, I mean. Take it your work unit is getting familiar with the place? You getting settled in?”

“Now I could ask you the same thing,” Julia tilts her head and leans in. “I told you, you’d need someone to show you the ropes, Earth-woman. I hate to say it but you’re a real fish out of water here.”

“Gee,” Asher takes a long drink and sets the glass down a little too hard. “Thanks, for that. Like I couldn’t tell from how everyone here has talked to me so far already. You know,Marsie,I’m not just ‘Earth-woman’. I’m from Vostok City, Russo-Austral Province, Antarctic Free State, and you can just…”

The insult dies in her mouth. Julia’s sitting there, eyes boring into her, too pretty, too disarming. Aw, fuck. Can’t be mad at her. And it would be bad form to burn her only real connection on the surface of this world. Especially one who actually does seem to know the way of things around here. “Forget it,” Asher says. “Sorry.”

“Marsie,” Julia echoes with raised brows. “Well, clearly I touched a nerve.”

“If nothing else, at least we’re even now,” Asher nods and takes another sip. The booze is starting to hit her. Making her soft. Or making her hard. It can do either and it can do both. She scoffs to herself. “Tit for tat. It’s like the belt wars all over again.”

“Seen too many of those for my taste,” Julia shrugs.

“You a veteran?” Asher peers over at her.

“No,” Julia says, looking off in the corner. “Just — seen too many.”

They sit like that for a bit, the conversation bleeding out between them, in the noise and the drink and the heat. The track changes, the lights shift color from a harsh sea-blue to a more immersive pink-purple. Asher looks down into her drink and notices it’s half gone. She looks up at Julia, who’s still just observing the floor. Asher follows the gaze and parallels it. The dancing on the floor is slowing, getting more frictional, even sensual. She can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or the sight of the bumping and grinding that’s making her cheeks hot. She swallows.

And that’s when she notices them. Two women, dark silhouettes against the far wall, a normal height like her, but definitely not wearing Earth fashion. Venusians, probably. Reflective sparkles where their pupils are. They’re not in company-wear at all. Low neckline outfits with sleeves and waists and thighs exposed. Clubbing clothes, fuck-me clothes. They’re— are they making eyes at her? No, that doesn’t… This doesn’t happen to women like me, Asher thinks. They’re giggling, talking to each other while staring at her, and ordinarily that would seem like a threat, but it doesn’t when they seem to be touching each other, an arm outstretched now, almost beckoning…

“Looks like they like you,” Julia’s voice cuts through the magnetism of the moment. It’s enough to snap Asher out of the trance-like state. Like being pushed into an unheated pool after spending an hour in the hot tub.

“I,” Asher coughs, blinks, gets her bearings. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t really know what they see in me.”

“You’re from Earth, and you’re cute. That’s enough for some people out here. There’s a novelty to sleeping with someone from the homeworld,” the Martian says, then brushes the hair out of her eyes and scans the room away from Asher. “Presumably.”

“I see,” Asher takes another drink. She can feel the Venusians still watching her, their eyes mere points of light in the shifting dark of the club. There’s no point in dancing around the matter now. She has enough alcohol in her and not enough sense to avoid going for broke. “Julia, I’m into women. Are you into women?”

The Martian holds still, doesn’t blink. The question is blunt enough to throw her off guard. Then, she composes herself and smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“Great,” Asher grins, “that’s wonderful.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Julia nods dutifully.

“Then this next bit is important.” Asher turns to her and levels her hands on the table. “You have experience out here. What’s the scene like? Strictly asking on a personal level.” She suppresses a hiccup and feels the world starting to loll a little, before realizing it’s her head going off-kilter as she leans in. “I want to know. I want to talk to people. To women. In professional and personal capacities.”

Julia’s smile fades. “I don’t know,” she says, “I haven’t really been here enough to say. I focus on my work, and try to have a decent time outside that. That’s all.”

“Decent time,” Asher nods, “decent time.”

“Look, I’ve gotta go,” Julia says, gathering herself and leaving the seat. “Thanks for paying. I’ve gotta move on with the tour. Been on it before, but gotta be on it every time, yeah? Be seeing you.” She stands, turns, and walks away. Asher’s focus narrows in on how the jumpsuit fits her swaying ass before realizing that some social mishap has taken place. She searches her memory for the exact moment but loses it to the boozy haze suffusing her thoughts. Asher’s attention turns back to the bar counter. Her drink is nearly empty, and Julia’s is almost entirely full. Before she can puzzle out the possible implications of this, her eyes belatedly catch the motion straight ahead of her.

The Venusians are on the move. Into the magenta glow and still staring at Asher. As they become illuminated she can see that one’s a willowy blonde bombshell, and the other’s got dark brown wavy hair and skin to match — or at least she thinks so; it’s hard to tell under this color of lighting. All dolled up, feminine in a way that one simply does not see on Earth anymore. Expansive sleeves and tight tops that foist up titflesh into a dreamy softness. Exposed midriff and skirts that enunciate the swell of hips. Asher blinks. The Venusians break at the bar, split off individually and round the corners, approaching her from both sides. She has the distant but distinct sense that she has become hunted prey.

The blonde one, the one she isn’t looking at, gets to her before the one she’s actually watching does. A soft and sharp-nailed hand crawls up her shoulder. “Hey,” the blonde coos in a soft siren voice. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

By the time Asher turns to face the blonde, the brunette has reached her, too. Their presence is cloying and nearly overwhelming. Asher blinks and leans askew in the process of fighting to stay alert. She asks, “What gave it away?” and knows it does not come out suave. The Venusians don’t seem to care.

“You’re dressed different,” the brunette answers. “You look different.”

“In a good way,” the blonde says, “we like it.”

Asher blinks. “Thanks,” is all she can say. She feels like she’s talking underwater. “You’re both… you’re really pretty.”

The Venusians giggle. “We’re so glad you think so,” they say in near-unison. It’s surreal, this shouldn’t be happening, this has never happened before to anyone, ever, and yet it is. How is it so? The brunette behind her leans in and begins to kiss up her neck. Unconsciously, plied by the sensation and drink, Asher leans over to give her more access. The brunette’s hands grip her tight. The blonde is looking down, like she’s sizing up whether she can get away with sitting in Asher’s lap. She’s leaning over, showing off her tits, running a hand over the curve of them, as if inviting Asher to reach up and lose herself in their softness. A bead of sweat rolls down between them.

“You two,” Asher stammers, and it takes her several attempts to gather her words on her tongue, “who are you?”

She feels the tips of nails against her forehead as the brunette’s hand brushes the bangs out of her eyes. “I’m Angela,” says the blonde.

“I’m Rafaela,” whispers the brunette into her ear. “And you?”

“I’m,” She can’t finish the statement. Asher chokes on her own name. Her mouth feels gagged by the suffusion of sweat and perfume and alcohol, the pulse-pounding sound and the scattered lighting. She’s being chained and pulled down into an intoxicating ether. Their hands are on her, touching her, sliding down over her body. Soft and inviting, inviting her to lose her remaining inhibitions. They smell so good, look so pretty. Is this right? Should she let them have her now?

Rafaela leans down and rests her tits behind Asher’s head. She can feel cool skin against her neck and the sensation sends a shiver down her spine and sets her hair on edge. “I’ve never been with someone from Earth before,” Angela says, leaning in. Her eyes are half-lidded, almost a sleepy quality to them but still alight with arousal and intent. Asher’s gaze goes similarly unfocused. Angela’s soft lips are open, tongue-tip just barely poking out, soft and inviting Asher in for a hot, slow, drunk kiss.

She should let this happen. She should stop overthinking everything and let the beautiful women take her. They want her because she’s from Earth. They think it’s hot, and she should let them think that. Asher nods dreamily and the women nod back. She should kiss them. She should grope them. She should fuck them. Spend the whole night being passed between them, drooling and panting between kisses, giving herself up, shooting loads into their Venusian cunts, being enveloped in their embrace. Maybe Julia was right, and this is just how it is out here in…

The track ends and flows into a new one, a faster, harsher beat. The lights change to a fluorescent orange. Asher blinks. Fuck. Julia. The investigation. Asher fucked things up with her one point of any familiarity in this whole ordeal, she’s still got no leads, and now she’s almost—

Asher stands to attention. Stepping back and getting in a meter of distance helps her head begin to clear already. She has to extricate herself from the situation immediately. She cannot afford to get sidetracked away from the investigation.

“I’m sorry,” Asher tells the Venusians, who both look somewhat annoyed, and this makes the apology feel a bit more sincere, “I really have to get going. I have a lot I need to do. Far too much, actually. But it was nice meeting you both.” She gives one polite nod and tries to ignore the irritated stares from them, passing by the oblivious spacers on the dance floor and heading up the stairs to leave.

Asher practically crawls up the exit and gasps for air out in the atrium. She clears her head outside, away from the noise and light and people below. Back in a normal-looking part of the outpost. All is right in the world.

With new clarity, she turns her gaze up towards the neon-illuminated sign. A stylized tentacled sea creature grips the letters on the signage and stares down at her.

Club Kraken, she realizes, is a dangerous place. And Titan is indeed very, very strange. When Asher finally gets back to her hotel room, she fulfills her desire from earlier in the day and spends a minute in the dark, staring outside the window at the oppressive world beyond. At the methane clouds slowly rolling under atmospheric forces, raining down condensed hydrocarbons. It is a place that defies understanding, and does not seem to care for those who wish to make sense of it. But it’s just as well. She is a detective. It is her job to crack this moon wide open, regardless of what she may find. Because in the end, there will be truth, and that will be enough for her.

She thinks of this as she changes out of her clothes, stows her badge and gun, and gets ready to get some real rest. The exhaustion has caught up with her, the tribulations of Club Kraken all the more so. She smothers her racing thoughts as she finally lets a sensation overtake her — sleep.

Outside, in the far distance, the lightning still crackles, illuminating the black sands of the Shangri-La sea in split-second flashes, before they fade back into suffocating umbra.