Foston Slacks - Time's Flies

31

Opening the curtains on the French windows, Clara gripped her wine glass, steadying herself for the latest blow to her happiness. She didn't question why an escape pod had French windows, nor how airtight they could possibly be. She was still breathing and that's all that mattered. Also, it gave a great view into a field of black.

Then, starting from above and slowly, inexorably, another layer of black became apparent. The running lights of the escape pod catching a gleaming surface, utterly smooth, utterly stark and utterly huge, related to her just how big the object filling the view from the French windows actually was.

"Alright. What is it and is another version of me going to be there who'll try to kill me?" She took a sip of wine and frowned in appreciation. Whatever else was wrong with the seriously psychologically damaged Captain Clara, she had good taste in wine.

"It's a space station." Clara nodded, expecting the explanation to roll on until her eyes started twitching. Foston did not, however, elucidate on those four words. This infuriated Clara as much as if he'd over-explained things.

"A space station. Right. I thought they were supposed to be, like, thin and tube-like with big solar panels?" The space station continued to move into view. Or, more correctly, take over the view. She dipped her head forward and couldn't see an end in sight, in any direction.

"In your universe, yes. You still haven't pulled yourselves out of that suicidal hole. Tiny little tin cans filled with oxygen and lots of electrical equipment and a tiny budget to keep it maintained. That's an explosion waiting to happen." He pointed at the space station before them. "This universe, however, has had far longer to perfect space stations. Inside there is as close to having an Earth environment without actually being on Earth as you can get."

The escape pod docked automatically and Clara brushed off the sleeves of a snazzy new jacket she found in one of the eight wardrobes. A black number with silver accents that brought out the colour of her eyes. Or, at least she thought it did. A thump shook the escape pod as the docking procedure completed.

She and Foston stood by the airlock door, impatiently watching a panel that indicated how much percent the airlock was towards having environmental parity between the escape pod and the space station. It blinked at ninety-eight percent and continued to blink on the same number for ten minutes.

"Do you think we should switch it off and back on again?" She tapped her fingers upon her crossed forearms.

Finally, after another five minutes, the final two percent ticked over and a loud hissing noise erupted from the door. Bolts receded, automatically. Seals unsealed. Locks unlocked and a happy face appeared on the display panel.

"Welcome to pleasure station, Xanadu. Enjoy your stay and, please, make full use of our sexually transmitted infections department upon departure. Please." The computerised face grinned out at nothing. Clara and Foston had already entered the station.

The reception area was everything Clara expected from a space station. Gleaming chrome edged tables and chairs. White panelling and cushioning. Fake plants that would look real if someone had never seen a real plant in their entire lives. Everything fresh. Everything new and clean and shiny.

Foston seemed to appreciate the fake plants, tasting a leaf from each one, raising an appreciative eyebrow at the fake sunflowers. Clara slapped his arm in giddy, child-like excitement, gritting her teeth at seeing something more sci-fi than any sci-fi movie she had seen.

The doors to the interior slid open with a satisfying hiss and she stepped forward into the innards of the pleasure station. Lights flickered on at her approach and she looked around her in completely undisguised wonder.