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“What you don’t know is…” Gerald cleared his throat again, and Megan stopped herself from jumping into the breach. He was about to tell her something that made him uncomfortable, if the throat clearing meant what it usually did. “The Quad sent a bulletin to select businesses. Citizens who interact with them on an official basis, such as pilots, have been asked to accommodate reparations if they arise.”
Megan slapped the arms of her chair. “Slaggit, boss, are you prostituting me?” Reparations with a crown Teegan could involve things she hadn’t even tried in sensaround adult sessions. “What the hell did you see? I’m a pilot, not a sex partner.”
Piloting paid a lot better, and Terrans made terrible prosties—their species wasn’t versatile enough.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Gerald regarded her sternly, discomfort forgotten. “I was going to suggest you not put yourself in a position of offering reparations. No kongii, no chess, no gambling, no betting. And no drinking. Be the recluse I know you can be and don’t let a crown trap you with his customs, okay?”
“Aye, aye, that I can do.” Megan saluted Gerald in a mockery of the Truce and exited the office, her thoughts already blurring into a rosy haze of imagined Ysaltrian pleasures.
At least, until she smelled the delicious scent of popcorn wafting from the company cafeteria, reminding her of two things. She hadn’t eaten since this morning, and Gerald had ordered her to go to the infirmary for a physical before embarking tomorrow evening.
What should Megan do?
(a) Drag herself to the company infirmary so the pokings and proddings could commence. Considering her plans for Ysaltris, it wouldn’t hurt to update her birth control, and the sooner it was over, the sooner she could pick a restaurant for lunch. She’d heard about a new place downtown where the servers hand-fed you sushi and massaged whichever part of your body required their attention. If she had to endure a physical, why not treat herself to the trendiest and most expensive meal she could find? Click here (6).
(b) She wasn’t sick and her birth control wasn’t expired—yet. Skip the check-up and catch a robotaxi to her favorite bar in Corman’s Alley, which had the best fresh food this side of the Beltway. The sushi restaurant sounded decadent, but the Naked Nigulean, despite being in the low-rent district, was a known quantity. They even had imported Terran chocolate, a rarity on any planet. If she wanted a rub-down, she could head for a sensaround after her meal or hire a prostie. There was no shortage of those in Corman’s Alley, and due to the diverse species on Polestar, most had capabilities beyond sexual intercourse. Niguleans, for example, had multiple limbs and gave the galaxy’s most amazing massages. Click here (7).