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A flashing red light on the console reminds Ellen that it is time to rotate the petri dishes. But her mind is far away from science at the moment. She thought she could do this - a year on the BIOS-32 Platform, just her and Jones the Cat and billions of microbes to be tested in artificial-G. Now it is six months in and she can feel her concentration waning. All she can think about is the burly men who came to replenish her supplies and replace the carbon dioxide scrubbers 5 weeks ago. Their thick, veiny, calloused hands. The coarse stubble on their faces. Their smell. They weren't even good looking men. But they were large, stocky, "manly" men. She watched as they forced the solar array panel hatch back in place. Lifted impossibly heavy battery units with ease. Their broad backs and thighs like tree trunks. And the way the crotch of their company issue cargo pants bulged out. It made her hairy cunt drip uncomfortably into the soft creases of her poly-vinyl seat. Jonesy mews at her, wanting dinner. Ellen, like her cat, is also hungry for a big hunk of meat.
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