Pinwheel Remastered

"Are you in forty-seven?" she asked, looming over me and enjoying my pained expression.

"I...suppose so," I replied, dumbfounded by my bad luck.

"Looks like we get to be roomies, tree climber."

I scowled at her, not appreciating the nickname that she had chosen for me. I wanted to maintain an open mind, the program was all about learning to get along with our alien counterparts, after all. But there was no reason for her to act the way that she did, and it was getting under my skin. This was a military installation, not a high school.

I walked into our shared room reluctantly, and she followed me in, closing the door behind her with a click. One of the beds was much larger than the other, made from reinforced metal, clearly designed for her exaggerated frame. I packed my gear away in my locker, feeling her eyes on my back. This couldn't continue, one of us was going to have to give eventually, and I wasn't about to spend the next several months of my life in a cold war with this alien.

I swallowed my pride, turning to face her.

"Raz, can I call you that? My name is Stanley. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot when we met earlier, I was hoping that we could start fresh. I just want you to know that this program is very important to me, I worked hard to be here, and I hope that you and I can make the most of our time together on the Pinwheel."

I extended a hand, but Raz did not reciprocate. Instead, she planted her hands on her flared hips, cocking her head at me like a curious dog as I stood there with my arm outstretched. Her long tail whipped back and forth as she watched me aloofly, until I eventually lowered it. I gave her the benefit of the doubt, assuming that she might not know the significance of a handshake.

"It's a gesture of friendship," I explained, "it's called a handshake."

"I know that," she replied with a smirk.

I was beyond annoyed at that point, and I decided to confront her.

"Why are you being so unfriendly, Raz? Have I done something to offend you? From the moment that you saw me at the pool, you've been out for my blood."

Her smile faltered a little as she glared down at me, a subtle twitch in her lip betraying her displeasure.

"The Patriarch has lost his mind, how can he expect us to work with humans? Look at you!" she added as she gestured to me with a wave of her fuzzy hand. "You're the size of a Borealan kitten, you're a quarter of our weight. You have no claws, no teeth, no natural defense whatsoever. Your reaction times are a joke. The space stations and starships that you're so fond of showing off," she sneered as she gestured to our quarters, "won't help you planetside. That's why we're all here to begin with, to learn to work with humans as a unit so that we can make up for your obvious shortcomings."

My face began to redden. Her rebuttal of my peace offering was one thing, but now she was insulting me and my entire species.

"My people are warriors," she continued, "the Krell are warriors. I could cut you in half using nothing but my claws, and you'd be dead before you'd even seen me move. I don't want to fight in a squad with humans, you're a liability! Your kind should stay in your comfy, padded bridge chairs where you belong, and leave the ground-pounding to the more capable species."

I balled my fists, trying to curtail my anger. How dare she make such sweeping generalizations? I was without a doubt the first human that she had ever had a lengthy conversation with. I didn't know any more about Borealans than she did about humans, besides that they were allied with the Coalition, but I wasn't going to let her get away with insulting everything that I stood for. I knew for a fact that UNN Marines were formidable. They had made significant gains on the front, I had heard about it on the newscasts, I had seen the recordings.

"What gives you the right to speak to me like that?" I demanded. "I earned my place here, just the same as you. We all did. We're the same rank, undergoing the same training, which means that we're all equals here whether you like it or not. I'm not going to let you insult me to my face, you have no idea what you're talking about."

Her flat brow furrowed and her lips pulled back to expose her sharp teeth, the alien bristling. I was afraid for a moment, but then her expression softened into another smarmy grin. She reached out a hand and pressed one of the fleshy pads on the end of her finger against my forehead, giving me a gentle push and making me fall backward onto my bed.

"No tail, you can barely even stand without toppling over. At least you have some fight in you, little monkey."

"I am not a monkey," I protested, but she merely grinned at me. I had given her the reaction that she wanted, and she seemed satisfied for now. I was furious, I wanted to throw something at her, but I knew better. If I toed the line and followed my orders, then I would remain in the program, eventually graduating as a fully fledged Marine. If the Staff Sergeants caught wind of Raz's childish behavior, then she would be sent back to Borealis with her furry tail between her legs. There was nothing to be gained by arguing with her and letting her antagonize me. The best course of action right now was just to ignore her, to be the bigger man.

I lay down on my bed and faced the featureless wall, putting my back to her. This was not the way that I had envisioned life at a military academy.

I heard Raz pack away her gear in her locker, then her bed springs creaked, the alien muttering a complaint in her native language that probably pertained to the quality of the bunk. The lights in the room dimmed, apparently tied to a timer, and I tried to quiet my mind as I drifted off into a troubled sleep.

CHAPTER 2: REDHEADS

I awoke to Raz's loud grunting. Annoyed, I rubbed my itchy eyes and rolled over to complain. She was standing between our two beds, stretching her limbs and doing some kind of meditation exercises, not unlike Yoga. Each stretch and new position was accompanied by a strained grunt.

I opened my mouth to protest, but my eyes lingered on her body. She was wearing what looked like a pair of tight-fitting bike shorts and a tube top that struggled to contain her considerable bust, leaving very little to the imagination. I hadn't paid very much attention the day before, but now her lean, svelte figure leapt out at me.

Her arms and back were lightly muscled where they were clean of fur, my eyes tracing the channel that ran all the way down her long spine, ending where the fluff of her tail began. I had been right, there was no fur beneath her clothing. It seemed to be limited to her extremities, and there was a little of it on her shoulders, too. There were some faded stripes on her skin in places, pigmentation I assumed, bleeding over a couple of inches from where her coat ended.

When she stretched forward, as flexible as a gymnast, the elastic of her clinging shorts rode low to expose two perfect dimples in the small of her back. Her physiology was remarkably human. There were dimples in her toned cheeks, too, but her fat was distributed to all of the right places. It made her full and curvy despite her brawn, her clothes practically creaking as she changed positions. I had never seen such a juxtaposition before.

Her breasts bounced softly with every movement, their outlines clearly visible, straining against the fabric of her top. They were as large as my own head, heavy and pert, her sweat further dampening the garment to make it stick to her wet skin. They might have been disproportionate on a human, but they were appropriate on her massive frame. I watched a solitary bead of her perspiration slide down into her cleavage, sparkling beneath the halogen lighting. The moisture gave her smooth, pale skin a reflective sheen, further accentuating the muscles that lurked just beneath.

My gaze wandered down to her exposed midriff, where two rows of toned abs twisted and flexed, hypnotizing me. They looked as though they had been carved from marble by a sculptor's chisel, like they belonged on a Greek statue rather than on a living, breathing woman. Droplets of her sudor followed the lines that her six-pack carved in her skin, sparkling like morning dew, light and shadow conspiring to make them even more pronounced. Beneath them was her navel, where another bead of her sweat welled.

Her hips were wide, giving her an hourglass figure, and her thighs were those of a powerlifter. They were packed with all of the muscle required to propel the eight-foot, maybe six hundred pound creature around with the agility that I had seen her display.

I watched for a minute or two, enthralled by her graceful movements, until I noticed that one of her round ears had swiveled in my direction.

"Do you mind?" I stammered, hoping that she hadn't noticed my peeping. "You woke me up!"

"No, I don't mind," she replied sarcastically. Annoyed, I flopped out of bed and started to get dressed. There was no way that I'd be getting back to sleep now.

"You could do that in the gym, you know," I complained as I pulled on my uniform and zipped it up. "That way, you wouldn't wake me up."

She ignored me, continuing her exercises. I watched as she did the splits, her furry, paw-like feet bridging the gap between our bunks. She was so limber...

"This is my morning routine," she replied. "I need to stay in peak physical condition. If you don't like it, then request a different roommate."

"You know that isn't an option," I said tersely. She smirked, lying her torso flat against the deck in another display of flexibility. It reminded me of a dancer warming up before a performance.

"If your squad gets attacked while you're asleep, will you complain that they're too loud, and stumble around in a stupor like this? How long does it take your feeble, monkey brain to wake up?"

I didn't rise to her insults, leaving our quarters to search for the bathroom. Before long, I ended up in the mess hall, sharing breakfast with a couple of humans and a Krell. Once again, the Borealans were all grouped up around one table, shunning the other species and being antisocial. Why were they even here? They didn't show any interest in learning about alien cultures or interacting with anyone else.

After a while, Raz emerged and joined her friends at their table. She was sporting her form-fitting, blue jumpsuit again, and her orange hair looked wet. She must have taken a shower. She didn't seek me out this time, but wherever she went in the room, it seemed that one of her ears was always pointed in my direction. It was rather disconcerting, but maybe I was just paranoid.

The mess hall was soon filled with more of the recruits, Raz and her cohorts disappearing behind a wall of blue coveralls and green scales, friendly conversation quickly diverting my attention to more positive subjects.

When I was done eating, I left the mess hall in the company of a small group of trainees and Krell, leaving some of the stragglers to finish their meals. There was no work to do today, no classes or drills. The Staff Sergeants had told us that we were free to explore our environment, to adjust to our new settings.

We wandered the Pinwheel, staying within our quadrant, admiring the technological wonder that we now found ourselves inhabiting. The humans seemed infatuated with the artificial sky and the presence of the planters, their colorful flowers and carefully pruned trees giving the torus a touch of greenery and nature that contrasted tastefully with the matte white structural material. More than once we stopped to examine a plant, one of us cupping a leaf in his hand, or running his fingers through the soil and mulch to check if it was real or artificial. The Krell seemed fascinated with the molded facades of the buildings, pausing to admire the reproductions of brick and wood. Each one was a little different, and despite them all being made from the same white metal, a lot of effort had been put into differentiating them. This looked like a city street to us, but there was nothing familiar about human architecture to the Krell, this was all new to them.

There were no windows on the torus that would let us see out into space. The hull must have been heavily fortified to defend against space debris and potential enemy attacks. It was impossible to tell that we were spinning with no point of reference, as there was no sensation of motion. The only evidence was the inertial force keeping our boots glued to the floor, which felt like wholly natural gravity to us.

When reading about Fort Hamilton before I had set off on my journey across space, I had learned that one of the motives for decorating the station in the way that they had, was to provide an environment in deep space where personnel could take shore leave. There was no need to jump a carrier all the way back to a habitable world when they could take a few weeks off on the station, their environment carefully tailored to fool the human brain into thinking that it was walking around on the surface of a planet. There were flowers, simulated sunlight, the smell of food stands wafting on the artificial breeze. It could almost be mistaken for home.

There were so many people clogging the street, not only military personnel, but also civilians in casual clothes. More than once I bumped shoulders with a hurrying civvie that must be transferring between vessels, or an engineer in yellow overalls whose eyes were fixed intently on a tablet computer. Far from being overwhelming, the crowds of people going about their business was a comfort to me. I had spent far too long in spacecraft that were little more than sardine cans with engines.

There were Krell, too, the throngs parting before them as they lumbered along, but I didn't see any Borealans. Vasiliev had mentioned that they had only recently joined the Coalition, was it possible that Raz and her companions were among the first?

After some time wandering and exploring, our little group found itself at the recreation center. It was a long, squat building where Navy personnel could relax and unwind. We entered through an appropriately Krell-sized door, emerging into an open-plan room. My first impression was that I was standing inside a giant bar. There were dozens of round tables, many of them occupied by Marines and Navy pilots who were nursing drinks, the haze from their e-cigarettes and cigars swirling around the ceiling fans. There were pool tables, dart boards, and monitors for digital games. To our right was a long counter made from what looked like varnished wood, but must be imitation, as not even the financiers of this lavish station would have shipped real mahogany this far out into space. There was a generous assortment of taps, along with rows of colorful bottles on shelves, but I didn't particularly feel like returning to the barracks drunk on my first day.

Everything was lit by a dim, yellow glow. Some might have called it dingy, but I thought that it had a rather relaxing vibe.

I felt a little guilty, seeking out games and recreation when there was a war going on. Boot camp had given me the impression that I would be waking up at the crack of dawn, with a Drill Sergeant's spittle on my face before I had even eaten breakfast, but that was no longer the case. If we had been advanced to this program at all, then it must mean that the higher-ups trusted us to have mastered the basics. While I felt proud of my achievement, that expectation weighed on my mind. Maybe Raz had a point, and my free time would be better spent doing laps around the torus or working out at the gym.

My train of thought was broken as one of my new acquaintances waved me over, laughing as he watched a Krell attempt to play pool.

***

After a few hours of cultural exchange, which mostly consisted of showing the Krell how to play poker and unsuccessfully trying to get them to curse, I decided that it was time to head back to the barracks. I bid my new friends goodnight, they were now attempting to teach the Krell recruits to play pool without eating the chalk, and I made my way out of the building. The sunlamps in the ceiling had grown dimmer to simulate dusk, and the streets had cleared somewhat. Most of the inhabitants of the station would be getting ready to sleep, the only active personnel would be the night shift crews. It was still far from deserted, but I could appreciate the relative quiet.

The artificial breeze was cool on my face, rustling the branches of the trees as I made my way along, my hands stowed in the pockets of my uniform. I was in no particular hurry, admiring the décor as I wandered. The torus was usually split into two halves by rows of planters, benches, and kiosks that ran down the middle. Here, however, I came across a series of decorative wooden trellises that had been erected in their place. The plants had been encouraged to grow around them, creating a sort of tunnel of foliage and flowers.

I made my way inside, noting that the carefully curated trees and hedges obscured the buildings to either side of me from view. The designers had used a lot of little tricks like that, playing with people's perception to stave off the cabin fever in any way that they could. In one moment I was on a street, and in the next, I was surrounded by green leaves. I marveled at how I could be almost completely alone on a space station with a population the size of a large town. The Pinwheel truly was a feat of engineering.

I heard a rustling sound that snapped me back to reality, and I paused to look around. I couldn't see anyone, perhaps it had been the wind? I started walking again, but once more an odd rustling noise stopped me in my tracks. It had definitely sounded like something large moving through the bushes, but I couldn't see any sign of anyone. The narrow walkway between the planters was deserted.

I felt the hair on my neck stand on end all the same. Could it be Raz, trying to fuck with me again? Surely she had better things to do than to stalk me as a practical joke? Wait...

Was I scared of Raz? The notion that I would let her childish teasing get to me was absurd, I was a grown man, an aspiring Marine at that. And yet the idea of her lurking in the bushes between the trellises, watching me like some kind of man-eating tiger, filled me with dread. She clearly had problems socializing, and she hadn't hesitated to get physical with me, even in front of our superiors.

I took off walking, a little faster now, not a frightened run but a healthy power-walk. I wanted to be out of this little garden area and into the open as soon as possible. A chill slid down my spine like a melting ice cube as I heard a twig snap. My ancient fight or flight reflexes kicked in, and I bolted. As if I was running in slow-motion, an orange blur exploded out of the undergrowth in a shower of leaves, covering the distance between us in the space of a second. It slammed into my back, sending me sprawling across the deck. I wanted to cry out, but the wind had been knocked out of me.

I rolled onto my back, intending to get up and face my assailant, but the blur was on me faster than I could blink. My wrists were pinned to the floor by what felt like furry manacles, their grip like iron. I felt its weight as it mounted me, pressing me down, a pair of round thighs gripping me like the jaws of a trap to prevent me from wriggling loose.

A pair of glowing, yellow eyes peered down at me in the gloom, the pupils round and dilated. The eyes drew closer, a mop of hair tickling my cheek, and I tensed as I felt the prick of pointed fangs against my jugular. I closed my eyes, and to my shame, a low whimper escaped my lips. I had been shot at with live ammunition in basic, I had spacewalked without a tether, but I had not been prepared for an animal attack. I was scared out of my wits, a deep and primal fear overpowering me. It held its fangs there for a few seconds, pressing them into my skin, not enough to draw blood but enough to be uncomfortable. I lay there, as still as a statue as I felt warm breath blowing on my neck, and then the teeth drew back.