Chapter 1: Sandwich Girl

“You there, sir! You look like you need a sandwich! I make the best sandwiches on the station, satisfaction guaranteed or your credits back!”

Miller could hear her even over the bustle of the crowd that always clogged the walkway on the Pinwheel’s torus, a Polar Borealan by the sound of her, with quite a set of lungs. He was in the tourist quarter, on his way back from his engineering project. Cleaning out the ventilation system after the epidemic of baby Krell was an ongoing job. It wasn’t fun or flattering work, but somebody had to do it. The entire aft section of the station had been stinking of lizard droppings for weeks.

He pushed past the throngs of humans and aliens as he made his way forward. The population of the massive space station was comprised of all manner of people, civilians and military personnel alike. There were squads of Marines on shore leave perusing the cafes and stores, distinguished by their Navy-blue jumpsuits. He could see a pack of feline Borealans in the distance clad in similar attire, towering head and shoulders above their human counterparts. There were even a few lumbering Krell, the throngs of people parting to let them pass lest they be crushed underfoot by the sixteen foot long reptiles.

The tourist quarter was the section of the Pinwheel that had the most civilians, mostly people who were in transit, either switching to an outgoing vessel or waiting for their ship to be refueled.

The Pinwheel’s actual name was Fort Hamilton, but nobody really called it that these days. It had never been intended to be a transport and trade hub, but its favorable location and the sheer size of the installation had made that somewhat of an inevitability. Thousands of people traveled to and from it every day, its massive hangars accommodating the largest classes of UNN vessels that needed refits or repair time in dry dock.

The walkway was lined with planters and benches, with a painted sky on the ceiling and facsimiles of storefronts and buildings carved into the hull to either side of the street. The designers had posited that the personnel would not require shore leave if they could approximate the feeling of being on a terrestrial planet through the use of such decorations, and for the most part, they had been right.

Walking along the torus, the donut-shaped wheel that spun around a central hub in order to generate artificial gravity from which the station got its nickname, one could be fooled into thinking that they were on some street somewhere on Earth or one of her colonies. The illusion was shattered on a daily basis for Miller, however. It was his job to crawl through the guts of the station, to pull back the facade and maintain the inner workings of the great machine.

He was returning home from just such a job, and today his route happened to lead him through the tourist quarter. Come to think of it, it was getting pretty late, and he hadn’t eaten yet. The gigantic lamps that were embedded in the painted ceiling to simulate natural light were already dimming.

Miller heard the Polar shout over the din of a thousand different conversations again, her voice was like a damned foghorn.

“Best sandwiches on the station! Get your sandwiches! You won’t find a fusion of Earth and Borealan cuisine like this anywhere else!”

Well, she certainly wanted his business more than the other restaurants that were located in the tourist quarter, maybe he’d give her a go. After all, he was in the mood for something exotic today. He had eaten Indian food, Chinese food, but never Borealan food. By the look of them, they were carnivores, a meat dish didn’t sound half bad.

He changed course, making his way over to her store. He couldn’t see her through the crowd, but he could follow her voice, the scent of food growing stronger as he drew nearer. He finally pushed his way through the throngs of people and emerged to see a replica stall built into the matte white hull of the station. It wasn’t much of a store, it looked more like a hot dog cart, it was the smallest and cheapest quarters that he had ever seen. It must be longer than it looked, extending deeper into the station’s hull, but the storefront was scarcely five feet wide. There was a colorful awning above his head, and there was a menu that had been printed on paper and taped to the wall beside the counter.

Occupying the window was a Polar Borealan of impressive size. Miller was no stranger to the eight-foot-tall aliens, he had seen them frequently enough that their presence had become routine, but this one was different. As well as being inhumanly tall, she was quite fat, her furry belly protruding over the counter as if someone had stuffed her inside the store. There was a door to her right, and he wondered how she would even fit through it. It was tall enough for a Borealan, but nowhere near wide enough for her. She looked like a damned marshmallow.

He had to struggle to keep his eyes off her breasts. She was wearing clothing that was far too tight for her, he could make out an oversized t-shirt that did almost nothing to contain her figure, along with an apron that was straining against her body. He couldn’t see if she was wearing pants, but they were no doubt stretched to their limits too. Her boobs were the size of bags of fertilizer that one might buy at a garden supply store, pressed together so tightly that you could have lost a small child in her cleavage.

The aliens were basically humanoid, but they had digitigrade legs and a long, puffy tail. Their three-fingered hands were tipped with curved claws, and their feet more resembled the paws of big cats than those of humans. Unlike the usual variety of Borealan, these ones were covered from head to toe in fluffy, white fur that was spotted with black markings that resembled coffee stains.

The two round ears that protruded from her mop of slate-grey hair swiveled to track him as he approached, her pale blue eyes widening and her pink, feline nose twitching excitedly.

“What can I do for you, stranger?”

She spoke with what almost sounded like a Russian accent, and he tore his eyes away from her strange appearance as he read from the list of food items that was taped to the wall beside her.

“I dunno, what would you recommend?”

She was so damned bubbly, as if she could scarcely contain her excitement at being asked about food, and she leaned out of the window to peer at the menu. Miller had to take a step back to avoid getting clocked in the head by her massive breasts, they were swinging like a pair of wrecking balls, and they looked heavy enough to put him in the infirmary.

“How about a longburger?”

“What the hell is a longburger?” Miller asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.

“You won’t know about it because I invented it,” she announced proudly, placing a furry hand on her chest for good measure. “You take minced beef, you lay it out in a sesame seed sub roll that you split lengthwise, and then you layer on the cheese and pickles and lettuce. You heat it in the oven just a little so that the cheese melts over the meat and sticks to it, and then you lather it in your sauces of choice.”

“So it’s a cheeseburger, but in a sub sandwich?”

“Well, regular burgers are a little ... small.” She waved her hands suddenly, alarming him. “Oh, not to say that small things are inherently bad, no offense intended! Just that my kind have to eat a rather large number of burgers before we’re satisfied. They’re made for humans you see, and humans are ... small.”

“I guess it sounds pretty good, if a little indulgent,” he said as he scratched his stubbly chin. “Okay, give me one of those with ketchup and mayo. Actually, make it about a third of one. It looks like your portions are all Borealan-sized and I think consuming that much cheese might kill me.”

“Are you sure?” the woman asked, leaning her furry elbow on the countertop and resting her face in her palm. Miller noted that there were pink pads protruding from beneath the fur on her thick fingers, probably to make gripping objects easier for her.

“You look a little scrawny if you don’t mind my saying so, maybe you could use the protein.”

“I’m of average build for a human,” he protested. “Why am I even listening to this? Are you going to sell me a sandwich or not?”

“Well, I can’t just make you part of a sandwich, doesn’t work that way. But what I can do is make you a whole sandwich and then cut off a portion for you. I’ll eat the rest of it.”

“Oh great, yeah,” he replied sarcastically as she turned her back on him and vanished deeper into the store. “That’s what I wanted to do today, pay for someone else’s sandwich.”

He drummed his fingers on the counter as he waited for her to return. After a few minutes, she reemerged from the back of the narrow store, placing a large paper bag on the counter. It was only one end of the sandwich, but it was almost as large as an entire sub in its own right, overflowing with meat and cheese. He had to admit, it smelled delicious, steam rising from the bag as he rummaged in his pocket for his wallet.

“What do I owe you?”

“Twenty-six credits please.”

“Twenty-six creds! That’s daylight robbery!”

“Hey, you asked for a sandwich, and that quantity of ingredients isn’t cheap. Relax, I’ll make it up to you.”

He watched as she struggled to take off her apron, her enormous body wobbling with the effort, and then she shuffled towards the door. She had to turn sideways to fit through it, her paunchy belly catching on the frame for a moment before she finally succeeded in freeing herself from its confines.

Now that he could see her in her entirety, the weight seemed more appropriate. It was distributed to all of the right places, mostly her hips, breasts, and thighs. She was indeed packed into a pair of shorts that looked as if they were about ready to burst at the seams, her clothing was all thin and sparse as if she was dressed for summer weather, despite the Pinwheel’s torus being fairly cool. He wasn’t surprised, with all that fur and insulating fat she must overheat easily.

She had no trouble moving, her weight seemed to be no hindrance at all. She was agile and spry once free of the confines of the store, the alien skipping over to stand beside him. He noticed that she was holding the rest of his sandwich in her hand.

“So, where are we eating?”

“We?” Miller asked, confused. “What do you mean we?”

“Well, you just bought me dinner. It’s a bit forward, we just met after all, but I figure I’ll give you a chance and see what happens.”

Miller spread his arms in exasperation.

“You made me buy you dinner! I just wanted a damned sandwich on my way home from work!”

“Where do you live?”

“I’m not telling you that!”

He turned and began to walk away, but noticed that she was tagging along beside him, peering at him excitedly with her azure eyes. Her feline pupils were round and large. He didn’t like that look, he felt as if she was about to throw down the sandwich and take a bite out of him instead.

He took a seat on a nearby bench, and the alien sat down next to him, the wooden planks making worrying noises as they sagged under her bulk. It was human-sized, and so she had to sit in a weird position, her knees up near her face and her fluffy tail trailing on the ground. There were planters to either side of the benches to provide the occupants with some measure of privacy, and her head was lost in the fronds of a tree as she struggled to brush them aside.

Miller ignored her, opening up his paper bag and taking a bite of the sandwich. It was surprisingly good, she hadn’t been overselling it. The meat was tender and succulent, while the cheese was just the right consistency to hold the whole thing together and prevent it from collapsing into a wet mess. He licked the sauces from his lips as his unwelcome companion watched excitedly, biting off a massive hunk of her own meal.

“Good, right?” she said over a mouthful of meat and cheese.

“Yeah, it’s pretty good.”

They sat in silence for a minute or two, Miller just hoping that she’d get bored and leave him alone, but before long she started talking again. She was burning through her massive sandwich alarming quickly, pausing to take bites as she prattled.

“Crazy weather we’re having lately. It’s been so hot.”

He stopped chewing, turning his head to glare up at her.

“What do you mean crazy weather we’re having? We’re on a space station, it’s a controlled environment that’s kept at a constant temperature. There is no weather.”

“I suppose you’d know all about that, being an engineer,” she said.

“How do you know I’m an engineer?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. She reached over and prodded his chest with one of her thick, clawed fingers, gesturing to his yellow overalls.

“I’d really prefer if you didn’t touch me,” he grumbled, pushing her furry hand away. It was the size of a damned dinner plate, and surprisingly fluffy.

“Hey,” she began, leaning closer than was comfortable to whisper in his ear. Miller scooted away from her, but soon found himself trapped between the metal armrest and her oppressive bulk. “Maybe you could put in a word with the other engineers and get them to change the thermostat. I’d sure appreciate it. This station gets too hot for my liking.”

Miller took another bite of his sandwich, shaking his head in exasperation.

“I don’t know how you think it works, but there’s no dial to change the temperature. You’re kind of in my personal space right now, can you...”

She shuffled back a little, her ass and thighs were so plump that it didn’t make much of a difference, taking up enough of the bench that he was in danger of being pushed onto the floor.

“Sometimes I get so hot, that I take off all my clothes and go chill out in the meat locker for a while. I’m not supposed to, because of this thing called health and safety, but I do it anyway. What they don’t know can’t hurt them, right?”

Miller paused, swallowing a mouthful of cheese and meat before taking a disdainful glance at his sandwich.

“You gonna eat that?” the Polar asked, pointing at it. She had already demolished her share, and she was eyeing what remained of his sandwich hungrily.

“Not anymore,” he complained, handing it to her. She plucked it from his hand and ate it in one bite, Miller rapidly realizing that she had somehow gotten both his money and his meal.

“So what’s your name?” she asked, Miller watching as she licked her furry fingers with her tongue. It was maybe a foot long, rough like that of a cat, combing her snow-white fur as she cleaned it of grease and sauce. “Mine is Kailha, but everyone calls me Kofe.”

“Coffee?” Miller asked, confused by her strange pronunciation of the word.

“Kofe, it’s Russian for coffee, on account of my markings.” She gestured to her round thigh, where there were indeed a number of black camouflage patterns that resembled the stains left by coffee cups. She had quite a lot of patterning, it reminded him of a snow leopard.

“Why Russian?”

“Because I’m Russian.”

“You’re not Russian,” he shot back skeptically, “you’re a Borealan.”

“I’m a Russian Borealan,” she insisted, “I became a Russian citizen along with the rest of my people when we migrated there from Borealis.”

“Oh, I think I remember seeing that on the news. Fair enough.”

“So what’s your name?” she insisted, leaning closer as she peered at him expectantly with her blue eyes. Miller was hesitant to tell her, he was getting a weird vibe from this girl, she seemed a little crazy.

“It’s Jeff,” he replied. Giving her his first name wouldn’t cause any problems, there must be hundreds of Jeffs working on the station.

“Pleased to meet you, Jeff. So, do you usually go around buying dinner for girls that you’ve just met? You work fast, I’ll give you that.”