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  By J. Alan Veerkamp

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  Salvaging Claus Day

  By J. Alan Veerkamp

  For three years, Filo has reveled in silence and solitude as the sole occupant of a space station, where he maintains the communication satellite.

  Everything changes with the appearance of Luz Espina’s lifepod. Filo shares many interests with the flirtatious Luz, though Filo’s isolation has strained his communication skills. Still, Luz pushes all his buttons… and reminds him of the last man he was attracted to—an attraction that ended in disaster because the man was straight. When Luz learns Filo has never celebrated a holiday, he vows to cobble together a Claus Day celebration for them to share. But is it merely a friendly gesture… or something more?

  FILO THESON pawed at the hull, scrabbling for purchase as his whole body began to pinwheel. The metal structure drifted past his mask as he spun, until the empty vacuum of space filled his visor. One careless bump against the airlock’s hatch and now he was moments away from being cast adrift. Action… meet equal and opposite reaction.

  A cold shiver rushed over him, and his lungs began pumping in tiny, rapid bursts. Every curse he knew flashed through his head, but he couldn’t scream.

  The airlock drifted back into view, and he thrust his hand out, barely hooking two fingers along the edge. The textured grips held, and his forearm burned as he pulled with everything he had. It was enough to bend himself in a graceless twist, slam his big, clunky boot down on the steel panel, and slap the control on his hip. The sole energized, locking against the surface. Somehow he managed to stop his spin and pull his mass around without snapping an ankle.

  Once steady with both feet in place, Filo focused on stemming the panic riddling his chest. He had to calm his breathing. Hyperventilating would only exhaust his oxygen cell, and there was still work to be done.

  Fuck, that was close. He felt as stupid for peering around to make sure he was alone as he did for stumbling in the first place. Who else would be out here and how many years had he done this without a single mishap? And the freak-out? Even during boot camp, he never gave in to hysterics or found himself so easily distracted. He was bred to be better than that.

  But the last three months had been nothing like normal, had they?

  One wrong step and you’re lost in a whole lot of nothing.

  Filo tested his boot’s grip on the hull. The magnetic clunk as the sole engaged vibrated up his leg, but after his slip, he wasn’t trusting it. Being out here had its difficulties in the first place. No matter how many times he walked the structure, standing perpendicular to the Station’s exterior was unnerving. Out here, gravity was a nonexistent luxury.

  Pinpricks of lights teased him in the dark, daring Filo to embrace the silence. He answered by shining his middle finger at the expanse of stars. The abyss held an appeal with its infinite calm, but he knew enough to ignore its seductive lure, because the alternative was a horrible, agonizing—and most likely not quick—death. Slow suffocation as you floated away. No thank you. Six years here hadn’t been enough to make him succumb, and he had no intention of changing his record.

  Even as desolate as this existence could be, it was so much better than life on Galanor-6. Crushed shoulder-to-shoulder with all the incoming Terran immigrants every season, chaos reigned as new crowds decided their futures and moved on to other colonies. Each wave leaving was greeted by a wave incoming. The clamor of overlapping voices and noise suffocated Filo on a level so vast he’d been only too willing to accept the advert for a Communications Hub Tech far, far, away.

  He slapped at his helmet with his chunky, gloved hand, and the headlamp came back on. At times, it needed a little encouragement. An oblong beam of light splashed across a corporate logo that adorned one of the many metal panels under his feet. Time for the live test, hoping it matched the suit’s indoor diagnostics. It took a few tries to call up the correct readouts because the screen on his forearm was so small and his fingers were giant like the rest of him, but all systems were showing green.

  A relieved exhale cast a small fog on the mask, quickly evaporating. Normally, Filo was nothing if not a careful man. He had to be sure when all that stood between himself and an insidious demise was an environmental suit that saw more repairs than replacements.

  The Corporation funded facilities closer to the colonies far better than this one. On this ass-end of the galaxy, efficient spending was the primary focus. Even so, datastream blackouts of any kind were against regulation and demanded immediate resolution.

  But it’s what they paid him for.

  Tapping the tiny display, he checked the position of the target bulkhead. H-346. Three hundred forty-seven meters ahead, a long walk from the solitary airlock at the Station’s cargo hold at the bottom of the structure. Oxygen levels at 93 percent. Plenty of time.

  Filo started his trek, clamping each big foot down, one after the next. Careful steps. Careful steps. There was a trick to maintaining a safe pace outside without tripping and floating away, but he’d had plenty of practice. Earlier was a fluke he wasn’t counting. It had been years since anyone but himself had left footprints in the frozen dust littering the hull.

  As he lumbered along, he kept throwing glances over his shoulder, unable to feel the weightless hardware tethered to his waist. A balloon of silicone circuits and subspace signal amplifiers drifted along behind him. Even this far out, the Station’s main purpose was to sling the infinite bandwidth between systems, keeping this end of the galaxy connected with the rest. Whenever a malfunction appeared, more often than not, it required him to hot swap a burned-out panel, which could only be reached from the access panels outside the Station.

  Not the smartest design, but Filo was up to the task.

  It wasn’t clear how long the trip to H-346 took, but he didn’t mind. The solitude was bliss, with only his own breathing to interrupt the quiet.

  Now that his life wasn’t in danger, he could admit it was beautiful out here.

  No mechanical hiss or jarring grind of metal greeted him as he released the panel lock and swung the meter-squared door open. Five kite-sized boards sat tight in the slots, status lights flickering as data zipped through them all except the second. An error message blinked, designating the faulty tech. Exchanging the circuits was easy enough. The old one was attached to the tether for recycle, and the fresh, pristine one slid into the vacant channel.

  Initializing the board once in place took longer than he’d have liked. Fat fingers on a tiny screen again. Filo grumbled, knowing the circuit boards were the only top-notch items in his tech inventory. They were crucial to the Station’s primary function, after all. The only portion to be spared no expense. Updating his suit was another matter.

  Once he confirmed the board’s data flow was at full capacity, he closed the access panel, leaving his complaints with it. There was nothing to be gained by creating a fuss. Oxygen levels sat at 76 percent. His world wasn’t so bad, and he was ahead of schedule.

  The only thing preventing his walk back from becoming a stroll was the stomp of each boot keeping him attached to the Station’s wall. Filo was well suited for this job. Not many had the stomach for this kind of existence.

  After reining in the drifting circuit board, paying extra attention to make as good a grip as possible with his awkward gloves, he entered the airlock. Once the outer door slid shut, he nearly dropped the faulty board as the gravity reasserted itself. Ambient sound reappeared as the atmosphere filled the chamber. Boots scuffing the floor gave off a dull, hollow vibration. Filo almost preferred the sanctit
y of the void outside.

  When the inner hatch opened, Filo shut down the suit’s systems and released the seals on his helmet. Oxygen levels at 24 percent. He frowned. Time to replace the breathing cells. The off-brand knockoffs faded faster on the return trip than expected, but they were lasting long enough to be recharged until the delivery next month.

  Only minimal lighting came on as he stepped into the United Colony Cargo hold, its trademark stamped on each crate stacked high to the ten-story-tall ceiling. Hundreds of identical reinforced containers as far as the eye could see. Durable enough to be hauled about by the bay’s mechanical arms, their bounty lay hidden from sight. Customs manifests were handled by the hangar’s systems, but Filo had access with the right protocols.

  The only identifiable item was the lifepod he’d salvaged three months ago. It had floated into sensor range days after its engine failed, and it drifted under minimal power. The Station was no doubt the only viable destination it had a hope of reaching.

  Like the pod, the automated bays slept. The Station’s secondary purpose was serving as a depot for long-range cargo. When the next freighter arrived, everything would come alive. Behemoth mechanical armatures swapping incoming for outgoing, silently understanding their purpose without waiting for commands. A human being was only required to oversee and repair.

  At the wall panel, he tapped the assignment confirmation and added it to the work log, tagging the appropriate day. Another date was highlighted seven days away on the calendar, but Filo ignored it. If it held any real importance, it would be in his itinerary.

  Filo peeled himself out of his bulky suit and stowed it in the nearby closet. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fully calibrate the suit’s temperature settings. It stayed a few degrees too hot or too cold. Since it wasn’t enough to compromise his safety, he’d given up adjusting it a long time ago. The polymetal fiber interior may have been self-cleaning, but he was not. He shook his leg to free a wedge of damp fabric from between his buttocks. This particular company-issued undergarment was required to prevent the spacesuit from pinching his skin during use, but right now it was little better than a sheer, clammy bedsheet clinging into every crevice. And yes, that rank smell was him. A shower would be in short order.

  He continued to pick at his groin and ass as he followed the path marked with peeling yellow caution graphics to the maintenance shaft lift. There was nothing more to do down here.

  The door closed, and he rose upward, threading through the needle of the tower, a half kilometer of technological rings to capture information from one hub and sling it along to the next. At the top sat the domed control center and employee living quarters. With the shape and scale of the hangar at the bottom, Filo couldn’t help snickering. Did the Station’s designers shape this place into a floating, spacefaring cock on purpose?

  The lift’s faint rumble transmitted through his shoulder as he leaned against the wall. His humor escaped along with the air from a heavy sigh. It had been a long time since he’d touched a cock—let alone played with one—that wasn’t his own. An encyclopedia of entertainment was at his disposal. He’d never had difficulty enjoying his own company, and a galaxy’s worth of games, vids, and pornographic delights were to be had. Perks of the job. Even so, there was no substitute for a fat, veiny one in his mouth, or burying his meat between a pair of sweet, round buttocks—

  Quit already. He needed to stop obsessing. It wasn’t helping him one bit, but the fantasy was fresh these days.

  Adjusting himself as the doors opened, Filo moved into the broad, circular habitat level. He stepped past the infirmary, content with the knowledge the med-scanner chamber was fully automated and operational with surgical capabilities. Filo was glad to not need it for anything serious. Next came the recreation room. Comfortable seating and a wall-size monitor dominated one side, while exercise equipment filled another. Healthy employees lasted longer. He’d been surprised enough that the weightlifting stacks could handle the needs of someone his size. Past that came the galley with the attached dining nook big enough for four people, the Station’s max compliment.

  Doing his best to ignore the awful undergarment, he entered the galley and found the rations storage. Tapping the control panel, he paged through the menu until he found the inventory. Thirty-eight percent volume remaining. Plenty to last until the next supply shipment.

  As Filo opened the door, the inside rack shifted, vending each selection of neat, upright foil packages to the front, imprinted with the company logo and a large number for identification. Perfect little soldiers. While he was happy to no longer be conscripted, sometimes he missed the day-to-day order and structure. Little things like seeing ration bars all in formation was a source of comforting familiarity. After thumbing through the choices, he picked two sevens and a number two.

  Three bars in hand, Filo took the stairs up to the second floor.

  Following the same circular hallway, he passed one of four bedrooms, three of which had been converted to storage and additional workspace by company dictate as other crew left the Station. If that wasn’t proof the Corporation had no interest in refilling the positions, Filo didn’t know what else was.

  It was a lot different with four people living and working in this small space. Privacy was minimal beyond their quarters, and everyone was on call for any system failure, datastream or otherwise. He was the new kid when he arrived six years ago. The crew had made him feel welcome, and he found a love of the job he hadn’t expected. The changes happened three years later and happened fast. Kyla and Soomi had fallen in love and started a pregnancy against corporate regulations. Evidence surfaced during a routine inspection scan, and they’d been dismissed. Steeg put in for a transfer a month later.

  Filo preferred not to think too long on Steeg’s reasons for leaving.

  The Corporation renewed Filo’s contract for another ten years, agreeing to make a few concessions to encourage him to stay. There weren’t many techs willing to venture this far out and for this long of a stretch.

  The door to his room stood wide open as usual. What was the point in closing it? Stepping through, he noticed the change in humidity steaming his skin. No sound of water running said the shower was off. Living alone was nice, but having a guest for the last three months was a new experience.

  Please be dressed. Please be dressed.

  The bathroom door swung wide and Luz Espina walked out, scrubbing a towel over his dripping wet—and gloriously naked—body.

  “How’d the fixit go, bud?”

  Filo’s gaze followed the wet footprints leading from the shower into the bedroom, ending under Luz’s heels. Beads of water glittered on Luz’s natural bronze skin, up the thick calves and meaty thighs peppered with a dusting of dark hair. “All good.”

  “Slick. Glad you’re back. I was getting bored.” Luz’s words were half-smothered in the towel as—standing in the middle of the room without the slightest hint of modesty—he dried his tight crop of hair.

  It was impossible not to watch the bounce of Luz’s cock as he gave his head a vigorous scrub. Flaccid with a nice heft, it hung past his nuts framed by a well-kept nest of black fur.

  Don’t get hard. Was he talking about Luz or himself? This damned underwear couldn’t begin to hide a stiffy if he didn’t stop taking in the sight of Luz’s bare privates, even if the sweaty garment did cover Filo from wrist to ankles. He wished he’d brought spare clothing before heading out, but he hadn’t wanted to wake Luz. The company had approved Filo when he requisitioned a double bed years ago, due to his size. It dominated the space, and since there were no other accommodations after everyone else had departed and Luz’s lifepod showed up, the two of them had been forced to share.

  To keep from being accused of acting like a perv, Filo turned away only to find himself staring at the rumpled bed. The fabric’s wear showed the impression of two men, the larger on the left. Wrinkles connected, drawing twisted lines between them, linking both together. Or so it seemed.r />
  “I woke up and tried to watch you work on the security vid, but I got in a workout instead. It’s mostly just you walking around all slow and shit.”

  “Swapping circuits is dull work.”

  Filo wanted to slap himself when he realized the three ration bars were still in his big fist. Hazarding a glimpse at Luz, he picked a specific bar and offered it to him.

  Luz’s broad grin was infectious. “Aw, man! Number two! That’s my favorite! You know how much I like it in number two.” He tore open the packet, ignoring how the water continued to drip off himself, and took a bite. Was Luz moaning in pleasure? Or was Filo imagining things? It was hard to be sure. Don’t get hard. Luz finished the bar, dumped the wrapper in the recycle and went back to scrubbing himself dry.

  To distract himself, Filo went after his own snack. Number seven. Teriyaki protein bar with vitamin enhancements. Not exactly gourmet fare, but he’d had worse, so he wasn’t complaining. By the time the second bar was almost gone, Luz had dropped his towel and managed to pull on a black T-shirt.

  “Your work all done for now?”

  Filo nodded. “For now.”

  “Slick. Let’s hit the rec room. There’s a new module up. My alien rebel horde is all game to bend you over and spank your hot butt.” Luz stepped close, their chests nearly brushing as he gave Filo’s shoulder a playful swat. “I know that sounds like a good time, but trust me, you’ll only like it for the first five minutes.”

  What little air remaining between them warmed enough to be felt through his thin garment. It reached out, easing its way under Filo’s skin, sending indecent shivers into parts of him he didn’t want to wake. The first rush of a new wave of perspiration began to tickle his spine.

  He fixed his gaze on Luz’s spiced-rum eyes, doing everything he could to forget how a few centimeters were all that kept Luz’s bare cock from pressing into his thigh. Don’t get hard. Filo froze, unsure of how to react.