Nebulae: One-Shots Compilation

Nirvana

Nirvana Space Station in close approach to Huchu Solar Farm, Geostationary Orbit 35,786 kilometres above Seoul

The endless expanse of glittering stars spread out into the void of space. Pinpricks of blue-white plasma in their nebula nurseries watched on as a furious red giant shone in bursts of ochre and vermillion. The mighty giant's ancient metal core shuddered, once, twice, then halted. Gravitational collapse sent the giant tumbling into its death-throes, showering a cascade of plasma and dust across the galaxy in a wondrous supernova. But Beatrix Moss didn't see it; she was too busy pulling her knickers out of her arse cheeks for the millionth time.

Beatrix clung in sweat-lined gloves to the tether on the brief spacewalk from Nirvana to the docking platform of Huchu Solar Farm. A sharp tug with her forefinger reset her underwear in her space suit, which could only be described as a circus leotard with a helmet.

"Where the hell did you get this blooming space suit from?"

Taran's voice crackled into Beatrix's helmet, which was already beginning to fog up with her redeposited sweat. "It's a state-of-the art mechanical counterpressure suit, Bee. Everyone on Nirvana uses them. They were designed by India's top ISRO scientists."

"India's top fetishists, more like. My knickers are so far up my arse they're going to come out of my ears."

"Nirvana Mission Control assured me—"

"Oh, why did we have to go with Nirvana?" she huffed into her helmet, the visor clouding again. "Didn't Lunar Gateway have any space for me?"

Taran sighed down the comms. "I told you. Nirvana is the closest space station to Huchu Solar Farm." Then, under his breath, "And they were cheaper than NASA."

"Squitty duck-flaps." Beatrix readjusted her hold on the tether as the great torus of Huchu Solar Farm appeared in the corner of her visor. "Why doesn't GCHQ ever have any money?"

"We have loads of money! Just that Mrs P said that this mission isn't high enough priority to justify splashing out on NASA's latest payload to Lunar Gateway."

"It was the Americans who asked us to do this blooming mission in the first place!" Beatrix wiggled her knickers out of her buttocks again. "They should pay for it!"

Mrs P's husky voice crackled into the helmet. "Oh, do shut up, Beatrix." She wheezed on in a voice so rough that Beatrix wondered if she'd rubbed her tongue on sandpaper. "Just switch off that bloody solar farm and get back to Cheltenham so the bloody Americans will give us all some peace."

"Fine, fine!"

The inky shadow of the colossal solar cell disc fell across Beatrix's helmet as she docked with a bump. Her friction-gloves latched onto the tiny handholds scattered in between the glittering solar cells. She began to inch herself towards the hole in the centre of the solar farm's giant torus.

"Take care, Bee." Taran's voice buzzed with static into the helmet speaker as Beatrix reached the hole. "I feel bad for all the Huchu users whose servers and phones are about to go down. I've got a Huchu fit-watch. What if it stops tracking my calories?"

Hanging from a minute handhold on the lip of the torus, Beatrix swung her legs over the side of the hole. "I didn't take you for a Huchu nerd, Taran."

The crackle of Taran's groan echoed around the helmet. "Don't tell me, you're an Eris sheep."

"How dare you!" Beatrix freed her pants from her arse again, then set about unpacking the myriad chrome parts of the laser diode gun. "I don't own a single Eris product!"

"I bet you use Hive all the time. Didn't you know that's owned by Eris?"

"Only old people use Hive." Beatrix screwed the collimator to the laser diode gun and hit the power switch. The gun's indicator lights winked with pale blue flashes. "I don't use any social media."