It’s Myrha’s first time in space and she’s fucking terrified.

“This was a mistake,” she says to the passenger seated next to her, a bland little fellow who prefers to ignore her.

“I mean, what was I thinking?”

Of course she entered that poetry contest, because the lure of an all expense paid trip was too much to resist. She remembers the night she submitted her poem vividly: in colors of regret.

“I can’t do it!” she whines, holding her head in her hands.

“Of course you can, baby,” her gal pal Zel says, patting her shoulder, “your stuff is good.”

“I’m too scared. I’m a chicken. I’m going to hide under the bed now.”

Zel taps the screen where it says WIN A VACATION TO LIEVAL: A WORLD MADE OF BEACHES, BABES AND BARBECUE. COLONIZED FOR YOUR PLEASURE!

“Well, yeah,” Myrha acknowledges.

“So, what’s the good in resisting? Submit your poem and send me pics of your new tan.”

Myrha hesitates.

Zel reaches over and hits the submit button, “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“You bitch,” Myrha pouts.

That’s right, this was Zel’s fault.

Myrha presses the heels of her palms to her eyes and decides she needs a drink. Only there’s no beverage button on her armrest.

“Fuck,” she sighs, “isn’t getting wasted part of the vacation experience? What does a person have to do to get a drink around here?”

The man next to her coughs and fidgets but doesn’t look at her. Instead he’s intensely interested in his utiphone, which is flickering with a reader icon; she bets he’s looking at pornography, because honestly no one can be that interested in a book unless it has graphic pictures of the best kind.

She leans over to sneak a peek, but he’s locked his screen so that only he can see what’s on it.

“What kind of porn are you reading?” she asks.

He squeaks (an embarrassing sound for a grown man to make, really), and his face prunes as he asks, “I beg your pardon?”

“You wanna share?”

He shuts off his utiphone and it disappears.

She rolls her eyes, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“How dare you imply that I would—”

“Attendant!” she shouts, and then she leans in closer to him, “I could use a drink. You?”

His face by now is blood red, and it’s a pity all that blood is in the northern region, really. The boner was much more attractive than his blushing face.

“I thought so,” she pats his arm. Soft whirring pneumatic noises announce the impending presence of an android.

“Finally,” she says as the attendant makes it to her aisle.

The android merely ticks an eyebrow in her direction. And what a fine eyebrow it is. Myrha sits back a little to look the android up and down.

“Why hello there,” she grins.

Myrha hasn’t had much experience with androids and she never expected one to look so…delicious. She’s made of long legs, a pile of blond hair and a slender torso (she is kind of flat in the bust to be honest, but really, those lips are sinful).

“What’s a pretty little android like you doing in a place like this, eh?” she asks.

The android is rather resplendent in a silver skirt, tight-fitting shirt and black vest. Myrha fucking loves uniforms.

“Serving you alcohol,” she answers crisply.

“And so you are. Give me your strongest, and one for him, too.”

The drink unfortunately resembles alien cum: far too gummy, a funky green color, and doesn’t have high enough of an alcohol content to knock her unconscious.

“Wish they would update the menu selections,” she grumbles.

She makes herself feel better by watching the pretty android sashay away. The man looks at his drink as if it is an extra appendage he never knew he had and is baffled about how to use it.

“Well, cheers,” she says.

She clinks her glass against his, pinches her nose, and downs the drink in one gulp.