B.R.E.

Amidst the starlit expanse of space surrounding Asteroid B42-08H3, fancy star cruisers and crappy cargo junks rumbled and roared past what looked like a gaudy, over-lit city perched on a hunk of rock. If a passenger on these ships had any curiosity at all to see what was outside their window and had glanced in the direction of this bright mini-city, they would have seen nothing unusual.

But say they werecurious for no other reason than curiosity itself and they had whipped out their various models of Vis-O-Bright Ocular Enhancers, they might have seen a tiny speck of black tethered to an outdoor anchor, floating serenely outside an enormous rapid nutrition establishment.

That speck was me; Beta Rosemary Epsilon. Understandably, most beings in my place of employment called me Bre instead. It also fit on my name tag better than Beta Rosemary Epsilon.

And if that passenger on the fancy star cruiser or the crappy cargo junk had zoomed in with their Vis-O-Bright Ocular Enhancer's enlarging function, they would clearly be able to see the rather acrobatic roll my third eye performed when my coworker asked, "Are you sure you don't need your mask?"

"For the eighth time, Falor, I'm sure." I took a swipe at the transparent aluminum window looking into the airlock. "I have a tracheal-sealer, you know that." My coworkers all had an annoying habit of assuming that my physical make up was the same as theirs and this sort of interaction happened almost every time I went outside the protective force field of our establishment. "And anyway, I'm almost through here."

Falor's ruddy snout scrunched and steam clouded his side of the glass as he huffed in resignation. "Okay, that's fine, but don't come scrambling back to me when your eyes melt out of your head."

I decided not to respond to such a petty comment, and continued cleaning the vista-size window. My bottle of Vis-O-Bright Intergalactic Cleaning Agent was almost empty, so I doused the rest of the window and tossed the bottle over my shoulder into empty space. The cleaning crews would pick it up later on their route through the city and it was one less thing for me to lug inside.

Since this building was an older structure the airlock wasn't meant to be opened from out here, so Falor had to punch the release button for me on the other side. Turning away from the window to unhook my materials from a secondary tether, I prepared to signal to him when a small cruiser sped by and showered me with sticky particles of carbonated sugar. I heard cackling over the roar of the thrusters: some idiot had dumped their drink out the porthole on purpose.

Swearing in my native tongue I shook my head to get rid of some of the sugar particles, making the metallic beads in my hair clink together. I spun around on my tether as I wiped my face with my sleeve, taking in the bluish dots sprayed across the length of the transparent aluminum.

"Fantastic," I sighed.

Falor looked appalled, punching the release button furiously and beginning his tirade before the door had even opened completely.

"I hate beings. Most of them are just so rude and have no respect for anyone but themselves." I shuffled inside and shut the airlock as he continued. "Now you have to clean the window again and—"

"I don't think so."

Falor raised an eyebrow, following me past the main counter and into the supply area. "But Bre, there are blue carbonated sugar particles all over it."

"I'm aware. There are blue carbonated sugar particles all over me, too."

"But Bre, the boss told you—"

"I know what he said. I cleaned it, they messed it up. Someone else can fix it."

"But Bre!"

I didn't care to hear the rest of his admonishments, so I traipsed into the lobby area and snatched up some food-flecked carbon trays and prepared myself to visit The Dishwasher.

Here at the Jet-Fuel Jack's Diner on Asteroid B42-08H3, we had a special method of cleaning the perpetually disgusting trays and various eating utensils used by our lovely customers. Long before any of the current staff could remember, there had been a machine of some sort installed that was designed (probably) to save time and labor by washing the paraphernalia for us. At an indeterminable time during the reign of the previous staff of this particular Jet-Fuel Jack's, however, the dishwashing machine had taken on a perversion of life force, and was soon sentient. Its' door would open and close randomly at first and then regularly once The Dishwasher became aware of the purpose for which it was built. Loud gnashing of gears and occasional shaking fits accompanied this opening and closing, and The Dishwasher quickly learned to love the fear it could instill in the employees of Jet-Fuel Jack's.

To visit this creature was a horrifyingly cathartic experience. The chosen employee had to kneel down in a subservient position fourteen feet away—and no less, otherwise the jets of scalding water that sometimes lashed out would cause painful lacerations—and shove the dirty items as hard as physically able. If the employee's aim was true the items would rocket across the floor and into the waiting washing chamber that gaped open of its own accord. The noise was deafening and emotionally scarred each employee. Because of this fact the ritual was considered a sort of initiation into the company.

Pushing open the door to the stairway to the underground chamber where the feral machine was contained, images from my first visit to The Dishwasher sporadically flashed before me.

It was only my second day when they sent me down the clanging stairway. The space was lit only by one ancient neon bulb; there was too much noise for me to handle; so much motion and heat that my head spun. I saw myself screaming and scrambling on all fours to reach the stairway as the water jets shot toward me, heard again the solemn silence as my shift manager had treated the mild burns on my hands.

But that was three years ago. The Dishwasher hardly scared me anymore, so my coworkers often sent me down with trays in their stead.

"Wake up, foul beast," I called as I jumped down the stairs two at a time. Foul beast was a term I'd heard on an archaic film the night before and I wanted to try it out.

The Dishwasher gurgled to life as it heard me approaching. "How dare you speak to me." Fury caused the "on/off" light to pulse rapidly and chemically-saturated water to surge in waves within it.

I rolled my third eye for the second time in ten minutes. "Cut it out. We do this every day."

"Irrelevant. No one speaks to me." The rushing sound receded to a dull roar anyway.

"That's better." I knelt at the prescribed fourteen foot distance and watched the door swing open, soap suds and malice roiling together. Taking a deep breath I shot the trays forward, straight into The Dishwasher's bowels. "See ya," I muttered, ascending the stairs into the light of the restaurant.

It was busy today, as usual.

The boring thing about Jet-Fuel Jack's was that no matter what kind of marketing style they used and no matter how much they lied to the media about the quality of their food, it was exactly the same as every other rapid nutrition establishment in the galaxy. Clark's Cosmic Café, Orion's Plate, the Horsehead Nebula Burger House, all of these were crafted from the same universal-restaurant-chain-pretending-to-be-mom-and-pop-diners mold but painted different shades of lame. All that mattered was that the beings in the star cruisers and the cargo junks were hungry and out of options.

There were, however, a few perks to being an employee at places like Jet-Fuel Jack's. Being paid was a given, obviously. Getting a half-off discount on our food was also a nice bonus. The best part of all, though, was working alongside friends from school. Having things in common with who you work with is a key part to being successful, is what my parental figures would say and today I actually agreed with them.

From the look on her face as she read back an order over the counter, Celh was having as fantastic a day as I was. Her skin, which was normally deep amethyst in color, was a bland shade of lavender at the moment. One of our regulars was at her register, his sloth-like appearance slack with incomprehension as she reread his order for a second time. Taking pity on my friend, I gently scooted her out of the way.

"I'll take care of him, Celh."

She heaved a sigh of relief and stalked away gratefully.

"Hi there, Mr. Belbling," I said, typing in his customary order that hadn't changed in seven months. "That'll be eight-oh-six, Mr. Belbling."

His clawed hands fumbled with his wallet at molasses speed, so as usual I took it from him and counted out what he owed. I handed him the receipt, receiving a little smile.

"Have a jet-fueled day, Mr. Belbling," I said. I'd always hated that phrase, but it was a requirement and the little sloth creature shuffling away from the counter seemed to like it.

Since there were no beings in line to order, I scanned the restaurant lazily. From where I stood I could see straight through the window of the main airlock entrance and out into the sparkling vista of the galaxy. At least I hoped it was sparkling. The corner of space occupied by our crowded asteroid was dirty and clouded from the trash and rocket exhaust floating weightlessly along, making it hard to see what the sky really looked like. To my immediate left behind a steel partition the kitchen shimmered with heat, making the already shadowy shapes of the cooks dance and twist in the light. The stairs leading to the basement were on the right and looked dingy from my angle. The seating area of the building was filled with creatures and people milling around, eating and drinking and generally making a mess. Hopefully I wouldn't be the one to clean it all up later.

After a few moments of staring at the tacky lime green and pearlescent peach designs on the walls, I shook my head and adjusted my headband. Featuring a little rocket that matched the outdated paint scheme of Jet-Fuel Jack's, it was thick enough to hold back the tube-like strands of my hair but clashed horrendously with their cobalt hue. Everything about Jack's clashed with me.

Perhaps that was why I wasn't surprised at the sudden verbal lashing that snapped me out of my reverie.

"Bre, I thought I told you to clean the airlock window. How long have you been standing around doing nothing like a damn Mars dust farmer?"

"That's racist against Martians, Tarq. And I did clean the window but—"

"Mister Tarquinius to you, Epsilon," he snarled, spittle flying from his pig-like snout as he shouted up at me. I was always tempted to reach out and snatch the steel cigar from his lips and stuff it in his eye when he called me Epsilon, and this moment was no exception. I balled my fists and stuffed them in my pockets, waiting for him to go on.

"It seems to me that every time I look at you, Epsilon, you are loitering or lounging on this counter and generally disgracing my fine restaurant."

"Is it really that great of a place?"

"Shut your mouth while I'm reprimanding you. As I was saying," here he took a deep breath and let out a huge puff of acrid smoke, "you're a lazy Venusian who can't do anything but irritate our customers and roll your eyes every minute of your shifts."

My ears burned and the urge to poke out his eyes became almost unbearable. "I'll have you know that only I can keep from screaming when Mr. Belbling tries to order—" From the kitchen Falor shouted his agreement and my chest heaved with years of pent up frustration. "I am the single, solitary employee in the history of this stupid restaurant that has tamed The Dishwasher. Don't tell me what I can and can't do, you smoke-belching exhaust pipe."

Instead of turning scarlet like I expected—hoped, actually—he rocked back on his heels, squinting with smug glee. "If it weren't for the competition I would fire you right here, right now."

"What competition?"

"The competition against the Horsehead Nebula Burger House to win our own restaurant asteroid." The tone in his voice was repugnant.

"…what?"

Celh came up beside me, wiping her hands on a dishrag and looking as confused as I felt. "What do you mean, Mr. Tarquinius? I don't get it."

He waved her away and moved towards his office. "Of course you don't, you stupid girl. A memo will be posted later today; be sure everyone reads it." And he was gone, trailing a thin line of smoke behind him.

I turned to my amethyst friend, grabbing her upper arm. "What in the universe just happened?"

Her eyes were wild and I could see the thoughts churning in her head. "I think…I think we either just got really lucky or we're in astronomical trouble."

"Well, that clears it right up."

"Hey, I know as much as you do, Bre. Don't gimme that."

Thinking hard, I untied my apron and took off the headband, letting my hair fall free. My shift ended in three minutes and I wasn't going to waste any more time here than I needed to. I grabbed my bag off a hook near the stairs, said goodbye to Celh and Falor, scanned all three eyes in the Vis-O-Bright Optical Recognition box by the airlock, and left.

A/N: Greetings, fair readers. Long time no see. I extend the proverbial olive branch as a peace offering and to qualm any incensed tempers at my extended absence. College is a life-wrecker. I loved writing this piece and I hope you love it as well. Please Read, Review, and Enjoy. :)

C.D.M.