What Do You Have Growing Back There

Tim woke up in darkness—or almost darkness. There was light, but only in patches that shifted when he turned his head. Something was covering his face. He tried to pull it off but his arms were stuck and zip ties dug into his skin as he tugged.

His head pounded as he struggled, and his nose throbbed in tune to his pulse. He wriggled it and lightning shot through his face—his nose was broken. And it was freezing. The breeze rattling out of the air handlers raised goosebumps across his skin, and there was too much skin getting too much breeze. He was naked.

That’s when he heard whispering.

“I feel like an idiota,” a man hissed from somewhere ahead. “Why can’t we just keep the bag over his head?”

“Because, I want to look him in the eyes.” A woman rasped back. “Besides, you used to do this in public.”

“Not with a naked man tied to a chair! Now I feel like a pervertido! At least yours still fits.”

“Huh, yeah, I still got it.”

“But why the cape? Did you really need the cape?”

“It’s an ensemble!”

“You just wanted to give the poor guy a stiffy,” grunted the man.

“Who the fuck are you people?” Tim screeched.

“Shit, he’s awake.” The man said as footsteps thumped across the metal deck in front of Tim.

A shape blotted out the blotches of light and then the darkness was gone. Fabric scraped over his nose and Tim wailed, “OW!”

He blinked against the now blinding light above and the room resolved. It was some sort of closet with lamps and various flora lined up in rows—a grow-room. And there, glaring down at him from behind a white luchadora mask with blue trim like lightning bolts, was a tall, thick, woman wrapped up in a white unitard with the same blue trim and a cape that hung over her muscular shoulders like the shroud of a goddess. Oh my.

Her hair hung low in a long ponytail from behind the mask, bouncing just at her waist. Tim’s lap lightened and he strained his legs to pin down his jutting manhood—to no avail.

“What the… who... where am I?” He choked.

The man behind the luchadora spoke up, “We’ll ask the questions, hermano.” His mask was ill-fitted with an orange phoenix crest and grey hair jutting out in places. But his costume stopped there and he stood there with his hands in the pockets of his shorts and had on a T-Shirt that said, “Viejos hacerlo con la medicación”.

That’s when Tim recognized the woman, or, parts of her anyway. “Wait… you’re that janitor… with the nice ass,” he said.

The luchadora’s eyes flashed between their lightning bolt rims. “Excuse me?” She growled.

“No, no, that was inappropriate,” Tim stammered. “Sorry, masked-captor-lady. It’s just, I’ve never been tied up before, not even for fun—ooh, no, I don’t mean like I think of this as… It is nice though, really, see…”

He gestured excitedly at his crotch with his chin and said, “Standing room only!”

“This suddenly got very uncomfortable,” the man said, turning to leave and pointing at Tim while glaring at the luchadora. “This is your plan. I’ll leave you to clean up after yourself.”

Tim’s face paled as the rest of him collapsed into his lap.

“Oh God! You… You’re not going to torture me are you?” he bleated. “Please don’t hurt me! I promise I won’t tell anyone about this. I’m technically off duty, nobody will miss me. I’ll just go home and we can forget this ever happened! Please!” His chest heaved, heart palpitating.

The man turned back from the door. “Oh jesus, amigo, no, I meant that like… figuratively.”

He looked at the woman. “Figuratively right?”

She crossed her arms.

“Come on, would you cut the act before the poor man shits himself and we have a literal mess to clean up?” The man pleaded as Tim struggled to catch his breath.

The woman sighed and put her arms down. “Alright, fine, nobody’s torturing anybody, Timothy. We just have a proposition for you.”

Tim stopped hyperventilating but now he had the hiccups, deep ones. “Hiccup”.

“Okay…” She cleared her throat.

“Hiccup,” he erupted again.

She waited a moment and then continued, “We’d like you to-”

“Hiccup”

The woman roared and swung her arms at Tim, bringing her hands together in a clap inches from his nose. He gasped, his eyes as big as dinner plates. Silence fell over the room until the man belted out a laugh in the background. “Ha! That worked.”

The luchadora breathed and settled with her hands on her hips, locking those intense hazel eyes on Tim’s. He fought another hard-on as he said, “So... uhm... how may I help you folks out today?”

“We’d like you to work for us, Timothy.” She said.

“So, uhm… this is a job interview?” squeaked Tim. “And… how do you know my name?”

The woman held up his security ID card. “You’re not much under pressure, but we need a friend on the inside. It means going against your oath, but there’s a lot of money wrapped up in this business over Simonee Saran and you’re welcome to ten percent of it if you come through for us. And there’s a career boost in it for you if we can pull this off. That may be unacceptable to someone of principle such as—”

“Uh… do I get my clothes back?”

“Of course, they’re in the wash,” she said. “But, the money and prestig—”

“What do you have growing back there?” Tim interrupted, gesturing at the plants behind her with his chin.

“It’s for medicinal purposes!” Shouted the man.

“No, I mean… is that okra?”

“Um, yes.” She said.

“Can I have some? Ooh, and what kind of peppers are those?” Tim nodded at a cluster of red, green and yellow chiles.

“Aji amarillos crossed with Mawrth Vallis jolokias,” said the man, grinning. “Tan picoso, but with a pleasant note of citrus.”

“And what about it, Timothy?” The woman grunted.

“Can I have both? Just a small box—mostly okra?” Tim asked.

“Sure, take as much as you want,” the woman said with a sneer. “But, the money—”

“I’ll take my clothes and the veggies, frankly, in that order, please,” Tim said. “Money’s traceable, okra is food.”

“That’s debateable,” the woman grimaced.

“You don’t like okra?” Tim gaped.

“She calls it booger squash,” the man chuckled.

Tim waggled his eyebrows. “You just haven’t had anyone cook it right.”

“Watch it cabrón! I cook it just fine,” the man growled.

“Okay, okay, I’m sure she’s just picky,” Tim said.

“You’re not winning any points here, Timothy.” The woman barked.

Tim nodded. “Shutting up about the okra. And please, it’s just Tim, I go by Tim.”

She crossed her arms. “Seriously though, Tim, all you want is produce, no money?”

“Man, on this station, okra might as well be gold,” Tim said. “They don’t grow it anymore because it likes heat and heat is in short supply a billion miles from the sun. Hmm, I haven’t had a good bhindi curry since I was a kid and those pods look ripe as hell. Besides, the security office monitors all our accounts for bribes.”

“So… you’re in then, no reservations?” The luchadora asked. “Again, you can totally walk away right now.”

“Walk away from fresh okra? Nah, let’s do this,” he said. “Can you cut me loose though, I’m feeling pretty vulnerable right now.”

She glanced at the man and he threw up his hands, “Unh-unh, you tied him up like that, you can cut him loose.”

She sighed. Grabbing a pair of shears from the potting bench, she stepped to Tim’s side, cut loose his right arm, and handed him the shears.

“Here, and no funny business,” she said waving the shears at Tim’s growth. “Or I start snipping more than zip ties.”

He grimaced and took the shears, cutting loose his right leg and crossing it over his left. “There, that’s better.”

“I’m still suspicious,” she said. “What about your oath?”

“Oath? You mean that thing they made us mumble in a group before we shuffled off to training?” he said. “I’m hourly. My oath is only valid as long as I’m clocked-in and I’ve got a three day weekend ahead of me full of video games, and food that’s only green after it’s been sitting around too long. Whatever you’ve got in mind has to be more exciting than that.”

The woman sighed. “We need you to arrest someone.”

“Really? You want me to do my job?” Tim grunted. “Who do you need me to lock up?”

“Mason.” The woman blurted.

Blood rushed away from Tim’s face and everywhere else.

“On second thought, let’s talk compensation,” he squeaked. “I’ll have you put it in my Momma’s account so that she can pay for my funeral.”

---

When the laundry finished, the woman brought Tim his uniform pressed and folded. He dressed and let her tend his nose. She set it—roughly—and he cried while she taped him up.

She led him out into a cargo bay where the man sat, unmasked next to Simonee Saran, the fugitive. Simonee shrunk when Tim looked at her but he waved and tried to smile as best he could without flexing his nose. “Hi, I’m Tim. I guess I won’t be arresting you today, Ms. Saran.”

She nodded and the old man thrust a tablet in front of him. “Here, sign this.”

“What is it?” Tim asked.

“Standard Non-Disclosure,” said the man. “You disclose who we are and we sue you to Uranus and back. You know, boilerplate stuff.”

Tim looked it over. “Captain Carlos Santiago.” He mumbled.

“That’s me,” the old man said.

Tim nodded, signed the tablet and then applied his thumbprint. “In for a penny as they say.”

“You can take off that costume now, Mariem” Carlos hollered at the luchadora.

Mariem stretched and shook her long legs. “Why? It’s comfortable.”

“At least the mask. I can’t take you seriously with that thing on your face.”

Mariem unlaced the mask and pulled it off, shaking her head and scratching out the ponytail. Tim’s mouth dropped open.

“Wow,” he said.

“Yeah,” said Simonee.

“Okay, okay,” Carlos said. “Now I’m ordering you to change.” He shooed her out the hatch.

“You two, los cachondos, aqui,” he called then nodded at Simonee. “Show him the thing, nena.”

Simonee sat back down at the terminal and brought up the map she’d generated earlier. Tim and Carlos leaned in close behind her. Simonee pointed at the red dot in the center.

“You familiar with this section of GenHab?” she asked.

“Unnn… yeah—the downs.” Tim groaned. “Poorly patrolled, full of crime, and it smells funny.”

“Good, so we can get in there without much trouble from security.” Carlos said.

“Yeah, sure, but those blue dots, other people right?” He asked and Simonee nodded. “Well, those are bad, bad, no good, horrible people. Armed and happy to pick a fight. They aren’t afraid of guards either, which is why security is less about patrol there and more about cleanup. I hope you guys are well armed.”

Simonee shook her head. “He’s not wrong. Had a bad time at a bar there once, had to cut off a guy’s nipple.”

Carlos and Tim raised eyebrows down at Simonee. Carlos murmured. “Well… we aren’t really gun people. We stick to the safe lanes and corporate friendly ports. So, you’ll be the only one armed.”

Mariem walked back into the cargo bay in her usual jeans, boots and tee.

Carlos turned to her. “Where did we stash the costumes from Mars-Con last year?”

“Mal and Zoë? In the laundry closet between the velociraptor and your ability to remember things.”

“How about the dusters and the big prop-guns?” He asked.

“Same place.”

“Jawa cloak?”

“It’s a big closet.”

“Is that where my good kangaroo-skin boots went?”

“You should really spend some time in there.” Mariem crossed her arms. “What are you planning?”

Carlos puffed his chest. “We’re visiting the bad neighborhood on GenHab, and we must appear tough and not to be trifled with.”

Mariem clapped her hands. “Ooh, can I be Xena this time?”

“No!” Carlos barked. “That was one time for a special friend and I had the costume incinerated. Mis huevos were sore for a week!”

Mariem lifted an eyebrow. “You thought you had it incinerated.”

Carlos sighed. “Let me guess, the laundry closet?”

Mariem nodded.

Carlos shook his head. “No! We gotta look like gangsters, comprendes?”

“I show up in leather with a sword—you don’t think that’ll look gangster?”

Carlos growled. “Not 22nd century gangster. Do Zoë again and I’ll let you have the shotgun.”

Mariem frowned but nodded. “Fine.”

“Is there anything for me in there?” Simonee asked.

Carlos pointed at her, “You’re the Jawa. No offense, it’s the eye. It’ll look mysterious.”

Tim glanced between them and gulped. “I really don’t know if I feel safe with you people.”

“Está bien, chico,” Carlos chuckled. “Just remember, yours is the only gun that actually works.

Mariem put a hand on Tim’s shoulder and looked down at him. “You’re still with us right, Tim?”

He forced a smile, “Yeah, no problem, one-hundred-percent.”