Lonely in Space. 3.8k A deep spacer loses, finds, and loses his girl. (standard:romance, 3791 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jun 19 2020	Views/Reads: 1178/891	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
John is a deep-spacer about to begin a ten year journey. He meets and falls for a woman, having to leave her behind – or does he?

A few years ago, I'd have been embarrassed at the attention as my limo
driver slows to park across several reserved spaces along the front of 
a large supermarket.  As I step out, I notice all eyes are on me, among 
them at least a half-dozen store security guards as well as three 
bodyguards of my own.  After being bullied and laughed at as a child, 
being a celebrity feels odd. 

“I still don't see why you insist, John?” the secret service leader
asks, eyes constantly on the move as he watches guards and store 
customers.  “One of us could easily have made the trip for you.” 

“I appreciate the thought, Tom, but I have to get outside once in'a
while.  To feel I'm still human, not merely the fleshy part of that 
damned spaceship.” 

“Still, it's dangerous.  Without you the mission would be scrubbed.”  He
signals one of his people.  “Come on, we might as well get started.” 

When we get to the queue waiting to enter the supermarket, I order him
away. 

“Now hold on, John. I can't do that.  Can't just leave you here among
strangers.” 

I look way up at his craggy face, which is scowling down at me.  My hand
goes to the zipper on my trousers. “If you don't get the hell back 
there, I'm gonna ... I'm gonna whip it out and piss right here, in 
front of the crowd and their cameras.”  Seeing an astounded look on his 
face, I continue.  “Get moving Tom, or out it comes.”  Shaking his 
head, he hurriedly backs up.  He knows when I'm serious. 

Feeling the presence of a multitude of strangers, I ignore stares and
walk over to the back of the line.  There are ten or fifteen people in 
front of me.  How times have changed for little, literally little, 
Johnny Adams.  Before winning a position as a leader of the space race, 
I'd been one of those masses.  Now, I feel uncomfortable. 

Impulsively, I step close to press my nose against a skirt worn by a
woman in front of me, if only to actually smell another human being.  
Towering above me, she spins to stare angrily over my head.  I often 
affect people that way. 

“Down here,” I tell her, enjoying the change in her features as she sees
my diminutive figure.  How can she remain angry at such an innocuous 
little man. 

“Sorry,” she says, “but I thought you were a masher.” 

“Why not?  Why can't I be a masher?  You're beautiful enough to rate
one.” 

Only then does she notice my entourage, a couple of my bodyguards
glaring at her and looking ready to come over.  I can see the light of 
recognition as she studies my face.  It's been on the front page of 
enough magazines. 

"So you're one of the deep spacers?" She smiles down at me, obviously
impressed.  "You shop here often?" the goddess asks, turning her eyes 
back up to check over her grocery list. 

I'm immediately attracted to her and her chest, which is looming over
me.  It's hard keeping my gaze from studying anything but her chin and 
the bottom of her nose. 

Head inverted, I can see those lovely greenish lips moving as she reads
the list over, making certain she hasn't missed anything. 

Not wanting to be responsible for her making a mistake, I wait, taking
the time to look her up and down, mostly up. The harsh lamplight 
reflects interesting hues of reflected light through a globular hairdo, 
so far above me. We deep spacers tend to be short, saving weight on 
spaceships. The vessels we use are designed for us individually, each 
inch of height meaning more tons of metal and plastic, also the fuel 
needed to lift it.  Me, I'm three-foot-seven in height. 



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