Batting eyes was considered a traditional turn-on for visitors from the neighboring system. Briella knew how they liked a soft, fluttering lash against pale, freckled skin. It didn't matter that she wore the softest eyelash lace criss-crossed with thin straps, her freckle-dusted breasts straining against the delicate tit-trap—what mattered was the speed her lids could flap. She threw her head back, whipping her fiery red hair off her shoulders, loose glitter from her skin raining on his crotch as she rapid-fire blinked.

Purple bio-luminescent pus dribbled from the gaping pores in his eggplant forehead.

The Purple Pirate, Perumal Gaur, liked what he saw.

The melodious chugs of a rusty machine blurted from the speakers in the pricy private room. The subtle beat underneath emerged, crescendoing until it transitioned into the familiar drums and scream of her favorite track—an Earth classic.

She fluttered faster, smashing the plushest part of her cheeks against him. "I love this song."

"Sing it for me," Gaur said in the sludgy accent of his planet.

In her silky silver fishnets and seven-inch stilettos, Briella rose, towering over the seated plummy pillager. "Are you ready to go Low?"

He leaned left and right, pulling up the buckles from beneath his black-clad buns, clicking them together.

The console lights under Briella's finger flickered on. She slid her nail down and spun around to face Gaur as the song's haunting screams bellowed through the room. Weightlessness swept over her body, tickling her skin, forming a bonfire of hair around her bright blue eyes. Glitter shimmered around them, reflecting red strobe light in a cheap imitation of ancient galaxies' twinkle. His oily skin burped more rivulets of violet sludge that rose from his skin to dance in the air with the glitter. Reaching out the tip of her finger, she plucked a purple ball from between them and dragged it across her pouty, scarlet lips.

"We come from the land of ice and snow," she whispered into his large, conical ears. "From the midnight sun where the hot springs flow. . ."

"I would like to see this ice and snow," he said, grabbing her chin in his wart-crusted hand.

Briella gazed away with demure disinterest — just as she was taught — her eyelids fluttering. "It's been a while since I've been back there." Slow motion bouncing in his lap in micro-G. "I heard you send girls like me home all the time."

He reclined. "Where did you hear that?"

"Girls talk. I hear you dish out fun jobs. Fun jobs within the SpaceX Defense office." Eye to eye, she lapped at the pus bulb collecting on the tip of his nose. "Fun jobs that pay."

He ran his hand through the red, weightless tresses floating behind her. It felt heavenly until he yanked, tugging her face close to his. "Who told you this?"

She whimpered. "One of your girls."

"I didn't come here for recruitment. I came here for this." He turned her around in the air and crushed her ass against his groin, tilting her chin toward his face so he could watch those pretty, fluttering lashes. "There is no job."

The heavy pause manifested its own gravity as Briella scrambled to save the moment. "You know, I have great disguises. Nurse, police lady, pirate, or anything you might like." She wiggled free from his grip and floated away, batting her eyes. "I hear Admiral Nguyen likes the naughty school-girl get-up. In gingers especially."

He remained silent.

The music transitioned to something alien and brassy. "He's stopped through Fantasy Orbit once or twice."

"What makes you think I need someone like you?"

"I hear things." She drew closer, their lips so close she could taste the rancid sting of his breath.

When he didn't immediately answer, Briella winced, realizing she'd botched this up bad. She ran through all her tricks to try and salvage the night when he reclined, chuckling.

"I would need you Thursday."

She grinned, her lips nearly scraping the gelatinous mound of flesh around his teeth. "What's Thursday?"

"A day I need Nguyen occupied."

"Thursday? This Thursday?"

"Yes."

Perfect.

She shoved off of him, slammed her fist against the G-console, and doused the room in the plummeting chill of artificial gravity. When she stood on wobbly stilettos, waving off the rush of nausea, Briella spoke into her bra strap. "You got all that, Morris?"

"Copy all, Detective."

The pirate gawked at her until surprise morphed to rage.

"Perumal Gaur, you're under arrest for violating article three of the Kinwah-Mata Convention." She pulled at her stringy wedgie. "Staging a distraction to hack our satellites when a major payload transfer is scheduled for Thursday? That's not very neighborly."

A forceful pounding at the door drew their attention from their heated stare-down.

He roared, unbuckling himself and lunging at her with claws sprung out.

Briella dodged him easily, rolled low and swung with a powerful left hook. He stumbled, back into the seat just in time for her to open the door and allow four uniformed soldiers to stomp in and handcuff the intergalactic outlaw.

"You have the right to remain silent," she said as her team shackled their perp. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in Galactic Court."

"You're no stripper." He spat a bloody tooth to the floor.

One man in uniform entered last and presented her with an open, royal-blue jacket. Briella accepted it with a grateful sigh, pulling her arms through. The iridescent, bold words across the back glimmered in the low light of the sleazy room. "Nope. Space Force. And you've gone and fucked with the wrong country's assets." She spun around to lead the group away, trailing glitter in her wake.