Beginnings

The crooked building with its slatted windows and peeling paint stood lonely at the end of an unnamed gravel road, on the tiny moon known colloquially as Fort Nope -- official name, Arfan 18X, in the system Epsilon 5. It didn't look like much, but to Space Pirate, it was everything.

The orange sign, caked in rusted dust, had blocky black lettering and was surprisingly straight, perhaps the only straight thing within a mile of the location.

Space Pirate's Awesome New Kinkporium
sex is good and so are you

The sign maker had been extremely dubious about the width of the sign, but Space Pirate -- Spunk, as his friends knew him -- had been insistent. The tagline was necessary, and there was no better name for the place of business that he would call home.

Business had been slow the first few months, with Spunk living on canned pasta in a murky red sauce, but slowly word had spread about the only sex-positive space in all of Epsilon 5. Business grew by word of mouth, by international forum, and even by zine distribution. And with the increased business, of course, came Spunk's current problem. Zealots.

Oh, they were friendly enough at first. Dressed in their tidy gray suits, neat little hats and black shiny shoes, carting their children behind them as if somehow the presence of a child would make the dildos fall off the shelves and rot into oblivion.

"There are no children allowed on this property." Spunk's voice was firm. Tired. "I don't care if you," he pointed to the man with a receding hairline and permanent sour look, "or you," he indicated the petite woman with lips so puckered they looked like a cat's asshole, "are on the property. But they," Spunk waved at the toddler dressed in a baby blue onesie and the lanky teenager holding the baby's hand, "need to get back in your craft and wait for you."

"Behold! They who worship the Lord will be spared from much suffer and sorrow. Their lips will be like baby feet, and their hearts like iron." The man shouted, waving a peeling, leather bound novel vaguely in the direction of the building.

"Listen, man." Spunk could feel his blood pressure rising. "I don't really want to call the cops. They have better things to do, and their existence in our society is problematic, given that it came from attempts to quell rebellion in the poor. But if you don't get those kids back to your vessel in the next thirty seconds, I will call them."

The zealot looked indecisive for a minute, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head at the thought of cops being called. To be honest, Spunk couldn't tell if it was actual fear or a weird, martyr-laced excitement. Spunk tried a different tactic.

"Sex positivity has an important place in every child's life. I know you just want to educate Junior and ... junior Junior ... here about the many different ways that one can receive pleasure. I'll make you a deal. If you sign this consent form for your children," Space Pirate pulled out a wrinkled sheet of white paper from his chest pocket, "They can stay. And I'll be happy to bring out some items and show them. Do you think junior Junior is too young to learn about Sybians?"

Spunk's confident tone and toothy smile seemed to spark suspicion and fear in the woman, if nothing else. The thought of her darling children learning about a Sybian was unthinkable. Spunk wasn't sure if either of the adults actually knew what the sex machine was, but he figured the name sounded intimidating enough to work. He tried to drive the point home.

"Will you want to demonstrate it to them? We'll definitely have to pick the right diameter..." Spunk trailed off and stroked his smooth chin. "I bet you're a four." He said confidently. "Have you been penetrated before?" He locked eyes with the man, who promptly broke.

"Meredith, take them to the praise mobile."

Spunk nearly choked on his gasp. Did the man just unironically refer to his boxy, thirty year old ship covered in bumper stickers as a praise mobile? That poor, poor ship. It deserved better.

The woman grabbed the toddler's hand and turned on her prim black heel, marching away as if she, too, had been dismissed casually. Spunk wondered if a ride on the Sybian might do her some good.

"Thus saith the Lord thy God unto Irk'al, son of Anum: eat ye not pots of foreskins, but boxes of moonshine." The man's voice boomed as if trying to make up for his recent battle loss.

Space Pirate grinned. "Let it be known that you're the one that brought foreskins into this."

The man hesitated, squinting at the book that had fallen open to, apparently, a page about not eating foreskins. His eyebrows crinkled as he pulled on a fluorescent green tab, which must've bookmarked his favorite page. He started again, more confidently.

"Praise the everlasting God and thou shalt be protected from the diabetes; thou shalt be shielded from the locusts."

"Praise god indeed." Space Pirate agreed. "No diabetes for me."

The man glared at him. "How dare you take the Lord's name in vain. You shall burn in a fiery pit for all of eternity for your den of debauchery unless you repent!"

The man seemed to be feeding off of Space Pirate's jokes, and he wondered idly if working the man up before the shop even opened for the day was wise.

"They that have faith in the God of Nyim shalt be immune to the spear; they shalt cast out debauchery."

The woman -- wife, presumably -- was trotting back now with a wooden pole strapped to a piece of painted plywood. It looked familiar. Space Pirate wondered if there was profitable business to be had in zealot signs.

"Now, close down your business and repent!" The man continued. He must have misread Spunk's silence as careful contemplate of impending doom. Spunk smiled icily.

"Sure thing. Right away, mister!" He mocked lightly, immediately feeling rueful. How hard the zealots worked to win people to their cause, to only be met with jokes and rudeness. As different as they were, Spunk knew the struggle of being an outcast in society. One look at his shop could tell you that. "Sorry, that was a little too mean. I have full, uh, ... respect for what you're doing."

The man's wife was closer now. The sign had a list of "types" of people that would burn in the fiery pits of their God's anger. It included people with more than one dog. And ginger-headed men without beards. Spunk sighed.

"Listen, if you get thirsty or need to pee or whatever, I live around back. The accommodations in the back are not as... offensive... to your religious ideas. Just come on in and we'll take care of you." The man looked wholly resistant to the idea, but Spunk knew that would change. It always did. "Enjoy your day. Keep your kids off my property."

Spunk turned on his heel and wondered if anyone was ever actually driven away by the zealots who took up shop in his front yard. Maybe people who knew the zealots personally? Or people going through a rough time? In any case, there was nothing he could do. Religious speech was protected. And he had a commitment to inclusive business practices. He had seen enough zealots eyeing the dildos as they begged use of the toilet to know that everyone -- yes, everyone -- needed Space Pirate's Awesome New Kinkporium. Even the zealots.

The door swung open automatically for him as he stepped inside. "Welcome, Peter!" A warm, feminine voice greeted him from the loudspeakers. He grunted in response. He still needed to change her programming over. He had fielded one too many questions from his hourly employees about who Peter was. It was very uncomfortable.

"What's the weather today, Amalyn?" Spunk asked the computer as he walked behind the counter to turn the register on. It was Saturday, one of his busiest days of the week.

"Hot, dusty, and miserable as always. Would you like to hear the seven day?"

"No thanks, Amalyn." Spunk smiled at the quirky, one-sided ritual. Every morning he asked. Every morning it was the same. Why had he even programmed in the ability to check the weather reports? Some misplaced optimism that it would change?

"Hey Amalyn, what's the status on our dildo shipment?" He asked as the retro green text of the register flashed up the screen at him. Soon, the employee welcome screen appeared. He logged in.

"The shipment of Powerful Love 3200X, eight inch silicone with dual motors, has been delayed for two days due to a meteor shower in Epsilon 3. The blue five item Party Pack Butt Plugs are on track for arrival on Monday."

"Thanks, Amalyn." Spunk was annoyed that the dual-motor dildos were delayed again. The shipments were never on time, and he always forgot to order them early. They were one of his best sellers.

He walked back out towards the front door and peered through the frosty glass at the protestors stationed on his front lawn. The woman had wrapped her arm around the man's waist, and they were both leaning on the sign, waiting for literally anyone to listen to them. It was going to be a long day.

Next Chapter: The Lurker
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