Down Under Crater Billy

New items we were sent were given either Tier 1 or Tier 2 testing. Tier 1 items were first tested by Gloria and her staff in the Testing Operations labs under (in theory, anyway) strictly controlled conditions. Tier 2 items were sent right out into Crater Billy for general usetesting, her staff monitoring the results in both cases. She decided which tier of testing an item got, following guidelines I set and constantly updated as new disasters made me more paranoid. I checked her testing protocols for safety, and co-processed the reports when an item malfed above the Code F (Frigging thing doesn’t work!) level. I wasn’t her boss, but I did have the authority to make her modify her methodology.

Complicating our working relationship was our even more complicated personal relationship—one which had what I thought of as on and off modes. When we were on we lived with each other and spent most of our free time together. When we were off things degenerated into what I think we both imagined married life would be like: lots of fighting and no sex.

I found her in Test Chamber #5, deep in the untidy warren of cubbys and tunnels which made up her realm. Instead of going on in, I just leaned against the door frame and watched her work for a couple of minutes. I was probably smiling. Maybe even drooling.

At this point we’d been in off-mode for a couple of weeks, and I hadn’t been down to Testing for a few days. I’d missed her—not that I’d have ever let her know that. It appeared that she’d missed me too.

Gloria and I knew each other far too well. I’d known she’d want to handle this new item personally. She’d known I’d be down to check it out personally. She’d dressed for the occasion. I knew it the moment I looked at her.

First let me correct an oversight. When I write a report there’s always a spec-file attached describing the item(s) involved. But this isn’t a report and you don’t have a file. So:

I’m not not exactly a little guy. I stand 6' 3" and weigh somewhere around 230 pounds Earth-normal. (Here on Luna things are measured in metric, but people in feet and pounds. It’s illogical, but so what? If you want to get fussy, go convert everything to angstroms.) Although I was big enough to have played football in college I never did; my taste in women and sports—and my mostly nonexistent love-life—had drawn me to Coed Wrestling.

Gloria went to college on a football scholarship and became the foundation of a winning team. She got trophies and set records. The one she’s most proud of still stands to this day; it’s for the number of ambulance calls caused by a single player.

Gloria is a glorious 6' 11½'' tall, and a solid 270 pounds E-n, none of it flab. She’s Woman written in large sure strokes. The first time I saw her I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.

She’s made my life a living hell ever since.

Her two favorite lab assistants were helping her tear the shipping crate holding the item apart. Manny’s a 7, a chunky, dark-skinned maniac with a bandito mustache and a mescal-drinker’s eyes. Anna’s an 8, a sallow, ironic blond with troublemaker written all over her long thin face.

But it wasn’t them I was looking at. I only had eyes for Gloria, and while I knew I was being manipulated I wasn’t inclined to complain about it.

Her daunting physique was just barely contained by a pair of faded blue bib overalls worn without benefit of a shirt. The pants had been chopped off high on the thigh to show off a mile of muscular leg, and the bib was straining to contain her considerable bosom in a manner that was nearly button-popping and completely eye-popping. Her broad back was covered only by the biballs’ straps, and my eyes were drawn to her smoothly rippling muscles as she pried a plastic slat off the crate with her bare hands.

I wasn’t able to remember what had put us in off mode, other than that it had been a fight—probably over work. There was undeniably electricity between us, which meant that there were also occasionally power surges, shocks, arcs, brownouts, blackouts, bad connections and yes, even dead shorts.

I could have just stood there watching her and thinking all sorts of interesting things except for the big box of trouble she was uncrating.

“Morning folks,” I said, going on into the chamber.

They all turned my way. Gloria was grinning like a kid unwrapping a giant present on Christmas morning. “Morning yourself, Dave.” She cocked her head, putting her hands on her hips and giving me a bit of eyelash batting. “Are you here to see little old me, or to check out our new toy?”

I found my gaze drifting down to where the tender sidecurves of her breasts disappeared behind the faded denim bib. “Can’t I do both?” This was phase one, the verbal mating dance.

In the background Anna snickered, then told Manny, “Under a minute and he’s toast, man, just like I said.” She held out her hand. “You owe me five.” They were always betting on our fights and patch ups so I ignored them.