Dirk Manley bangs a Space Babe.

Dirk Manley, manly by name, manly by nature. He admired the Nobra Station space dock's muted hullmetal decking and wondered when he had last set foot on a civilized world. Well, civilized anything actually, the space dock orbited the planet of Knoj IV, a supply point for the Cosmogalacti Survey fleet and also a source of some unbelievably dangerous sausages.

The answer was, of course, five years ago. He hoped five years was enough, but he also knew in his heart that it was not. They didn't have ten year missions to boldly explore, he had asked that when he had first taken the jump from Space Marine to Cosmogalacti survey. From a grunt trained in the operation of the Mark 29 Crotch Rocket, to an explorer. Pitting his wits and his manliness against alien planets and fruity civilizations the likes of which the Manliance had never seen before.

And, in the case of the Truffnarbs of Blidge, would hopefully never see again. More than half the crew had needed counselling and would never be able to look at blancmange again.

H.M.S. Upskirt had survived another five year mission. Most of Mirth Platoon had too, blancmange aversions notwithstanding. They had been, they had scienced the hell out of a few planets, quite a few stray ships, discovered the white hole of Holy Shit! And survived that discovery too, thanks to their glorious captain and his moll.

The main hold doors opened and released the Space Marines. Mirth Platoon, on their first shore leave in five whole years. Half of them looked around for something to kill until the staff sergeant told them they were safe, no blancmange here, they were back in Manliance Space. He was looking forward to retiring, learning to play two-dimensional Fnub-fnub without a carapace, like the professionals.

"Yes! Dock! Space Babes!" One of the grunts in Able Squad roared cheerfully as he jumped up and down on the hullmetal decking. "Doesn't move right." He grunted manfully. The rest of Mirth Platoon seemed to agree.

"I think it's dead," another one commented, because they were now officially off-duty, they were not allowed their guns, armour or tassels and epaulets. Not even their extra guns, spare guns or exploding throwable tassles. They felt pretty naked in their grey space onesies too. The only weapons they were allowed when off duty were their crayons. Even their letter openers, pencils and erasers had been taken off them by the gunny. This was generally considered for the best and there were rumours that even crayons would be taken next.

The others in his platoon looked around and spotted Warrant Officer Dirk Manley in is working space onesie. "Sir? Which way to the Space Babes?" he asked.

"Ah, the Space Babes," Dirk Manley went all misty eyed as he remembered a younger, stupid self. "Fortunately for you, we are nowhere near… The Planet of The Space Babes."

This was, indeed, fortunate, because it was a chronic misnomer, much like many things in the known space of the Cosmogalactiverse. What would Space Babes need a planet for?

And yet it was also an insidious trap. You did not let Space Babes on a planet for the same reason you did not let Space Marines visit the Grog lakes of planet 11.975 and that reason was censored by HR because "reasons." That and the last massacre of HR was still moist in their memories.

"No Space Babes? But the captain said that Nobra Station had Babes and they had an all-you-can-wench option."

Dirk Manley looked at this particular Space Marine suspiciously, for one, he was unusually articulate and able to use big words without having to stop for a minute or two, for three, he was a woman. The Space Marines would take anything humanoid that had a pole or a hole, could hold a laser rifle, grunt up to ten and follow orders. Even so, eleven out of ten washed out of boot camp and then went on to become decent human beings. Three out of ten went into politics and the remaining seven out of ten became either grunts or pogs.

"Nobra Station is too close to the Hive Collective for there to be Space Babes. This is actually good for all parties. Especially for you, Marine." he glanced at his Cosmigalactimap and pulled up the station plan. "There is, however, a hyper-brothel on deck Stomping Wombat 4, in the puce quadrant."

"But no Space Babes?"

"Didn't the Captain warn you about Space Babes?" Dirk Manley asked, thinking about it, the captain had enough troubles with that blue-haired bombshell, Daisy Jones. When you had girl trouble of that quality, Space Babes were a minor hazard. But, if you didn't, then Space Babes were the equivalent of a supernova in your space nappies. "Yes, they are real. But even seasoned Space Marines like yourselves are not ready for Space Babes. I mean, you still have problems with blancmange…"

Dirk Manley furrowed his brows and clenched his fists. "I too, once thought only of banging my very own Space Babe." He quickly pulled out his rose-tinted cosmogalactigoggles of retrospection and sighed deeply. They also helped tune out the adoring looks from Mirth Platoon.

"I was young, I think it would have been on Laaksonen Station, that orbited planet Touko in the… Either Lace or Leather System. I forget. We had just finished cleaning out an infestation of hive collective suicide nuns and had been granted leave and a medal. This one here," he pointed at a bit of fruit salad printed on his space onesie. The Bent Duck. "I planned to search the whole Station for Space Babes."

All of the Marines knew what a Bent Duck was. It was for unbelievable luck on the battle field resulting in a resounding victory without losing any limbs. A highly coveted medal worth three times what the Straight Duck (Posthumous) was worth. You couldn't get Space Babes if you were dead. Well, you could, but that planet was off-limits.

"You see, I was young. All I had to go on was these legends of Space Babes, female women who were both impossibly beautiful, incredibly horny and not too expensive. You know the old saying, paying for sex is cheaper. Well, yes. And no.

"I started at head of the station, visiting every deck that would let me in, luxurious hotels, spas, massage parlours with those three handed men. Restaurants serving delicacies like pizza without pineapple on. Drinking joints where you could get beer with two sausages in. Stuff like that. Working my way down, looking for impossibly beautiful women, every deck.

"Fortunately, back then, Laaksonen Station was small, only thirty decks because I only had three weeks. The shops, I remember nothing of those. The lower decks. I became desperate, with only four days and two decks left.

"Space Babes really are impossibly beautiful. There I was, lamenting the lack of time when this vision of loveliness took one of my sausages from my beer and I was instantly in lust."

"Don't you mean love, sir?"

"When you are a Space Marine, you think with your blanketty-blank. Love doesn't get you polished, it gets you trouble. Anyway. Before I knew what was happening, ooh matron! I was nearly late back to base. It was so bad the base sawbones actually tested me for Space Rabies levels of serious."

"What was it like?"

"I'd be censored by those morons in HR if I told you. Blue pencil right up my nose. Suffice it to say it was unbelievable. It was then I was informed that Space Babes mate for life. And that once you have had a Space Babe, nothing else even comes close. It's like comparing Cosmogalacti-Ultracheese to a fully operational death star. It... spoils you. The base sawbones talked to the chief and they went into lockdown until they could find her.

"But of course they never did. Space Babes are shape-shifters. They can look like anyone. They can read your emotions and look like your ideal mate. They know you better than you know you. I could be one and the worst bit is I would never know I was not me! Believe me, it's that serious. Ever looked in the mirror and wondered who that person was? That nagging doubt that you are really you?"

"No sir, I don't look in mirrors, they crack." One of the grunts grunted manfully. Lieutenant-Corporal Tripod was his name and he was unconditionally stable on any relatively flat surface. He could also fire a complete salvo of crotch-mounted space mortars with both hands in his pockets. Space onesies did not have pockets.

The Gunnery Sergeant arrived, "Marines, I want to see a full spectrum of sexually transmitted diseases before the week is out. Dismissed!"

Dirk Manley glanced at his Cosmogalacti-Chronometer and wondered if he shouldn't hide on board, There was a very strong chance She could find him. "Stomping Wombat 4 is down five decks. Remember, if you get lost, just ask them where your ship is."

Blank looks.

"Point at the shoulder patch and grunt manfully."

"Oorah!"

"That too."

The Gunnery Sergeant watched them go. "you're looking a bit peaky, seen the ship's doctor?"

A vision of loveliness wandered onto the decking, she had blue hair and a sailor girl uniform. She spotted them and came over. "Warrant Officer Dirk Manley?"

Both men jumped to attention, this was Daisy Jones. While she held no official rank on the ship, she had the kind of clout that fleet admirals used on their more unruly captains. "Yes ma'am."

"I am reliably informed that your wife is interviewing with our Captain." She explained, "your presence on the bridge is expected forthwith."

Dirk Manley had that horrible sinking feeling, the sort of sinking feeling you get when your ship is sinking and you are still on it sinking feeling. "My… wife?"

"Indeed. Space Babes mate for life. You should know that." Daisy Jones pointed at the hatch, "dismissed. And you, Gunny, what colour crayons do they have and how many?"