Fiction: Gun Show

Wendig Challenge:

I decided to use two tropes I came across while trolling the tropes database, Sex Sells:

and Super Slave Market:

This one actually came in under the 1k target at 899 words.


Gun Show

“Plasma rifle in the forty-watt range,” the customer said in a thick accent.

“I’m sorry sir, but I can’t sell you that,” Kitty said.

“Why not? Isn’t this the Gun Show?”

“Yes sir, finest weapons in the known universe! ‘The right to buy weapons is the right to be free’ is our motto, however that is classed as an assault weapon and this is the personal defense section. If you take the tram north for three miles you will be in the assault weapons department. Anyone there can help you.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“Happy to be of help, sir.”

Kitty glanced around. Even with the sun tubes bringing filtered light down from the lunar surface, the forty-foot racks of shelves always gave her a feeling of dimness. Like she was walking through dark alleys.

She could see Faith speaking to a customer. Since there were no other customers in sight, she drifted closer. When she could hear their conversation, she stopped, pretending to check the stock on the shelves. This rack was filled with 10-mm autorifles from Sternberg.

“Yes, dear, that’s right,” the grandmotherly-type said, “I’m looking for–now what was that called again?” She rooted through her purse for a long time, finally pulling out her memopad. She flicked through the screens rapidly until she found what she was looking for.

“Here it is, a Sternberg 20-mm, high-vee, mark eight. My boys need one to help defend the homestead,” she confided. “Do you have those?”

“Yes ma’am,” Faith said. “We have everything here at the Gun Show. That would be in the crew-served section. It is about a thousand yards east of here. Just hop any jitney going in that direction and tell the driver where you want to get off.”

“Thank you, dear,” the old woman said.

She glanced at Kitty on her way toward the nearest cross-aisle. “Pussy Galore,” she said, reading the adhesive name tag on her left boob. “What unusual names you have here.”

“Yes ma’am,” Kitty said with a smile. “It’s to make your shopping experience more memorable.”

“I hate this name,” Kitty said to Faith, when the woman was out of ear-shot.

“Just one of the boss’s little jokes,” Faith said, adjusting her boobs.

“Yeah, but I knew a Pussy in grade school, and she was an outright bitch on the playground.”

Faith shrugged. “Listen, can you cover for me? I can’t get these tassels to stay in place, and you know the boss says no naked nipples.”

“Sure,” Kitty said. “You can use the glue in my locker.”

“Thanks,” Faith said. “You’re a life-saver. I can’t afford to have my pay docked again this week.”

Kitty watched Faith prance away toward the nearest staff lift, her thong and high heels matching the tassels, and shook her head. The only thing that made these high heels bearable was the low gravity.

She walked down the aisle, pretending to look for another customer to assist.

“It’s a good thing the environment here is totally controlled,” she muttered, “otherwise I’d be freezing my ass and nipples off.”

She glanced down a cross-aisle and spotted Joe assisting a couple. She turned in their direction. Couples were always a tricky sale. If you were a woman, you could convince a man, and if you were a man you had an advantage with a woman, but with a couple, it was always best to have one of each, in order to double-team them.

“Hi Dick,” Kitty said brightly. His name badge proclaimed he was ‘Big Dick’ to the world. She suppressed the giggle, but couldn’t avoid the automatic glance at his crotch where a codpiece matched the colors of his sandals and nipple tassels.

She turned to the male customer and gave him the by-now-automatic, Gun Show come-hither smile. “Can I help load your selections on your cart, sir?”

She held his eyes and could sense his resistance fading while Joe talked to his wife, girlfriend, or whoever.

“Was this auto-rifle what you were interested in?” Kitty said. She bent over to pull a boxed weapon off the bottom shelf, giving him a good look at her ass.

Between her and Joe, they managed to sell the couple a pair each of the auto-rifles and auto-pistols, and a pump shotgun.

“Don’t forget to get ammo at the purchase station,” Joe said, as the couple walked away pushing their squeaky-wheeled cart.

“Man, I hate this job,” Joe said quietly.

“Me too,” Kitty said. “I think everyone does. Faith and I are going for drinks after work, want to come along?”

“After a day like today? You know it.”

Their adhesive name badges picked that moment to vibrate, indicating the end of their shift.

“Thank god!” Joe said.

“Saved by the buzzer,” Kitty smiled. They headed for the staff lift. “I have to get out of these heels. Even in low-grav they’re killing me.”

“Yeah, but they look good on you.”

Kitty flashed him a smile. “Thanks. Hey, spread the word about drinks. Maybe we can make it a shift party.”

“Okay,” Joe said.

As she turned toward the women’s dressing rooms, Kitty thought that Joe looked a little disappointed. She smiled a little. There was always the after-party, party.

As she pushed through the door, she wiggled a little more suggestively than she ever did for the customers, sure that Joe was still watching.


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