The Dangers of Retirement

“Mercenary Firelance, do you copy? Over.”
Vivian jumped as her space-radio crackled, spilling crumbs over her pilot’s seat and almost dropping her ration bar as she fumbled for the receiver.
“Uh, this is Firelance,” she managed, “What’s up? I mean, uh, I copy, what’s the problem, over?” Damn, she was rusty. Just three years out of mercenary work and she’d even forgotten how to answer the radio.
“We’ve picked up a single pirate patrol vessel oh-point-four light years due galactic centre. We don’t want to stop the entire battle-group just to take it down; can you take care of it on your own? Over.” the operator’s voice buzzed. Vivian grinned. Now this was like old times. Frying pirates? It was as though she’d never left
“Of course, that’s no problem. This ship can melt any pirate patrol vessel,” she confirmed cockily, “Just send me the coordinates. Over.”
“Glad to hear it, Firelance. Sending coordinates now. Please capture vessel intact and forward any data to the battle-group, we may be able to get an insight into the pirates’ plans. Over.”
Vivian blinked at the space-radio.
“Uh, capture it intact?” she asked, confidence fading, “Are you sure? Over.”

There was a pause, then the operator on the other end spoke again.
“Your mercenary file notes that you are an expert at infiltration, sabotage and close-quarters engagements. This sort of capture mission is what we hired you to do. Over.”
Vivian wanted to protest, wanted to point out that that mercenary file was… well, that it was perhaps a little out of date. However, the implication in his words was obvious; do what we hired you to do, or you won’t be hired for long.
She ran a hand anxiously over her midsection, feeling the soft, pillowy bulk of her belly beneath her jumpsuit. It wasn’t as though she lacked confidence in her own abilities since retirement, but, well… she had let herself go just a little. Well, maybe more than just a little. Trying not to panic, she stuffed the rest of her ration bar into her mouth and turned back to the radio receiver.
“O-of course, that’s no problem, I was just confirming your words,” she mumbled around her mouthful of ration, “There’s some, uh, stellar interference on the line. Over.”
“Good. Take down that ship, collect any information they have, and rendezvous with the rest of the battle group in six space-hours. Out.”

Vivian slumped back in her pilot’s seat. Coming out of retirement had felt like a good idea at the time; she’d fly her old ship again, shoot down some pirates, collect a nice fat paycheck and be back in her luxurious penthouse again before those increasingly pressing bills she’d racked up came due. How was she supposed to know they’d actually expect her to do things in person?

She took a couple of deep breaths. It was going to be fine. This was just one small pirate ship; there probably wouldn’t be more than half a dozen pirates on it at most. Sneaking in and taking them down shouldn’t be difficult. She’d survived far more dangerous stunts in the past, and she hadn’t let herself go THAT much during her retirement.
Had she?
She unwrapped another ration-bar and plugged the coordinates into her ship’s computer. It would only take a single space-hour or so to reach the pirate ship, and she needed to prepare. Now… what were the chances her old mercenary armour still actually fit her?


Vivian had sighed with relief when the pirate ship actually came into view on her screen. It was an ancient, rickety old thing, and if her scanners were correct there were only three pirates actually manning the ship. Boarding it had been effortless; she’d brought her own vessel in close under cloak, then beamed herself quietly into a maintenance passage over the cargo bay.
Unfortunately, that’s where things had stopped going smoothly.
Well, alright; things had actually stopped going smoothly a little earlier, when she realised that her old mercenary armour just wasn’t going to fit her any more. She’d spent a few minutes wrestling with it, trying to get the chest-plate to fasten around her hefty breasts, struggling get the printed polymer plates around her thick, rather doughy thighs – but in the end she’d had to settle with just the helmet and shoulder pads over her tight flight jumpsuit. She’d reassured herself that it would be no problem at all, that if things went well there wouldn’t even be any shooting anyway, but it was another substantial blow to her confidence. She’d known she’d put on weight during her retirement, but it was easy to forget about that sort of thing when lounging around a luxury apartment – or even just when settled down in a nice, comfortable captain’s chair, safe on board her own ship. Now that she was crouching in a narrow passage in enemy territory, she was all-too conscious of every extra pound that jiggled around her once-trim body.

Her stomach had born the brunt of the damage. Where once firm, hard abs had rippled beneath her figure-hugging jumpsuit, now a plump, doughy gut bulged out against the straining material, round and soft and prone to jiggling as she moved. It sagged just a little under its own weight, slumping towards thighs that were themselves noticeably a lot thicker and softer than they’d been only three years ago. Her exercise regimen had slipped a little during her retirement – that is to say, it had been completely ignored and forgotten – and her limbs showed that most of all, the strong muscle that had once given them definition and tone now vanished, having melted into layers of flabby, quivering fat from the years of disuse. Even her backside, always a point of pride for her back in the day as it stood round and proud within her tight jumpsuit had clearly suffered from her rather indulgent lifestyle. It was still proud – that much was obvious by how it seemed constantly keen to attract attention to itself, bouncing and wobbling if she moved at anything more than a careful dawdle – but round? Not so much. It had widened and softened like the rest of her and its size had long since overwhelmed its pertness, overgrown buttocks sagging flabbily without any muscle to hold them round and firm.

All of which would be a substantial inconvenience at the best of times. However, these were clearly not the best of times, for she was staring now at what hadn’t been visible from her ship’s scan of the pirate vessel; the narrow vent in the floor that was the only unlocked way in or out of the maintenance shaft.
Three years ago, she’d have fit through it neatly with room to spare. Now, she eyed up the difference in size between her soft, swollen body and the narrow ingress to the ventilation system with trepidation. It was going to be a close fit.

She pulled the grate cover away and looked nervously down into the vent. There was a short drop, perhaps six feet, then the duct made a sharp turn and continued around – hopefully towards the pirate ship’s cockpit, where she could disable their controls and lock down the doors before taking on the crew.
In the old days, she’d have entered the vent headfirst, but she really, really didn’t like the idea of getting wedged upside-down in the shaft, rump and legs wiggling uselessly as she tried to back out again. Better to feel her way along feet-first – at least that way she’d have a chance of heaving herself back out again if she found herself getting stuck… though whether she could actually lift her weight with just her arms was a question she didn’t really want to think about.
No, there was no point delaying. She was a bold, confident mercenary, after all. It was time for action!

Before she lost her nerve, she eased her feet into the vent and began lowering herself down into the unknown darkness below.
Her chunky thighs were the first to feel the ventilation shaft’s narrowness, squeezed uncomfortably up against each other as they entered the restricted space. Fortunately, the thick sheath of fat around them was soft and pliable, filling up the small vent without sticking. It was her hips where the real trouble came. They’d always been rather feminine, but now with a thick, cushioning layer of fat around them they were wider than ever – and her bulging backside wasn’t helping matters either, the jiggling flesh of her rump bunching up against the narrow entrance as she tried to wedge herself inside. She swore under her breath, cursing herself for being so careless, so lazy these past three years. How had she let herself go this much? This was ridiculous! She wriggled her hips in self-conscious frustration, inching further into the vent – but that just made the fat around her butt and sides bunch up more. She reached down and went to work with her hands, pushing and shoving harshly at the doughy flab in an attempt to force it further into the vent.
Suddenly, she gave a particularly firm shove and her left buttock slid heftily into the vent, followed a second later by its twin, and with a squeak of metal she slid another few inches into the vent – only to stop sharply as her swollen belly caught in the narrow gap. She gasped, eyes watering a little as the opening of the passage dug painfully into the tender flesh of her underbelly, the folding handfuls of flab forced up into rolls and folds by the limited space. She was now halfway into the vent, but with her gut so well and truly wedged she wasn’t at all sure if she was going to get any further.

She cursed herself again, this time for eating quite so many ration bars before heading out on this mission. She’d reassured herself at the time that she wasn’t just being greedy, that she’d need the energy, but now she was regretting the indulgence as her belly bulged with both its thick cushioning of fat and her heavy breakfast. From what she could feel with her legs, the passage did seem to widen out a little after the initial narrowness of the vent opening, but that was no consolation if she couldn’t even get past the entrance.

Reaching down again, she kneaded and pushed at the toneless flesh of her midsection, slowly working it into the hole pound by pound. It was tiring work, and she quickly found herself panting, breathing heavily as her legs dangled uselessly beneath her in the passage. For a moment she considered taking a break, but then she thought of what would happen if they caught her here and she redoubled her efforts, wriggling and squirming as she tried to work her fattened gut through the gap.
Before long she was sweating, perspiration beading on her face and running in rivulets down her flushed cheeks. She couldn’t believe how unfit she was, but her burning muscles and gasping lungs didn’t allow for any doubt about just how far she’d let herself go. She was sweating through her jumpsuit, the fabric darkened in rings beneath her arms and at her chunky neck, and for another moment the sight made her consider giving up – but then she realised something. Her weakness could become her strength.

Again she began wriggling and straining, exhausting her pampered body as much as she could, and the dark patches on her jumpsuit spread as her perspiration dampened the fabric where it was bunched up between the folds of her gut. She struggled and writhed, waved her arms in the air and kicked her legs, doing anything she could to tire herself out – and suddenly, just as planned, the material around her waist was slick with sweat, and without a sound she slipped finally into the vent.

She’d forgotten about the drop. Her heavy body fell without any control at all into the shaft, the entrance to the vent clipping her fattened breasts as she tumbled gracelessly into the shaft – and then she smacked into the bottom of the shaft in a heap, and at once the whole world was darkness, screeching metal and the awful sensation of falling forever.


Vivian gasped awake, sucking air into her burning lungs as vision returned to her. Her whole body was aching, and something awful had happened to her vision. Long, spidery cracks scarred her eyes, and – wait, no, the visor on her helmet was just broken. She tore it off and gazed around, wide-eyed at the carnage around her.

She was lying atop a mound of twisted metal in the pirate ship’s cargo bay. Shattered chunks of ventilation shaft lay scattered around the floor, some smouldering lightly as cooling fluid burned itself away, and at the far end of the room a large ventilation unit lay shattered against the ground. She glanced up at the ceiling, and blinked; the entire ventilation system had torn away from its mountings on the ceiling of the cargo bay under her weight and come crashing down, taking much of the ceiling with it. It was a miracle she hadn’t been killed in the fall, never mind the ensuing coolant fire.
Remembering at once the pirates, she grabbed her helmet again and rammed it back on, scanning for life signs – but for some reason there seemed to be none on the ship but her own. Slowly, wheezing, she levered herself to her feet and climbed tentatively from the heap of debris. She didn’t even seem to be injured. Her jumpsuit was torn, her visor was shattered, but somehow she herself had survived without a scratch.

Then where was all that blood coming from?

Head pounding, she stared at the tangled debris, at the red liquid that was slowly trickling from the wrecked shaft, that was dripping from beneath the torn-down ventilation unit, that was mixing with the coolant fluid amid the metal rubble. Three separate, spreading bloodstains, each marking the spot where a pirate had been dashed to jelly by the collapsing ventilation system.

Vivian swallowed. That was it. She was re-retiring.