“So, is this like a futuristic version of travelling to Mexico to get cheap tits?” Private Kyle of the U.S. Space Force asked. It was their third day at the new space station: The world’s first intergalactic MedSpa.

“No, it's more like somebody coming to the U.S. to get overpriced tits, but doing it in a place that’s only questionably safe,” explained the surgeon, who went by the name Doc.

"Like a hospital in Flint?" Lexi suggested.

“Not exactly,” said Doc. “We have clean water in space.”

It was the early days of Space Force and the U.S. government struggled to generate interest in the new military branch. Despite claims that the project was “odd,” “regressive,” and “everything wrong with society,” Space Force secured corporate sponsorships and launched a social media influencer campaign featuring the first breast augmentation in space. The hope was that zero-gravity cosmetic surgery would become a trend among the elite—and provide additional revenue for Space Force since Congress refused to fund it.

Lexi, a social media influencer, had over 5 million followers. The president was one of her biggest fans and personally selected her for the mission: Space Force: MedSpa. No one ever figured out why Kyle was picked.

____

Lexi laid down on the surgical table and stared up at Doc and Kyle from the inside of her space helmet. “Can I get a selfie before you put me under?” Lexi asked. “I am going to be knocked out, right?”

“We couldn’t get enough money to bring an anesthesiologist,” explained Doc, “but fortunately, Purdue Pharma sponsored this trip and gave us a generous supply of OxyContin® to lessen the pain of the surgery.”

“Oxys?” Kyle asked. “I lost a lot of friends to that shit. Isn’t that crap destroying our country?”

“When taken as prescribed, OxyContin® provides safe, effective pain relief,” said Doc. “I know because a Purdue representative came to my office and told me it was safe. They brought breakfast for my whole staff: Bacon and eggs, not some cheap muffins. And that rep was hot. OxyContin® is okay in my book.”

“Makes sense,” said Kyle.

As Doc grabbed his scalpel, which was, helpfully, floating in mid-air next to him, a blue paper surgical mask wafted by. "Who thought it was a good idea to bring a surgical mask into space? I can't even take off my helmet,” he said, swatting it away.

Kyle shrugged.

"I mean, it's like they got our space station packing list through some sort of random object generator."

With the help of Kyle, Doc set to work cutting into Lexi’s chest. “Zero gravity surgery: The final frontie—” His words cut off as a spray of blood droplets filled the air and floated in front of him like a swarm of biohazardous gnats.

“What the hell?!” Doc jumped back, swatting at the air.

“Zero-g, man.”

On the table, Lexi smiled. She was enjoying the OxyContin®. “Am I a D-cup yet?”

“Soon,” said Doc, trying to focus between the blood droplets. “Kyle, hand me the implants.”

“Where are they?”

“They’re those things you’re holding.” Doc watched Kyle squeeze the saline bags with an odd intensity.

“Sorry, I thought they were stress balls. Lexi, I guess I gave your new tits a workout already.”

Doc finished up just as Lexi’s medication started to wear off. “Can we take a pic together?” she asked. “Terms of my contract. Kyle, you too.

“Dude, that was INTENSE!” Kyle screamed once the trio got an Instagram-worthy pose into which Lexi would later Photoshop Mars, even though they were nowhere close.  

He sipped his last Monster Energy Drink from his space suit’s drink pouch. “FUCK YEAH. We made big boobs in space!”

Doc heard several loud bangs and noticed Kyle punching the wall of the space station.

“DAMN!”

“Are you okay?” Doc asked.

“Yeah, dude. Just my ADHD. I need to get out and burn off some energy.”

“But we’re in space. You can’t exactly ‘get out.’”

“Maybe I’ll just do a moonwalk. Spacewalk. Get off the ship for a quick vape?”

“Wait, a vape?” Lexi’s interest was piqued. “How did you get a vape to the space station?”

“Bitch, I’m Space Force!”

“I’m not sure if going outside is a good idea…” Doc stared at Kyle with concern.

“Dude, I’ll be fine.”

By a stroke of luck for humanity, Kyle was able to open the space station door and drift into the darkness.

Lexi and Doc watched Kyle out the window, floating in front of the blue visage of Earth.  They stared in silence as Kyle filled his space helmet with Mountain Dew-flavored nicotine vapor and floated out of reach of the space station.

“He’s not attached to the ship.” Lexi noticed. “How’s he going to get back?”

“He probably won’t.”

Lexi’s eyes welled with tears. “I wish I could have gotten to know him better.”

“Really?”

“Nah, he was kind of a douche.”

____

Back on Earth, Kyle was hailed as a hero, the first solider to sacrifice his life for Space Force, even though he was most likely still alive and floating in space. Doc was lauded as a medical genius and dubbed Space Surgeon.

Lexi didn’t fare so well. She stared in the mirror, trying to find a good selfie angle. The top of her flag bikini sagged oddly with the misplaced breast implants.

“Looks like I stuffed my top with chicken cutlets,” she muttered to herself. She began to cry as she recalled an unpleasant memory from junior high where she stuffed her bra with raw chicken cutlets.

“I need to fix my boobs if I want to keep up my follower count. Can you help?”

Yes, you, reader.   

You can save the day. I set up a GoFundMe to fix my implants. Will you donate? To help, you can also write to your Congressional representatives and tell them to fund Space Force so they can avoid farces like this in the future—and save the Kyles of the world.

Rebecca Anderson is a psychotherapist, tech entrepreneur, and emerging author. She lives in North Carolina and enjoys boating, cooking, and playing with her miniature dachshunds. She has recently published short fiction in Sonder Midwest and Siren's Call.