Someone you know to be in the ever fatter Brianna's growing fanclub

(This chapter originally by "MightyHalberd")

Ah if only it was that easy. Sadly the vernacular of this contract was so byzantine and convoluted that it made the usual tangles of wires and spaghetti code you dealt with look like those shape sorters for toddlers. After a few minutes combing through all the systems analysts, org specialists, and management whosawhatsits you found a name that you could yell at.

"Wullin Soriksen!" you say out loud, tapping your finger on the name in the chart.

"How delightfully exotic," Garwa commented, hoisting her work belt over her wide hips as she straightened up. "Though the trick now would be to locate him, a task I do not envy you for."

You hated to admit it but she was right. Wullin was deep in the administrative staff, and trying to arrange meetings was as much of a nightmare as combing through his contract for the name. Sure you could go through official channels, but you had the sneaking suspicion Erin was just waiting for you to try so she could tie you up in red tape for the rest of your life.

"Think it's likely that I'll just bump into him in public somewhere?" you suggested, confident that Garwa was having the same suspicions of Erin's motivation here.

"Not likely. We don't exactly share social circles with administration." Garwa trailed off in thought, drumming her fingers on her plump stomach. "You said his name was Wullin, right?"

"Yeah. Probably a deepgrounder with a name like that too." Garwa fixed you with her trademark 'what the hell are you talking about' stare that she saved whenever you spouted off human slang, so you course corrected. "A human who was raised underground. We have a handful of subterranean colonies, mostly mining worlds."

Garwa let out an uncharacteristic shudder. "That is...ugh, how would one cope with that?"

"Beats me. I just know they need to wear special goggles because they're used to low light levels. Most of them don't leave their home system, so it's odd to find one around here."

"Well I do not envy them," Garwa admitted, meandering over to the ticket machine at a jiggling pace to get her tasks for the day. "I don't particular enjoy cramped spaces, let alone having to live in one."

You smirk slightly, knowing you can't resist a little teasing. "Well I'd watch out for the door on your way out," you say, patting Garwa on her broad hip.

"What do you...oh." She fixed you with another glare. "Very funny. But I'll have to get you back for that one."

"Lookin' forward to it," you say, giving her a little kiss on her neck before heading for the door. However, you stop short as her hand wraps around your wrist. You try to say something but are surprised when she pulls you back and pressed you against the wall.

"I didn't say I was going to wait, Mr. Zambac," she said coolly, her re-breather letting out a soft hiss as she started detaching it. She leans forward a little more, making sure you can feel her weight pressing you against the cold steel locker.

Yeah...she definitely knows you're into this.

A few enjoyable minutes and a couple annoying hours later, you were ahead enough on your support tickets for the day that you decided an early break was necessary, though sadly Garwa was tied up with a tricky bug in the holoprojector systems so you were on your own for lunch. Pondering your options, you were feeling a touch nostalgic so you decided to head to the old mess hall for lunch, hoping you could brainstorm a bit on how to corner the mysterious Wullin about your workload. Again all your tickets today had been for inane aesthetic problems while quietly ignoring some of the critical structural problems that Lead Maintenance SHOULD have been handling but somehow never got done. If you didn't know any better, you'd swear there was some sort of conspiracy to keep the station running on a combination of hypertape, spit, and wishful thinking.

Case in point, the atmospheric system under the floor in the cafe. You could hear the distinctive groan of the overtaxed hydrated coil under the floor panels. Rolling your eyes, you made a mental note to report the fault AGAIN up the command chain and went to get...

Wait, that wasn't the coil under the floor panels. That WAS the floor panels.

"Well...hah...look who's...huff...back in our neck of the woods."

You had ample time to look at Brianna as she stopped in front of you to catch her breath, a necessity since she'd gotten even larger since you last saw her. Her round face and full lips were now complimented by a double chin wreathing her thick neck, and her labcoat hung completely open now, unable to contain the one-two punch of her bowling-ball sized breasts and a hanging belly so huge she needed to lean back as she walked. She even stood wider then two people now, hogging space in the cafeteria line with her huge rear end and thighs.

"H-hi Brianna," you nearly stutter, feeling heat rising in your cheeks at the sight. "Everything been...okay?"

"Never better!" she grinned, fanning herself off with one hand, the bingo wing on that arm wobbling like mad. "Looking forward to...huff...lunch today, I'm starved!"

You couldn't argue as you watched her pick up two trays and start loading up, her research assistants taking trays for her as well to fill with far too much food. You'd be lying if seeing her like this wasn't a little bit of a turn on, but you were starting to get a little concerned. Were the berries still wreaking havoc on her, or was this just the new normal now? More importantly, was this going to end up happening to Garwa down the line as well?

Picking up your jaw off the floor, you tentatively followed Brianna over to her usual spot, hoping to pry some thoughts about the ticket situation from her as well. Waiting as the assistants helped lower the much larger woman onto her bench, you took a seat across from her and started to speak when.

"Doc, I got the meal you wanted from the A-Wing mess, should be a little warm but still very tasty!"

You turned to watch a very reedy man close to your age run up to the group, a large pile of food on his own tray. He was a strange sight, his skin almost perfectly white, with scraggly black hair and a large set of goggles over his...eyes...no it couldn't be.

"Wullin Soriksen?" you ask.

The man tilts his head. "Yesyes, that's me. What do you want?"

Guess you believed in miracles after all! You grin triumphantly, almost jumping to your feet. "My name's Michael Zambac...I need to talk to you about my supervisor, Ms. Erin."