Far Away

DATE: Year 315-A. Sol 12

LOCATION: Pluto Underground Complex (External Docks)

Lijo adjusted the dampening fields on his freighter’s thrusters as his ship settled into the docking cradle of the Pluto Underground Complex. He was behind the stick of a Water Ice Power (WIP) freighter, a boxy, unpainted monstrosity designed for heavy lifting and very little comfort. The WIP was a largely automated association based in the rings of Saturn, and their ships reflected that. Every centimeter of the cabin was optimized for "Asset Recovery," not for the needs of a human pilot.

The dock was a tomb.

Beyond the reinforced glass of his viewport, the surface of Pluto was a bruised, dark landscape, illuminated only by the faint glare of the station’s remaining external floodlights.

There was no plume of recycled nitrogen venting from the primary airlock, no scurrying Dwellers waiting for a shipment of fresh lentils. There was only the ice, pressing in against the hull-plating of a city that had held the line for three hundred years after the Rip.

-Vessel 44-Sigma, docking confirmed, an automated voice crackled through Lijo’s headset. Air pressure in the gantry is at twenty percent. Supplemental oxygen is a billable expense. Please minimize biological exertion.

Lijo scoffed, checking his internal air reserves.

-I'm here for the Primary Core, Lijo said. Under contract.

-The Core is ready for extraction, the WIP AI replied. However, the Venting Protocol has been accelerated. You have twenty-four beats to clear the sector before the primary atmospheric scrubbers are decommissioned.

-Twenty-four? Lijo stood up, his joints popping. The original manifest said thirty-six.

-Inconsistent logistics are the primary indicator of a failing asset, the AI responded. Optimization is mandatory.

Lijo grabbed his tool-belt. Pluto had been mythical as a testament to human resilience. What a sorry way to end, Lijo thought.

He stepped into the airlock and waited for the cycle.

The door opened and the corridor was silent.

-Hello? Lijo called out.

His voice didn't carry. The air was too thin. He adjusted his scavenger’s mask, watching the pressure gauge on his wrist flicker. He moved toward the central plaza.

People used to live here. He assumed some still might. You could never account for everyone.

He rounded a corner and stopped, seeing a woman standing in the center of the dark plaza.

She was looking at a massive, vertical shaft of basalt and steel, the entrance to the city's Deep Archives.

-The Core is in the sub-level, the woman said, her voice a raspy whisper..

-I'm Lijo, the scavenger said, keeping his distance. WIP sent me to pull the Core.

The woman looked up.

-I'm Kora, she said. And you’re not pulling anything until the iron is interred.

-What? he asked her.

Lijo looked at the ticking timer on his HUD. Twenty-three beats left.

Everything felt so far away here.