Jaxar
Chapter 3

Vanessa: Three days.

Three days of intermittent bombing, the ground shaking, and holding her breath, waiting to see if the building would collapse or hold, scrambling to repair high-priority targets in the brief window between bombings, and no chance for anything more than a few minutes of shut-eye-unless you could sleep through a raid-had Van exhausted. There was work, coffee, sometimes she fell asleep with her head on the breakroom table, and more coffee. Her back hurt, her eyes felt dry and scratchy, and she needed a shower. Badly.

Three days since the colony sent the distress call and no sign of the Mahdfel. What was the point of them? This was supposed to be protected territory.

This held a disturbing familiarity. She had done this before as a kid during the Suhlik Invasion on Earth. Well, not the working nonstop, but the waiting during a raid, followed by the frantic scramble to do what needed to be done. A quick glance around the breakroom informed Van that the other human personnel were having the same thoughts. She wondered if anyone had an anxiety or panic disorder. She didn't know the rest of the staff well, but she wouldn't wish a poorly timed panic attack on anyone.

How much longer before she had her own panic attack?

In the first years after the Invasion, flickering lights during a thunderstorm made Van jumpy. And why shouldn't she be? It wasn't like the state-run orphanage was full of compassion or comfort. She was just a kid, on her own, hiding under the scratchy blankets in her bed and trying not to freak out with moderate success.

If she had any kind of luck, it was shit, and the Invasion drove home that point. Nothing panned out. The bunker her survivalist grandpa built? It might have made it through just fine and dandy, but Van would never know. Snarled traffic kept her family trapped in the city. Her mother wanted to leave days before, but her dad insisted that people were panicking for no good reason and they couldn't believe everything they saw on TV.

Only there was no more TV. Or cell phones. There was barely radio and what little information Van heard over the radio, she didn't want to believe but knew they couldn't close their eyes and wish the aliens away.

The Acostas never made it off the freeway. A whoosh of aircraft overhead was all the warning they had before the bombs dropped. The shrill wail of twisting metal crowded Van's senses.

By the time she pushed her way out of the desperate mob fleeing the wreckage, she'd been separated from her parents. Van bounced from survivor camp to survivor camp, unable to locate any member of her family. Separated from her parents, she ended up in an orphanage with all the other Invasion orphans. Eventually, she learned that her mother perished and her father had been hellbent on drinking himself to death and unable to care for her, but she didn't find that out until years later.

Life didn't magically become easy once the aliens left. People were gone. Families destroyed. Infrastructure had to be rebuilt. Food was rationed, as were utilities and fuel. Those were lean years, especially for the forgotten children stashed away in institutions.

But she wasn't that lost little girl anymore.

She pressed her hand to her chest, trying to determine if her racing pulse was caffeine, anxiety or exhaustion. Some had it worse.

Wasn't that the mantra of her generation? Her mother either died on that freeway or succumbed to disease in a camp. Her father abandoned her. But she made it out in one piece and some people had it worse. The Suhliks murdered a large chunk of the population, but they injured so many more with raids and gas attacks. Long-term effects from exposure-cancer and all the fun that brought-were still being discovered. Van was just an average Invasion orphan, absolutely nothing special, who only got a little jumpy at loud noises and enjoyed all her limbs and good health.

A bitter smile settled on her lips. Messing up her health didn't happen until the Mahdfel got involved.

A quick shower helped revive her and ease the tension knotting her neck. The shower in the locker room didn't allow for much privacy and the water pressure sputtered, but it had hot water and industrial-smelling soap, the harsh kind that chapped your skin but scrubbed away any trace of grime. Van needed to be grime-free, if only for an hour or two.

Hair still wet, she returned to the breakroom. Hopefully, there would be real food. She had enough of gnawing on ration bars that tasted like sawdust.

The lower levels of the municipal service building doubled as a shelter and hub for essential personnel. It had a communication center, enough food and water for a month, cots-ha ha, like anyone got to actually sleep-a break room, locker room, and showers. Maintenance tunnels also connected the hub to nearly every building in the complex. The areas without tunnel access had a supply depot and all-terrain rovers waiting nearby. Naturally occurring deposits of hellstone interfered with teleportation technology, making going underground the smartest option.

It was all orderly and efficient on paper, only no one had used the shelter as a shelter or tested the accessibility of the tunnels. Turns out there weren't enough cots to go around and people made do with the floor or leaning against walls. Water pressure was nonexistent.

Whatever. Those were small quibbles.

Van dumped artificial sweetener into her coffee. The packets of real sugar had gotten damp at some point and turned into a useless brick of sugar and paper, so all they had was the fake stuff. "Acosta," a voice barked.

Van only jumped slightly, sloshing hot coffee over her hand, but that was okay. Her blood was mostly caffeine at this point, so she was jumpy. They were all jumpy. "Yeah, boss," she said, wiping up the spill.

"A Breathe-Rite went offline in the last attack. I need you to go out there and get it operational." Her boss, Gabe, had maps spread across a table. He traced a route on the paper. "This one. You can use Access Tunnel C-9 until it hits A-10, then follow that to the surface."

"They don't share a junction." A-level tunnels were small, originally built for carts moving ore, and now used to move supplies, not people. "There's no lighting in them."

She wasn't even the most qualified person to repair a Breathe-Rite. She grabbed a mishmash of certifications on the long trip from Earth. The air filtration units were straightforward and idiot-proof, so she took the course to be certified. "Get a pair of night-vision goggles." He waved off her concern. "The tunnel is collapsed further on so we have to be creative, and you're the only one small enough to ride in a cart." He looked up at her sharply. "Unless you want to hoof it over the surface."

"Not even a little bit," she said quickly.

He narrowed his eyes. "Did you sleep?"

"A little." Maybe thirty minutes, but she didn't elaborate.

Gabe huffed. He was a decent boss and didn't ask too many questions about life back on Earth. If he ever got confused about an employee's gender being listed as male when they presented as female, he kept his mouth shut. Weren't anyone's business, anyway. "Getting the air filtration back is important, but the other towers are still working. We're not going to suffocate if you take a nap."

f it's all the same, I'll get suited up and head out."

"Take a nap, Acosta," he said. "And eat something. How's your hydration levels?"

"Fine." She clutched the coffee cup. "I've been popping water cubes." Chewy and filled with a thick gel center, water cubes were gross, but they were easy to stash in a pocket when you were deep in the tunnels.

"Food. Nap. Then take care of the Breathe-Rite. Got it?"

She ate a packet of freeze-dried chicken and dumplings that had to be reconstituted with water. The packet self-heated and tasted like you would expect a self-heating reconstituted meal to taste. Still better than a sawdust ration bar.

The nap didn't come easily. She took an empty cot and stared at the ceiling. Dust drifted down. No one talked about how deep underground they were or how many hits the shelter could take before it collapsed. Three days was too long to be waiting out a raid, even if the bombings were intermittent. At least she had her work to keep her mind busy.

She wondered how Esme was doing.

Van pushed herself off the cot, not understanding how anyone could rest. The raids, the uncertainty, the waiting-it all curled tight in her gut. At least she had her work.

The non-essential personnel were stashed in shelters deep in abandoned mine shafts. They had plenty of food, water, hopefully cots and blankets, and all the medical supplies they needed. They also had nothing to do but wait. Three days was too long to sit in a dark mine shaft and wait.

In the locker room, she suited up in the highly fashionable safety-orange work coveralls. She wore a tank top and did not wear the upper portion of the suit, tying the arms around her waist. Her respirator and toolbox sat at the bottom of the locker.

The coveralls were great at keeping out hazardous chemicals and protecting her skin, but they didn't breathe. Nothing got in but body heat didn't get out, either. Van only wore coveralls when she had to work outside and at the end of her shift, she felt like a swamp beast drowning in her own funk.

"Hey, Vanessa." A familiar waft of overpowering cologne and too much hair product leaned against the locker next to her.

Teddy wore nothing but a towel around his waist. Oh, and a shit-eating grin, like a pale stomach and sparse chest hair was something to be proud of.

"I'm working, Teddy," she said.

"I was thinking you and me should find a nice quiet corner." His gaze focused on her chest, like his force of will could see through the white cotton fabric. He licked his lips.

Ugh. So not interested.

"I got an air filtration unit to get back online," she said. "Shouldn't you be manning the comms?" Or whatever he did.

"Come on," he said, brushing the back of his hand against her cheek. Van flinched. "We deserve a break. Release some tension. You know what's great for a high-stress situation? Fucking."

True enough. The body released a potent cocktail of chemicals and hormones, driving people with the need to feel good after feeling afraid.

One problem: she loathed him.

His gaze drifted from her chest to the bite mark on her shoulder. No mistaking who put that bite there and what it meant.

"Not interested," she said, hurriedly zipping up her uniform.

Teddy planted his arms on either side of her, pinning her in place. He grinned down at her with a leer, so confident that he won.

Few things made Van as mad as a bully. She said no. Clearly. Now he tried to physically intimidate her? Like he was even the largest guy to ever loom over her or even the most dangerous. She'd been married to a red alien with tusks and a barbed tail. Teddy was a freaking puppy compared to Havik.

Van spun quickly, grabbed the closest tool, and spun back, tapping Teddy right in the junk.

"Hey!"

"Oh, shush. I didn't hurt you," she said. "But I could have. I just want you to think about how fast I moved when you weren't expecting it and how vulnerable your nuts are."

"You know what I think? I think your alien-chasing ass needs a real man to fuck some sense back into you. To remind you what a human dick feels like."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she muttered.

"That's what I'm talking about."

She moved again, tapping the wrench against his throat and bopping his nose with more force than necessary. His eyes went wide. "Hey!"

He clutched his nose like she broke it. The crybaby.

"And that's how fast I can move when you are expecting it." Dumbass, she thought but did not say out loud. "If you touch me again, I will break your nose."

"You bitch! I'll report you." He stepped back, clutching his nose as if it were already broken.

"You go ahead and report that I defended myself when you assaulted me. I think it'll go over well."

"To the Registry, dummy!" He grinned, knowing her weakness. "There's only one reason a chick slips away to the ass-end of the universe and goes by a man's name, Van."

That manipulative asshole. He deserved to have his nose broken on principle now. She wondered about her anger and how easily her thoughts turned toward violence. She had baggage and should talk to a counselor. Later, when the Suhlik finished dropping bombs on them.

A laugh slipped out, bitter and a touch frantic. She wanted a nice glass of cold iced tea, so sweet it would make her teeth ache and a plate of hot, greasy fries, followed by a solid eight hours of sleep. What she got was this asshole thinking he could threaten her.

"Look," Van said, unzipping enough of her uniform to expose the bite mark. "I said no, and I was nice about it. Learn to deal with disappointment. Because we're both stressed out, I'm not going to report this to Gabe "

"I bet you're fucking Gabe." He spat out the words, sulking.

"But I will if you don't grow the fuck up, Teddy," she said. He huffed and it was not charming. At all. "You think you know something about me. Something I'm hiding? What? Maybe I'm a widow? All alone?" She tapped the wrench in one hand. "The man who left that mark on me is named Havik and he's very much alive. We're divorced, but if I told my overprotective Mahdfel ex-husband that some asshole was giving me a hard time, do you think he'd ignore that? He marked me." Another tap. "He claimed me." Tap tap. "Part of me will always belong to Havik."

The blood drained from Teddy's face and he held up his hand in surrender. "Jesus! I'm sorry, all right. I thought you were stuck up, not a psycho. I don't stick my dick in crazy."

Van watched Teddy's retreat, not loosening the grip on the wrench. Finally alone, she sighed and collapsed on a bench.

Fuck that guy.

She would report him, but not until the crisis subsided. The locker room did not have cameras, but the micro camera built into the front of the coverall recorded their conversation just fine.

While she hated even the idea of running to her ex-husband for help with a guy who wouldn't take no for an answer, she knew Havik would assist her if she asked. Their parting left plenty to be desired, but Van found she felt more betrayed than angry at their divorce, which surprised her because anger was her go-to emotion.

So, yes, Havik would help her, but she'd rather claw out her own eyes than ask.

With a sigh, Van grabbed her toolbox and headed out. The Breathe-Rite wouldn't fix itself.

Jaxar:

"This is beyond ridiculous." Rohn prowled around the fighter like that would make the craft withstand the harsh atmosphere of Val Mori's moon. "Half of my fleet is not able to function in the atmosphere."

"Then do not breach the atmosphere." Jaxar shifted through the box of antiquated tools. He needed a specific welding torch. The torches he had in Engineering used a fuel that would be combustible in the moon's atmosphere, a situation he did not recommend. Very hard to complete repairs when the technician kept catching on fire. Fortunately, an older model would be perfectly suited for the challenges ahead. Unfortunately, Jaxar did not believe in clutter or clinging to relics, so Engineering no longer had the needed tools. Fortunately, Rohn clung to his relics, as he was a relic himself.

Jaxar kept that thought to himself. He loved to tease his old friend, but Rohn had been moody as of late. Jaxar wanted to claim that Rohn had been moody since his mate arrived, but he knew that wasn't true. Rohn's default status was moody, but since Nakia's arrival, his friend was more alive than ever-and fussy.

Jaxar liked it. A fussy Rohn was a male who wanted to fight, and the fight had been gone from Rohn's heart for too long. The old male shut down after events on Earth, shouldering the blame for an accident and wearing his injuries like a badge of shame. The fire in his blood cooled and Rohn had been wasting his years, waiting for his end.

"Don't breach? That would be like advising an engineer not to push a big red button."

"That happened once," Jaxar protested. The button had been so red and inviting and unlabeled. He had to push it, for science.

"Do not give advice on topics you know nothing about," Rohn said. He pulled down another container and shifted through the contents. "Pilots must be flexible and respond quickly, often before their brains have a chance to realize what they are doing."

Jaxar snorted. "Are you suggesting that pilots have brains?"

"There is no time to think, 'Oh no, this craft is not rated for this type of atmosphere. I should return to the Judgment.' It is do or do not. Anything else is a complication."

"You are telling me that your pilots are too simple to remember not to fly into a planet's atmosphere because it will make their engines explode? Shameful." Jaxar shook his head, grinning at his friend's frustrated growl. "I pick my engineers for their intellect. I see that you do not share the same standards."

"Do not entice me to hit you again," Rohn growled.

Jaxar rubbed his chin and grimaced, which must have appeared properly as a chastised expression and Rohn nodded with satisfaction.

"I believe I have acquired a suitable amount. I will send Fennec if I need more." Jaxar placed the box back on the shelving unit. Vanessa:

The long day continued.

Rubble and bits of fallen rock littered the track and Van had to stop the cart several times to clear it. The cart's onboard navigation wouldn't operate unless the track was completely free of debris. Normally that wasn't such a problem, but the Suhlik's bombing had made a mess of the access tunnels. Dirt and fallen rocks covered the safety lighting embedded in the floor. Sometimes there was enough light to navigate, and other times Van relied on her night vision goggles. Eventually, the cart refused to move, despite the track being clear. Van moved forward, the top of her head brushing the roof of the tunnel, and found the problem. Just out of visual range, the tunnel had caved in. Fantastic.

Using her comm unit, she activated the map function. The holographic image glowed in the dark, casting a silvery light on her skin and turning the chunky comm unit a dull gray. The original color was called "flesh" but as it was Sangrin tech, that meant it was an ashy lavender. Better than beigey pink. At least the ugly lavender didn't clash with her tawny complexion.

Half a kilometer back was an access hatch to a biodome. She could walk to the next access hatch and hope to bypass the cave-in or try her luck with another tunnel. The safest route took her way out before finally reaching the offline purifier. Or-

The biodome would have a rover or two parked nearby. Any employee ID would unlock a vehicle. She could just drive to the malfunctioning Breathe-Rite.

It was such a bad idea.

Driving overland would shave hours off her journey-she'd wasted so much time just to get to this dead-end-but it was dangerous. The tunnels were slow but safe. How much longer did they have before wearing the respirators were mandatory? Before the very air burned their lungs? The purifier needed to be operational and she needed to make that happen.

Van grabbed her bag and hiked down to the access hatch. The ladder to the surface had been anchored into the rock wall, but two of the anchors had detached. She tugged on the rungs and rust flaked off. If she was smart, she'd move along to the next access hatch, but she was already committed to one bad idea. What was one more? The next access hatch was too far from any buildings or rovers.

Van pulled herself up the ladder, ignoring the dangerous sway and groan. She honestly couldn't say if it was damaged from the raid or management cutting corners on maintenance. A layer of rust coated the ladder, which made her believe in management's unlimited greed for short-sighted profits.

Luminous paint marked the handle on the hatch. With a bit of effort, the handle turned. She switched off the night vision on the goggles and pushed the hatch open. Rusted metal shrieked, negating any reason to carefully scope out the vicinity for Suhlik. If they were nearby, they definitely heard that.

Evening darkness surrounded her as she scrambled over the rim and onto the dusty ground. Rocks dug into her knees, threatening to tear the coveralls.

The biodome was a few meters away. Van grabbed her bag and hauled butt to the building. The vehicles would be on the other side.

A boom reverberated in the distance.

Shit.

She pressed herself against the side of the building and glanced at the time on her comm unit. Dawn was four hours away. No way was she driving out now with the Suhlik nearby. She could crash in the biodome for the night. The filtration tower needed to be repaired, but it could wait a few hours. Probably. It could wait until dawn.

More time had passed than she realized and driving in the dark had more dangers than benefits. The Suhlik had perfect night vision, so there was no advantage to moving under the cover of darkness. Her night vision goggles might level the playing field, but they had a limited scope and the terrain had been bombed. She'd drive herself right into a crater or an unexploded bomb. It would be smarter to stay the night in the dome and wait until morning.

If she were lucky, the break room would be equipped as a shelter. If she were really lucky, it'd actually have functional supplies and not boxes of expired emergency rations.

The company really was the worst. Still, spending the night on a cold floor was better than crashing a rover into a crater.

At the door, she raised the goggles and presented her eye to be scanned. The lights blinked as the device tried to connect to the network. "Come on. Hurry up," she said to the scanner.

The door unlocked with a heavy thunk and partially slid open. With a sigh, she slipped through and hit the button to close the door. The gears whirled and the door jiggled but did not move. Placing her gloved hands on the door panel, she pushed, trying to muscle past whatever was jamming the mechanism. No luck. It was well and truly stuck.

Another boom. The ground vibrated.

Closer but still miles away.

She didn't need to play fix-it with the door. If a bomb hit the building, an open door wouldn't matter. She needed shelter for the night.

Because the outer door did not seal, the computer failed to initiate the decontamination protocol, and because she was covered in native bacteria, the inner doors would not open. Delightful.

Van removed a service panel and flipped the manual override switch. The door unlocked.

Finally, something on this horrible moon worked properly.

The pungent smell of stagnant water slapped her in the face. Ugh. She knew that smell, intimately. The algae pods had sprung a leak.

Val Mori researchers used the dome much as a greenhouse. A frame of hexagons held durable but clear glass-like panels, letting in maximum sunlight. Orderly rows of vegetation filled the interior space. Each dome held a unique research focus and specimens. There was a dome dedicated to native fungi and grew specimens as large as Earth trees. Another dome was focused on crossing crops with fungi to make a more resilient and hopefully edible-species. This dome housed row after row of ferns, the delicate green tendrils were curled up, waiting for the sun to unfurl.

Van pushed through the hip-high vegetation to the center, to the cluster of algae pods. A water pump had busted, and the hose flailed, spraying the immediate area with stagnant water.

Her bag dropped to the ground with a clank. She didn't know if she had the right tools to reattach the hose, but she needed to try. If the tanks drained completely, the pumps would seize and start a cascade of problems she'd be expected to fix. Replacing those pumps was a giant pain in the butt and the only way to do it was to slither under on your back and pray the brackets holding the tanks held. The company cut so many corners and only replaced equipment when it absolutely had to, not when safety regulations dictated that it was smarter to just plan for disaster. If the algae pods fell while she replaced a pump, they'd crush her. Game over.

Better to do it now and potentially get sprayed in the face with alien algae than gamble on not being crushed later.

She needed a new job.

Van lowered her goggles and turned on the night vision. No light fixtures hung over the algae tanks as they used natural sunlight. The tanks clustered around the pump, creating a shadowy center. She wrapped an old bandana around the lower half of her face. Getting sprayed in the face may be unavoidable, but she didn't have to swallow a mouthful of the stuff.

Wiggling her way through the slender opening between the tanks, she got a face full of funky algae water, as expected. She reached the shut-off valve quick enough but not before the hose thrashed and sprayed her again. Once she closed the valve, attaching the hose took no time.

There.

The ventilation system whirred to life and the pump rattled for half a minute before settling into a rhythm. Van scraped off the worst of the algae clinging to her coveralls, splattering the already splattered tanks, when she heard voices. She paused, hand mid-flick, and listened. The words were not English. Thankfully, her implanted chip whispered in her ear, translating the harsh sounds.

"There is no one here."

"The door is opened. It stinks of meat."

Suhlik. The chip in her head translated the language flawlessly, but the lizards' language was unmistakable. She had only been a child when the Suhlik invaded Earth but had never seen one in person, just what was shown on television and in government pamphlets and could have happily gone the rest of her natural life never having seen one.

Van clamped her algae-covered hand over her mouth to muffle the sound of her breathing. Quiet. Oh so quiet. She pressed into the shadows, trying to make herself small and wishing she wore anything other than safety-orange coveralls and hadn't heard that meat comment. She was not food, but anyone was food to a murderous space lizard.

Their feet appeared under the rows of ferns. She leaned back, trying to hide behind a tank.

Footsteps came closer and paused. "What is that stench?"

Van pressed her lips closed, not daring to breathe. Suhlik soldiers had heightened senses, she had read, and she wondered if they could hear her heart thudding. Or smell that she was meat.

The footsteps retreated.

Minutes crawled by. The pumped chugged around. The ventilation system whirred. The door chimed a warning that it was not properly sealed.

Slumping down to her knees, Van leaned back against a tank. Her heart fluttered dangerously, and she placed her hand over her chest as if that could regulate the beats. She had vague memories of taking her medication that morning- yesterday?—so she wasn't in danger of heart failure. She could picture the brown bottles, sitting on the top shelf of her locker.

She was fine.

She was fine. Just a little scared. Pregnancy had weakened her heart, but it was the only one she had. Calm, even breaths. The irregular rhythm sucked, but she'd get checked out by the station's medic when all the commotion was said and done. Most likely she'd be scolded for not packing her meds with her gear when she went into the field.

Panic slowly lost its grip on her chest and her breathing evened out.

She'd foolishly locked herself into a three-year contract with the company and had another two years on this miserable moon. If a workplace accident didn't get her, the murder lizards would. She could be on Earth right now, safe, finishing her degree. Sure, that bureaucratic asshole threatened her to volunteer or she'd have to pay back the compensation her family received when she had been matched to Havik, but that wasn't legal. She could have gotten a lawyer and fought, but she'd made the decision in fear. Fear didn't lend itself to smart decisions.

Anger trickled in, replacing her fear. She resented her job and this stupid, hostile moon but mostly she hated feeling helpless. She hated how she had been torn away from her life when she was twenty-one, hated how her time with Havik felt like a black spot she skimmed over and then tried to resume her old life like nothing happened.

But that wasn't true. Things happened.

When she returned to Earth, she had seen a counselor for a handful of sessions. She disliked the meetings, as it felt less like therapy and more like being picked apart to see what went wrong with her. The counselor wanted to talk about grief and the losses she suffered: child, husband, and marriage. But her losses were more than that. She lost her friends from before and her family treated her differently. Her basic identity had been taken from her. No matter how she tried to jam herself back into her old life, it didn't fit. Maybe that was why it had been so easy for Van to run away.

Following up on her medical care had been easy. She had nearly died. Her heart enlarged to the point of sustaining permanent damage. Letting the doctors poke and prod as they determined what about her failed, despite testing as compatible, felt less invasive than letting the counselor dissect her head. Grief left her fear, anger, and a fluttering heart. What else was there to say?

Van dragged herself away from her hiding place and went to find a hose. She rinsed off the algae as best as she could before finding the staff break room. In a utility closet, she found emergency bedding still in the original packaging, a clean coverall one size too large, and a dehydrated meal only a little past its expiration date she choked down. She thought about sending a status update to Gabe but decided against it. The comms could be compromised and using a secured channel guaranteed nothing.

She ripped open the bedding packet and the foam mat inflated. The floor wasn't the height of comfort, but she found a suitable position and sleep soon claimed her.

Tomorrow would be better. It had to be.

***

On the fourth day, the Mahdfel finally arrived and did their freaking job.

Van choked down another dehydrated meal for breakfast and washed it down with plenty of water. With the pant legs of her new, too-large coverall rolled up, she commandeered a rover. It needed a wash, but the layer of orange dust was as good as camouflage.

The Breathe-Rite filtration unit had been knocked out of alignment and took only five minutes to adjust. As she climbed back into the vehicle, a message came through her comm unit.

"Yeah, boss?" she said.

"Enjoy your night out?"

"Oh,

"Are you okay?"

it was lovely. A collapsed tunnel, a busted algae pump, the Suhlik walked by me but I was covered in goop, so I guess they didn't smell me, and I got to sleep on the floor. No stars. I do not recommend."

"Tired." Exhausted, short-tempered, and needing her meds.

"Got enough energy for one more? Breathe-Rite unit five is down and you're closest. Check it out."

Van slouched in her seat. "Sure. I get a month's vacation after this, right?"

"You get the same comp time as anyone else." Gabe paused as if he could see the face Van pulled.

"I want to transfer," she said, half-serious, half-joking.

"We're almost done. The Mahdfel are here."

"When I get back, I want real food. No more of those packets. They're disgusting."

"What shall I tell the chef to prepare?"

"I want a big ass burger and fries. Lots of fries." A hot shower, clean clothes, a full-body massage, and the list kept growing.

Van ended the call, determined to get this job finished as soon as possible. With luck, the unit needed a realignment. Quick and easy.

The interior wall of the crater grew closer, a dark smudge against the horizon gaining definition and substance. Sunlight did not reach into the crater, causing it to be several degrees cooler than outside the crater. A warmer layer of air acted like a lid over the cooler air within. On the plus side, that meant the filtration units only filtered the air that the colony immediately used and was not trying to change the atmosphere of the entire moon. On the downside, the crater was dark and cold and Van missed sunshine. Light therapy lamps didn't cut it.

The filtration unit appeared in the distance. Van could immediately see the problem.

Half of the blasted tower was missing.