There’s a jostle as I go over a rough patch of the track. The magnetic grip of my boots keeps me locked in as I hurdle alone to the managerial living quarters. Visited once to have dinner with the boss. Brought my daughter Bebe too. Coop wasn’t old enough. Fingers crossed the boss isn’t home today.
I need to get Bebe and Coop out of this place. None of this was worth a single damn if I can’t get them on solid ground again. Bebe’s birth was the happiest day of my life. Coop’s birth was alright too. I chuckle lightly to myself.

Gregor came here from Earth, said that the place is fine for kids if they still have family, but being in the system, it’s just too dangerous. I have to go with them. Can’t trust anyone else on this rock to look after them, not after the things he mentioned.

A few weeks ago, maybe a little over a month, we got the news. Some have been working extra hard hoping it will buy them salvation, but almost everyone else gave up in their own ways. Maybe if photos of the number of self-airlocked bodies were released on Earth it could change something. Even a story about how it complicated the relocation of management could put a dent in public opinion. I hope. I don’t know anymore, to be honest. 

Ceres Mining went belly up. A blight ripped through the monocrop in the third greenhouse, and lax decontamination protocols took out the sixth and eighth ones too. The added cost of emergency rations and oxygen tanked the whole operation and the only way forward was to sell. We were told, and I have no way of confirming, that the higher-ups negotiated down the buyout if the buyers would help ferry out some of the crew.

Our boss brought us all into the warehouse, told us in person. He could have sent it through the messenger, let us read it ourselves. But he faced us.
He was one of the better bosses on the rock.

But he had a way out, and we didn’t.

His family or mine.

The trolley jostled again. I asked for that turn to be repaired over a year ago. Every time any of us hit that bend, we’d pray this wouldn’t be the time the track completely failed. I swear I’ll probably die in this metal and plastic death trap before I even get to the boss’s home. 

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and crossed my fingers. I don’t know how far down managerial the punch cards went. There wasn’t a guarantee that my boss even had one, but I needed to try. 

The new company, the one that bought us, was only going to keep maybe 10% of the life support system. A skeleton crew of engineers, not even miners, was going to keep an automated workforce consistently one week away from falling apart. It was the most efficient way to make this lifeless rock profitable.

The trolley clicked into its dock and I finally opened my eyes again. Past the glass of the door, the airlock pressurized, kicking up a thick cloud of particulate that probably wouldn’t do my lungs any favors. At least it had air now.

I made my way through the airlock and into the tenement’s hall, looking for the access panel closest to where he lived. A swiped maintenance jumpsuit should make anyone that sees me just ignore me. Everyone knows you can just ignore the yellow and white stripes. Just don’t think about how no one’s really fixing anything since the news dropped anyways.

The air vent should have been a tight fit, but that’s the benefit of low gravity and shitty rations. Can fit almost anywhere on this station without too much discomfort.

Wonder if Bebe will be okay on Earth’s gravity. She’s never been there. Hell, I’ve never been there. Hope there is a system in place to help her acclimate. Hope it only costs a kidney, not an arm and a leg.

I arrive at the grate right above his work desk. Finally some good luck. Assuming removing the grating doesn’t cause too much noise, I could just lower myself down on the desk instead of slamming to the floor.

I click on the magnetic grip of my boots when my toes touch down and listen closely. There isn’t a sound beyond the gentle whir of the life support systems cycling oxygen. I do a quick scan and there’s no light from under any of the doors. I should be fine. Seems like no one is home. Lucky break.

I turn and elbow a picture frame, catching it before it hits the floor. There he is with his kids, posing in middle of the fourth greenhouse, surrounded by life and the closest thing any of us can experience to sunshine. 

I duck under a desk before I’m even fully aware of what I’m doing, reacting on instinct. There was a jostle in the room next to this one, and then a footstep. Someone is coming here. I pull out my patch tool. It has no range, but the thermite burns should be more than enough to decommission anyone. Even a knick should overwhelm their senses.

Cursing under my breath, hoping that it’s another thief. I can’t be the only one trying to find a way out of here, but killing my boss directly…it felt more difficult. Weightier. 

The door opens quickly, fuck. It’s my manager, but it seems he hasn’t noticed me.

I sneak up behind him and ready my tool, but he must have heard the floor panel creaking under the weight of my boot.

He turns.

I lunge.

He swings.

I pull the trigger.

His hand connects with the applicator, knocking the patch tool from my hand and permanently disfiguring his own knuckles.

I land on top of him, bringing him down to the floor. I see the pain in his face, the tears from the heat and shock and fear. He looks like he did that day he brought us into the warehouse. The day he told us the news. He could have sent it through the messenger, let us read it ourselves. But he faced us.

He was one of the better bosses on the rock.

But he had a way out, and we didn’t.

His family or mine.

He says my name. Able to think through the pain. Shocking me back to the moment. Through his choking gasps he begs for his kids.

I tell him, if I can convince my wife to give up her seat. I can take one, but he needs to choose. I can’t take both.

But his face goes purple.

No response.

No pulse.

No going back.

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