The lantern flickered at his hip, the electric wiring within sizzling as it attempted to compensate for years of abuse. Just for a fraction of a second- long enough for William’s heart to seize and his palms to slick inside his gloves with sweat.
He froze, hands locked around the drill’s grips. Cheap plastic, stripped screws, and a motor that shuddered like it knew it was dying. The faded rocket logo looked back up at him, mocking him.
He exhaled, breath fogging the inside of his visor. Asteroid mining was cold. Always cold, and the worn heaters in his suit barely kept him warm enough to work.
He leaned back into the drill. The bit bit into the rock, vibration crawling up his arms. No sound, except the sound of his hands vibrating against reinforced cloth. Just resistance. Just pressure.
A fracture raced outward from the drill point, spidering through the wall- in all directions at once, ignoring typical fracture behavior. The cavern shuddered, pieces peeling free like skin.
William let go of the drill and kicked back, shouting into his mic as he flew through the low gravity and back the way he'd come.
“Structural failure! Abort! Abort-”
The rock around him began to come apart, floating around him like a dangerous dance. Beautiful. Mesmerizing. Deadly. He heard yelling through his speakers, connecting to D teams mics-
Beep beep beep beep
“DON'T!” William yelled, sitting straight up in his bed. Sweat dripped off his nose as he panted into the soft orange glow of the Martian surface through his triple reinforced window. His alarm shut off automatically after its final, sixth beep with a chunk.
“Fucking hell.” He groaned, laying back down and draping his arm over his eyes. Simply listening to the faint hum of electricity traveling through the walls of the habitat around him. Every morning started the same- drenched in sweat, and needing to send his sleepwear to the dry cleaners in the city at the end of the week.
He laid there for a few minutes, before rolling off his bed and onto his feet. The cold floor shocking him a little more awake- but of course, no mining man worth his salt started his morning without-
“Coffee.” William sighed, stumbling to his kitchen- well, kitchen was too strong of a word, it was more a corner of his room- and began his morning rummage through the cabinets. His hand bumped the familiar glass coffee pot and grasped it in the same moment, pulling it free from the darkness like treasure from a tomb.
Setting the pot onto the singular electric heater that he used for cooking- and glancing at the burnt shirt from yesterday still hanging by the bathroom door with a slight twinge of shame- he started pushing packets of ground coffee beans aside as he chose.
“No- no, don't want a heart attack today- not you, you tasted awful-”
William's fingers paused as the familiar blue rocket made its appearance, the small little stream of red from its wings etched into his memory.
“And why do I still have you?” He muttered, pulling it from the shelf and turning it over to read the back with a critical eye. His lips moving before his eyes even finished a single line.
“BluRocket coffee- wake up and blast through your day like an astronaut to the moon. Grown and ground on earth…”
He closed his eyes, placed the packet back and grabbed the next one. A burnt orange with small pockmarks all over the surface. He tore the top off and poured it into the filter as he placed both into the pot.
He tapped his finger on the counter as he waited for the sweet nectar of life to steep, looking out the window. The dusty red surface he had grown so familiar with stared back, stretching off into the distance- only broken by the faint glint of the city dome on the horizon. The coffee pot buzzed, announcing quite loudly that it was ready.
William grabbed one of his cracked mugs and carefully poured the hot liquid into the cup. He waited a moment, checking for any new cracks, before picking it up and taking a sip. It was…frankly, not great. Not terrible, but not great.
“I need to pick up some creamer.” He sighed, taking another sip and grimacing as he made his way towards the airlock.
He thumbed the door controls and waited for the inside pressure to cycle, mug warming his hands as the airlock hissed awake. The habitat lights shifted from their soft night-orange to a harsher white as the system registered him as active. Somewhere down the corridor, someone else’s door thunked open, followed by the distant echo of boots on metal.
“Gotta love morning” he muttered, taking another sip as the door finally slid open with a pressurized thunk. He strolled forward, his free hand deftly plucking the datapad that had been placed in his reception slot. Most likely his work order, and his meal slip for the morning.
“Yeah. Definitely creamer,” he muttered. Having gotten a particularly bitter mouthful as he turned the datapad on- quite a feat seeing as he was only using one hand.
WORK ORDER
Date; 7/12/3101
Issued by; Albert D. Seachlann
Inspected by; Bridgett C. Ashton
SITE: 22- MARS, Drill 4b
SHIFT: 08:00 - 18:00
PAY RATE: 32.00/hr.- 40.00/hr overtime
Quota;
1.5 Tonnes Iron (Raw) (Daily total)
1.0 Tonnes Aluminum (Raw) (Daily Total)
2.0 Tonnes Sodium (Raw) (Daily Total)
Note; for all workers on drill site 22. Please stop breaking the cafeteria chairs and benches. I cannot afford to keep replacing them when one of you (Jeremy, looking at you) keeps bringing back Whiskey from the city. That is all.
William chuckled slightly at the end of the order, clicking the small data chip at the bottom out of its slot. It was blue.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“Damn, just standard today huh?” he shook his head and headed back into his apartment, placing the mug, pad, and chip on the counter as he got himself dressed in his work uniform
William tugged the heavy orange work shirt over his head, the fabric stiff with embedded padding and faintly smelling iron dust and old sweat no matter how many times it went through the cleaners. Honestly he was just happy the smell hadn't stuck to his sleepwear and casual clothes.
The blue chip vanished into the breast pocket with practiced ease, followed by the datapad slipping into its own specialized pouch at his hip. its weight familiar enough that he barely noticed it anymore.
He paused only long enough to finish the last of the coffee- before setting the mug upside down in the sink. Another day, another quota. Same rock, different hole. He flexed his hands once, feeling the faint ache already living in his knuckles, and headed back out into the hall.
“Morning.” Someone called from his left- a deep gravely voice that could only belong to-
“Morning Jeff.” William replied, turning his head slightly. Catching the heavy set man in the corner of his eye, following beside him as William continued on.
“Did you see the work today?” Jeff grumbled, holding up the datapad like it had personally wronged him.
“Yes I saw it. Didn't seem too bad, if I'm honest. Little rough on the salt miners though.”
Jeff scoffed and tapped the bottom of the pad, where the note sat prominently. “I meant this, Will. This is horseshit, we'll drink on our time off if we like!”
William shook his head and stopped at the next airlock, waiting for the door to slide open. “You know its not good to break stuff anymore Jeff. We don't work for a multi trillion dollar company that buys cheap and pays cheaper. Not anymore.”
The door slid open with its quiet thunk, and he stepped forward, continuing his thoughts. “Site 22 has private backers. Their pockets aren't infinitely deep, and it's not like they cheaped out on the chairs. Cut them some slack.”
Jeff seemed to chew on his words for a moment before he spoke again, a little less bite to his voice. “I get, I do, but they don't need a site-wide tell off.”
William nearly pinched the bridge of his nose, answering carefully.
“Jeff, that's not what Albert is doing. He's just asking you not to break stuff. Drink in your room for all I care, just don’t make the budget any tighter for us. We should thank every god that exists that Albert refuses to cut safety funding.”
Jeff huffed but didn’t push it. Good, maybe it will get through his thick skull. They’d reached the cafeteria doors right on time. 0700. The Cafeteria door slid open, revealing the rather utilitarian interior.
Long tables filled the space, with simple steel chairs pushed up against them wherever someone wasn't. In the back of the room, a long slit in the wall where several people stood, taking the different colored chips and rolling out food appropriately. Everyone wore color coordinated vests- gray for engineering, orange for surface drilling, black for underground drilling- and many others.
“So what'd you get today Will?” Jeff asked. William pulled out the chip from his breast pocket, showing off its blue hue.
“Standard issue.” He replied, and Jeff raised an eyebrow at that as they both entered the line for food.
“Standard? Didn't you exceed the quota last week?” he asked, William shrugging as he grabbed a plate and handed over the chip to the food handler.
“Yeah, I think so. But I don't mind the standard.” Two baked potatoes were placed on his plate- stilled steaming, butter dripping down their sides. A small chunk of cheese and seasoning packets joined them on the side as the food handler chopped some green onions- sprinkling them on top of the potatoes.
William grabbed a small carbon fiber bottle of water at the end of the line and made his way towards one of the tables- sitting beside four other miners. All wearing the same color work vest.
“What are you animals up to, hm?” He asked, setting his plate down and glaring sarcastically at Carlton- just as he went to steal one of Isaac's potatoes. Stopping for a brief moment before stabbing the potato and quickly placing it on Jeff's plate as he sat down besides William.
“Nothin’.” Carlton said, looking away innocently as Isaac looked down at his plate to find a missing potato- and immediately grabbing one of Carlton's. Placed it on his plate, and left Carlton with nothing.
“Just some- justice.” Isaac responded shortly after, looking at Carlton as he took a bite of the man's potato.
“Other than these two dunderheads, yeah not much. Quota seems a little high today, but I heard the city has a new project going so it makes sense.” A third voice piped up- softer, but no nonsense. Quirie- one of the few women on site. Also, drill 4b's surface manager.
“mm yeah I saw that.” William responded, starting on his second potato.
Jeff tossed his datapad on the table as well, digging into his own food- and looking straight at Carlton as he began eating his mysterious third potato. “And- mmm- a small little addendum at the end.”
Carlton snorted, stabbing at his empty plate with his fork. “Yeah, well. Notes like tha’ don’t come outta nowhere.”
William glanced up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Carlton shrugged. “Means somebody upstairs did the math and didn’ like what they saw.”
Jeff rolled his eyes. “You say that every time someone asks you not to break shit- and this isn't even direct.”
“Yeah,” Carlton shot back, “and every time I’m wrong, right?”
Quirie didn’t look up from her food. “Albert hates
sending notes. If he sent one, it’s because replacement orders got kicked back, or he's royally pissed at someone.”
William frowned slightly. “Or because people keep smashing chairs.” he looked across the room at Jeremy- his tattered gray vest barely held together.
Quirie finally glanced at him. “Both can be true.”
That earned a quiet chuckle around the table, but a tense one.
“Well-” William began, picking up the last piece of his potato. “-on a more immediate note, how're gonna meet the quota today?”
Quirie put down her own empty plate and pulled out another datapad, scrolling through a few pages of what appeared to be notes. “well, i planned on our crew tackling the iron quota. If the other teams do their jobs, we'll be eating good tomorrow.”
William pushed his plate over to the dirty slot by the table, the clatter of not quite porcelain filling the air as other crews did the same.
“Eh. Couldn't care less about better food, as long as the city gets what it needs. And I get paid.”
The sound of steel on steel began to fill the room as all the other miners pushed their chairs out and began filing from the cafeteria to the rover platform. 0730- right on time again. William fell into step as the others all followed the group, Isaac shoveling the rest of his food into his mouth as quickly as he could.
“mmph mm mmphh mmh.” he attempted to say, flinging potato from his lips as everyone around him gave him a bit of a wider space- nobody wanted to be covered in bits of potato.
“Swallow, then speak.” Quirie sighed, lining up against the wall for the daily suit inspection- the dozens of gen 4 Marson Environmental Suits all in their proper slots. Their empty visors staring blankly at the floor. Isaac swallowed dramatically before trying again.
“What I was trying to say was- Hopefully inspections go well today. If those chairs are hurting the budget? Replacing one of these bad boys will drain the next month and a half of funding.” He patted his suit- one of the many stickers stuck to the inside of the visor peeling slightly. A small little orange mars, with two middle fingers on each side.
"no, the safety budget is already set aside. I'd rather they catch anything wrong.” William answered, watching the Marson representative walk down the line and checking each suit. Then, it was Williams' turn.
“Alright, employee… William T. Nightingale?”
William nodded, presenting his environmental suit. The Marson representative took the suit and began his inspection- tracing the seams with their fingers, checking for frayed fibers, looking for cracks in the visor, holes in the suit, broken latches, and the magnetism of the shoes. All passed acceptably.
“Alright, you're fit to work. I don't want you doing anything stupid, though.” They handed back the suit and moved onto the next person. William smiled and slipped his suit over his head- the familiar faint clicks of the latches fitting together filling his ears while his comms crackled to life.
“This is William Nightingale- suit passed inspection. Clocking in for the day at-” he checked the internal projected clock on his visor before finishing his clock in. “-0759.”
He hopped off the platform onto the rover- its long form only broken by two dozen seats on each side. He clicked the safety harness over himself and gave a thumbs up to the camera as other workers started joining him on the machine.
“This is Issac Howenzer-”
"This is Jeffery Daragh-”
He listened as the rest of the workers called out their clock in status, nodding along. And then- they were off, the red dust of the Martian soil kicking up behind the rovers wheels as they headed towards the drill site.
