Aeron reached the workstation just as the docks were coming alive.
Cargo ships rested in their cradles like tired animals, hulls scarred, paint faded by radiation and time. Mechanics moved between them, calling out readings, tools clanking softly. The air smelled of fuel, metal, and morning heat.
He walked straight to his ship.
Running his palm along the hull, he inspected every seam, every patch welded from past damage. A faint scorch mark near the rear thruster caught his eye. He crouched, checked it closely, then nodded to himself. Stable. No leaks.
"Still holding," he murmured.
He climbed aboard and settled into the cockpit. The familiar seat welcomed him like an old friend. Screens blinked awake one by one.
Oil pressure: normal.
Core temperature: stable.
Cargo capacity: partially filled.
Today's mission: standard mineral extraction. Low risk. Routine.
Good.
Aeron adjusted the straps, rested his hands on the controls, and took a breath. The ship responded as he powered it up, engines humming softly beneath his feet.
With a controlled increase in throttle, he guided the ship toward the vacuum tube leading to the Spacerift. The world narrowed into a tunnel of light and force. Gravity loosened its grip. For a brief moment, everything felt weightless—silent.
Then the ship emerged.
The mining site spread out before him: floating rock clusters, fractured by past extractions, glittering faintly with embedded minerals. Distant ships worked quietly, lasers carving precise lines into stone.
Aeron maneuvered into position and began his work.
Focused. Careful. Present.